Post by Obi on Mar 17, 2011 1:49:52 GMT -5
“Breaking Bad: Prelude”
By Oblivion.
It’s cold. I can feel the sharp claws of frostbite creeping up on the edges of my toes. My hands are bound, fastened together by rusted shackles. I test their limits, yanking away with my wrists. I am left with the taunting sound of metal clanging together before falling back into place, as if I did nothing but annoy them. I look up now, glancing at the various men and women seated before me. I don’t know what to say, really. Each one of them looks back at me, judging my every gesture before returning to their simple lives. How could they possibly judge me though? How would they know me?
Hell, I hardly know myself.
Adjusting my weight, the wooden chair creaks under my ass. I sigh a moment, as my mind compares my current situation and comparing it to that of a caged bear. Flicking my head back, my long hair flings over my shoulder. I need to come up with an answer and quick. Freedom is knocking on my doorstep. There was no time to waste. How I arrived in this hell of mine, well, it is a pretty long story. I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say, some thing’s are best left forgotten. We all carry a degree of guilt inside of us. For some, guilt is a simple matter. Maybe they didn’t say goodbye to a loved one before they passed on? Or, maybe they didn’t care for the family pet well enough. For people like me though, guilt is like a dagger that is driven into your flesh, twisting constantly. The pain never leaves nor lessens. You just have to.. Deal with it.
“Mister Hunter, you are here today in this parole meeting to decide if you are ready to be released into the community. We will start off by asking a few questions.”
I look up once again, my long beard flicking slightly. The man speaking to me glares at me as if I am already guilty. From his neatly trimmed mustache to the way his glasses rest upon the bridge of his nose, I get the feeling that he might be one of those judgmental types. That’s fine. I have seen worse. Clearing his throat once more and glancing down at a sheet of papers, he speaks to me once more. There is a slight flex in the pitch of his voice. He is nervous. Good. That makes two of us.
“You were sentenced to prison for 10 years for the attempted murder of a police officer. I believe the officer’s name was Raviel Guzman. Tell us please, do you regret your crime?”
Do I regret my crime? That’s a tough question. You see, if these pencil pushing assholes knew the truth of the situation, they might be thanking me instead of locking me up. It isn’t everyday that you meet a genuine demon. No, I don’t mean the crazy prophet type. I mean a genuine fire breathing demon. The world knew him as Raviel Guzman. I preferred to call him Satan. You see, I made a deal with the thing in hopes of saving my family. It didn’t work out as planned though. I know, I asked for it. I was left alone after my family perished in a house fire. Luckily, I fell in with a biker club that went by the name, The Devil’s Due motor club. Ironic, huh? I tried to move on with my life. Sadly enough, past sins have a way of following you.
Once I realized that Raviel was just going to follow me until the day I died, disrupting my life whenever possible, I decided to flip the script on him. I packed up my things and took the fight to his doorstep for once. I unleashed hell on his ass like never before.. Until the police showed up. So here I am, in my very first parole meeting. Do I regret my crime? Hell no. These people don’t want to hear that though. So, I get to play the part of the sad sinner. I turn to the man who spoke to me and cleared my throat before responding. “Yeah, I do regret it.”
“Why?” asks the man again, pressing the subject. He obviously was not buying into my sudden change of heart. “From the reports, you claimed Officer Guzman to be a demon I believe. Why would you regret attacking him now then?”
“I was exhausted I guess, mentally.” I answer, thinking quickly on my feet. “I wasn’t playing with a full deck. I see that now. I just want another chance.”
I leave it at that, glancing at the panel of judges before me. They whisper amongst themselves a moment until a female this time smiles in my direction. She is older, her hair betraying her true age through vibrant strands. With a calm voice, she begins to speak to me as I prepare for the worst. “Mister Hunter, it is no secret as to the positive image that you bring to the community aside from your past crime. I hear that you spend a considerable amount of time at children’s centers and the like, working to be a positive influence on our youth. To top it off, we have received a written statement from Officer Guzman himself asking for your release. He also feels that the situation was a big misunderstanding.”
What?! I should have guessed that Raviel would pull this type of shit. I mean, he can’t torment me when I am safely locked away in some jail cell, can he? I almost want to recant right there just so they will deny my parole. If I do that though, how will I ever finish the job that I started?
“So.” the woman continues. “This parole board will happily go with the consensus and agree to the terms of your dismissal. You will be assigned a probation officer upon release. You will also be responsible for finding a job and residence, I don’t think that will be a problem for you though."
“No, Ma’am.” I reply.
“Good. Remember, Toby. Second chances are the difference between demons and angels.” she finishes as I am taken back a bit. As I stare at her face, I begin to see a bit of familiarity in her features. Do I know her? Either way, I choose to say nothing. I am an hour or two away from freedom. I will go meet this probation officer and then try to piece my life back together once again. The process of “Breaking Bad” has never been so enticing.
An Hour Later
“Hold it right there, inmate!”
I stop in my tracks as a thin layer of dust kicks up and circles my black boots. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as a prison guard nods in my direction before flipping the switch. “Hey Toby? Go kick Dante’s ass!”
“Dante?” I answer. I receive no reply as the metal doors slowly part before me. My pupils struggle as a beam of sunlight blasts into my face, causing me to raise my gloved hand. The air is fresh, a strong difference from the urine infested breeze that makes up the prison air conditioning system. As freedom begins calling for me, I step forward as the doors slide closed behind me. With my hair twisting in the Death Valley winds, I glance one more time over my shoulder as I speak once again. “Dante? Who in the hell is that?”
“TOBY?!”
My thoughts are broken up instantly as the sounds of many feet beating against gravel rush in my direction. I turn to face the attack, when I am suddenly tackled by 5 or 6 leather clad men! I hit the dirt hard and swallow a bit of gravel as I am trampled, slapped, and hugged. After the energy has been spent, I accept a hand as I am pulled up once again to my feet. My family have come to pick me up. I missed these guys more than I thought I would. With a crooked smile, Bobby pats me on the shoulder as he speaks with a rough voice. “Welcome back, Champ. Long time no see, mate!”
“Yeah, Toby!” shouts Kip now with a high pitched voice. “We didn’t know where you were until yesterday!”
“Yesterday?” I respond. I have been locked up for just over a year. Why would they not find out until yesterday, and who was the one to tell them? Before I can ask, another man slowly approaches. His hair is tinted grey, complete with large sunglasses upon his face. Through a thick goatee, Cole Ritter smiles before speaking. “Hello, Son! Welcome home!” The leader of the Devil’s Due then hugs me tightly. I do not return the gesture as I am still thrown off by what has taken place. After a moment, he releases me and stares into my eyes. “You look older, kid.”
“So do you.” I respond. In truth, he does. His face seems more worn down now as wrinkles have taken over. I notice these things more than the casual member. You see, he was not just the leader of the club but my father as well.
“There is so much to get caught up on, Son.” he responds once more as we head towards a large black van. “What do you want to do first? You must be ready to hit the town and get some pussy!”
“I have to go see my probation officer first.” I answer. “I have no clue who he is.”
The boys look at one another in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Cole glances back at them once as if to calm them down before responding to me. “Well, Son. The thing is, you know exactly who your P.O is. That cop that you tried to gun down? Well, he got himself promoted and it seems they gave your case to him.”
“What?!” I snap. “Raviel is my probation officer?!”
“Seems so.” answers Cole again.
“Ain’t that a bitch.” I snap off now as we head to the van once more. “Well, let’s head to his office.”
“Sure, Son.” answers Cole now. “It’s just good to have you home again.”
(To Be Continued...)
