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Officer Lang didn’t acknowledge the interruption to his morning schedule until the secretary cleared his throat several times. “What do you want?” Lang finally growled.
The secretary’s fingers clenched and unclenched. “I asked the guard for the report, sir. The one from the inmate you recruited.”
Lang leaned back in his chair and held out his hand. “Well, let’s see it.” The secretary hesitated. Lang scowled. “Is there a problem?”
“The prisoner hasn’t turned it in yet.”
Lang frowned out the window overlooking the infirmary. So, 39846 thought he could flaunt a romance with the infirmary nurse and withhold his reports? Not a chance. Lang rose to his feet. “Thank you, Comrade Secretary.”
The man didn’t seem to know whether to wait for further orders or run out of the office. Watching the boy’s indecision was worse than suffering a full-body rash in the heat of summer. Lang waved him away, and the secretary scurried out with a high-pitched, “Yes, sir.”
Lang snapped his pencil in half. He didn’t really care what was in the reports, but Chief Officer Yeong certainly did. Lang would worry about him later. Now he had more important things to tend to. Like 39846. He stormed down the hall, and several members of his staff had to slide up against the wall to get out of his way. “Get me 39846,” he bellowed to the guard as he rounded the last corner. He saw the prisoner as soon as the cells came into view. 39846 was hunched over slightly, his face swollen and bruised. Lang could scarcely stomach the sight of him.
The other prisoners in his cell shrunk toward the back wall, all except a stocky one with a mange of dirty white hair who propped 39846 up by the elbow. “Out of my way, old man,” Lang snarled, plowing past the guard who held open the cell door. “This has nothing to do with you.”
The elderly prisoner took a barely perceptible step forward. “He’s weak, sir. He ...”
Lang struck out once, and the granddad toppled to the ground, like a seedling before a howling wind. Number 39846 glanced down at the old man and flinched. Lang brought his face right up to the prisoner’s. “Give me my papers.” 39846 looked around, but all of his cellmates had huddled together in the back of the cell. “Your job was to keep track of what went on in here. Now show me your report.”
“I haven’t written anything down yet.” The prisoner’s voice was calm, but Lang could smell his nervousness. He would be cowering before this meeting was over.
“You imbecile.” Lang’s armpits were slimy with perspiration. “What have you written?”
The prisoner lifted one shoulder ever so slightly. That hint of a shrug was enough to make Lang’s blood seethe. He grabbed 39846 and yanked his shirt up. Snatching the secret pouch, he broke the belt with one hard jerk. He sensed some kind of uneasy motion from the herd of prisoners in the back, but they were insignificant. His hands trembling with rage, Lang fumbled with the drawstring and untied the pouch. He tugged out the papers and threw one down after another. “You haven’t written a single word?”
“I didn’t have the chance.” There was something of a tremor now in the prisoner’s voice.
Lang had just started thinking of how fun it would be to break 39846 right here in front of everybody when he realized something. “You’re missing a page.”
Now the fearful stink was unmistakable. “That’s all I had.”
Lang grabbed 39846 by the waistband. A folded piece of paper made a dull little thud when it hit the ground. Lang stooped down. “Secret note?” The corner of his lip curled upward. 39846 shuddered. This was just too good.
With deliberate, dramatic movements, he unfolded the page. “My dearest beloved.” Lang let his voice creep up to a discordant falsetto.
The prisoner’s whole body tensed. Dread wafted out from every pore.
“Every dark night I spend here away from you is torture to my soul.” Lang struck the paper for emphasis. He skimmed several lines down and let his jaw drop open in mock alarm. “What’s this?” He pointed to some scribbles on the back. “These wouldn’t be Bible verses, would they?” It was hard to conceal his smirk.
39846’s expression was etched in granite, but his jaw muscle twitched once.
Lang drew his lips together in a tight line. “That’s what I thought. And who did you write this luscious poetry for?” He brought his face so close to the prisoner’s he could almost taste his terror-drenched sweat. “Hmmm?”
“I won’t tell you anything.” The prisoner’s voice was low like a growl. He wouldn’t be so bold if he knew Lang had discovered his secret weeks ago. The assistant director wondered how far 39846 would let himself be goaded before reacting physically.
“That’s your choice.” Lang held the incriminating paper tight in his fist. 39846 looked like a wild hare, uncertain if he should stay frozen in its tracks or make a bold dash out of danger. It was that moment of hesitation that made the hunt so exhilarating. Lang brought his lips to the prisoner’s ear. “Why don’t I take this letter here down to the infirmary and deliver it to your little lover myself?”
39846 snatched the air. Lang took a step back, holding the page up high where everyone could see. “A love letter for the infirmary nurse,” he announced to the entire prison ward. This was working out more beautifully than anything he could have choreographed on his own. “With passages from the incendiary book of Western propaganda!” From the back of the cell, the other inmates kept their eyes to the floor. Lang skimmed more of the letter and pointed to a line. “Should I read this part out loud? This is especially touching.”
39846 lunged forward, and Lang shifted his position, purposefully allowing the prisoner’s hand to graze his shoulder. “Guards!” he shrieked, and within seconds, two officers were swinging their batons high in the air until 39846’s grunting finally died down.
Officer Lang dusted off his hands and strode casually out of the cell. He glanced at his watch and called back to the inmates, “Roll call in twenty minutes. Make sure you’re all ready.”
***
She stepped up to the bedside of an old woman who was burned in one of the factories. Hannah wrinkled her nose at the scent of charred flesh until she caught her patient staring at her with half-closed eyes. “I dreamed of my daughter.”
Trying to conquer her gag reflex, Hannah reached out and stroked her matted hair. “Was it a nice dream?”
A smile pierced the multiple cracks and crevices on the woman’s face. “Lovely. We were eating rice together.”
“I hope it comes true, then.”
The woman’s eyes rolled up for a second. “My daughter is dead.”
Hannah didn’t have a chance to respond before someone spun her around.
“Come with me. Now.” The assistant director grabbed her shoulder. Her body functioned automatically. Her brain went numb. She had known he would come back for her. She wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t even say she was scared. Just ashamed. Ashamed she wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him off. Ashamed of what Simon would think if he found out.
She tripped once, but he dragged her by the arm. He stormed past his office without slowing down, and for the slightest second, she allowed herself to hope. Maybe he was taking her to the administrative ward for a reprimand. Maybe there was an injured patient in another part of the complex who needed her. He rounded the corner to the cells, and then she knew. This wasn’t about just her.
“Roll call!” The assistant director’s voice was nearly as shrill as the whistle he blew in her ear. Men staggered to their feet and lined up. She glanced toward Simon’s cell, and her pulse quickened when she saw the expressions on his comrades’ faces. None of them met her gaze. She followed their stares to the ground, where Simon lay in a heap. She hurried ahead.
“Not so fast.” This time, the assistant director’s voice was more menacing, its characteristic whine replaced by a low, dangerous snarl. His fingers pinched into her arm, and she stopped struggling. She couldn’t even tell if Simon was alive or not.
Slowly, one deliberate step after another, the assistant director pushed her forward until she stood directly in front of the bars. “Get him up.” An old man with white hair, one of Hannah’s former patients from the infirmary, wrapped an arm around Simon and raised him to his feet. Hannah let out her breath when Simon’s eyes fluttered open. His face was distorted. Dried blood caked around his mouth. Sticky red pools congealed around multiple wounds on his forehead.
The assistant director shoved Hannah forward. She bit her lip and clenched the bars. “You should be proud of your boyfriend.” The assistant director waved a crinkled piece of paper in the air, letting it rustle loudly. “He’s quite the poet, you know.” He made a show of studying the page. “I even think there’s some lines here about you.”
She looked at Simon, hardly hearing the assistant director. His eyes met hers, and he blinked. The only thing she wanted was to go to him, clean his wounds, calm his spirit. She fought back her tears.
“I never imagined I could feel so complete before you walked into my life.” A few of the prisoners in the other cells chuckled nervously as the assistant director read from Simon’s page. He beat the paper with his finger. “And that’s not even the half of it. Here on the back.” He shoved the letter in front of her face. “Care to guess what’s on it?”
Hannah’s heart froze over with cold. She felt her body sway from a heaviness she couldn’t stop. They had caught Simon with Bible verses. And he was writing to her. Whatever happened to him next, whatever had happened to him already — it was her fault. She let go of the bar, her legs scarcely able to support her weight.
The assistant director motioned for the white-haired man to prop Simon’s head up. “Do you know what day tomorrow is, prisoner?” the assistant director growled.
“No, sir,” Simon gurgled.
“It’s the Day of the Sun.” He pointed his bony finger at Simon. “And you and your girlfriend will make a great show to help us commemorate the Eternal President’s birthday.”
All courage, all stamina, all faith drained out of Hannah’s body. She felt it desert her out the soles of her feet and seep through the cold concrete floor.
“She had nothing to do with this.” Simon’s words were as shaky as Hannah’s limbs. “That letter wasn’t even meant for her.”
“You’re a horrible liar,” Lang countered.
“Just let her go,” Simon tried again, “and then you can make whatever show out of me you want. Tie me up, bury me alive, let me swing from the gallows. It’s up to you. I won’t fight it. Just let her go back to where she belongs.”
“Where she belongs,” the assistant director sneered, “is ...” He stopped himself. His voice grew saccharine. “You don’t want her to join our little celebration tomorrow in honor of the Eternal President?”
“No.”
Goosebumps raced across Hannah’s skin. She wanted to warn Simon. Didn’t he know he was walking into a trap?
“All right then.” The assistant director grabbed her by the arm, pinching her bicep. “You wouldn’t let me have you,” he snarled. “Let’s see how long you last in there with all them.”
Hannah’s legs buckled, and the assistant director had to support all her weight. She fixed her eyes on Simon, whose pupils had widened in horror.
After fumbling with the lock, the assistant director threw her into the cell. She landed on her elbows. “Have fun, men,” he called out. “And remember, 39846 doesn’t want her to die tomorrow so, well ... you’d better be thorough and finish the job for me. Think of this as my early Day of the Sun gift to you all. “
The white-haired prisoner reached down to her. “I’d stay out of the way, old man.” The assistant director chuckled. “The younger ones will want to have their turn first.”
Simon coughed weakly. “You won’t touch her ...” Blood and saliva dribbled down from his mouth. He spat on the floor. “None of you will lay a hand on her.”
Lang spun on his heel. He threw a set of the keys to the guard. “Call me when they’re through.”