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LOCKDOWN: 3:07am 1/11/2000 BEECHER/KELLER Pod, bottom bunk
So... I’m just wondering. What would you say if they caught you?
Catch me? For what? Haven’t done anything.
Okay, well, sure, but what if you had? Done something? You’ve been accused of a lot of shit, right? What would you say, like, to their parents? If you had...
If I had what? Whacked those guys? From the bar? Toby, you know me.
Yeah. I do. Humor me though. Supposing...
Supposing I’m some kinda sick serial killing motherfucker.
Yeah, supposing that.
Man, you been here, what, two, three years and you still don’t know jackshit about nothing— you just got no idea how prison works. Toby, I’m serious, it’s dangerous, you can’t be asking guys about stuff they’ve done on the outside—Hey, now. That’s cheating! Listen, you got your hands on a guy’s dick, he’s liable to say anything. And his nut sack! Settle down!
I’m asking you, not unnamed guys, whoever they might be. You say you love me right? You trust me? Look, if it makes you feel any better—you can always claim you were under duress at the time. Your honor, the witness had my testicles in hand and I was afraid for my manhood—uh uh, don’t even try it, you looking for a sex change, Keller, huh? Just tell me. What would you say?
Ow! Son of a bitch! Your nails are fucking sharp. Fine, fuck, let me think. What would I say to who?
Jesus Christ. The families. Of the people you killed. You’re getting sentenced, you’ve got the right to say something.
Jesus, huh? Thought you were praying to Allah these days—Okay! Fuck. Well, I dunno. Probably wouldn’t say anything, what the fuck would they want to hear from me for-Fuck!! Okay. I guess, if they had me dead to rights, and there was no death penalty, I guess I’d tell ‘em, your sons were boys, sure, but they died like men. They weren’t afraid. They didn’t suffer. It was quick.
And... is that the truth?
Truth? What truth? Okay fine, look, if they could still carry on a conversation at that point, which let’s face it, is basically never, they mostly die like pussy bitches, crying for their mommas. But y’know dead is dead, and I figure no one wants to hear that about their son, right?
...Mostly? So how many are we talking...? I... never mind. Lie back. Anyway, so you’d feel sorry for them? The families?
I dunno. Not really. Never really cared what anyone thought but you. Maybe Bonnie, a little. But why make people feel bad if you don’t gotta? And I bet those kinda people care ‘bout that kinda shit.
What do you mean? Those people?
Rich fuckers. You know they already hated those kids a little for bending over, right out in public, why make ‘em feel worse? Now they can hush it all up and make like it’s all dignified.
You know I’m a rich fucker, right? Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me. You seriously think those parents cared their kids were gay? About who they were fucking and how? More than they cared about them being dead? I wouldn’t.
Come on, Beecher. Be serious. Not everyone’s you, living in some kinda fake fairyland where everyone’s all nice and kind and fair. ‘Specially since it’s all bullshit anyway. Even you don’t really believe in it. Oh yeah, that hit a mark. Yeah you think you’d love it if Gary grows up and decides to be a fag, huh? ... Mm hmm, I see that face, those wide eyes. See? Maybe you wouldn’t want him dead, of course not, he’s your boy, your blood, but he sure would be inconvenient when you wanna hand over the keys of the firm wouldn’t he? You’d think real hard about Holly all of a sudden, wouldn’t ya! You know you would. Can’t hide from me, pal.
I would not give one shit if Gary were gay as long as he was happy. As long as he didn’t get turned out in fucking prison. Or have the person he... cared for break his fucking arms!
Fine, you’re Mr. Enlightened. But let’s not forget exhibit B, you! Yeah, you think your folks love it that you take it up the ass? From me? A convict? Yeah, not planning on writing them ‘bout that part of summer camp are ya? Christ. Why you asking me all this shit anyway?
I just want to know who you are.
And now, what? You think you know? You think I’m a, whatcha call ‘em, a... sociopath. A psychopath, whatever.
Well. To be totally honest, kinda, yeah.
I love it when you say that: be totally honest. Usually means I’m in for a world of hurt. Hey, you know what? I don’t blame you. I used to think so, too, maybe, but now I know I’m not.
Yeah? How? Don’t give me those eyes, Keller, what seriously? ... Because of me? Bullshit.
It’s kinda sad actually.
Why?
I dunno. God would probably forgive a psychopath, eventually. A guy who couldn’t help himself, who was just born that way, hell God made ‘em that way. But regular old sinners, what’s their excuse?
Hey. No, Chris, come on, look at me. I hate when you do this to yourself. Chris. If it makes you feel any better, loving me probably doesn’t make any difference.
What’re you saying? That love don’t mean shit?
No, I’m saying... Look. Psychopaths love people, too, you know? You don’t believe me? I’m not lying. Apparently they have wives and kids and pets and they love ‘em just as much as other people do, okay?
I killed our dog for fun when I was nine.
What?!
I’m kidding. C’mon, you think we could afford a dog? Aw, don’t be like that. How do you know about all this shit anyway?
Uh. I read about it in this psychiatric journal when I was... well, Dr. Nathan gave it to me.
Oh.
Yeah. I didn’t believe it- then, but I read it.
Toby, I am truly sorry. You know that, right?
We’re square, Chris. We’re square.
Because you shanked me?
Because I forgave you.
Right. But you don’t believe me. That I’m sorry.
I know you regret what you did, Chris.
But? And?
But... I also know you enjoyed it.
Okay.
Okay?
Yeah. This is all hypothetical anyway. You know how I like to tell stories.
Look at you with your big words. Hypothetical.
Yeah I’m a fucking dictionary. Go to sleep, okay? I need it, if you don’t. And you do. Don’t want you bitching at me all day tomorrow- ow! Don’t pull my hair, motherfucker. I need that shit. Not bitching. Expressing your irritation in a perfectly reasonable way. I don’t want ya doing that, okay? Okay. I’m kissing you goodnight and going to sleep. There. Go to sleep, Beecher.
... ... “Beecher,” huh? I know you’re pissed, don’t fake snore at me. Look, I’m still here. With you. Petting your hair, such as it is. Whatever it is you’ve done. And I know you love me. Okay? Chris? Goddamnit, you’re actually asleep. Typical. How do you fucking do that? ...And now I’m talking to myself. Out loud. Hey, Chris. Here’s one I bet you can’t answer. You’re a psychopath, maybe. You love me. Fine. But here’s the thing. The nub, nay, the crux. Yeah. So. If I still love you, well, what does that make me? ...I’m not sure I want to find out. ...Night, Chris.
...
...
It makes you Toby. No nightmares tonight, okay? Sleep. I’ll be here. And when you wake up. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be with you.. And I know you love me. And I love you Toby. I do. I love you