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The trial was a media battlefield. Reporters, journalists, paparazzi crawling over and around each other, “Do you have any remorse for the victims?” & “Are you sorry for what you have done?” shouted at him every god damn time he entered and left the courthouse. They reminded him of the endless small waves of crabs struggling to get of the buckets he had put them in one of the several times his parents had taken him down to the Shore as a kid. He wanted to tip the bucket back into the sea. He wanted the fun questions from podcasters and fans back, the “How fucked up did you get last night?” & “How many bitches offered to blow you at that party?”.
Inside the courtroom wasn’t much better. The judge was a woman, because of fucking course he would end up with a chick up there with his latest run of luck. She had cold eyes whenever she looked at him or his co-defendant Chris. That had to be grounds for a mistrial there, if this didn’t go his way. Next trial he got, he was gonna piss and moan til he got a swinging dick on the bench. Someone who would see he wasn’t at fault here, that the dumb cunts got the attention they were looking for. He just provided the platform for the attention.
The suit he had to wear for this farce was itchy and loose on his frame, something his mom had found on sale at Dillard’s. The fact that his parent’s didn’t spring for something more high end ate at his ego. Who gave a fuck if he was already burning through their savings on a lawyer? The dipshit they stuck him with wasn’t even good. He was on the world stage here, and Ma & Pa Less couldn’t be assed to find him a fucking Tom Ford.
Didn’t the FBI have anything better to do? Some terrorist plot to overthrow? Or, fuck, doing something about the proliferation of titty fucking super villains showing up in every titty fucking city in the titty fucking US of A? Maybe that would be a more worthy use of the American government’s time than going after a porn site?
It was all her fault. Missy Leads, washed up ‘80’s star fucker, now interfering mega cunt and her sloppy-seconds-is-too-high-a-bar-to-reach slut of a daughter. She was there, every god damn day of the trial. Staring. Smirking. Sighing every time he tried to defend himself on the stand. He dreamed at night that he was strangling her, his hands white knuckled around her tanned throat, her haunting blue eyes bulging up at him. Every night he got to kill her. But every day she showed back up in the courtroom.
It was maddening.
And surprise, surprise, the mega cunt on the bench sided with the mega cunt in the courtroom, & the FBI won their case against freedom in this ‘great’ country.
Colton Less wanted a drink. Colton Less wanted an entire bottle of Crown. Colton Less wanted to have deleted those fucking emails between him and Chris. Colton Less wanted to strangle Missy fucking Leads for real.
Colton Less got 30 months in Blackgate Penitentiary.
The bus ride to Blackgate was unnerving. He was placed in the middle of the bus, hands and ankles shackled together, the shackles attached to a ring between his feet. Overkill. What was he gonna do, take a flying leap out of the steel meshed windows? Fucking stupid.
His mother had cried at sentencing, moaning when Blackgate was mentioned as his home for the next two & a half years. He wanted to shake her, tell her to her dumb fucking face that if she didn’t want her fucking son in fucking prison, she should have put up the fucking money for a god damn lawyer that was worth a piss.
His fucking father had the fucking gall to tell him to be careful in there, like he was too stupid to not get raped or beaten. He wasn’t a fucking bitch. They should know by now he wasn’t a fucking bitch.
God damn, did his fucking parents screw him.
The whole 45 minute ride through the boring ass pastures of rural New Jersey his back prickled, like he was being watched. He carefully maintained his devil-may-care affect, not looking into anyone’s eyes when he glanced around the bus.
These guys wouldn’t fuck with him. He wasn’t attached to any of the ridiculous costumed freaks running around. It would be an easy-peasy vacation of sorts, uninterrupted time to plot his third website, get himself back at the top of the heap. There was no way the grinding machinations of the federal or state governments would write legislation to outlaw revenge porn in the time he spends behind bars.
Add to the fact that serving jail time would seriously bolster his street cred. He would get so much free blow for this. Girls would be lining up around the block to have the chance to get fucked in the ass by him.
Plus, he may just make a friend or two to help him out with the Missy fucking Leads problem. There was no way that there wasn’t a member of The Family in this cavalcade of dumb asses.
Blackgate appeared around a bend in the road, low slung in the Jersey fields, surrounded by barbwire topped fences & guard posts. Colton stretched out his shoulders, already plotting his eventual comeback.
Yeah, there was no way this wouldn’t turn into a win for him.
His cell mate was an average height, average weight, indistinguishable from the masses man named Greg Ricci, who had 5 years left on a 10 year sentence for embezzlement. He barely glanced at Colton as he sorted out his spare orange jumpsuit and toiletries, just hummed a greeting and went back to his thick paper back.
Colton was quietly grateful he wasn’t rooming with one of the hulking monsters he had seen on his walk from the bus to intake. He was expecting more of a Club Fed vibe from Blackgate, but this was manageable. The guards were surely keeping the small time crooks from the insane mass murdering nut bars they also housed.
Greg didn’t say anything again until lights out.
“This your first hitch?” Greg’s voice was surprisingly scratchy, high pitched & buzzing.
“What?” Colton asked, shifting to the edge of his incredibly thin plastic mattress to stare down at his bunk mate. Bored brown eyes on a bored bland face stared back.
Greg answered, voice slightly mocking now, “Is this your first time in prison?” There was the hint of a smile on his forgettable face, average length and width eyebrows slightly raised.
Colton bristled. He wasn’t some dumb kid. He may not have ever been to prison before, but he knew what to expect. Fuck this guy, roommate for the next 30 months or not. He wasn’t gonna be condescended to.
“What’s it to you, fuckstick?” Colton pushed up on an elbow, radiating alpha energy down on this beta clown. He got an even higher eyebrow raise in response.
Greg huffed out a thin laugh, rolling on his side to face the wall. “Oh boy,” he said, buzzy voice slightly muffled by his pillow, “you are not gonna have fun.”
Colton slammed onto his back, shaking the shared bed frame. Fuck this punk ass bitch. Colton was gonna thrive.
Breakfast was at 6 am for his block, a truly horrific thing that Colton learned the next morning. The lights flared on at 5:30, guards making an unholy fucking racket with their batons on the bars.
Colton grimaced, shielding his eyes from the bright lights. He had slept terribly, jerking awake through out the night, confused about why the murky gray ceiling was so close to his face before he remembered where he was. He wanted to cry. He couldn’t cry. He shifted down from the top bunk to piss in the stainless steel bolted-to-the-floor-and-wall toilet instead.
Greg chuckled when he pulled his dick out.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, numb nuts,” Colton muttered, aiming for the bowl, “This dick has seen more pussy than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Greg headed for the sink, only two fucking inches away from where Colton was pissing. He froze, face flaming. Greg laughed again.
“Oh, you’re gonna need to train yourself outta that quick-like, Small Fish,” he said, splashing water on his nobody-will-remember-me face. He turned off the water and shook his head about, flinging water on Colton. Greg tilted his blandass head towards him, saying “You’re gonna want to keep the towels away from your face. They don’t get washed all that often.” He then flashed a small smile to Colton & turned towards door, calling out at greeting to the guard watching from the hall.
Colton shoved his dick back in his scratchy government issued boxers, piss barely shaken from the tip, and scrambled fully into his scratchy government issued jumpsuit.
The guard watched on, silently.
The food was surprisingly good in prison. Not great, like the continental buffets in the 5 star hotels he had stayed in, but, like, actual food. He was expecting literal slop, so Colton counted that as a win.
The crowd in the cafeteria was subdued, hunched over their trays and focused on eating. There was no posturing or power plays like he had imagined, just the clatter of plastic trays and plastic cups and plastic spoons.
There were a lot of guards, like a disproportionate amount to the prisoners mucking though breakfast. Colton shifted uneasily on his plastic-bolted-to-the-concrete-floor seat. His table was empty, save for himself. He was silently grateful for that. He didn’t want to overwhelm himself with more idiots this early in the morning on his first full day in prison.
Greg sat his bland little self in a small knot of other bland little men across the room. He had his stupid ass book with him again, occasionally looking up from it to add to the likely boring ass conversation happening around him. He looked at ease, like every other locked behind bars motherfucker in the room.
Tables were filled around the room with groups of very large men shoveling scrambled eggs in their very scarred faces. They clumped together in groups of three and four, muttering to one another and tracking the guards as they shifted across the floor.
There was only one other man sitting at a table by himself, scarred & surprisingly young compared to the rest of the prisoners eating. His hair was dark brown curls, with a streak of shocking white falling over his left eye. He had an open notebook next to his tray, pen behind his ear as he methodically chewed through his breakfast. The prisoners in the tables around him glanced to him as often as they tracked the guards. The close attention from his fellow inmates, young looking face, and hilariously gay streak in his hair added up to prison bitch for Colton. He was too delicately pretty in the face to be anything else.
Dude might be interested in getting the opportunity to use his mouth for speaking to a fellow inmate, as opposed to being the cock sock he undoubtedly was. Colton mentally marked him down as a possible ally.
Colton relaxed his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. He wasn’t nervous, he was understandably wary. He wasn’t sure who was safe to talk to, who was gonna shank him if he so much as looked their way, who was going to make jokes about dropping the soap in the shower. He focused on the slightly cold breakfast sausage on his tray. He would just keep his head down the first few days, get the lay of the land and see who wouldn’t be a raging jackass.
After breakfast he followed a clump of inmates to his work assignment. The laundry room was muggy and loud, overwhelmingly smelling of bleach. There were machines lining the walls, and no way to tell the difference between washers and dryers.
He stopped in front of a pushcart full of damp towels, not sure where to begin.
“Stop pulling your dick and get a move on, Less,” the guard nearest the door called out, knocking his baton against the door frame.
Colton stared at him, feeling overwhelmed and confused and lost and just, so fucking pissed. He felt the very real threat of tears burning in his throat. Here he was, stuck in the ass end of New Jersey, stuck in a fucking prison, on a nothing charge, being forced to wash the tightie whities of men on a high protein diet for thirteen cents an hour. He didn’t know how to do laundry. He had girlfriends for that, and before them, his fucking mom.
His hands shook. His vision wobbled.
“Jesus, Murphy, and Mary, he’s gonna fucking lose it,” he heard someone say, and Colton twisted around, trying to find the threat, chest tight. No one looked on the edge of hulking out. They were either disinterestedly punching buttons on washers or dryers, or watching him with a disconcerning level of intent.
Oh, they were talking about him .
He stumbled back from the pushcart, hackles raised.
“I don’t know how to use these fucking machines!” he blustered. He drew his shoulders back. “They’re industrial .”
His heart twisted in his chest when the guard pushed off the door frame, stomping over to one of the average little men Greg was breaking his fucking fast with.
“Beem,” he called, prodding the man with his baton, “show the newbie what his mama shoulda 10 years ago.”
Beem slanted a supremely unimpressed look Colton’s way. The guard prodded him again.
“Yes yes, I’m going, fuck.” Beem said, dodging the baton. He made his way to Colton, unzipping the top of his jumpsuit to tie the sleeves around his waist.
“Fucking stuck with the goddamn Small Fish all goddamn day, yes yes, just what I fucking wanted, uh huh.” he muttered, snatching the pushcart. He stared down at Colton.
Colton leaned back, unnerved at the closeness. Fuck sake, laundry shouldn’t be such a fucking production.
Nine hours and $1.17 later, his work detail was over, and the guards hustled their work crew to the yard for two hours of early evening sunshine.
Colton was dripping sweat, fingers pruney and nose stuck on the stench of bleach. He stubbornly kept his jumpsuit zipped up through his shift and it was uncomfortably damp against his skin. He tilted his face up into the weak breeze, mentally congratulating himself on making it through his first shift. He could do this. The first day of anything is the hardest, and Colton Less was a god damn rock . He could withstand anything .
A big, scarred up hand grabbed his shoulder from behind, pulling and shoving him to the hard packed dirt. Colton let out a thin cry, dirt mixing with his sweat to smear mud on his mouth and chin. He twisted unto his back, looking up at his attacker.
It was the lean muscled man the other inmates kept calling ‘Blake’ in the laundry. Colton had thought he wouldn’t be much of a problem. He had been quiet at work, mindlessly folding sheets while Colton fed sopping wads of them into the dryers.
Blake’s shadow fell over him as Colton shivered in the dirt. He leaned down, and fuck, Colton wasn’t ready for his beat in, didn’t want to have to go through this right of passage. He wished desperately for his mother’s kitchen. He would eat her dry as dirt meatloaf to avoid this.
“You’re blocking the door, Small Fish,” Blake said, bored, then turned and marched away. The knot of inmates flowed out of the entrance.
Colton twitched, working hard to catch his breath, panting out wheezes. He was light headed with terror, brain lagging to make sense of where he was, why he was on the ground, why he wasn’t on the other end of a beat down. He wanted his mom . He wanted just one bump . He wanted to be anywhere else.
He scrambled up from the dirt, ignoring the jeers from the other inmates, and made his way to the opposite side of the yard from Blake. There was mud all up his jumpsuit, and he seethed with the indignity. He had mud in his fucking hair . There was no way he could avoid a shower tonight.
He slumped against the chain link fence, wrapping his arms around his knees, turning his head to watch the yard. He was still getting his sea legs. Fucking Blake would be the one cowering in the dirt when Colton got his shit together. He’d be running the yard in a month’s time, easy.
Beem and Greg and their merry little band of dweebs were camped out on the basketball court, playing an enthusiastic game of horse, ignoring the hulking monsters Blake had met up with pumping iron on the weight benches. The curly haired prison bitch was sitting alone on a bench, notebook on his knees and pen tapping away at his lips.
He was watching Colton, eyebrow raised. He smiled, closed his notebook, and walked over to where Colton sat, hunched and fuming. The guards and meat heads tracked his progress across the yard. Greg and his crew paused their game, let out a chorus of laughs, then restarted with Beem throwing a soft elbow into a nameless fuckers rib.
“Quite the tumble you took there, Less,” he said, dropping down to sit in front of him. “And taken down by Catman, no less.” He snorted, shaking his hair back from his face, notebook placed carefully in a scraggly patch of yellowed grass. “I’m Parker,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. He looked at Colton expectantly, eyebrow still raised.
Colton jolted, humiliation from earlier still thrumming through his frame. Just five minutes, he needed just five fucking minutes to himself to get a plan in mind. Oh, this fag-tastic cum dumpster was gonna regret his entire semen drenched life when Colton was done with him.
“Does your fucking boyfriend know you’re talking to another man, bitch?” Colton sneered, dropping his arms and leaning right into the pretty-boy’s face. “I’m not fucking gay , you homo bitch. Go suck someone else’s dick!” He slumped back into the fence, crossing his arms across his chest and staring the cock cowboy down.
The cum guzzler tilted his head, birdlike, confusion deep in his strangely blue and green eyes. “I’m sorry, back up,” he said, huffing a musical laugh. He leaned in, intent, wide friendly grin on his symmetrical face. “Do you think I’m the punk?”
Colton didn’t know how to react. He cringed away, darting his eyes around the yard. Only the guards were watching, hands on batons. He looked back at Parker, smile still on his stupid fucking face.
“What?”
Parker threw his head back, bellowing laughs echoing against the cement walls across the way. Colton saw the guards stiffen, snatching up their walkie talkies, issuing hurried orders into them. They fanned out into a line, marching carefully towards Colton and Parker at the fence, batons out. He heard a blare of an alarm, and the meat heads and forgettable basketball players alike froze where they were.
Colton froze too, stomach dropping, the plot spiraling out of his reach. He just wanted to sit, and now guards were advancing on him, and this crazy ass turd of a human being was just sitting there in front of him, laughing at him.
Parker sighed deeply, shaking his head in what seemed regret. He looked up at Colton, eyes glinting and said “Was planning on being more artful about this, reeling you in softly just to lay you flat, but I guess this works, too.” He leapt up from the ground, giving Colton a quick once over, humming a bit. He reached down, grabbed him by the muddy lapels, and yanked Colton away from the fence. “Say, you’d tell me if you raped anyone, right?”
Colton sagged in his grip. “What?” he asked again.
“Hrn, guess not.” Parker dropped him, spun to face the guards, some fifteen feet away from them. More poured out from the door as the alarm kept screaming.
Colton didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know how he got here. He didn’t know what to do . He sputtered in the dirt, on his knees, hands braced on the ground. The guards kept advancing.
Out of nowhere, Parker slammed his leg back, cheap sneakers crunching Colton’s nose in. He shrieked, blood pouring into his mouth, hands clutching at his ruined face. The guards sprinted the rest of the way forward as Parker dropped to his knees, hands laced behind his head.
“Not gonna be a problem, Hoss,” he called out. He turned his head to catch Colton out the corner of his bright eyes. “Least not to y’all.” Two guards yanked him up to his feet, as two others snagged his arms and laced zip ties around his wrists.
The shortest of the guards got up into Parker’s face, grim. “Fuck’s sake, Row, could you please be on good behavior? I will burn down that shit hole you call home if I have to fill out one more incident report because of you,” he barked, chest heaving.
“No can do, Ramos,” Parker replied breathlessly. “Gotta keep the working schmoes sharp.” The four guards on him started marching him back to the prison. “Hey Ramos!” he called out, twisting his head back. “Be a pal and grab my notebook, would you? I was in major flow before I was so rudely interrupted.” The guards escorting him shook him. “Hey, come on guys! Easy on the merchandise!”
As they passed the meat heads surrounded by the extra guards, Blake cried out “Thanks a fucking lot, Hood, you dick! Cut fucking yard time short a-fucking-gain!”
Parker barked another laugh. “Hey, Catman! You really gotta get out of here man, and get your feline soul mate under control!” He dug his soft soled shoes into the dirt, stopping the guards in their tracks. He leaned across them to continue yelling at Blake. “She’s been hooking up with my dad, and little birdies really don’t need to be exposed to that!”
Another guard walked over to where Parker was stopped and slammed his baton into his stomach. He folded over, groaning. “Cheap shot, fucko.” The guards dragged him back inside, Parker staggering, guards surrounding him.
Ramos, watching the progression from the fence, sighed. He bent over to grab Parker’s notebook, shaking the dirt from it. He rubbed under his eye and motioned a guard to him. “Bring Less to the infirmary. Let’s get this clown show on the road.”
Colton shook on the ground, mind trying to make sense of what happened, tears streaming down his face to mix with the blood and mud he was coated with. He wanted to go home .
He made it back to his cell three hours later with a splint on his nose and two black eyes blooming. He was still muddy, having missed shower time on account of the incompetent, slow ass nurses in the infirmary. Greg took one look at him and laughed.
“I don’t know who you pissed off to get sent here with him, but by God! Am I ever glad to see it!” He turned the page on his novel, feet kicking over the edge of his bed.
“Fuck off, you little bitch.” Colton’s voice was still raspy from the screaming, stomach roiling from a combination of humiliation and the blood he had inadvertently swallowed earlier. “He’ll probably be in solitary long enough that he’ll forget about me calling him a prison bitch.” He kicked out at the bed frame, sending a shudder through the metal. He smiled sharply at the glare Greg sent him. “How was I supposed to know? He looks like he takes it up the ass.”
He slumped up onto his bed, wrapping the thin blanket around him, trying so hard forget about this whole stupid, awful day.
Greg stood up, watching him. “You poor son of a bitch, you have no idea how fucking awful your life is about to become.” He shook his head, stretching his back out with a low groan.
Colton watched him through narrowed eyes. “What?”
“They stopped sending chomos and rapists to Blackgate after the first month of Row being here. What in the holy fuck charge did your suburban ass catch to get his attention?”
Colton curled up tighter, overwhelmed, confused, scared. He wanted, with a desperation that left him dizzy, someone to be on his side. He sniffed back tears, grimacing at the pain in his nose.
“I was convicted of hacking. It was bullshit . Some dumb bitch got the fucking FBI involved just because her daughter didn’t like my website.” He looked over at Greg. “I was railroaded .”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Let me guess: You filled your website with girl’s hacked nudes?”
“There were dude’s on there, too.” He huffed, rolling onto his back to stare at the gray, gray ceiling.“Parker’s probably just pissed he lost his opportunity to look at free dicks, the cheap shottin’ cock sleeve. I didn’t do anything! And I sure as fuck didn’t do anything to his gay ass. Picking on me just cuz I’m the new guy!” The whole yard fiasco wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve a broken nose and a mild concussion for that. It was an easy assumption to make. Fucking asshole.
He heard the slap of Greg’s feet on the cement floor, head now level with Colton’s.
“I need you to understand something, you out of your depth fucking child . The Red Hood has you in his sights, rightfully, and you are gonna be real fucking quiet about it,” Greg enunciated slowly. “ He focuses his attention on you, that means he’s not picking fights with the Big Fish and the guards, which means we get less lock downs.” Greg shook his head, a pained look sliding over his face. “Christ, at this point, I would eat a guard’s shoes to finish a basketball game.”
Colton shot up in the bed, ducking his head at the last moment to avoid the low ceiling. “You motherfucker! I get shafted just so you can play your gay ass game? Fuck you! I don’t deserve this! I got rights!”
Greg’s face twisted up in mock pity. “Hood thinks you deserve it. Poor baby. Get used to being his punching bag. But keep your fucking mouth shut.” He slammed his palms against the bed frame, jolting it against the wall. He laughed meanly at the cry Colton let out, then clambered back onto his bunk.
“What the fuck kinda name is Red Hood anyway? All of them costumed freaks have the dumbest names and gayest costumes. Fucking making life more difficult for regular people,” Colton grumbled under his breath.
“You’re gonna want to be careful who you say that around, Small Fish.”
“Or what? ‘Red Hood’ gonna get his feelings hurt?” he sneered. Fucking overcompensating dick wad.
Greg laughed again. “Uh, no. I was thinking about all the other ‘costumed freaks’ that you’re locked up with.”
Parker Row spent three days in solitary for his stunt in the yard, and Colton Less spent three days petrified, looking over his shoulder for Parker’s inmate admirer's to sneak up on him. He also spent those three days trying to get a meeting with his lawyer to get a meeting with the warden to get him transferred the fuck outta Blackgate. It was not going well.
Breathing was not going well either. Neither nostril was open enough to take a full breath, so Colton had to go around open mouthed, making the “fish” catcalls ramp up. The entirety of his face ached, from forehead to jaw. The limp dick nurses only gave him three ibuprofen the night of his broken nose and nothing else. He had a dinky little prescription for three more every six hours, but the guards were apathetic at best about bringing him them. It was a human rights violation. They were torturing him here. He would kill for some special K.
On the fourth morning, Parker strutted his annoying ass back into the cafeteria, wet hair dripping down onto the back of his washed out orange jumpsuit, tray filled with sausage and eggs and fruit.
Across the room he saw Blake throw his spork down, glaring hotly at Parker.
“Hey there, Catman! You miss me?” Parker called out, winking at Blake.
“Fuck you, Bat Junior!”
Colton hunched over his tray, trying to disappear into the mass of bodies in the cafeteria. His hands shook as he stared down to his syrup soggy pancakes.
A chair scraped out across from him. He refused to look up, gripping his spork tighter. A tray filled with sausage, eggs, and fruit slapped down on the table, one purple grape jumping out of its bowl to roll and bump into the scrambled eggs. Long fingers, scarred at the knuckle, picked it up.
“You know, pancakes are an absolute sugar bomb, shit at keeping your energy up. In two hours, you’re gonna crash hard, friend-o,” Parker said, popping the grape in his mouth. He sprawled in his chair, smirking at Colton, smacking his lips loudly around the grape.
“Fuck’s sake, I’m sorry about the other day man, I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Colton gasped out, staring up at Parker. His eyes darted from his face to the rest of the room, searching for a guard. The nearest was five tables away, talking into his walkie talkie, scratching his balding head. He thrummed with nerves.
“Fuck, wait a sec, man my hair’s still wet,” Parker said, shoving his tray aside.
“What?”
Parker leaned over the table, head dripping over Colton’s tray and shook his upper body. Fat water droplets splattered onto his pancakes, onto Colton’s face.
Colton gagged as Parker leaned back, syrup mixing with the water, pancakes now mush on his tray. Parker pulled his tray back to him and speared a clump of yellow eggs on his spork.
“You’re gonna want to avoid the towels. They’re not washed all that often,” he said, sly grin on his face. Colton heaved, face aching with the motion. He shoved his tray down the length of the table, stomach too sensitive to look at the mess of food.
“Now, where were we?” He shoved the eggs in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, before pointing his spork in Colton’s face. “Right, you think I’m all butt hurt over you confusing me for the punk. I’m not. Prison punk plays an important role in any jailhouse ecosystem, ya know, so long as it’s consensual,” he said, setting the spork down on his tray. “I am confused as to why you looked at a six foot, 2 inch brick shit house and thought ‘That’s the guy I gotta see about getting my dick sucked.’” His face twisted up in contemplation. “Is it the baby face? It’s the baby face, right?” He leaned back, face falling into a look of mock hurt. “Can’t help it if I got a youthful mug.”
Colton tried to wrap his head around this development. Parker was being friendly, if you overlooked him ruining his breakfast. His posture was open and non threatening. Maybe he was just pissed at being accused of being the jailhouse bike, and after three days in the hole, he calmed down. Maybe all that ‘Red Hood’ crap was just that. Crap. Maybe Parker wanted the company of someone closer in age to him. Most of the dudes in here had to have at least twenty years on the both of them. Maybe Greg was a punk ass bitch that didn’t know shit about shit. He uncurled himself from over the table.
“It was actually, um, your hair,” he coughed out, trying at a smile.
Parker frowned, and Colton jolted back. “So, what? You think everyone with curls is gay? That’s fucking stupid.”
“No, it’s, ah, the streak.” He tried smiling again, even though his nerves twanged sharply. He could clear this up. Parker had to be reasonable.
Parker’s face scrunched in disgust. “That’s a medical condition, you sack of shit.” He scowled across the table and Colton hunched over again.
“What?”
“Ya know, side effect of a pit of magical goo, you insensitive fuck.” He waved it away, eyebrows still lowered, seemingly looming from his seat. “We’re getting way off track here.”
“What?”
Parker tapped his spork on his tray, eyes boring into Colton’s. He tried to look away, but something deep in his lizard brain screamed at him to keep his eyes on the threat across from him. A pained look crossed Parker’s face, and he leaned forward, plunking an elbow down.
“Look. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to justify killing you.”
Colton’s body seized, and the cafeteria went wavy, the murmuring of voices around him snapping abruptly out of focus. He could feel his heart shuddering in his chest. He was panting, hard, trying unsuccessfully for deep breaths.
He felt a sharp smack across his bruised left cheek, and watched as Parker drew his arm back. Parker moved as if he were underwater, head tilting in a slow roll. Colton’s heart thudded.
He came back slowly, each piece of sensory information clanking painfully back into place. Parker was talking to a guard, head still tilted, gestures soft. His voice screeched across his mind.
“Yeah yeah, man, just trying to clear the air. No need having beef with the Small Fish, ya know? Had a bit of a panic attack, but he’s fine, we’re fine.” His head tipped down, eyes boring back into Colton’s. The bright smile on his face was at odds with the unnervingly intense look in his eyes, and Colton was suddenly sure that this dude who looked like he was barely old enough to drink legally was weapons grade insane. Parker’s foot nudged his under the table and he shrieked, clutching at his chest.
He could feel every eye in the room on him, on their table. He felt the sharp sting of humiliation again.
“Row.” There was a clear warming in the guard’s tone, hand twitching on his baton.
Parker waved it off. “Dude’s fine. Just a little spooked to be talking to the Red Hood.” He smiled sweetly up at the guard, his face a picture of innocence. “Really, just trying to sort out our differences.”
The guard sighed, glancing over at Colton, then turning his attention back to Row. “No incident reports.” He turned and walked back to his post.
“You guys should really go paperless, better for the environment,” Parker called out after him, smug grin in place. He turned his attention back to Colton.
“Jesus, dude, get your shit together. There’s no way in hell you’ve never had a death threat leveled at you. Also, you’re fucking rude. This makes the second time I’ve tried to talk to you where you fly off the handle.” He tapped a finger down on the table. “Now, lets get this conversation back on track, again .”
Colton’s eyes darted around the room. The guards were all at their posts, none paying special attention to their table. The meat heads glanced occasionally at them, bodies tense. The dweebs, save for Greg, were intent on their food. Greg smiled at him, waggling his fingers, then turned back to his table mates.
Parker snapped his fingers under his nose. Colton’s attention snapped back to him.
“The public accusations against you are heinous, but only beat down heinous. Was why my first thought was to befriend you, finesse out whether you got other skeletons in your closet.” He pointed a finger towards Colton. “ You fucked that plan. You coulda had an easy month of no pain.” He sighed heavily. “But alas. Plan A never survives first contact with the enemy. So, death by a thousand cuts, I guess.” He settled back in his seat, villain monologue apparently over. “Metaphorically, at least.”
Colton choked on his spit. He couldn’t feel his fingertips. “Why are you doing this to me? I didn’t do anything!” he sputtered out.
Parker groaned, eyes rolling. “Are you really this dense?”
“Fine! Fine! I’m fucking sorry for the hacking! Jesus! But, fuck! Anybody in my position would have done the same damn thing! I didn’t take those pictures! It’s not my fault! You have to see it my way! I only took advantage of an opportunity . I’m an entrepreneur! No one actually got hurt, and thousands of people actually benefited. I built a c ommunity .” His bowels felt loose. Sweet fuck, he was actually going to shit his pants defending his life.
Parker slow blinked at him, looking thrown. “Boy howdy, are you ever high off your own shit.” He blew out a massive breath, white curls puffing up and out.
“I can get you bitches. Any flavor. Dudes too, if, uh, if that’s what you like. Drugs, just fuck off massive mounds of fucking drugs. Molly, special K, coke, smack. What ever you want, I can get. Just please, I am fucking sorry, so so so so sorry!” He was sweating. The cafeteria was boiling hot, and he was just pouring sweat. It dripped from his ears .
Parker looked unimpressed by his pleas. “You are embarrassing.” His voice was bone dry, face impassive.
Colton lurched across the table, grasping Parker’s sleeve. Quicker than his eyes could follow, Parker gripped his pinky, bending until he felt the bones shift alarmingly. Colton let out a thin whine, and Parker threw his hand down one the table with a reverberating thunk.
“Hands to yourself, twat waffle,” he barked. He seemed to grow even larger in his seat, eyes burning.
Colton gripped the edge of the table, trying to keep his seat.
“Money!” he gasped out. “I can get so so much money. You might have to wait for a bit, but I got an idea that will make millions , billions really. And you can have, like, half of it.” What the fuck, this guy had to want something .
Parker slumped back in his chair, running his hand down his face. “Oh, cheese and crackers, will you stop!” He leaned in, incredulous. “First off, my whole fucking shtick is keeping scumbags from trading ‘bitches’, of all flavors. Also, pretty prominently anti-drug. Secondly, b oth of my parents are billionaires, you fucking casual, and I’m fucking independently wealthy.” He groaned, long and low and terrifying . He looked genuinely confused. “How do you not know how this works? How are you not getting this?”
Colton just stared at him. He had no cards left to play, nothing of value to offer this horrifying barely post-pubescent man.
“So, here’s how this is gonna go,” Parker said, tap tap tapping his fingers down on the table. “I’m not gonna kill you. I am going hurt you everyday. Only a little, though. Keep your shorts on.”
Colton’s breath hissed out between his teeth, stomach roiling dangerously.
“Unless I got something else going on that day.” Parker twirled his spork, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, busy schedule. Lots of pokers in the fire, you know how it is.” He took a sip of black coffee, glancing around him. “Now piss off. Your whole mien is putting me off my breakfast.”
“What?”
Parker’s face seized up in anger, fists settling on the table. He leaned in, hissing out, “You ever say anything else? Fuck off, Less. Get your tray, and get gone.”
Colton shoved his chair back, shooting to his feet and snatching his tray. Every table in the room was filled, unsympathetic faces all around him. He had no where to go.
He shuffled his way to the trash can, dumped his ruined pancakes, and made his way to the exit. He plunked down on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, waiting for the guards to shuffle them off for work detail. He wanted to cry. His stomach lurched again.
The next three months were simply torture. True to his word, Parker found him everyday and doled out some little hurt. Some days it was as small as getting a swirly in a dirty toilet. When his nose healed, Parker re-broke it. He had been stabbed in the thigh leaving his shift at the laundry. In a group of inmates! Under watch of guards! He couldn’t figure out how Parker had managed to slip in unseen to do it. He couldn’t even enjoy the yard time that day, due to the infirmary visit.
Colton was coming to realize that the waiting was the worst part. It could come at any time, from any direction. His body would simultaneously tense and relax when he saw Parker’s profile, when he felt long, scarred at the knuckles fingers grip him. The only place he was safe was in his cell, wrapped in his blankets.
His fan mail was dropping off. Some fucking family. He was pretty sure his letters weren’t getting out. The ones he got in were heavily redacted. His mother stopped visiting once weekly, which wasn’t that awful, considering she spent every visit crying, like she was the one in pain. He wasn’t allowed on the computers in the library.
The guards ignored Parker’s campaign, explaining away his injuries as accidents. After the stabbing, Colton told Ramos, he fucking went to Ramos and told him it was Parker. Fucking Ramos said, “That’s not provable in a court of law.” and that Colton should just “Shut his fucking mouth and stop trying to rock the fucking boat.”
Every day was a painful, mindless shuffle to the next. He flinched at every sound, every shadow. He lost twenty pounds, and was on track to lose more. His sleep schedule was non-existent.
Ninety-two days of torture.
When he was called to the family room for visitation, Colton was confused. And wary. He had learned in the first month to never trust a break from the gray pattern of his new normal. His mother had visited the day before, despairing over his thinness and general unkempt look. It couldn’t be her. His father never set foot in Blackgate. His bitch of an ex fucked off to New York before the trial even started. He shuffled in the room, flinching when he spotted Parker lounging in a chair at a table in the back corner of the room.
He flinched again when Parker waved him over.
“No no no no no no no,” he murmured, shaking where he stood. The guard behind him shoved him further into the room. He stumbled over his feet, choking back the tears.
“Hey, over here! Less! Come meet my mom!”
Colton drew towards the table, stopping more than an arm’s length away from him. Parker leaned over and snatched the leg of his jumpsuit, yanking him closer.
“Sit down, idiot. Be fucking polite.” He looked over at the woman sharing the table. “You have to give him clear instructions. Won’t do anything right if you don’t.”
Colton dropped into the seat. Across from him was the most beautiful woman he ever seen. She had big, almond shaped green eyes with shapely arched brows. Her cheekbones were high and round, giving her a look of youth. Her lips were dark pink and lush, set above a softly pointed chin. Shining, dark brown waves of hair fell over the shoulders of her muted pink pantsuit. She wore gold on her wrists, at her neck, in her ears. Colton kept his eyes firmly cut over her right shoulder. He was afraid of what Parker would do if he looked any lower or closer.
“Abn, what is this trash you make me meet?” Her voice was lightly accented and musical. Her beautiful face was twisted in displeasure. “You finally allow me to visit you, and it isn’t even in private.” Colton shrunk down in his seat.
“New project. Ignore him. He needs to hear this.” He propped his elbow on the chair back, drawing his foot on to his seat. “So, how are my requests coming along?” he intoned.
“You are exhausting, rohi,” she said, spreading long, light brown fingers across the table top. They tapped in a light pattern. The nails were painted nude. “The medical bills of this maggot’s victims have been paid off. The images from his disgusting website have been scrubbed from the internet to the best of Faizan’s ability. There is a no fly order in place on his name from most of the Earth’s governments.” She sighed, lacing her fingers together. “Is this all you had wanted from me, rohi? Would you also like me to lasso down the moon to better please you?”
“T,” Parker said, but his mom cut him off.
“No,” she said, cold. “In the year you have been here, you do not write, you do not call, you ignore my summons. Now, when you need something, ‘alraja' musaeadati, 'umiy’ is all that I hear.” She leaned forward. “How long until I see your face again? Hear the voice of my son? You deprive me of my only comforts.”
Parker looked stricken. He placed a hand on hers, one palm completely covering both of hers. They gazed at one another.
“I’m sorry,” Parker whispered. “Thank you for helping me, T.”
“It is a child’s purpose to break their mother’s heart,” she said, smiling softly at her son. “You look well, abn.”
“I’m doing well. Summer camp’s a ton of fun.”
She scoffed.
Parker slung an arm around Colton’s shoulders, and he gasped, trying to scramble away. “Ain’t my mom the friggin’ best? She got all this done in just three months!” He grabbed Colton by the chin, jerking his face towards the statuesque goddess across the table. She glared back. He hissed in Colton’s ear, fingers digging in his jaw, “She’s second in command of an entire league of highly trained, intensely loyal assassins. Say thanks to her for taking time out of her jam packed schedule to clean up your mess.”
“Thank you ma'am,” Colton choked out. The entire room fell away into staticy shapes and shadows, only the two threats at the table visible, one a dark and cold gold, the other a burning orange.
Parker pushed his head back, and Colton wrapped his arms around his chest. He wanted to go back to his cell.
Parker delicately picked up one of his mother’s hands, soft smile on his face again, and said “Thank you, Umi.”
She twisted her hand out of his grip, spinning it around to grasp his wrist. Colton whined, terrified as she pulled Parker across the table. Parker’s soft smile didn’t fall.
“You cannot molder here forever, rohi.” Her voice was a soft hiss, their movements blocked from the rest of the room by her body. Colton trembled, memories of guards advancing, batons out. “There is work that needs doing outside.” She stroked her hand across his cheek. “Kill him and come back to the real world. There is much that needs to be done.”
Parker let out a gentle laugh, sliding his wrist from her grip. He patted her hand, standing from his chair, stretching his arms up. “Sorry, T, got inescapable plans for the next twenty seven months. Maybe less if fuck stick over here stays on good behavior.”
Parker kicked out at Colton’s chair, and the sharp movement refocused Colton’s attention. He scrambled up, cringing away from the table, Parker leading the way. He didn’t know where to look, the threat at his back or the threat in front. Parker’s mother watched them leave over her shoulder, eyes never leaving him, disgust coating her face.
He was never going to be free, was he? Like Parker said, he had twenty seven months left on his sentence, less if his good behavior streak kept up, but now he was in the cross hairs of a woman who had fucking assassins on speed dial. Who would, apparently, do anything for her unhinged and cruel son.
In the hall outside the family visitation room, Parker had slowed, letting Colton catch up. He slung his arm around his shoulder again, leaning in to growl, “Forget her face. You never fucking saw her.” He then grabbed Colton by the back of his over long, greasy hair and lit it on fire.
Colton didn’t start screaming until he saw Parker round the corner of the hall.
Colton spent more and more of his free time in the library. He had stopped going out to the yard. Too open. Parker could come from any direction there. Parker was never in the library, though. Parker was everywhere, and nowhere, but he was never in the library. Old Colton would have scoffed and said that it was probably because he couldn’t read. New Colton knew , though. New Colton knew in his bones that it was because Parker was kind. Parker was allowing him to carve out another small little sanctuary in Blackgate. He had his bed in his cell, and his plastic chair in the library. He could be in either place, and finally think of anything other than Parker.
He didn’t even read the books that he held open in his hands. Just stared at the black letters on off white paper, imagining he had a different life. Any life. Fuck, maybe he could be freshwater shrimp.
The severe buzz cut he was now rocking took some getting used to, but at least his hair before was long enough that the fire racing up the strands was put out long before it hit skin. He was going to grow it out again. Just in case. But he could no longer hide behind it, childishly thinking that as long as he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him.
He stopped going to visitation with his mom. The hall leading to the room permanently smelled of smoke now. Colton couldn’t stomach it.
He had his own collection of scars, now. Stab wounds and slices, mostly. He had lost another ten pounds, food no longer tasting right, the scent of bleach permanently stuck in his nose. Also, it was hard to chew when he was missing five teeth from the right side of his mouth. The guards hadn’t issued him new jumpsuits to fit his emaciated frame yet. He looked awful, he knew that.
He felt overexposed in front of the other inmates, in front of the guards. He keep his baggy jumpsuits zipped all the way up, never rolling up the sleeves, no matter how hot it got in the laundry room. He washed quickly, timing his showers for when the least amount of inmates were around. It didn’t feel right to let anyone else see what he was being carved into. Parker wasn’t done. Colton was a half finished statue, constantly craving and dreading the chisel.
In almost every room Parker wasn’t, Colton searched for him. Was he hiding under that table? Was he shifting with the line of guards? Was he clinging to the ceiling above, ready to drop down unexpectedly?
In every room Parker was in, he watched him, eyes never leaving him. Colton could map out the entirety of Parker’s form now, easy. He knew almost every dip and divot of that man. Was he going to strike now, as Colton sat stiff and staring in the rec room, blare of the TV drowning out everything but Parker’s breath? Or now, as Colton poked at his oatmeal, spork leaving thick furrows in it’s wake?
At night, he wrapped himself completely in his thin, scratchy, gray blanket. In that cocoon, he dreamed of Parker, draped in his mother’s gold, surrounded by masses of men in black robes, chisel and hammer in hand. His eyes glinted. His chisel gleamed. Parker waited before a block of stone.
It all came to a head on a stormy late afternoon. Yard time was canceled, and the library was closed on account of a heavy leak in the nonfiction section. The TV was on, some home improvement show. Colton found the noises of it soothing, the ‘Ooooohs’ and ‘Aaaaahs’ of unexpected discovery, of building a perfect home. He didn’t like when the hosts found something bad, though. Those sounds of disgust and annoyance scraped across his raw skin.
He sat in his plastic chair, watching, mesmerized as Parker hung from the railing on the level above, doing pull ups. The upper half of his jumpsuit was tied around his waist, but Colton could see the muscles in his back through the sweat soaked wife beater underneath. It was stone, Parker’s carving complete, a statue finished.
“I hope you break your neck, you little fuck!” Blake called up at him. Colton hunched further into himself, stomach dropping as Parker hung one handed above, glaring down at Blake. He pulled his body up, letting go and twisting around in the air, only to catch himself on the edge again, now facing out.
“Is Catman jealous?” he crooned, only slightly out of breath. He swung himself back and forth, releasing his grip to execute a beautiful flip in midair, landing behind Blake and his knot of meatheads. “Just cuz it’s raining doesn’t mean you can slack off on conditioning, you fucking furry.” He slunk off to his empty table, wiping the sweat away from his face with a stack of paper napkins.
He was deep in a stretch when a breaking news alert sounded from the TV. Every eye in the room snapped to the screen.
A dark haired woman in jeans and a rain poncho stood in front of a line of cop cars, blue and red lights flashing in a wave. The wind tugged at her umbrella. The rain hissed over her voice.
“I’m outside the city limits of Gotham, where an earthquake rocked the Diamond District. Officials are saying it may have topped a 7 on the Richter scale.”
“Turn it up,” Parker bayed out, eyes intense on Ramos holding the remote. His whole body seemed to vibrate, motions jerky and the whites of his eyes visible.
“Not a chance, Row.” He raised the remote, shutting the TV off. The inmates groaned around him. “No Gotham excitement for you.” He motioned to the guards in the guard station across the room and lifted his walkie talkie up. “Moving Row now,” he spoke into it.
He crossed the room, guards meeting him at Row’s table. “Come on, you know the drill. To the hole.” He pulled out his zip ties, guards around Row brandishing their batons.
“Man, fuck you Ramos,” Parker spat, allowing the guards to manhandle him.
They marched him out of the room, Blake crying out after them, “Fucking ruining TV time now, you fucking dick!”
Colton’s body sighed in relief. Parker hadn’t gotten him today. Who knew how long a would be stuck in the hole? Who knew how long this reprieve would last? Colton would be safesafesafesafesafe , maybe for days .
He laughed, wrapping his arms around his chest, all alone at his table.
Greg was twitchy that night as they got ready for bed. Everyone had been really, the storm that was still raging driving everyone a little stir crazy.
At dinner, the meatheads were tense, constantly glancing up, shoveling food in their mouths as if it would disappear if they weren’t quick enough. Even the dweebs were feeling it. No lighthearted conversations happening at that table, no siree Bob. They stayed close to one another, gave the meatheads and guards alike a wide berth.
Colton luxuriated. No eyes were on him. He could smell the sharp bite of the salad dressing on his wilted lettuce, the reek of bleach finally leaving his crooked nose. He ate as much of his portion as he could stomach.
When the shout of “Light’s out!” sounded, he wrapped himself up in his blanket, curled tightly, and imagined the soft days ahead.
He was woken, way ahead of schedule by a harsh “Fuck!” His body tried to curl up, but his hands and ankles were tied to the rails of his bed. His thin mattress was missing, his back flat against the cold metal. He felt fabric in his mouth, the knot of it tied at the back of his head. He whined. Not even an entire fucking day .
“Sorry, Ricci,” he heard Parker say, sounding genuinely remorseful. “You don’t want the guards to think you were a party to this.”
“Can’t you just tie me up, too?” Greg’s voice was even scratchier in the middle of the night. Colton heard him shifting on the bed below.
“OK, sure. So why didn’t you call out for help for your cellie?” Parker countered. There was a metallic tapping.
A soft hum. “Uh, I was terrified? Scared for my life and limbs?”
Parker laughed. “Cute. You’re gonna wake up in a few hours with what feels like a fucking monster hang over. Sorry, man.”
The was a short cry, then the sound of the blanket rustling. Parker popped his head over the bar of Colton’s bed, waggling a hammer by his head.
“No no no no no no no,” Colton moaned around his gag.
“Oh, good. I wanted you awake for this.” He grinned in the low light coming from the hall outside. He hopped up on the bed, planting himself next to Colton’s knees.
“Right now, there’s a power issue down in the electric room. Storm must have blown out some breakers. Got a fair few of the more mechanically inclined guards down there, trying to keep this place lit up.”
Colton blinked up at him, lungs wheezing.
“Also, Catman just fucking lost his shit a half hour ago.” There was false pity in his voice, a fond look on his face. “Poor guy is getting his shit rocked by a fair few of the more athletically inclined guards as. We. Speak.” He punctuated each word with jabs from the hammer to Colton’s ribs. His blood froze, body stiffened.
“I knocked out the guards patroling this block.” His feet swung back and forth, back and forth. “We got plenty of time to fit twenty six months of small pains into one night. Sorry, pally-o. Gotta blow this popsicle stand.” His smile was bright. Colton’s heart squeezed .
Parker jumped down from the bed and drug a plastic chair from the rec room over. It’s legs screeched across the floor. “Now, I wanna be clear. I know you, rightfully, won’t believe me, but I don’t actually enjoy hurting people.” He climbed up on the chair, situated back by Colton’s knees. He leveled the hammer at his face. “I’m not, like, a sociopath.” He let out a musical laugh. “I honestly get a little squeamish with gore.” He patted Colton’s thigh with his free hand, blowing out a regretful breath. “I know what it’s like, you know. I was beaten half to death once. True story! The jackass did it all wrong though.” He reached up, patted his cheek.
Colton watched him, curiously separate from his own body. He knew the pain that was coming was going to be leagues beyond what he had already gone through. He hoped it would be over soon.
“The jackass went for the bones, soft tissue. Painful, yes. Ultimately, not much lasting damage with prompt and proper medical attention. You know, you break your femur, you get it treated, your femur heals! Maybe it aches when it rains,” Parker mused. “Millions of people in the world right now, walking around on their previously broken femurs, not making a noticeable change in their day-to-day life.” He grabbed Colton’s left knee, fingers digging painfully into the patella.
Colton gasped, eyes leaking. He shook the knee. Colton felt it. Colton didn’t feel it. Colton was stone.
“I’m gonna do some redecoration at your joints. Knees, ankles, elbows, shoulders, wrists. Pretty sure I won’t have enough time to get to your fingers, and the hip joint would be too much work. Ah, c’est la vie.”
Colton waited to crumble. He breath came out in pants. His body twitched. Parker tapped the hammer lightly against his knee. He screamed.
At the end of it all, Colton was drifting tightly wound in his blanket above his mangled body. Parker looked tired, hammer and jumpsuit bloody. He dropped it to the ground, groaning. He hopped off the chair, his high high perch above his finished statue on the bed. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, stretching out his shoulders.
“Well, I’d like to says it’s been fun, but it truly hasn’t. What a fucking hassle. Pretty sure I’m gonna leave some civilians with nightmares going out like this.” He gestured at his torso, splashed with Colton’s blood.
Colton agreed. Parker was good at giving nightmares. This had been a hassle.
He curled up tighter within himself. It was complete.
“OK, so don’t forget: scary mom with ninjas who loves her son very much. Her son hates you, and has the resources to track you down and do this all over again if you can’t act like a decent human being once you’re released.” He waggled the hammer. Colton screamed.
He tossed the hammer and it landed with a clang by Colton’s ear. He sobbed.
“You can keep the hammer. Little something special to remember me by.” He grabbed a duffle bag sitting on the floor by the door. He turned back towards the statue on the bed, back lit by the lights in the hall. His teeth flashed in it as he said, “Be good, Less.” He turned, slung the duffle over his (intact, not crushed, perfect) shoulder, and sauntered down the hall.
Parker Row, inmate no. 26879-HD, alias Red Hood, escaped Blackgate Penitentiary sometime between 1 AM and 4 AM ET, on Thursday, June 22 nd , 2018.
Colton Less was transferred out of Blackgate two months later.