Incarcerated

The blinding yellow light of the midday sun shone against the bright blue of a cloudless sky. It’s heat beating down over the vast open field complimented by the gentle summer breeze, under which the individual blades of grass swayed to and fro.

Standing out in the field was a wiry middle-aged man named Brennan, who looked like his worst days were all but a memory. As though he had looked into the abyss and been consumed by the darkness only to have come out stronger on the other side. His white t-shirt billowed with the wind as he took a deep breath in and slowly out. His eyes were closed, focusing on his other senses, a pensive smile across his face.

A distant screech broke his meditation. As he slowly opened his eyes, he beheld an owl with golden wings, a white face, and brown stripes gliding across the sky. His eyes began to follow it, though he did not move his head, as though it were affixed in that position.

The bird soared gracefully in the wind, effortlessly dancing around the field. Brennan wondered if it was searching for something and, if so, what it was looking for. The owl screeched again, and Brennan closed his eyes, ready to hear its song.

--

Whether it was the small window letting in only the tiny amount of light and providing only the smallest glimpse of freedom, or the claustrophobic nature of the cell’s metallic bars, rusted from many years of poor maintenance, or the stains of various fluids left around from the many previous inhabitants this room had had prior to him, the dismal state of the cell was matched only by Brennan’s distain for being here. How foolish he had been and how much he had regretted it were of little comfort to him now.

He pressed a cigarette stub to his lips and inhaled, the dim crimson light against his face. He exhaled and the smoke sped out. His physique was not what anyone could call healthy: his face seemed hollow, the bags under his eyes were darker than his grey jumpsuit, and his beard was patched and scraggly. He slouched against the wall, seated on his thin excuse for a bed, staring at the bricks in front of him. The uniform pattern seemed to mock Brennan, as though it were trying to convey a sense of false order to combat the chaos of humanity.

The shadow of the cell’s bars, trapping him in the darkness suddenly slid open. Brennan took another drag, not acknowledging the people that were walking into the cell: the Warden, grizzled and old, in a dry-cleaned corduroy suit; a bald priest, passively praying; and two guards, dressed in dark blue uniforms, holding a set of shackles.

“Those things will kill you,” the Warden mocked.

“Doesn’t seem to matter now, does it?” Brennan replied, exhaling the smoke in his mouth. He turned towards them with a look of content underneath a thin layer of contempt. “It’s time?”

The Warden solemnly nodded.

Brennan sniffled and nodded in kind. He stood up, tossing his cigarette to the ground, and extended his hands towards the guards. He watched as they stepped forward, almost robotically, to shackle his hands and feet. The chains rattled and clanked as they removed the last shred of hope that Brennan had about his chances.

The guards turned the keys, locking him in. He looked up at the Warden, tears forming in his eyes.

The Warden dropped his head and led them out of the room.

Though the prison was large, it seemed somehow smaller with the repetitive and symmetrical alignment of the cells. The other inmates banged against their cages and shouted out obscenities as the Warden shouted the three words Brennan had been dreading for the past seven years:

“Dead man walking!”

Had it truly been that long since he’d felt the wonderful touch of freedom? Had it truly been that long that he had spent counting, endlessly, the seconds until this moment had come? Had it truly been that long since he had held his little girl in his arms?

--

Brennan couldn’t decide what shined brighter in the sun: Caitlyn’s glittering white smile or her burning red hair as it blew in the wind. The park was mostly empty, which was fine by Brennan as he spun his daughter above his head, knowing that moments like this were coming to an end.

He set her down on the loose gravel of the neighborhood park.

“Don’t you want to play on the park?” Brennan asked.

“Dad,” Caitlyn replied, somewhat embarrassed, but exhilarated from the spin. “I’m almost thirteen. I can’t play on parks anymore.”

Brennan laughed loudly. He walked over to the swing set and sat down. Any misalignment in the chain was corrected once his full weight was down. He pushed himself off the ground and swung backwards. He pulled himself forward and swung with the carefree attitude of a free man.

“Dad,” Caitlyn chuckled.

“Life’s too short to be embarrassed about this, Caitlyn,” Brennan lectured playfully. “Get on the swing and have fun while you can.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, a playful smile on her face. She skipped over to the set and began to swing.

Back and forth, father and daughter swung. As one would rise, the other would fall in a graceful dance of to and fro.

Amidst the fun and the laughter from Caitlyn, Brennan glanced towards the road and his smile disappeared. His feet hit the ground and he skidded to a stop. His breath quickened as he absorbed what he was looking at.

Resting against the curb was a rusted brown truck, looking as though it had long since passed its prime. Leaning against it was a small, skinny man dressed like he either didn’t know or didn’t care what he looked like.

Caitlyn stopped swinging and stared at her father, a look of confusion on her face.

“Dad?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Brennan took a deep breath as the man waved half-heartedly at him. He turned towards Caitlyn.

“Stay here.”

Brennan stood up and began walking towards the truck. His palms began to sweat with every step that he took. His heart pounding more and more. Perhaps he’d have a stroke before he got there so he wouldn’t have to deal with this person. But to his chagrin, Brennan soon found himself next to the man, his fists clenched in fear and in anger.

“Leech,” Brennan said contemptuously.

“Barn Owl,” Leech replied.

A moment passed between them.

“Conspicuous,” Brennan mocked, pointing to the truck.

“It’s supposed to be,” Leech replied contritely, lighting a cigarette in his mouth. “People don’t think you have anything if it looks like you got nothing.”

“But people don’t assume that you’re a risktaker if it looks like you have something to lose.”

“And how’s that working for ya?”

Leech extended his hand towards Brennan, offering him a cigarette.

“The answer is no,” Brennan fumed, pushing it away.

“I’m impressed. Most people don’t just quit.”

“I’ve got a good life here, Leech.”

“Yeah… you do,” Leech seethed as he inhaled a drag. “How’d you manage that?”

Brennan gulped.

“Look,” Leech said, now turning his full attention to Brennan, “You’re running out of time, and out of money.”

“I have plenty of money.”

“Now, maybe. But what about when your little girl is grown up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“College, man,” Leech continued. “Bright girl like her? Ain’t gonna be cheap, Barn Owl. And you’re not gonna get a better job, not with your record.”

Brennan looked down at the ground.

“And your old lady ain’t around no more…”

“Don’t talk about Malaya.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t ‘just say,’ Leech,” Brennan threatened, grabbing Leech by the shirt, and pinning him against the truck. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Just leave.”

Brennan let go of Leech and started to walk away, breathing heavily.

“If you change your mind,” Leech shouted, “you know how to find me.”

Brennan sped towards the park and his daughter, eagerly listening for the sound of Leech’s truck speeding away. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached Caitlyn again, looked back and saw that his old acquaintance had left.

“Who was that?” Caitlyn asked.

Brennan turned back to his daughter and half-heartedly smiled.

“Don’t worry about him.”

--

Brennan sat at the kitchen table that night, a cup of tea in one hand and a pen in his other, scratching over a pad of paper. Occasionally, he would click the pen onto a calculator or pick up his phone and research something.

Caitlyn was sound asleep in the next room. When Malaya had passed on, they had moved to a small apartment. Despite not being an improvement over a suburban home, it was perfect for them.

Even with the cheaper accommodation, however, as Brennan continued to calculate his finances, he came to realize the horrible truth.

Leech was right.

No matter how much he figured he could save, there was not going to be enough to last them past her eighteenth birthday and his past ensured that he wouldn’t get a decent job.

Brennan pinched his nose and exhaled. He took a card out of his wallet and dialed the number. With immense disappointment, he uttered the three words that he hoped he’d never have to say again.

“What’s the job?”

--

Caitlyn, now an adult, opened the door into her apartment, carrying a large box of his personal effects and a copper urn. As she closed the door, the light from the hallway was dispelled and replaced only by darkness. She leaned against the door, struggling to breathe.

She wiped away a tear and walked into the living room, collapsing on the armchair that had once belonged to Brennan. Normally, she would’ve turned the television on and seen some news footage depicting her father to be this monstrous person, or some other program to take her mind off it. Not that she had ever paid attention anyways, as she simply enjoyed it for the noise as she poured over the pile of law books that sat in front of the television.

It all seemed so pointless now.

She set the urn down on the end table and ruffled through the rest of the box. The only thing of note was her father’s wallet, which itself had nothing of value in it, besides Leech’s card. Since most of her father’s money had been seized as evidence, she figured there wouldn’t be anything left for her.

This made it especially hard for her when her attention returned to an envelope that she had found in her mailbox a few days ago. Bright red letters reading “important” shone, even in the dark, which Caitlyn figured did not mean anything good. She tore into the envelope and read the notice inside.

It informed her that her rent cheque had bounced and that she had only a few days to get the money, or she would be evicted.

Caitlyn slumped in the chair, tears streaming down her face.

--

Brennan sat in the front seat of the van, the darkness of the night surrounding him, save for the twilight of the mansion’s ominous glow in the distance. Leech sat in the driver’s seat, smoking.

“Could you not smoke while I’m here?” Brennan coughed.

Leech took another drag and blew it directly into Brennan’s face.

“You’ve got bigger problems,” Leech replied. “You remember the plan?”

“Winston McGuffin. Diamond in the safe. Stealth operation. Simple extraction.”

Leech chuckled. “Still got it.”

--

The wealthy owners of the mansion were now asleep, so silence was key on this mission. Brennan crept through the dark house, dressed in black clothes to blend in with the shadows. His footsteps scraped the linoleum floor with barely a sound, as though he were merely dust falling to the ground.

Brennan had never been one to leave things to chance in this old life. As such, he’d developed certain skills that made him invaluable on jobs like this. He’d memorized every detail of the house from the blueprints and had observed the usual routines of its inhabitants. He would always be careful to note which external alarms he’d have to contend against. Never getting caught was the name of the game, and he was a very strong player.

But he was rusty; he hadn’t pulled a job in nearly a decade and was no longer the young man that could pull these off effortlessly. He reached the safe in the master bedroom, but it had taken him longer than he had calculated.

“Are you at the safe yet?” Brennan heard Leech seethe through his headset.

“Shh,” Brennan hushed.

He looked over to the bed and watched as one of the figures turned over. Brennan’s heart leapt out of his chest, and he held his breath.

No movement.

Brennan breathed a sigh of relief. He turned towards the safe and began the process. Rotating the dial was easy enough, but hearing the distinctive clicks required to unlock it required a focused mind and a silent environment. He barely had both.

After a few moments, the safe was opened. Looking inside, Brennan saw the object of the heist: a gigantic diamond, larger than his fist, sitting lopsided at the back of the safe.

Brennan grabbed the diamond and stared at it. In its depths, he could imagine the sight of Caitlyn graduating and the pride he’d feel for her. He saw an end to his worries and a future for his daughter. Right here, in the palm of his hand, was the wealth to save two lives.

“Do you got it?” Leech asked.

“That’s college ten times over,” Brennan replied.

“What the hell?”

Brennan’s eyes widened as he was suddenly enveloped by light. He slowly turned around to see the ghastly visage of an old man in his nightgown pointing a shotgun at him.

“You’ve got about three seconds to explain why you’re here, boy,” Winston scowled, the shotgun wavering in his hand. “Or else, you’re not going to be.”

Though Brennan was struggling to find his voice, only being able to get the smallest amount of air through his gaping mouth, he could distinctly hear Leech skidding away in the van, his profuse swearing barely audible on the headset.

“One.” Winston cocked the shotgun.

Brennan stared down the barrel of the gun, the darkness closing in on him as his chance at life began to dwindle.

“Two.”

Brennan glanced down at the diamond and gulped.

“Three.”

Winston began to squeeze the trigger. In that instant, Brennan saw his life flash before his eyes: He saw the crimes he’d committed, the loving embrace of his wife, the people he’d hurt. Then he saw the face of his daughter and envisioned the prospect of her growing up without him.

--

It was over in an instant.

As much as he would come to examine every aspect of the fight in the future, he could never quite form the full picture, as though he’d only witnessed it through binoculars through a window at a distance.

Winston’s wife screaming. A brief struggle. A loud bang. Winston’s terrified face. Blood on his hands.

Brennan got to his knees and tried to resuscitate the old man, but it was no use. Red and blue lights outside flashed into the window.

The next thing Brennan knew, he was convulsing on the ground, hit by a taser.

It was over.

He’d lost.

--

The field of grass still swaying in the wind beneath the heat of the overhead sun. The owl still gliding around in its majestic grace against the bright blue cloudless sky.

Brennan fell to his knees, now wearing a gray t-shirt. He took a deep breath, but it wasn’t peaceful, like last time. It was strained and painful, as though his entire lung system was about to collapse. He clutched his chest and shook as he held himself up.

Glancing upwards, Brennan noticed that he was not alone in this field.

A tiny mouse, gray and furry nibbled on a piece of corn in front of the man. Its long tail twirled on the ground, twitching slightly with every bite.

Brennan stared at the mouse, entering the void of its black eyes.

SCREECH.

Brennan turned his head towards the sky, remembering the owl up above. He looked back down at the mouse and began waving his hands.

“Shoo!” Brennan urged.

The mouse remained still, staring back at Brennan, almost as if it were trying to warn him instead of the other way around.

He collapsed onto his back and stared up into the blue sky.

The owl was getting closer.

--

Caitlyn stared blankly as she went about her job, barely registering the reality around her. The rush of people getting their morning coffee did little to lift her broken spirits. The desperate weight of her impending eviction contrasting with her grief-induced apathy after her father’s death made for a dangerous combination. Times were tough all around and the tips weren’t coming in as generously as they used to. Not that anyone Caitlyn worked with thought they were being paid fairly, either, but the amount of money coming in seemed to be diminishing with every passing day.

Her stomach contracted, due to having run out of food three days prior, yet the pain felt more like she was going to vomit. The room started to spin, and she could barely hear the voices around her.

She looked down at the counter and noticed the candy rack.

A simple calculus ran through her head: she needed to eat and that far outstripped the prospect of the company losing less than a dollar of profit. She would pay it back, of course, when her paycheck came in, but for now…

She glanced around. No one was watching her. No one was even acknowledging her. She grabbed a couple of bars and stowed them in her pocket.

--

The sweet taste of the candy bar may have filled her stomach a tad, but it did nothing to satiate her appetite. She had only taken a couple of bars, which meant she’d have to ration even that pitiful meal. Still, she sat in her father’s chair and stared at the television, savoring every small bite that she could manage.

Until the power went out.

Caitlyn curled up on the chair and cried herself to sleep.

--

The next day went even worse.

Despite her quick look around, Caitlyn had forgotten about the surveillance tapes and was approached by her boss.

Under normal circumstances, Caitlyn would’ve likely just gotten a verbal warning or, at least, been able to plead her case. Unfortunately, as her boss demonstrated, the factor of her father’s burglary past had painted her in a different light and diminished any reliability that she had. To the whole world, it seemed like she was just a time bomb, waiting to explode.

And so, with a heavy head, she left her job and wandered out into the raining street.

--

The receding hairline on the judge did nothing to improve his zombie-like visage. Nor did his wrinkles, which seemed to stretch his grim scowl even farther than Brennan would’ve thought physically possible. His dark eyes pierced the very air with icy tenacity.

Brennan prided himself on being able to maintain a cool head during tense situations. It was one of the qualities that made him invaluable during heists. Any heist, for that matter, was usually filled with danger and was a very do or die job. Yet, as he sat in that courtroom, watching the lawyers argue with his life in their hands, staring down the grim reaper of judges, he could barely contain his anxiety.

Endless hours spent stewing in his own sweat, taking every deep breath and every sip of water that he could to try and contain himself. But as the case dragged on, the heat seemed to increase, and Brennan required more and more water just to stay conscious.

Mrs. McGuffin’s testimony was hardly flattering, but Brennan had expected that. Not that her appearance here mattered to him. In fact, he couldn’t even look at her without seeing the horrified expression that she wore the night he had robbed her. The tears in her eyes and her screaming voice would haunt Brennan for the rest of his life.

The diamond, it turned out, was more valuable than he had previously thought, which elevated the severity of his crime. Brennan made sure to berate Leech for the omission of that detail.

But the worst part of the trial, during its early days at least, was that Caitlyn, accompanied by some social worker, would watch the trial. He had been careful not to tell her of his past, hoping that she would be able to make something better of herself one day. He had put all his hopes into that girl, and to see her face as it was revealed to her what her father was… it was like being stabbed, something that Brennan had some prior knowledge of.

As the trial dragged on, Brennan’s thoughts often turned to her. Compared to the thought of leaving her behind or the damage that Brennan had done to her, his own life seemed inconsequential. What would she do? Who would take care of her? Would she ever forgive him?

--

“Mr. Hill,” the prosecutor asked Leech as he sat next to the Judge. “Or ‘Leech’ if you prefer.”

“Either is fine,” Leech replied.

“Mr. Hill, did you recognize this man?” The prosecutor pointed towards Brennan.

“Yes sir. That is Brennan Bachman, aka ‘Barn Owl.’”

“And do you consider yourself Mr. Bachman’s friend?”

“No sir.”

“And why not?”

“Well… Mr. Bachman doesn’t vibe with people.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s got anger issues. Matter of fact, when I last saw him, he grabbed me and shoved me against my van.”

“And when did you last see him?”

“A few days before he got himself arrested.”

“That’s not true!” Brennan shouted accidentally.

The gavel banged once.

“Mr. Bachman,” the raspy voice of the judge thundered.

“But your honor, he was with me that night!”

The judge glared.

Brennan slumped down, fuming at Leech.

The prosecutor turned back to Leech.

“You said his nickname is ‘Barn Owl.’ Why is that?”

“Objection!” Brennan’s lawyer shouted. “Relevance?”

“Overruled,” the judge bellowed.

“May I continue?” The prosecutor asked. “Why did you call him ‘Barn Owl?’”

“On his first job, he killed a barn owl because it bit him.”

Brennan gasped and put his head in his hands.

“Animal cruelty?” The prosecutor gaped, turning towards the jury. “And now murder? Why would we assume that Mr. Bachman is capable of rehabilitation? Why would we assume that he can change?”

“Yeah, he’s a psycho! I’ll sleep better when he’s behind bars.”

Brennan shot up and leapt over the table, hands outstretched until they wrapped around Leech’s neck.

The judge banged his gavel furiously.

Two guards rushed towards Brennan and wrestled with him, barely pulling him off before Leech turned purple.

Brennan’s teary face looked around the courtroom and witnesses the terror that he had wrought: the horrified faces of the jury; the cocky grin of the prosecutor; the slimy faux terror of Leech; the disappointment in his own lawyer; and the fury in the Judge.

Brennan stopped fighting the guards and let them drag him away. There was no point anymore.

He’d lost.

--

Caitlyn reached her front door to find her father’s chair and a small box of belongings lying outside in the rain. Little droplets splattered off the silver urn in which her father’s ashes rested. The small spot of the chair that was not completely soaked was only dry because of the paper on top of it. Giant red letters on top read out: EVICTION NOTICE.

The rain continued to pour down as she reflected on the unfairness of her situation. A label acquired from her father, which had nothing to do with her. Both of her parents now gone and unable to help her, and a broken relationship with her foster family. No money. No job. No home. All she had left in the world, was her father’s ashes and a dirty old chair.

Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, screaming at the puddles forming in the gutter, her tears lost in the droplets around her.

--

Though he’d spent years attempting to prepare himself for the inevitable, the sterile white tile of this room seemed somehow more dangerous than the dismal nature of Brennan’s cell. The ominous chair in the center of the circular room rested beneath a shining light as an elderly doctor seemed menacingly inviting.

The last light he would ever see.

The guards undid his chains and locked him up in the chair. The bonds were tight enough that an ant would have trouble between them.

Using what limited mobility he had, Brennan raised his head and saw a giant glass window in front of him. Though he considered it barbaric to have to watch someone die, he understood that some people would see it as cathartic. Mostly, he was thinking of Mrs. McGuffin, as she sobbed beneath her black veil, a younger suitor sitting beside her. Some officials and Leech were there, too.

But Caitlyn… Caitlyn shouldn’t have been there.

She didn’t need to see this.

But there was nothing that Brennan could do, so he took solace in the fact that he had managed, at the very least, to see the young woman that his daughter had become. He hoped that she’d be better than him and learn from his mistakes.

Brennan laid his head back down and stared at the light above him.

--

Now wearing a black shirt and looking haggard, Brennan laid on the grass, staring uncomfortably at the sunlight above. His breath was strained, and his muscles were tense. Any movement, large or small, was causing him considerable pain.

The mouse squeaked as it climbed onto his chest, still clutching the piece of corn.

The owl screeched from above.

“No,” Brennan strained.

It happened faster than Brennan could even blink. The bird swooped down towards him. One second, the mouse was there. The next, it was not.

And so was Brennan.

The owl flew up into the blue sky, it’s golden wings still glinting in the sunlight.

--

The mud from the salvage yard splattered Caitlyn’s ragged jeans and torn shoes. She trudged forward, barely able to stand, yet clenching her father’s urn with unimaginable dedication. Though tired and hungry, she was walking with purpose.

Leech exited out of the shelter and looked at her.

“Well, well, well,” he chuckled. “Ain’t you Barn Owl’s little girl?”

“You sent my father to die!” she shouted.

“Easy there, little girl. Your daddy got caught fair and square. Ain’t my fault.”

Caitlyn seethed through her chattering teeth.

“And if you’re looking for revenge,” Leech continued, “I’d say you got a better chance of joining him.”

Caitlyn gripped the urn even tighter.

“So, what are you doing here?”

Despite her anger, Caitlyn’s expression softened, and her body relaxed.

“I need money.”

After a brief moment of consideration, Leech gestured towards the shelter’s door and led Caitlyn inside.

Neither of them took notice of a little gray mouse with black eyes darting away from the building, across the mud, and back onto the street.