Caged Eagles (2 page)

“What kind of question is that?” Trevor asked, bothered at such a ridiculous inquiry. He grew sober. “No, Dr. Taylor, I don't. I want to stay here so I can continue to have therapy sessions to improve my outlook on life.”

“Hmm, that's very good to know,” Dr. Taylor smiled. While she wrote a note down Trevor continued.

“I only do it for you, Dr. Taylor. I think you'll probably change my whole way of thinking. May I say that you are looking astonishing today? I have never had a doctor who looked as fine as you do.”

“Mr. Wells, that is inappropriate.” Her voice had lost its optimistic nature and she glared over the top of her glasses.

“How can I stay on subject when you're so beautiful, Leslie?”

“Mr. Wells ….”

“Call me Trevor.”

“Mr. Wells, I will not say this again. My name is Dr. Taylor. I do not insult you, and I do not expect you to insult me.”

“I'm sorry, Dr. Taylor.” Trevor did nothing to hide his smile.

“Do you want the code?” she repeated the question.

“No.”

She wrote something down. Trevor let his eyes roll down her athletic body. He wondered if she worked out. “Then why were you harassing the manager about it?”

“He was acting like a idiot, thinking I was close enough to actually get the code, when I was standing behind him away from the box.”

“Then why would he mention this to me?”

“Probably because I was giving him a hard time, and he can't take a little joking because he's a nervous little dip….”

“Mr. Wells, language.”

Dr. Taylor gave him a piercing glare. Trevor sighed.

“You're one of
those
counselors, aren't you?”

“If you mean I don't allow foul language in my sessions, then yes.”

“Relax, plus, he
is
a dumb ….”

“He is a person,” she interrupted, “and you should be considerate of his feelings.”

“Yeah, that's a matter of opinion,” Trevor wasn't impressed with her last statement.

At this time another Siamese clone came to take Trevor back to his cell.

“You did a fine job today.” Dr. Taylor removed her glasses and smiled. Her words were fruitless, though.

“Thank you, I'm glad you found my erotic dream a worthy topic for today's discussion. I particularly liked the scene you were in.”

Dr. Taylor turned red, and the Siamese clone squeaked. Trevor turned and walked out of the door, not allowing his counselor to say anything in response.

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Trevor returned to an empty cell room. It was like he had dreamed Forrest was even there an hour earlier. He shrugged and decided to take a nap. Lying down on his bed he relished the thought of his entertaining therapy session. He hoped that Dr. Taylor wouldn't forget his comment and he chuckled to himself at the thought of her wearing a full-length bear coat to their next meeting. Did she know how to loosen up? She was a member of the staff and therefore unpredictable when it came to Trevor being one of the patients. Trevor closed his eyes and imagined what she'd look like outside the prison. She would smile and laugh at the jokes he made; her blonde hair down, blowing in the breeze. Slowly her laughter changed from light and happy to a softer, shy giggle. Her golden hair stopped shining and changed to a beautiful deep brown with highlights of red that would become visible only in the sunlight. The deep-blue eyes changed to a beautiful golden brown. The specks of gold flickered and her smile bashfully appeared on her gorgeous face. Trevor reached out to this beautiful woman. He wanted to hold her.

Click … whoosh …. Trevor awoke to the cell door opening. Forrest was let in by one of the managers. Trevor was too exhausted to be upset about losing his dream for the second time that day. He sat up on his elbow. The clone unlocked Forrest's restraints and left him standing alone in the center of the room. The reserved man walked over and sat on his bed. Not once did he look at Trevor.

“Where did you go off to?” Trevor questioned Forrest mostly for the noise. The silence drove Trevor berserk.

“I had my first therapy session.” Forrest said in a monotone voice. His deep eyes reminded Trevor of a sad puppy.

“Who did you get for a whack job of a doctor?”

“I have Doctor Ilene Stout.”

“You're joking!” Trevor sat up.

Forrest turned his head slightly to one side. “No … why?”

“She is a cow! Man, you really do have bad luck. I hate that woman. We have to have group sessions with her and she drives me insane. I come out of every meeting wanting to cut my throat.”

“I didn't think she was horrible.” Forrest noted. “She was what I expected a counselor to be like in prison.”

Trevor shook his head. “Wow, your luck is horrible! I wish you had gotten anyone but her. Wait until she starts digging into every single ounce of your life, including overanalyzing why you are here in the first place.”

“She already did that today.” Forrester wore a worried expression.

“How did that go?”

Forrest shrugged. “Okay … I guess … I don't really know how it was supposed to go.”

“I don't know what to tell you. She drills her patients until they admit what she wants them to. That old snake is good at manipulating and brainwashing,” Trevor wrinkled his nose to show his disgust. Forrest's brows came together between his eyes and the skin on his forehead creased.

“Don't worry; if you keep one step ahead of her in your thinking you'll be fine. Don't let her put you on pills.” Trevor got up and paced around the room.

“Why?”

“Most of the men in this prison, on pills, are addicted to them. Once that happens,” he snapped his fingers, “it's all they live for. I guess that's what drugs do.”

“Yeah, they do.” Forrest looked at the floor and his eyes glazed over. His mind was somewhere else. This interested Trevor.

“You know?” He sat back down.

“Yeah, my mother was addicted to many things over the years.”

“Oh …” Trevor didn't know what to say. He had never personally had any substance abuse problem, but he had seen others have them. He didn't have to say anything because Forrest continued.

“So was my ex-girlfriend, she is kind of the reason I'm here.”

Trevor leaned back against the wall to listen but when Forrest remained tight-lipped Trevor knew he was hesitant to trust him.

“I got in here on a bogus charge also,” Trevor carelessly said. Forrest raised his head. The light returned to his eyes.

“Yeah, what was it?” Forrest slowly asked, not sure if it was really his business.

“I was in a store one afternoon buying some overpriced beer. Down the aisle some guy started shouting at the clerk. I walked up front to see what was going on. The guy had a pretty damn big knife, that thing had to be about eight and a half to nine inches. I think he must have made it himself.” Trevor held his hands apart to demonstrate the weapon's length.

“Anyway, he was threatening to break though the protective glass the clerk was behind and stab him if he didn't do what he was told. The robber was so busy trying to get the clerk to punch in the code for the safe to the cash box that he didn't see me behind him. I looked around for something to smack the guy with. The clerk kept his eyes down and acted like I wasn't there. All I could find was the baskets, so I picked one up and smacked the guy in the head as hard as I could. He started bleeding instantly and stumbled away from the counter, dropping his knife. The clerk dropped down to hide. I dashed for the knife, but instantly the three-hundred-pound guy was fighting me for it. I knew I was a dead man if I didn't reach the weapon first. That is how I got this scar on my elbow.”

Trevor rolled up his sleeve and showed Forrest. The skin had grown over the wound in grotesque twisted patterns.

“He got me a couple more times, but those were only flesh wounds that have gone away. As I thought he was finally going to do me in I had one more surge of energy to get the knife. The fighting stopped and the big oaf lay screaming like a mashed cat, bleeding all over the floor. I froze. I had stabbed him in the guts. I didn't run the knife all the way through, but just enough to make a good-sized mess. The police came running in, cuffed me, and rushed the robber to the hospital. I had no problem going with the police at that time knowing things would get cleared up. I should have known better, right?” Trevor shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Well, afterward they questioned everyone. The clerk said he didn't know if my part in the ordeal was meant to help or attack. The robber claimed he was trying to stop me. I told the opposite story. In the end, the court believed them.”

Forrest's facial expression changed. It was almost like a spark had been lit inside him, making him come alive. His eyes were brighter and the frown disappeared from his lips.

“So you are really … in a way … innocent too.”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that. I was really upset when I first got in here, but as the months roll by I've mellowed out some.” Trevor stretched his arms out in front of him until the strain became to great and he let them drop into his lap.

“How can you be so calm?”

“Don't know,” Trevor shrugged. “I guess I realized there was nothing I could do.”

“Are you planning on doing something when you get out?”

“I don't know yet. Believe me, if I run into either of those men I'll give them a reason to put me in here.”

“What about security cameras?”

“They weren't turned on, just my luck.”

Forrest proclaimed, “I'm in here on a murder charge.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I came home one night to find my girlfriend gone. It was probably about eight o'clock at that point so I decided to hang out and watch some sports until she got home. I couldn't concentrate. I had discovered she had a drug problem. I found the drugs hidden in the back of her closet in a jewelry box she had as a kid. A feeling in my gut told me she was out with her friends partying.”

“How long had you two been hooked up?” Trevor crawled down and rested on his side with one arm supporting his head.

“Probably about a month,” Forrest answered and then continued with his story. “I waited until midnight and decided to go out looking for her. I didn't know where to go, and she wasn't answering her phone or the messages I sent her. About an hour later I found her nearly passed out in the corner of a bar, surrounded by other alcoholic drug addicts. I told her I was taking her home and she exploded. She told me she would never go anywhere with me, and started spouting off all this crazy stuff. I grabbed her by the arm and began to lead her from the bar. A few of the guys tried to stop me, but were in no condition to successfully do anything. She told them she would be fine as she stumbled along next to me. I got her home and put her to bed.

“The next morning as I was headed to work she woke up and began shuffling around the apartment. I told her we needed to have a serious discussion but she only flipped me off and slammed the bathroom door behind her. When I got home the police were swarming all over my apartment like ants. I asked what was going on and they said I was charged with her murder. I tried to explain but it was no use. At the trial every one of those burnouts she claimed as friends testified that I had killed her. They said I was abusive and drugged her. I never saw her body, but the prosecutor said she had numerous bruises. Then I ended up here.”

“You got set up.”

“Yeah.”

Trevor scratched his scalp. “Why do you think they did that?”

“I don't know yet. I want to try to figure it out while I'm here.”

“I will help you out if you want. I have nothing else to think about, plus you know the old saying 'two heads are better than one.'”

“Yeah, sure,” Forrest's piercing dark eyes met Trevor's again.

“I think you should watch what your therapist does in sessions though, she'll probably try to get you on something.” Trevor informed Forrest.

“Thanks.” Forrest smirked.

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_•
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Over the next couple of weeks Trevor and Forrest went over every possible scenario as to why he had been set up. They were both at a loss; no truth came out of their brainstorming. If anything, the entire situation grew more confusing.

Trevor dropped to the floor. The exercise released all this frustrations. He had already completed the ritual once that morning.

“Do you think it was a dirty cop?”

“I don't see how it could be. I've never done anything to upset the law.” Forrest now took his turn on the floor. Trevor pulled himself back onto the bed.

“You said you're a mechanic?”

Forrest nodded between sit-ups. “I specialized in electronic vehicles, the new models.”

“Do you think you aggravated a cop's wife because you didn't fix her E.V. right?”

“I suppose,” he rose and crawled onto his own bed. “But why would a cop go so far as to convince drug addicts to lie on the stand?”

“Back to square one.” Trevor stretched out onto his bed, shoving his arms underneath the pillow. Forrest saw a picture fall to the floor. He stooped over and picked it up.

“Who's this?”

Trevor's eyes popped open and his heartbeat quickened. He swiftly reached up and snatched it out of Forrest's hands.

“No one.”

Forrest disappeared around the privacy barrier to wash his face in the sink. Trevor rolled onto his side and cradled the picture in his hand. He didn't want a single soul to know about her. Trevor brushed his thumb over her cheek. A stranger wouldn't know how elegant she was but Trevor did. He stared at her timid smile.

Trevor heard the running water stop. He reached up and tucked the picture between the mattress and the wall. He knew it would be safe there from any room inspections. Forrest walked back over to his bed and sat down. The television turned on to report the morning news. Trevor rolled over and pretended to sleep. Forrest wished the large scratch down the center of the screen wasn't there, distorting a section of the image. At this time the fat old man showed up with two trays of pancakes and bacon. Forrest's mouth watered when the savory sent of the bacon reached his nose.

“You're like a dog sittin' in there waitin' for food.” Patterson handed over the trays but his eyes watched Forrest's mouth for a response. “No comment, huh? You aren't like the other one; he always has something to say to me. No, wait! I know what it is; you are too stupid to come up with a response.” An ugly sneer appeared on his face. Forrest still remained silent, walked over to the dresser, and set Trevor's breakfast down before he began to eat. Patterson stood there dumbfounded; his mouth hung open.

“Hey! Wells!” the man shouted. Trevor rolled over to look at the man.

“Wells! What's wrong with your roommate? He have no tongue?”

“No Patterson, he doesn't, now get out of here.” The old man's jaw fell farther open to expose cavity-infested teeth. He clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms, still flabbergasted that he had guessed what caused Forrest's silence–or so it seemed.

“You're a liar.”

“Listen old man, why would I lie? Have I ever lied to you before? No, I haven't, now get out of here.” He felt himself getting angry. Patterson continued to move along down the hallway delivering breakfast and harassing others. Trevor rolled over and sat up.

“I can't wait until that old man finds out you can talk.”

“Me either.” Forrest said with a mouth full of pancake. Trevor sat up to eat, pulling the tray closer he tasted the gravy with his finger. It was salty on his tongue but not inedible. People were passing by the door every few minutes; mostly one of the many clones leading prisoners to and from their cells. Suddenly a female voice could be heard distinctly in the hall.

Trevor looked up to see Leslie Taylor right outside talking with one of the other therapists.

“Dr. Taylor, good morning,” Trevor yelled out the door. Dr. Taylor turned toward the voice calling her.

“Good morning, Mr. Wells.”

“I never see you on my end of the building, how are you?” he asked in his most pleasant voice. He set his food to the side and walked to the door.