Angry-Jasper: Thirty-one

The heavy wooden cell door slammed shut behind Jazz with a soul shattering finality. The cell was as cold and dark as a cave, and only dimly lit by a dingy dull light stuttering from a bulb above the door. The room stunk of old sweat and piss, wet stone and thick mats of deep green moss that covered the walls. Tacky wet bits from the low ceiling pelted his head and shoulders as the Corporation continued its punishing retaliation.

Jazz wasn’t alone, and he knew it immediately. Just who or what was there was impossible to tell right off. He backed against the door as his eyes grudgingly adjusted to the darkness and clenched his fist, ready for a fight.. The light from the flickering bulb threw itself in a narrow channel across the wet stone floor. Jazz sort of rocked up and back, scanning the blackness for the slightest hint of danger.

Suddenly a small figure moved into the light startling him. Jazz screamed. It was the scream of a frightened little girl, high and sharp. The thing’s face was hideous and deformed, staring at him with these big black monstrous eyes. The creatures flesh was pale, and painted in the jaundiced hue of the bulb. It looked at him disbelieving, those huge black eyes blinking once.

“What the shit!” he exclaimed.

It disappeared again, skidding and scurrying to the back of the cell. Jazz strained to see, but it lost to the darkness.

“Count to three,” he said shakily. “You better show yourself!”

There was a painfully long moment when Jazz feared he would have to go hunting for his prey. He wondered if it had rabies, or might maul him in the blackness where it held the advantage with those mammoth eyeballs. It moved into the light again, this time looking up at him with sad, almost needing puppy dog eyes. Those huge eyes blinked again, and a tear ran down the creature’s pale cheek.

For Christ’s sake, Jazz could hardly look at the damn thing. Its sunken features and withdrawn lips nearly made him gag. It took a very long moment to realize that it was a young boy. What hair there was grew in thin patches in odd places. There was no nose to speak of, but rather two grotesquely open pits. Skin was pulled tight revealing blue-ish veins beneath. Jazz was staring into the face of a living freaking skull, thinking that this kid would lead a very lonely life, outside a home for the blind. Madame  was right. Jazz had no trouble recognizing her kid.

“Bartholomew,” the boy said, catching Jazz by surprise.

“What?”

“My name. You were going to ask my name.”

“Bartholomew?”

The boy nodded.

“What kind of pussie name…? Never mind.”

“Mother calls me…”

“You’re skull boy,” he said flatly, running his fingers along the edge of the door. “Now what we need is a way out of here.”

“I think you will die,” said Skull Boy.

“What?’ Jazz turned, annoyed.

“I can see the future, and I’m not skull boy!”

“You got the head of a skull, and Bartholomew is just bit too dainty for me. So skull boy it is. Now what’s all this about me dying, huh?”

“Unfortunately it won’t be permanent.”

“Oh, okay,” Jazz scoffed, “I’ll just die for a little while. Got bats fluttering inside that skull, kid.”

Jazz peered through the slit in the door. Anything was better than looking at the kid. He could just see the guard at the end of the passageway. His fingers found the heavy iron hinges. They were bolted into the wall and seemed sturdy enough. Feeling around the edges the wall crumbled under his touch. He dug at the ancient concrete until he had loosed one of the hinges. Within a few feverish minutes Jazz had managed to dig the five of six bolts free of the wall, leaving just one to secure the door in place. The fifth made a bit too much noise as it came loose. Jazz heard the guard approaching and, suppressing a gag, pulled the kid back into the shadows.

“What the hell is going on in there?” the guard grumbled through the slit. Hearing no reply he mumbled under his breath and retreated to his post.

Jazz slid down the wall to his butt and sighed. Shouldn’t rush things too much, he thought. He was beat-tired and was bound to make a mistake, and that he couldn’t afford.