III
Deputy Hollins does not make good on his threat to drag Johann through the streets, but once again hauls him through the dark underpass. Upon returning to the jailhouse Johann is greeted by two things: a new cell, farther away from the other inmates, and his attorney. Hollins shoves Johann into his cell and locks the door behind him.
“I’ll leave you two alone to get to know each other,” he chuckles as he walks away.
Johann’s attorney extends his hand from outside the hallway through the steel bars. “As I said in the courthouse, my name is William Morrow. I will be representing you throughout the upcoming trial. I have reviewed your file, but is there anything else you would like to tell me that may be useful to me in preparing my defense?”
William waits patiently for a response that does not come. “Mr. Vickers, in order for me to help you, you must talk to me. The evidence against you, while purely circumstantial, is fairly damning. The cops found a screaming girl with bite marks on her neck who described you in vivid detail. Then you were picked up less than a mile from the scene. If there’s any hope for you, you have trust me.” These words pass through Johann like smoke through a keyhole. “Very well Mr. Vickers. We shall try again tomorrow. And perhaps I can arrange a visit with your wife and son.” These words appear to soften Johann ever so slightly, and William hesitates as he rises to leave.
“Stay,” Johann says. The syllable is a command, but there is more than a hint of pleading. Johann repeats his directive, adding a dose of cordiality. “Please stay. Just until the dinner hour.” William can hear the desperation in the man’s voice, so he slowly sits back down, consenting to the request.
“I’ll stay under the condition that you talk to me, Mr. Vickers. If you don’t want to talk about your case that’s fine. But you have to talk to me about something, or else I’m simply wasting my time here.”
Johann folds his hands under his chin as if in prayer. The irony of this would make William laugh in a different circumstance, but the pain on his client’s face shoves any thought of humor down into the pit of his stomach.
After much deliberation, Johann finally speaks. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what exactly, Mr. Vickers?”
“Helping me. Why are you helping me?”
“Because that is my job.”
“You despise me and my kind,” Johann says, flatter than month old soda.
Without Hesitation William counters, “That’s untrue, Mr. Vickers. I’m a man of the law. What I despise is injustice. Now I may not understand you, or your kind as you say, but I am attempting to remedy that at this very moment. Getting to know you will only enable me to be more effective in helping you get out of here. I know that there are certain longstanding preconceived notions about how our relationship should work, but I assure you, those notions disappear inside these walls. I’m here to help you and my feelings about who or what you are will not impact my desire to do so, positively or otherwise.”
Johann does not speak, but his eyes betray that he is listening. “You assume that I want your help, Mr. Morrow.
William expels a long sigh that is cut off by a sound coming from down the hall. With a glance to his left he sees Deputy Hollins ambling towards them toting the familiar silver hook and bag. “Get my client a glass, Jake. He is not a zoo animal.”
Hollins continues forward, his sizeable body effortlessly deflecting William’s words. But the attorney’s continued stare penetrates the deputy’s lard armor. The deputy rolls his eyes, but does an about face and heads back down the hallway.
“I don’t need a glass,” says Johann. “I will just be happy to have it not end up on the floor.”
“It is not a matter of what you need, Mr. Vickers. It is a matter of what your rights entitle you to.”
Deputy Hollins reappears holding a glass in one hand, and the pouch in the other. William takes them from him and dismisses him with a wave of his head. Hollins stands there briefly, glancing between Johann and William before departing without a word. After he disappears, WIlliam meticulously tears at the pouch until it opens ever so slightly. He then pours the content into the glass, careful not to let it touch him and ensuring that every last drop finds its way into the nearly full glass.
“Here you are, Mr. Vickers. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll let you leech in private. But I will see you again tomorrow morning. I’ll be here before the AM breakfast hour, and I’ll speak to Deputy Hollins about making sure that you’re able to leech three times a day, just like the other inmates. Good night, sir.”
Johann tears his gaze from the glass to see William hesitate in the hallway. “Feed,” he says stoically. “I feed. Leeching is a term coined by humans.” With that Johann’s eyes return to the glass he clutches in his hands.
“Very well, Mr. Vickers. I will let you feed in private. Good night.”
“Mr. Morrow, there will be no need to visit me until tomorrow evening.”
William nods and disappears down the hallway as Johann retreats deeper into the shadows, bringing his hands to his lips.
***
The eerie serenity of the jailhouse melts away as soon as William exits its doors into the evening sunlight. The otherwise beautiful orange tinted sky is marred by an angry mob of bloodthirsty protesters. Now they are not only screaming for Johann’s head, but for William’s as well.
“How can you live with yourself, you Leech-defending son of a bitch!”
“You just climbed in bed with the Devil, Morrow!” - this from Father McKinley, his collar shielding his Adam’s Apple.
William puts his hands over his face and fights his way to his car. The riot surrounds him, but thankfully does not follow him as he speeds out of the parking lot, out of town, and towards his house. He knows he cannot run away from this, but he must formulate a plan before he addresses the public. First he will talk it over with Linda. She is his sounding board for everything. But when he arrives home, he finds that the lynch mob has decreased in size and intensity, but not in sentiment.
“I don’t know, Will. Can’t you get someone else to defend him? I mean, the man murdered a little girl in cold blood. Besides, do you really want to be seen as sympathizing with the Leeches? That could destroy your entire career.”
William, expecting for his wife to be his sole refuge, is at once hurt and defensive. “He is innocent until proven guilty, Linda. He deserves a fair trial just like everybody else. And don’t call him that. He has a name.”
“I don’t care what his name is, Will. And I know what I know. That thing is as guilty as the day is long!” Thing unfurls out of her mouth as if the word itself is pure poison.
William stares at his other half unblinking for several seconds before turning his back and heading up the stairs to their bedroom.
“Will, where are you going?”
“Shower,” he responds curtly.
As soon as William climbs into the shower hears Linda creeping up the stairs, but he pretends not to. The cold water is relief splashing against his face.
“I just want what is best for you, ya know?”
Its as if he can see through the curtain, because he knows she is leaning against the doorway, arms folded defiantly under her breasts. “I can’t talk about this with you, Linda. We aren’t going to agree, and I’m not going to fight with you about it. Now leave it be.”
“Just be careful,” she says, adding “dinner is almost ready,” before exiting stage left.
William towels off, feeling no cleaner than before, and heads down to what is sure to be a quiet meal.
“So how was your day?” William inquires obligatorily.
“Fine,” Linda says in a manner that clearly indicates they do not have to trudge through this charade. That night they lay in bed, right next to each other, yet separated by a barrier that leaves them worlds apart. For the first time in their young marriage, they do not even kiss each other goodnight.
***
As soon as the Sun loses its last fight against the charging blackness of night Johann's eyes widen. He sits on his bed wide awake, hands folded beneath his chin, and drinks in the tiniest sliver of moonlight. He embraces the dark.
Johann remains unmoving, unblinking for hours until daybreak chases away the retreating darkness. Then he gets down on the floor of his cell and crawls beneath the bed. He lays his head down against the welcoming coldness of the concrete and folds his arms across his chest, an X of sharp arms draped in bright orange. At last he closes his eyes and instantaneously is swallowed by a sleep that could not rouse the dead.
