The Prisoner
Jake sat in the corner of his cell, waiting for the rain to stop. He sat quietly, eyes staring intently at the barred window in the opposite side of the room. The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. A sudden gust of wind shook the window violently and Jake averted his gaze away from the window. The wall beside him was littered with thousands of marks; two-thousand, four-hundred and thirty-seven to be precise. Six years, eight months, seven days. He fumbled around his coat pocket for a moment before producing a small, black rock. He reached up towards the wall and added another mark. Two-thousand, four hundred and thirty-eight. He smiled to himself. Another mark on the wall meant another day and another step closer to his freedom. At first the marks were chains, each one a reminder of all of the days he would be spending in this accursed prison. But now, now that he had a plan to break out the marks represented liberty. Two more marks and he would be out. However the rain threatened it all. How he hated the rain.
Moving towards his bed, while staying away from the window and the rain outside, Jake reached out and lifted his mattress. Underneath was a small broken piece of plastic, whittled down to roughly the shape of a sewing needle. Placing it in between his teeth, he moved his hand around the underside of the mattress until he found the small opening. He reached inside and pulled out a tattered old raincoat and a mess of threads. He returned to the far corner of the cell and began his work. He had been collecting materials for a good six months, and working on his project for another four. The coat he held in his hands was one of around twenty, all stuffed tight inside of his mattress. He had been secretly hoarding cigarettes over the past six years, and sold them to the other prisoners in exchange for the coats. He never really liked cigarettes anyway. The stuff would kill you.
Jake worked diligently and silently. He would sew any defects in the coats using thread from stolen pillow cases and seal it off with the contact cement he smuggled out of the prison workshop. Each coat was sewn and glued to another, eventually taking the form of a raft. He managed to create three large cylindrical tubes that connected in a triangle, which provided the buoyancy. The rest of the coats made the floor of the raft, hopefully strong enough to support his weight. He had been working in the dead of night for the past four months, having memorized the times when the guards would make their rounds to ensure that no one would become aware of his actions. Not even the other prisoners knew of his plans. No was to be trusted.
There was a quick flash of light followed moments later by the low rumbling of thunder. Jake looked out the window, slightly startled. The rain still fell, making him burn with both hatred and fear. Lighting flashed brightly outside the window, briefly illuminating the night sky and giving a glimpse at the jagged mainland in the distance. Between that far shore and the prison window lay the dark, swelling Pacific. Jake’s mind wandered off, his eyes following the drops of rain as they traveled down the window pane.
There was another flash of lightning and suddenly Jake was no longer in his prison cell. He was standing on a street corner on a warm summer day. Directly in front of him was a large gray building, a bright sign hanging above the intricately designed glass door. Richardson & Co. Embroidery. He stepped up to the building and peered through the door. She was inside, looking at the large tapestries hanging on the walls. Her face was a blur, washed away by over half of a decade of separation, but her named was ingrained into his memory. Lilly Haddock. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and from the day the two met as children in a park, he longed to be with her. She was the reason he took up sewing, the reason he attended the classes at the store. He did anything to spend time with her, to be close to her. She smiled when Jake walked in through the door, but it wasn’t directed towards him. A man named William Richardson appeared in front of Jake, whom he remembered to be the owner of the store and the one who had taught the sewing classes. William walked towards Lilly and the two embraced one another, sharing a kiss. Anger filled Jakes eyes and suddenly he was kneeling at the shore of a lake. It was raining. His hands gripped the neck of the man named William. The two were struggling, Jake forcing the other mans head into the shallow water. She was supposed to be with me! Suddenly Jake was in a park, the sky darkening overhead. In front of him was William, walking amiably along the edge of the lake. Jake ran to catch up with him, asking the man if he remembered him from sewing class. William said he did not. Jake responded by hitting the man in the head with a rock. Weak from the blow, William could do nothing to protest while he was being dragged towards the lake. Jake was once again at the lakes shore, forcing his victim under the icy water. The water was knee deep and there was nothing William could use as leverage to lift himself out beyond the surface. Moments later the struggling came to an end. Jake was now in a courtroom. The judge sat high, swinging the gavel down hard. Jake Maloney you are hereby sentenced to serve life in prison for the drowning of William Richardson. Lighting flashed, thunder bellowed, rain pounded.
Jake was looking out the window in his cell. Everyday for the first two years of his sentencing that scene had played through his mind. At first it was nightmarish, but he soon found pride in his deed. He had fought for the woman he had loved, and the only thing he regretted was that she still didn’t love him. Despite his assertive attitude over the matter, he was still haunted by the image of William as his face became cold and still under the clear waters of the lake. The rain had been pouring that day, and even all of that water couldn’t wash away the fear, the hatred, the blood. He reminisced about the days in his childhood he would spend just watching the rain fall. Those days were long gone and now the rain only represented hatred and fear. The rain reminded Jake of him, and worse it reminded Jake of her. There would only be two more days until the escape, and the memories came crashing through his head. Now that he would finally be free, the prospect that he might see her again was overwhelming. Resolving to put all of his effort into his plan, Jake pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and continued his work.
After the fourth day of heavy rain the sun came out and the ocean calmed. It was just before noon and there was an unusually busy atmosphere about the prison. Many of the prisoners were glad to get outside, and although the day was warm and bright, everyone was preparing for the evening. Even the guards were oddly cheery, walking about in their red, white and blue ball caps. The fourth of July had always been the highlight of the prison, as the position of the island on which it was situated gave it a good vantage point to shoot off fireworks for the people watching from the mainland. The unusually heavy rain created suspicions that the display would be cancelled, but the sudden change in weather brought up everyone’s spirits, as much as you can do so for a prison.
Jake sat eagerly in his cell, waiting. He would occasionally get up and walk over towards the window, as it was now safe to do so without the threat of rain. Yet despite his anxiety swelling in anticipation for the night, he still held doubts and fears. The Pacific Ocean stretched out beyond his window, and from his position on the prisons third floor Jake could see for miles. This was the greatest obstacle. Just outside the window was a three-story drop to a narrow edge of rock, which dropped off to the ocean below. His section of the prison was on the far side of the island, facing the mainland, sitting atop the twenty or so foot cliff. This was his means of escape.
Pacing back and forth around his cell, Jake went though his plan again and again. He had been planning his escape for almost a year, but now that it was underway it all seemed surreal. He walked over to the corner by the window, casually glancing behind his bed but not directly looking, just in case someone was watching him from afar. Each individual prison cell was not directly attached to its adjacent cell; rather there was a small amount of space in between each one. Why this was the case Jake had never quite figured out. He had managed to chisel around the edge of an old vent behind his bed with a spoon, creating a hole just large enough to fit through if he sucked in his stomach. There was little room in between the cells, as several pipes filled most of the empty space. Through that space he managed to break open anther vent, this one leading to the roof of the prison. From there he would carefully climb down the edge of the prison wall, using the windows as a foothold until he reached the edge of the cliff. From that point on he would have to rely on his raincoat raft. This is where he became fearful. The hundreds of nights spent working after dark, Jake had become extremely observant. During those nights he had to ensure every movement, every action, every breath was silent and effective. He had no room for mistakes. However, as confident as he was in his plan, the dark ocean still presented a complication. He knew he would have to overcome it, but it would be a painful process. He was determined, even more so because tonight was his only chance at escape. If missed, such a chance would not come around for another year.
Jake smiled. Even though he was surrounded by ocean, this island was his only means escaping prison. A prison in the middle of a desert would mean death. Here on the island he could escape into the harbor. The guards would be busy prepping for the fireworks display, and the waters between the prison and the mainland would fill with yachts, barges and kayakers. The fireworks would provide him with cover and distraction. No one would notice his escape. No one would expect it. Just another kayaker, paddling around the harbor trying to get a good view of the show. It was perfect. They would never know what happened. He would paddle out using pieces of drift wood and make his way to the nearest secluded shore. Once he was out of the prison they would never see him again. He amused himself at the thought of the inspectors searching his cell after they realized he was gone. Why would one wish to make his escape on the busiest night of the year? The harbor is filled with spectators! Surely someone ought to notice this man, they would say. And another officer would chime in. I say it is an ingenious plan, going out on the busiest night of the year. Getting lost in the crowd! He expects us to say such a plan would be crazy and dismiss it! It is deviously simple. Jake was bursting with pride but he knew the day was not over. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes.
The night came quick enough. Between the anxiety Jake felt and the already busy atmosphere in the prison, everything went along rather fast. He just wanted it to be over, to be free. He wiped his sweaty palms against his coat. The last patrol went through five minutes prior, and the next would not arrive for another half hour or so. It was dark outside, but lights filled the waters as people waited in their boats for the fireworks. In another ten minutes half of the lights in his section of the prison would turn off, a result of the main warden not wanting the prison lights to distract from the display. He was not allowed to completely shut them down, so he compromised. The resulting dimness provided Jake with enough time to slip out of his cell through the broken vent. The night before he had transferred all of the necessary materials out from the inside of his mattress and into the space between the cells; the inflatable raft made of the raincoats, the driftwood paddle, a canteen filled with drinking water, and a flare gun he managed to purchase from another prisoner. He hadn’t a clue as to why or how another prisoner was able to smuggle such an item to the prison, but it seemed valuable enough, perhaps as a makeshift weapon if things went wrong. Jake glanced at the clock sitting on the wall just outside of his cell. Two minutes until lights-off.
Three pillows were situated underneath the covers of Jake’s bed, fashioned to look like a person. He hoped that the patrol would think he was sleeping, which would allow him enough time to get away from the prison before they realized he was missing during the nightly roll-call. He readied himself at the end of his bed, watching the clock. He would have to move swiftly and quietly. He had about thirty minutes to get outside and down to the water before the fireworks began. Crouching down beside the vent, he placed his hands around the vent cover. The lights went out and suddenly everything was dark. Jake removed the vent cover and pushed himself through the hole, arms first. After a moment of struggling he was back in the small space between his cell and the next one over. It took him a moment to find all of his materials, but he was swift and silent and focused. Holding onto one of the many pipes with one hand and holding his materials in the other, he lifted himself towards the other broken vent leading to the roof. The materials were the first thing on the roof, followed by Jake. Having counted the time since the lights went out, he figured he had about twenty eight minutes to go. He had to get off of the roof and out to the water by the time the fireworks began, otherwise the light from the explosions would give away his position to the guard towers. He needed to blend in with the other boats as soon as possible.
Having placed the flare gun, canteen and paddle on the un-inflated raft, Jake folded it all together and placed the bundle under his arm. Taking one last breath of confidence, he began his descent down the side of the prison. The prison was old and ocean-facing wall had succumbed to erosion over the years. In addition to the window sills there were enough crevices to get a good foothold while climbing down the wall. During his descent he avoided climbing directly in front of the other windows. No need for anyone to notice. Within a few minutes he was sitting at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the water. A crashing realization came upon him. He could not swim. Of course he had always known this, and had contemplated every other possible way of escaping the island, pushing the thought to the farthest regions of his mind. Now it stared him in the face. This was the only means of escape, and he knew it. It was now or never.
Twenty-three minutes to go. Setting aside the rest of his materials Jake began filling the raft with air. It was exhausting work, but nothing he had not expected. He had used his time in the prison gym to ensure he could handle his escape. His lungs quickly became jaded but after a good fifteen minutes it was done. He took a moment to catch his breath. Eight minutes left. Jake looked down at the cliff. It wasn’t a sheer drop, rather a steep decline, and he had to be careful about getting the raft down without puncturing it. Once again he started a descent, but this one would be his last. Soon he was at the waters edge, three minutes to go. He carefully pushed the raft into the water, holding it tight as the currents were already tugging it away. Making sure he had his materials, he climbed onto the raft and pushed away from the cliff. The raft held him and a wave of relief washed over his pale face. There was a sudden loud bang and his heart felt like it would explode from the shock. For the slightest moment he thought that he was being shot at, but a heavy blue light filled the night sky and he realized the fireworks had begun.
Jake paddled hard. The motion of the water rocked his raft and pushed him with the currents, but he held strong. He was unwavering in his goal, and he forced the raft towards the distant shore. The night was filled with colors and explosions. If he had been paying attention he would have seen how beautiful it all was. The prison fireworks display was the best in the harbor. The vibrant blue melting with the brilliant oranges and yellows painted a short-lasting picture in the sky. A few of the fireworks exploded into the shape of a star, all in reds whites and blues.
Jake had been paddling for several minutes now, and the prison began to fade in the distance, occasionally lit up by the fireworks. However every time the bay would be lit up, he would become nervous. He did not want to be seen. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea after all. Doubts flooded his mind. Water flooded his raft. Water flooded his raft.
Jake looked down in shock. One of his seams was not holding. Several of his seams were not holding. He stopped rowing and began to bail the water out. He was in a panic. He had not realized that the wakes from the boats would create such choppy waters. Waves began to pound the side of the raft. He looked up frantically, sweeping the area, looking for nearby boats between explosions of light. The prison shore was too far away by now; he could not go back. He did not want to go back. Water ate away at the raft, clawing towards Jake. He was in shock, thousands of thoughts crashing together in his mind. I can’t swim. I should have expected this. I should have triple-checked the seams. I can’t swim. I should have known about the waves. I don’t want to die. I can’t swim. I don’t want to die. In a sudden glimmer of hope, he remembered the flare gun in his pocket and quickly took it out. No, no, I can’t draw attention! What does it matter? I’m serving life anyway, they can’t possible extend my sentence. Can they? He looked down at the faded orange pistol. He had no desire to go back to the prison, but he had no intentions of dying either. Prison, or death. Prison. Death. Prison…
Going back was his only option. The raft was starting to go under, breaking beneath the weight of the waves. He had no more time to think. Hoping someone – anyone – would possibly notice, Jake raised the flare gun high above his and pulled the trigger. A bright orange light filled the night sky.
Out on the shore, several families gathered together for the celebration. The grill was out and the hotdogs and burgers were cooking. Children chased each other around the beach, their worried mothers eyeing them warily. Fathers and husbands sat around a fire, sipping their beers and discussing work and politics. When the fireworks began, everyone gathered on the sand, their oohs and aahs silently drifting in the air at the sight of each explosion. The children giggled, poking each other and telling everyone else that the last explosion was their favorite. Not three minutes into the show something unusual happened and one of a small child ran up to her father and tugged at his shirt. She pointed to a fading trail of orange coming from the harbor, inquiring why that particular firework did not explode like all the others. The father quickly dismissed it as a dud, or perhaps a firecracker shot off from one of the many yachts in the harbor. Nothing to worry about. Pleased at his answer the girl went back to her companions, quickly becoming mesmerized by the rest of the display and soon forgetting about the one odd orange firework that looked so different from the others. The night continued as usual, the children playing, the fathers talking and the mothers scolding their children for getting too close to the water, because for heavens sake they didn’t know how to swim and they would surely drown out in that dreadful ocean.