Caged Eagles (3 page)

“I'm doing very well, Mr. Wells. I will not disturb your breakfast, excuse me.”

“Wait! I want you to meet my new roommate, this is Forrest Evans.” Forrest nodded hello while chewing the food in his mouth.

“Hello, Mr. Evans. Now Mr. Wells, I must get going. I will see you later this morning.”

“Yeah, I'll see you in session.” Trevor smiled at her pleasantly. She disappeared from view.

Forrest swallowed his food and exclaimed. “
She
is your therapist!”

“Yep.”

“Wow, I did get the raw deal.”

“Yes you did.” He had a cocky smile on his face and sat down to eat. Forrest fell silent and Trevor could tell he was confused about something. “What are you thinking so hard about over there?”

“It just seems like you're attracted to her.”

“Who wouldn't be attracted to
that
?” Trevor pointed to the door.

Forrest crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “I mean, you seem to be more than attracted.”

“
Love
?” Trevor sounded horrified at his roommate's suggestion.

“No, but you seem to like her.”

“Listen, my whole goal is to drive her to drink. These counselors think they can cure anyone.”

“Why do you want to do that?”

“It's one form of entertainment in this place.”

“So you flirt with her during your sessions?” Forrest's brow came together. Trevor suspected him of thinking a little too hard about Dr. Taylor and his relationship with her.

“Don't worry about it. She has a great body but beyond that I'm not interested.” Trevor thought of his picture.

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Later that afternoon he was taken to a room decorated to look like an office. It had two chairs, a desk, and more hybrid plants decorating the corners. A white carpet covered the floor and one window allowed light into the room. It was a very comfortable except for the reason Trevor was there. Law dictated that each inmate had to meet with a lawyer every three months in order to review his or her case. New policies were researched prior to the meetings to see if the patient was eligible for parole. Trevor hated these meetings for two reasons; he was not allowed to hire a lawyer of his choosing because of his financial standing, so one was provided for him by the state, and he had no desire to see the man.

He was led into the room and placed in the seat across from the desk. The manager took his restraints off, but remained, just in case he became violent. Sweat developed over the top of Larry Burn's balding head. Trevor took a few steady breaths to avoid vomiting up breakfast. Larry's skinny fingers were fumbling with some papers until resting on a name. He looked up at Trevor with beady eyes set to closely together.

“Trevor, I see here that you have changed counselors again.”

“Yeah, but I think this one is going to stick.”

“How am I supposed to get you out of here if you keep acting out?” He folded his fingers together and rested his chin on top of them.

“Why are you so persistent on getting me out of here?”

“Mr. Wells, no one else may care about you, but I do.” His facial expression was kind, even genuine, but the words were empty. “It is my job to help you get free.”

“Yeah, that's just it; it's your job, nothing else,” Trevor responded impassively.

“I do hope to get you out of here soon.”

“That is because you will get a bonus check for freeing me; plus, you have been saying that for months.”

Burn's reached for a tissue. “I hope you don't act so negative toward your doctor. This attitude will not help you at all.”

“Do you think I don't already know that?”

“I don't care if your belief in life is to hate everything.” Larry pointed a finger at him. “We need your counselor's signature to free you, stating you are well enough to go back into society. If that means you throw her a one-man theatrical play, so be it.” Burns rubbed the tissue over his head.

“You got it.” Trevor coughed to hide a smile.

“I mean it, Trevor; I need you to cooperate if you want to get freed.” Burn's balled the tissue up and threw it into the trash. Trevor shrugged his shoulders. “What is wrong with you? Most of my men are jumping at the chance to get out and they aren't half as lucky as you. Do you realize the director says that the only thing keeping you in here is your attitude toward the counselors? If you were nice to your doctor for a month you would be sailing free. I don't get why you have to make this hard.” Trevor again shrugged and smiled slyly.

Burns pounded one fist on the top of the desk. “Answer me, why don't you cooperate?”

“I do what I want, and I roll with what comes my way,” Trevor responded.

“That is not an answer.” His face was red and he puffed out his cheeks. Trevor stared into his eyes but remained unwilling to answer.

“Fine, I see you are in your typical mood. When you want help, call me.” He rose to gather his papers and leave.

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“I would like to discuss the reason you are in rehab.” Dr. Taylor introduced the topic.

“What do you want to know?”

“Can you explain what happened?” She set the tape recorder down on the end table next to her chair.

“Why don't you use the recorder every session?”

“If it makes you uncomfortable I can turn it off.” Her hand instinctively moved to grasp the flat device.

“It's not a problem,” he shrugged. “I've always seen you take notes.”

She placed her hand back in her lap. “It's my personal preference. If I use the recorder I have to type out the conversation later. Now back to the question.”

“Didn't you read my file?”

“Yes, but I would like to hear what happened in your own words.”

“I tried to stop a robbery. The court decided I caused it instead.”

“I suppose the courts thought that because you stabbed a man, did you mean to?” Her eyebrows rose when she asked the question.

“What kind of sick, twisted question is that?”

“I'm trying to understand why you did it.”

“You really can't use your brain and figure out why?” Trevor barked at her.

“I don't mean to upset you, Mr. Wells. I am trying to help you but first I would like to understand why you so violently attacked someone. Wasn't there another way to stop him?” She crossed one leg over the other and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair.

“He was trying to kill me. It's called self-defense.”

“How do you know he was trying to kill you?”

“Because he did this to me,” Trevor yanked up his sleeve, revealing the ugly jagged scar on his elbow. He had grown fond of it. It was a great story, and made him appear threatening. Trevor looked up into Dr. Taylor's face. She had gone pale, but showed no other emotion. She leaned forward slightly.

“Did you get that properly taken care of?”

“Yeah, if you count the haphazard job they did at stitching it up.” He rolled his arm to give her a better view. She uncrossed her legs and moved another inch closer.

“Why do you say that? Did the doctor take his time to treat you?”

“What planet do you live on? Have you been to a doctor's office lately?”

“Yes, and I always receive excellent care.” Her eyes rose to meet his.

“Oh yeah, that's because you are a government employee. Us blue-collared citizens are lucky if we get treatment.”

“It's against the law for you to receive poor attention. Doctors are supposed to care for each patient.”

“That might be what's written down in black ink, but in the real world that's not what's practiced.”

Dr. Taylor's head angled slightly to one side. “Does it cause you discomfort?”

“No, why? You going to kiss and make it better?”

She drew back from him. “Excuse me, but that is extremely inappropriate.”

“It was a joke,” Trevor pulled his sleeve over the wound.

“I am your counselor and a professional at my job. I can't assume those statements are strictly banter.”

“Get over yourself.” Trevor rose from his seat. Immediately the manager came into the room. Trevor held out his arms. “I'd like to return to my room.”

“You have another fifteen minutes.” Now she stood. He watched the clone clip the restraints around his wrists.

“Why can't you relax? Why does everyone have to think everyone else is a self-serving bonehead?”

Dr. Taylor didn't answer his question. Trevor concluded she was furious or her pride was hurt.

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_•
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Trevor strolled down the sidewalk; it was a gorgeous fall day. The leaves on the trees were a rainbow of reds, yellows, and oranges. None of them could break away and float to the ground, through. It was still to early for that. A small breeze played with the bottom of his brown jacket. He shoved his hands farther down into his pockets to keep them from the cold.

Surprising there weren't more people out on a Sunday afternoon. Instead, they were nestled at home relaxing before the big workweek. Trevor was headed downtown to catch a movie. He speculated if his decision to walk was a bad idea, for his ears slowly began to redden from the chill of the day. The free tram was only three blocks away, and he figured he could handle the crisp air for that long.

That short distance came to an end and he jumped onto the public transportation. Trevor grabbed a handle as the tram took off, stumbling into a young woman standing next to him. Usually he didn't pay attention to the people riding the tram, but for some reason she caught his eye. When he had bumped into her, he smelled strawberries. Her figure was very striking. Not one single feature of her body stood out beyond the other parts of her. Together her entire build was so elegant that Trevor caught himself gaping at her. She turned and smiled at him; a strand of her brunette hair fell into her face. He thought he would melt into a puddle if it had not been for her eyes. He fell endlessly into the deep golden pools. It could have been years he was lost in those eyes. It took all his strength to look away. She turned back to her friends and began talking again, but Trevor remained in a trance. Never before had he been captivated by such beauty. Her eyes where a permanent memory in his mind, which he came to realize at that moment. He wanted to know her, everything about her.

“I'm sorry, Miss.”

“That's okay.” She leaned forward and giggled about something her friend had said.

The tram came to a stop before he could think of anything else to say. He pushed his way past anxious people forcing their way on board, feeling like a pinball pushing through the crowd. He raised his head and scanned for her. She had been swept away in the flood of the masses.

He remembered his plans to see a movie and began to walk down the sidewalk again. This time the cold didn't affect him; his thoughts were still with her. Never in his life had he been so speechless around a woman! This thought baffled him and he fought to push her from his mind.

He slid eighteen dollars across the ticket stand and grabbed the stub. Like millions before him, he had a hidden bag of Skittles under his coat. Trevor nestled down into his seat and prepared himself for the comedy. The advertisements didn't interest him so his eyes floated over the crowd. Her voice drifted to his ear and his eyes spotted her two rows down. He made his way back to the aisle and sat down next to her. The film started without a word being spoken. Trevor was dumbstruck; how could he not know what to say? He cursed himself for acting like a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Did you get them?” She leaned over the lap of one friend and whispered her question to another.

“No, I'm so sorry; I only got popcorn and sodas. Do you want me to go out and get them?”

“No, it's no big deal.” She sat back in her seat and stared at the screen. Her friend held the popcorn bucket out to her. She smiled pleasantly but shook her head. Trevor's tried to keep his attention on the movie but it kept drifting back to her. He remembered the candy in his pocket and pulled the Skittles out. Her eyes turned toward him when he tore one end of the bag open.

“Do you want one?” he asked, offering the Skittles.

“No, that is alright,” she graciously refused. He saw her peer at the candy out of the corner of her eye.

“I don't mind sharing.” He held the bag out to her. A small hand reached in and took a couple out.

“If you run out, you know where to come.”

She laughed and turned to watch the movie but for the first twenty minutes they sat in silence. He glanced over and saw her hands folded together on her lap. He offered more Skittles, she reached inside and took two. The third time she reached for the candy he pulled the bag back and whispered to her.

“There's a fee now.”

“Is it a large fee?” she inquired.

“No, it's simple, what's your name?” he asked. She sat silent for a moment.

“Sarah,” she said and took two more Skittles, “and your name is?”

“Wells … Trevor Wells,” he said in an English accent. She laughed and ran her fingers though her hair.

After the show she was gone as quickly as she had appeared. Trevor stood next to the water fountain in clear view of the lobby. The viewers gradually made their way outside. He followed the last one out, wondering where she had gone.

He figured that going back home was meaningless. The only thing waiting for him was a sink full of dirty dishes from the last month and mountains of laundry. The time was somewhere close to seven thirty and the sun began to crawl behind the western horizon. The movie had been three hours–an average duration. He caught another tram and headed downtown to his place of work and favorite bar. It was smaller and quiet compared to most of the places where people went to drink.

By the time Trevor arrived it was eight o'clock. He walked into Lucky Number 8 and ordered a drink. Sunday nights were usually quiet. It didn't take long for three guys to ask him to play in their game of pool. This was a normal occurrence. Trevor had become very good at the game over the time he had started going to Lucky Number 8. After two rounds of drinks Trevor walked away with three more wins under his belt. Rarely ever did he lose.

There she was, sitting at the bar, playing with a skinny red straw in her bright blue drink. He halted, stunned she was there. Before he could force himself to move, another man walked up to her and sat down. Trevor could hear their conversation from where he stood. Relief filled his mind. It wasn't a date, but the man was attempting to hit on Sarah. He was really ridiculous about it too and embarrassed Trevor with his pick-up lines. Trevor took a seat and picked at the chip in the counter while he listened. Sarah forced a smile on her face and shook her head, rejecting the offer the man had made. She tried to turn her shoulder to him, but he leaned forward and tried another line. Trevor decided to get the guy off her back and at the same time, win some points. He staggered off his chair, not because of the alcohol he'd had, but from nerves.

“Excuse me … are you Sarah?” he asked, and held out his hand.

“Yes, and you must be … Trevor Wells?” She placed her hand in his.

“I hope I'm not interrupting another date you have here?” He glanced at the other man.

“No, I was just telling this nice young man I was waiting for you.” They both looked back at the stranger. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he excused himself in order to save what was left of his pride.

“Thank you!” Sarah sighed with relief.

“It was no problem, so let's get on with our date.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I'm not really waiting for my date, Mr. Wells?”

“Because your date has arrived, and call me Trevor. This will be awkward if you continue to call me Mr. Wells.”

“I don't think my date will like seeing me with you when he arrives.”

Trevor sat on the free bar stool. “Then I will stay only until he does, and chase off anyone else that tries to hit on you.”

“Do you think there will be more than just the two that already have?” She played with her hair. This made him smile; his interest in her grew the longer they spoke.

“No,” he said. This left her speechless. “I better get back to my side of the bar; leave you to fend for yourself.”

Trevor got up and walked back to his seat. He knew her eyes followed him. He sat down across the bar from her and opened a bag of peanuts. She watched him with a coy half smile and raised eyebrow. She caught the bartender's attention, and wrote something on a napkin. When Trevor opened it, it said: Game of pool?

Trevor smiled and nodded. Both of them got up and walked toward the tables. There was one empty in the back corner. They set the table up, and chalked the top of their sticks in blue powder.

He tried to convince her he wasn't very good, but his attempts were useless after he sank four in a row. The game lasted only as long as it did because Trevor missed a few shots on purpose. It was evident she didn't play.

“How do you play so well?” she asked after the eight ball disappeared off the table.

“Here, I will show you a few tricks.” He put his stick against the wall.

“These dots here on the table help you line up different shots.”

“Like this?” She leaned down to shoot and missed. The ball zigzagged back and forth across the table.

“No, let me show you.” He put his arms around her. Her body was warm, sparking his to life. He tore his thoughts from the scene growing in his mind to the present situation. This time she made the shot. Her smile widened each time she successfully sent a colored ball into the pocket. By the time the table was bare, she had improved dramatically.

“Do you live far?” Trevor asked, while they put the pool sticks away and got their jackets on.

“Kind of. Not far enough to pay for a ride, but not close enough to make me want to walk there alone at night,” she dug into her coat for cab money.

“Let me walk you home. You will be safe and not have to pay those ridiculous prices for a cab,” Trevor reasoned. Sarah thought for a moment.

“Okay.”

Sarah grabbed the bottom of her jacket and pulled on the zipper. They walked in and out of the glow of the street lights. “Do you go to Lucky Number 8 often?”

“I work there. I go down to play pool and get out of the apartment. So did you like the movie tonight?”

“Yeah, it was okay.”

“What movies do you like?”

“I guess it just depends on the movie. I don't go to 3D movies because twenty-five dollars is too much. As for what I like,” she wrapped her hand around his arm, “probably action, mysteries, romantic comedies.”

“Ick,” Trevor said.

Sarah laughed, “Well, I guess I know what movies you don't like.”

“What about scary movies?” Trevor asked.

“Yeah, they are okay, but I never watch them alone.”

“Me either. If I do, I watch them with my teddy bear.” Trevor pushed out his lower lip into a pout. Sarah laughed, but before she could respond a group of people came out of another club in front of them.

“Tobian Morrison!” an intoxicated girl fell forward and hugged her. Sarah laughed and talked with this girl for a couple of minutes before pulling away and returning to Trevor.

“Why did she call you Tobian?”

Sarah slid her hand around Trevor's elbow. “That is my name.”

He paused. “Now that I know your real name do you have to kill me?”

She laughed and pulled on his arm. They began to walk again.

“No, my first name is Tobian. My family and most of my friends call me that. My parents wanted a creative, unique name before I was born. I have never liked it. Kids made fun of me growing up. I would rather people call me Sarah, which is my middle name.”

“Tell me who those kids are, I'll find them right now.” Trevor looked around the dark street. Sarah laughed again.

“Here is my place.” She stopped and pointed at the building before them.

“Well, have a wonderful night, Sarah.”

“You too, Trevor, but there is one last thing.” His heart jumped in anticipation. Was she going to kiss him? Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a pen, grabbed Trevor's hand and wrote her number down on his arm. He smiled, content with not receiving a kiss. That was something to look forward to. He was happy knowing she expected him to call her and that she wanted to see him again.

“I'll get a hold of you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” She turned and climbed her stairs, looking back twice, before going inside.

Trevor walked on down the street happier than he had been in a long time. That night as he fell asleep, Sarah's eyes were the last thing he saw.

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Ilene Stout entered the room. As was her usual route she took her seat, picked up the clipboard, and scanned down her upturned nose at the list of prisoners. She brushed her bobbed black hair behind one ear, a signal that she was ready to begin.

“Please, gentlemen have a seat so we can get started.” Her voice gnawed on Trevor's nerves. She sat at the edge of her chair and waited for the room to fall silent. Both hands smoothed down the sides of her blouse. She was a skinny woman, not unhealthy, but extremely unattractive. Trevor guessed she worked out excessively during much of her extra time, therefore the cause of her lack of appeal. She showed no signs of being anorexic or bulimic, though. The muttered conversation died around the room. Could she hear what they were saying? The sound of a beetle walking across the floor could have been heard in the next room.

“How is everyone today?” she asked so sweetly that the sound was bitter to each man's ears. Her attempt at acting sincere was sickening.

“Fine,” five or so men answered. Trevor rolled his eyes.

“Would anyone wish to discuss anything on their minds?”

Silence.

“Gentlemen, please feel comfortable and free to express yourselves here.” Her beady black eyes stared into each face. “If no one is going to volunteer I'm going to choose someone to start today's conversation.” The men sat motionless, and waited for the impending doom. No one wished to speak a word in the presence of Ilene Stout. She was the black widow of the prison. Worse than any camera, she lurked in the shadows and corners, jumping out to surprise her unsuspecting prey. This didn't happen often, but sometimes she would mysteriously find out something she shouldn't have.