In the Corner of a 6×8

In thirteen years, I’ve never really doubted that I’d get to this point, Mr. Elliott. Another man might have given up. I’m sure there are plenty of men who would have preferred to channel their grief into booze or drugs or whores. But not me, Mr. Elliot. My addiction has always been you.

And like all addicts, I’ve lived with the certainty that if I could just get that fix, everything would be OK. Well, let me tell you sir, I was right. All the pain, all the sleepless nights and all the long hours of work are finally paying off right now, in this six-by-eight cell.

Now if I remember correctly (and believe me, I do), the last time you saw me was in the Sheboygan County courthouse. You’d been sentenced to fifteen years and were being led out of the courtroom in your shackles and your orange jumpsuit. I remember wondering if you’d been a hunter. Isn’t that funny? “You know,” I thought, “in the normal course of events, he’d very likely be wearing orange right now anyway. Just settling down in a deer blind. I bet he wishes he was wearing an orange hunting jacket instead of that jumpsuit.” And do you know what, Mr. Elliott? That’s what I wished for you as well. And not only because I wanted them back.

I mean, of course, the best thing would be for them to be alive. The best thing would have been for you to have said no to that last beer, or called a cab, or driven your FUCKING TRUCK INTO A FUCKING DITCH AND DIED!

But as fate would have it, you did drink that last beer, you did get onto the highway and you…well…you know what you did, Mr. Elliott. In any case, since they were already dead, I’d just as soon you were acquitted. I’m sure you’ll remember that I actually testified that I thought you were just a young man who’d made an awful mistake. I told that judge that God would want me, and him, and the whole world to have mercy on you.

Did I fool you? I fooled the judge and he praised my merciful nature. But it wasn’t enough to convince him to reduce your sentence. That certainly would have made things so much easier for me.

For one thing, I wouldn’t have had to quit my job. I really loved my job, Mr. Elliott. I loved it as much as I hate this job. Most people don’t think of accounting as a particularly exciting occupation, but I did. I loved crunching those numbers and always found a zen-like peace in that moment when the ledger balanced. Hmmm. Do you know, I’ve never even made that connection before? I can hardly believe it but in all of these years of striving, scheming and preparing, I’ve never realized that what I’m doing is balancing the ledger. I guess my new job isn’t so different after all.

Well, my real job anyway. Of course I wear this guard’s uniform, and carry this baton, and this gun. But that’s not my real job. My real job is you, Mr. Elliot. It’s always been you. Through two years of tech school, a full year of on-the-job training, and ten god-damned years of toiling away in these hell holes, I’ve only ever thought of you.

I’ve met some real animals in these prisons, Mr. Elliot. On both sides of the bars. There’ve been more than a handful of opportunities to take a bribe, beat an inmate or smuggle something in with almost no chance of being caught. But I’ve never given in. I’ve never feathered my nest or wet my beak all because I knew that I needed a spotless service record. For ten long years I’ve been a model corrections officer. I’ve followed every rule to the letter and sucked up to all the right people. After a decade of service, I was able to name my own transfer, Mr. Elliot. That’s how I ended up here in beautiful Columbia County. I particularly like the trees, don’t you?

Pardon my little joke there. Of course, I know you probably haven’t laid eyes on a tree in thirteen years. I almost feel sorry for you…but not really.

And it seems that I’ve arrived in this lovely part of the State none too soon. I gather that I’m not the only one of us who’s been displaying particularly good behavior. You probably don’t even know this yet, but you’re slated to be released early. Next month, in fact! Oh, don’t cry, Mr. Elliott. If it had taken me longer to get here to Columbia, you’d certainly have been released. But honestly, I’d have found you anyway. As I said, it would have been much easier to get to you outside of prison. All that razor wire doesn’t only keep people in, you know.

It occurs to me that you’ve spent almost as much of your life inside a prison as you did outside. Well, that’s what comes of getting such a sentence at the tender age of nineteen. I’m sure you must think it quite unfair that it should end this way, having served your sentence so dutifully, having been a model inmate for all of these years. You must feel it’s quite the injustice to die here in your prison cell, mouth taped and limbs bound. And do you know what? You’re right. It is unjust. Because you see, justice is a function of the state, the courts, the prisons. I’m not interested in justice.

My brother (you’ll remember him from the trial – tall man, sad eyes), well when I explained my plan to him, he said, “Tommy, I can never know how you’re feeling right now. But you have to know that killing Elliott wouldn’t be justice.” I thought about that for a long time and I decided that I didn’t care about justice. I didn’t give a damn about right or wrong. In the end, with nothing left, with my wife and my daughter gone, I only care about one thing. I know that I’m going to end up spending the rest of my life in a cell just like this. But I don’t care.

Because, Mr. Elliott, this isn’t about justice. This is revenge.

Would you care for a blindfold?