Chapter 1

PART I: The Charge

I

Johann’s frail figure thinned drastically overnight. His orange garb now hangs loosely over him in a disgusting contrast to the parchment stretched taut over his bones. He could likely squeeze right through the bars if he wanted, but instead he sits perfectly still in the back corner of the cell. The jeers from the other inmates pass through him as if he is invisible.

“Murderer!”

“Freak!”

“Bloodsucker!”

The insults are constant and rhythmic like a heartbeat; a foreign sound to Johann. Even the jailer is a participant in the cruel banter. But Johann stays completely still, as if an extension of the bench he is sitting on. He stares straight forward at the clock on the wall. It hangs across the hall from the holding cell below a sign reading Ravine County Jail. Below the clock is a large oak desk, which is supporting an enormous quantity of various kinds of clutter. The only discernable item on the desktop is a gold name plate belonging to Deputy Jake Hollins. The deputy himself is reclined behind the desk, his black cowboy boots propped up on it, and his hat over his eyes.

When Johann arrives at the station for booking, he is coldly told that meals are served at 7 AM, 12 PM, and 6 PM. The clock on the wall above the sleeping deputy reads 6:49 AM and that familiar void has once again taken root in Johann’s stomach. The cell is dimly lit, and Johann can almost fade into the shadows against the back wall where he is sitting. The jailhouse has no visible windows and the temperature is kept cool in an effort to kill the germs inevitably introduced to the jailhouse by its occupants. If not for the incessant noise and the lack of nourishment, Johann would find this small enclosure quite habitable.

When the clock strikes 7 AM the denizens of the adjacent general population holding cell ignore Johann entirely as they all clamor for their morning rations. The deputy, rustled from his morning slumber by the increase in decibels, grumbles and disappears down the corridor. He reappears almost instantly, dragging a large, clear bin filled to the brim with stale, smashed bread and individual packets of jelly and peanut butter. The lunch menu is similar except expired ham and cheese is added to the bread and the peanut butter and jelly are replaced with warm mayonnaise and mustard. The deputy draws his nightstick and loudly raps it twice against the cell door, fending off the pack of hungry wolves. Then, in one motion, he opens the cell, shoves the tub inside, and slams the door back shut with a metallic Clink! that echoes in Johann’s ears like a tuning fork. Johann remains unmoving in the shadows as the rest of the famished inmates flock towards the container.

Above the din, Johann hears the deputy call to him, “Hey maggot! Time for breakfast!” The hatred in the deputy’s voice is unmasked. Johann looks up to see a small IV bag filled with a dark red liquid protruding through the bars into his cell and hanging from the end of a metal hook. Slowly Johann rises to grab the dangling bag. As he extends his bony fingers towards the meal, the hand at the other end of the hook opens and the contraption falls to the ground. A new crime scene appears on the floor outside the cell.

“Sorry, buddy. Breakfast is over.” The deputy’s mouth rises at both corners into a vicious smile and in the background, a few peanut butter and jelly-filled snickers arise. Johann’s expression remains unchanged and he returns to his corner, once again melding with the concrete bench. This same routine is repeated at lunchtime.

By 3 PM, still three hours before the dinner push, the lack of sustenance has rendered Johann’s pale skin translucent. By 3:30 PM, as the shadows grow longer, they create deep caverns along the contours of his face. Finally, at 4 PM, with barely a noise, Johann falls forward onto the rock hard floor and begins to convulse and shudder violently. Deputy Hollins, suddenly embodying the badge pinned in front of his soft chest, springs to action. He runs down the hallway and returns with another red bag. This time there is no hook. He fumbles his keys before throwing the cell door open. In one motion the deputy drops to a knee, tears open the bag and begins pouring its contents onto Johann’s face trying to aim for his mouth. After the bag is emptied, there is a long and eerie standstill until, without much fanfare, Johann’s eyes open once more. At this the deputy stands, turns, exits, and shuts the door behind him. With a glance back at Johann, who is still lying on the floor, he says shakily, “Vickers, you go before the judge in twenty minutes.”