wavydavy123
12-26-2014, 08:13 AM
It didn’t look much like his cell. There was one single bed, for starters, with a thick, luxurious-looking duvet, and a small wooden desk sitting opposite. In the corner, there was a collection of items Charlie had not been expecting to see for the next fifteen years: a CD player, from which Mick Jagger was singing about wild horses, a small television, and a mini-fridge, proudly displaying a selection of hams, cheeses and meats. The proprietor of the cell sat at the desk, one hand holding a piece of marmalade-smeared bread, the other thumbing through a copy of The Times. As soon as he noticed Charlie, swaying awkwardly in the doorway, he put down his bread, and stood.
On standing, it became clear that like most inmates in Renham Wood, this boy was bigger than Charlie: a good bit taller and noticeably more muscular. His face was taut and tanned, with a strong jaw and wide, almost-feminine mouth. He ran a hand through slick, wavy brown hair before offering it to Charlie.
“Mr Goodwin, it is a pleasure.” He spoke with a strange accent; not quite British, but not far off.
Charlie stepped forward and shook his hand. The boy had a strong grip, and held for what felt like a long time. Charlie resisted the urge to assess for damage afterwards.
“My name is Jack Eden,” he continued, “and it’s my intention to save your life.” He let that line linger for a just a second, and in that moment, Charlie wasn’t sure whether he should feel threatened or relieved. Before he could make up his mind, Jack Eden disarmed any ill feeling with a beaming, honest smile. “Can I offer you something? Juice? Maybe some bread?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, thank-you.”
“It always amazes me, the manners of the British. Even if they were dying of thirst, they wouldn’t accept a cup of tea in a stranger’s house, for fear of causing them hassle.” He looked to the fridge. “I was born in Spain, and in my house, we pour drinks anyway. I’m going to get you an orange juice.” He took a plastic cup and poured some orange juice from the mini-fridge. Handed it to his guest. Charlie looked at the cup doubtfully.
“Go on,” Jack said, “it’s better than that disgusting stuff they serve in the canteen.”
Charlie hesitated some more. “It’s just…I’ve had bad experiences…”
Jack smiled again. “Charlie, if I wanted to do you harm, I wouldn’t do it through poisoned orange juice.” He sat down on the desk chair and cocked his head. “That’s a not a dreadful idea, though.” Jack gestured to the bed, “Please, sit. I only have one chair, but you’ll find the bed is very comfortable.”
Charlie did as he was told and took a gulp of orange juice. Jack was right; this was good stuff. “Is this Waitrose juice?” he asked, recognising the taste.
“You know your premium juices,” Jack laughed, “I like that in a man.”
The boys were now seated fairly close, and Charlie noticed that the end of Jack’s nose was a tad crooked, as if it had been broken in the past.
“I understand you’ve had a tough start to life here, Charlie?” Jack said.
Charlie nodded. “I ran into Rixon. I had to fight my only friend. It wasn’t exactly…pleasant.”
“Fighting never is. But, Charlie, everyone who enters these walls, they have experiences like this. What’s important is not what you did, but how you respond. What’s really important is how you answer the golden question.”
Charlie was not sure what he meant. “Which is?”
“How do I survive?” Jack clarified. “Have you asked yourself that question, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded slowly. He noticed that the song on the CD player had changed from the Rolling Stones to Pink Floyd. “I guess I have,” he replied, “in a roundabout sort of way.”
“And what have you decided?”
“I guess I have to make allies.”
Jack smiled. “You’re smart, Charlie, you know that? Some people think they can fight their way to survival, but they’re wrong. They might last a little longer than the weaklings, but they’ll go down eventually. No, the smart ones, the true survivors, realise that they have to make friends. They need to become dealmakers. And that’s what I’m here to do, Charlie, I’m here to offer a deal.”
Charlie nodded.
“Join me and my team, and trust me, I’m not just giving you an opportunity to survive within these walls, I’m giving you an opportunity to live.”
Charlie could barely hide his relief. This seemed like the perfect offer - the light at the end of the tunnel. But then, there was a voice, a voice at the back of his mind that echoed five little words: too good to be true. Perhaps it was the voice that made him hesitate, or perhaps it was that look in Jack Eden’s eye, as if he was masking something, hiding from some reality. “Why do you want me?” Charlie said eventually. “I mean, I’m a nobody, right? I just…don’t understand why you would want me.”
Jack shook his head. “You haven’t done too badly, Charlie. There were bets flying around that you wouldn’t last a night, so you’re proven them wrong already. What I will say is that if you do join us, it won’t be an easy ride. We have a strict code of honesty, loyalty and respect. And you will have to prove yourself. There may come a day where we ask you for a favour, but make no mistake, you will be one of us, and if someone crosses you, they will cross us all.” He took a deep breath. “The answer to your question is that I want you because you’re a good person and because you’ve got a brain, and that’s a precious commodity within these walls. Most of the guys in my team are strong, but they are all smart. Prison is like a big chess game; you hold the more powerful pieces, you’ll do just fine, but if you’re thinking three steps ahead of the game, that’s how you win. And I intend to win, Charlie.”
The voice in the back of his head started to diminish, the line between genuine and fake blurring into non-existence. Jack Eden spoke in riddles and analogy, but he spoke a damn fine game. “Can I think about it?” Charlie asked.
“This is a take-it-or-leave-it call, I’m afraid.” Jack sighed, before perking up suddenly. “Can you hear those lyrics, Charlie? Pink Floyd. You like it?”
The boys listened for a few seconds. Charlie did like it. It was a classic.
“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye,
I turned to look but it was gone,
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.”
“What do you think the lyrics mean, Charlie?”
Charlie shook his head. “I really don’t know.”
“Well that’s the beauty of music, isn’t it? It can mean whatever we perceive it to mean. Usually, I find that we use music to reflect upon our own lives. And this song, this song fits perfectly for you. See, to me, you’re the child. You thought you were going to have this normal life. You would go to College or University, get a degree, get a job, settle down with some girl, have some kids. But now you’re here and you can’t even picture that life anymore. That life, that innocence, that child, is gone. Renham Wood is no place for your dream. This is your reality now. So I’m offering you a chance, Charlie, your very best chance of having a go at this thing.”
They locked eyes and Charlie knew that he believed now, believed in what Jack Eden was saying.
“So what do you say, Charlie Goodwin?” he asked, a smile creeping in at the side of his mouth. “Will you join us?”
On standing, it became clear that like most inmates in Renham Wood, this boy was bigger than Charlie: a good bit taller and noticeably more muscular. His face was taut and tanned, with a strong jaw and wide, almost-feminine mouth. He ran a hand through slick, wavy brown hair before offering it to Charlie.
“Mr Goodwin, it is a pleasure.” He spoke with a strange accent; not quite British, but not far off.
Charlie stepped forward and shook his hand. The boy had a strong grip, and held for what felt like a long time. Charlie resisted the urge to assess for damage afterwards.
“My name is Jack Eden,” he continued, “and it’s my intention to save your life.” He let that line linger for a just a second, and in that moment, Charlie wasn’t sure whether he should feel threatened or relieved. Before he could make up his mind, Jack Eden disarmed any ill feeling with a beaming, honest smile. “Can I offer you something? Juice? Maybe some bread?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, thank-you.”
“It always amazes me, the manners of the British. Even if they were dying of thirst, they wouldn’t accept a cup of tea in a stranger’s house, for fear of causing them hassle.” He looked to the fridge. “I was born in Spain, and in my house, we pour drinks anyway. I’m going to get you an orange juice.” He took a plastic cup and poured some orange juice from the mini-fridge. Handed it to his guest. Charlie looked at the cup doubtfully.
“Go on,” Jack said, “it’s better than that disgusting stuff they serve in the canteen.”
Charlie hesitated some more. “It’s just…I’ve had bad experiences…”
Jack smiled again. “Charlie, if I wanted to do you harm, I wouldn’t do it through poisoned orange juice.” He sat down on the desk chair and cocked his head. “That’s a not a dreadful idea, though.” Jack gestured to the bed, “Please, sit. I only have one chair, but you’ll find the bed is very comfortable.”
Charlie did as he was told and took a gulp of orange juice. Jack was right; this was good stuff. “Is this Waitrose juice?” he asked, recognising the taste.
“You know your premium juices,” Jack laughed, “I like that in a man.”
The boys were now seated fairly close, and Charlie noticed that the end of Jack’s nose was a tad crooked, as if it had been broken in the past.
“I understand you’ve had a tough start to life here, Charlie?” Jack said.
Charlie nodded. “I ran into Rixon. I had to fight my only friend. It wasn’t exactly…pleasant.”
“Fighting never is. But, Charlie, everyone who enters these walls, they have experiences like this. What’s important is not what you did, but how you respond. What’s really important is how you answer the golden question.”
Charlie was not sure what he meant. “Which is?”
“How do I survive?” Jack clarified. “Have you asked yourself that question, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded slowly. He noticed that the song on the CD player had changed from the Rolling Stones to Pink Floyd. “I guess I have,” he replied, “in a roundabout sort of way.”
“And what have you decided?”
“I guess I have to make allies.”
Jack smiled. “You’re smart, Charlie, you know that? Some people think they can fight their way to survival, but they’re wrong. They might last a little longer than the weaklings, but they’ll go down eventually. No, the smart ones, the true survivors, realise that they have to make friends. They need to become dealmakers. And that’s what I’m here to do, Charlie, I’m here to offer a deal.”
Charlie nodded.
“Join me and my team, and trust me, I’m not just giving you an opportunity to survive within these walls, I’m giving you an opportunity to live.”
Charlie could barely hide his relief. This seemed like the perfect offer - the light at the end of the tunnel. But then, there was a voice, a voice at the back of his mind that echoed five little words: too good to be true. Perhaps it was the voice that made him hesitate, or perhaps it was that look in Jack Eden’s eye, as if he was masking something, hiding from some reality. “Why do you want me?” Charlie said eventually. “I mean, I’m a nobody, right? I just…don’t understand why you would want me.”
Jack shook his head. “You haven’t done too badly, Charlie. There were bets flying around that you wouldn’t last a night, so you’re proven them wrong already. What I will say is that if you do join us, it won’t be an easy ride. We have a strict code of honesty, loyalty and respect. And you will have to prove yourself. There may come a day where we ask you for a favour, but make no mistake, you will be one of us, and if someone crosses you, they will cross us all.” He took a deep breath. “The answer to your question is that I want you because you’re a good person and because you’ve got a brain, and that’s a precious commodity within these walls. Most of the guys in my team are strong, but they are all smart. Prison is like a big chess game; you hold the more powerful pieces, you’ll do just fine, but if you’re thinking three steps ahead of the game, that’s how you win. And I intend to win, Charlie.”
The voice in the back of his head started to diminish, the line between genuine and fake blurring into non-existence. Jack Eden spoke in riddles and analogy, but he spoke a damn fine game. “Can I think about it?” Charlie asked.
“This is a take-it-or-leave-it call, I’m afraid.” Jack sighed, before perking up suddenly. “Can you hear those lyrics, Charlie? Pink Floyd. You like it?”
The boys listened for a few seconds. Charlie did like it. It was a classic.
“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye,
I turned to look but it was gone,
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.”
“What do you think the lyrics mean, Charlie?”
Charlie shook his head. “I really don’t know.”
“Well that’s the beauty of music, isn’t it? It can mean whatever we perceive it to mean. Usually, I find that we use music to reflect upon our own lives. And this song, this song fits perfectly for you. See, to me, you’re the child. You thought you were going to have this normal life. You would go to College or University, get a degree, get a job, settle down with some girl, have some kids. But now you’re here and you can’t even picture that life anymore. That life, that innocence, that child, is gone. Renham Wood is no place for your dream. This is your reality now. So I’m offering you a chance, Charlie, your very best chance of having a go at this thing.”
They locked eyes and Charlie knew that he believed now, believed in what Jack Eden was saying.
“So what do you say, Charlie Goodwin?” he asked, a smile creeping in at the side of his mouth. “Will you join us?”