THE AGREEMENT

Rosevill Prison is a place where the unlucky go, but dont live to tell about it.

THE AGREEMENT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           THE AGREEMENT

 

 

JOANNE MYERS

[email protected]

 

WORD COUNT- 2,633

PARANORMAL

 

 

   

           THE AGREEMENT

 

 

            It happened on an ordinary day to an ordinary man.  “Roseville?” said twenty- one-year-old college student Brice Conrad. “What a stupid name for such a hole-in-the-wall dump. Maybe one of the hicks in this hick town will tell me how to get to the freeway and to civilization.”

            Shoving his 1923 vintage baby blue convertible corvette into drive, the arrogant playboy continued down the dirt road at top speed, but not for long as he heard a familiar tune. “Oh s**t!” he said with a sneer for authority.  “One more ticket and I lose my allowance for six months.  Dam it!” he said pulling over and quickly primping in the mirror and straightening his two hundred dollar blue silk tie before applying his million dollar smile.

            “Can I help ya officers?” he asked.

            “Well ya sure can son.  You can get out of the car on your own or I can help ya out,” the fifty year old sheriff said as his scrawny and sweaty deputy snickered at the side lines.

            No longer smiling, Brice knew it would take more then a flashy car and a Rembrandt smile to save his a*s this time.  “Now sheriff,” he said respectfully, but it was to late.

            “Don’t sheriff me you punk,” yelled the three hundred pound gorilla throwing open the drivers door and yanking Brice out of the vehicle by his shirt collar and throwing the kid against the hood of his pride and joy.

            “No wait, please. You got it all wrong,” wined Brice.

            “I aint never wrong ‘bout you city folks,” yelled the sheriff slapping on the handcuffs.  “You rich b******s think ya can speed through my town ‘cause ya drive a fancy car or ‘cause yuz daddy’s got money.”

            “I got four thousand dollars in my wallet,” Brice pleaded. “Its yours.  All of it.  Just don’t lock me up and I wont say nothing about the assault.”

            After swinging Brice around to face him, the sheriff asked. “Are you try’n’ to bribe me boy?” 

            “Yeah he is bribing’ ya.  Yeah he is,” chirped the excited deputy wiping sweat from his upper lip.

            “Now you done insulted me,” the sheriff said socking Brice in the jaw and knocking him out cold.

            Hours later, Brice woke to an overhead fluorescent light blinding him.  Sitting up on his flimsy and slightly damp bare cot, he discovered it was night as the faint sound of crickets drifted in from the outside. Through the dimness, he noticed he had a cellmate. 

            “Who are you and where am I?” he asked.

Sitting on a stool in an adjacent corner of the cell was a muscular middle aged man sniffing something he clutched in his large hand. “My name is Mr. Nomed and you’re in the abandoned Roseville Prison. How’s your jaw?”

            “A little sore,” Brice said caressing his bruise. “That fat old sheriff is gonna regret he ever pulled me over when my dad finds out where I’m at.”

            “Does your father love you very much?”

            Looking at the soft spoken man, Brice asked. “What kind of question is that?”

            “A question I would like answered if you please.”

            “Well I don’t care to please and what are you sniffing?”

            Looking at Brice from across the room,  cracked a smile and calmly said, “your blood stained handkerchief.”

            “What?” Brice said jumping to his feet. “Are you one of them kinky people the papers are always talking about?”

            “There’s nothing strange about my behavior. When you arrived you were unconscious and bleeding, so I used your handkerchief to tend your injury.  You should be grateful. I saved your shirt from getting ruined.”

            “Screw my shirt.  I got dozens of them. Just keep your distance and we’ll get along fine till I’m bailed out.”

            “So you don’t think you’re be staying?”

            “Of course not.  All they got me for is a speeding ticket.  I got legal papers on the corvette.”

            “But does anyone know you‘re here?”

            “What does that mean,” Brice asked as the wooden jail door opened and two people entered.

            “I heard voices so I guess you in’s are gettin’ acquainted?” the sheriff said.            The forty year old woman slid a tray of food under the bars at Brice.

            “They say I make the best chicken salad sandwiches and coffee in Roseville,” she said. “I hope ya like your snack Brice.”

            “Oh I’m sure he will Emma May,” Mr. Nomed said advancing toward the bars as she retreated. “Got any food for me Emma?  I‘m hungry too.”

            The woman was speechless.  “Now Mr. Nomed we always keep you well feed,” said the sheriff with a nervous laugh. “Now aint it ‘bout time for your man to leave for work Emma May?  Ya better git home and pack his bucket,” the sheriff said as he hustled the woman out.

            “Where’s my phone call?” Brice yelled as the door slammed shut.

            “You better eat your meal before it gets cold,” Mr. Nomed said resuming his seat.  “If your anything like me, you cant stand a cold meal.”

            “Well then you eat it,” Brice said scooting the tray toward his cell mate with his foot before scouring his jacket and finding he was out of smokes.

            “Thanks, but I don’t care for that food either.”

            “If you aint the funniest talking man I ever met,” Brice said stretching out on the cot and falling asleep.

            Morning came and not to soon as the sheriff entered with a fresh tray of food and sixty year old father Randolph. Noticing the tray of uneaten food from the previous night, the sheriff asked. “Are ya on a diet son? We’re known for havin’ the best fed prisoners in the county.”

            “What I want is a phone call.”

            “In due time, boy. In due time,” the sheriff said as the Priest stepped in.

            “Brice, I’ve come to answer any questions you might have about our Lord,” the priest said.  “Any confessions…or last rights?”

            “Last rights! I aint dying and I aint talking to no one except my fathers attorney,” Brice said munching on a slice of buttered toast.  “The longer you deny me my constitutional rights, the more trouble this county is gonna have.”

            “Now son we all wanna make this as easy as possible,” said the priest.

            “Make what as easy as possible?” Brice said wolfing down scrambled eggs. “And I noticed my cell mate is gone.  So if you can let him go, you can let me go too.”

            “Well Mr. Nomed aint really a prisoner.  He’s more like a house quest,” the sheriff said. “He’ll be here tonight.”

            “You mean he’s homeless or something?” Brice asked.

            “God works in strange ways,” the priest said making the sign of the cross and departing as the sheriff followed.

            “Hey! Where’s my phone call?” Brice yelled as the jail door closed.

            That day, Brice was entertained in various way.  A local mechanic brought in nudie magazines for him. “Gee thanks.  These are even more vulgar then Hustler,” Brice said.

            “Do you have siblings?” the mechanic asked solemnly.

            “Yeah I have a sister,” Brice said. “Why do you ask?”

            “Just curious. I have a sister too and I love her very much,” the mechanic said before departing.

            Then four hardware employees, who moonlighted as a signing quartet stopped in and sang golden oldies for Brice for hours. “All this fine singing is making me hungry,” Brice said gobbling up another drum stick situated in the middle of a smorgasbord of home cooked food. 

            Just then, “Our replacement is here,” said one singer as two young pretty women entered the room and said their “hello’s” and the quartet obligingly left.

            “Who are you all?“ Brice asked swallowing a mouthful of cool beer and ogling the scantly clad ladies.    

            “We’re the evenin’ entertainment,” Jolene, a tall brunette said popping off the cork of a bottle of wine she brought with her.

            “I heard you were out of cigarettes, pretty boy,” said Roxy, the bosomy blonde lighting one up for the party boy.

            “This is the coolest jail I’ve ever been locked up in,” said Brice turning on the portable radio the sheriff lent him.

            “We just want ya to enjoy yourself while you’re here,” said Jolene.  “So lets drink up.” She then poured them a large round.

            Two hours went by. Brice laughed and smoked as if his heart would burst.

“Ya know what I found out tonight from my entertainers?” Brice asked.

            “No what?” Jolene asked lighting Brice another cigarette.

            After exhaling, he said. “I found out, that this abandoned prison always has innate. Every family has lost a loved one in a peculiar way and there’s a curfew at dusk. Now aint that strange?”

            “Yes, strange,” Roxy said just before hearing the sound of a harmonica.

            “It sounds like an old fashioned speed trap and one more reason I‘m gonna sue the pants off the sheriff and the county,” Brice said.

            “That sounds like the deputy!” Roxy said moving to the one window the cell offered and looked out. “It is the deputy!  He‘s drunk again.”

            “So what! He’s a big boy almost,” Brice said with a drunken laugh.

            “Tell him to go home, Roxy,” Jolene said.

            “So have either of you ladies lost a loved one?” Brice asked noticing the girls were worried about the lawman.

            “My paw never came home one night,” Jolene said as her big brown puppy dog eyes watered up.

            “What do ya think happened to him?” Brice asked.

            “Oh we know what happened to him.  We just couldn’t stop it,” Jolene said growing sad. 

            “But then we found a solution,” Roxy said with a sick laugh. “Go home deputy, please!” she yelled through the bars of the window, but to no avail.

            “If that cop wants ta be a drunk, let ’im.” Brice said wanting to party.  “Forget about him.”

            “Poor deputy,” Roxy said returning to the cot and sitting.

            “Paw was a good man.  A lot better then that fat sheriff and alcoholic deputy out there.”  Jolene said sipping her wine.

            “What does that mean?” Brice asked. “You sound like you wished the sheriff and his deputy was dead instead of your paw.”

            “Well what if she does,” Roxy said. “Cant ya see she’s hurtin.”

            “Yeah I see she’s hurting over her paw, but…”

            “Then lay off,” Jolene said.  “This is suppose to be a party.”

            “What’s with you girls?” asked Brice jumping up. “One of ya’s is wishing death on someone else, and the other is worried about the curfew.”

            “So what?“ Roxy said.

            “Well its bad luck to wish death on a person,“ Brice said as the girls burst into laughter.

            “What’s so funny?” he asked.

            “You are,” Jolene said.  “You of all people, talk’n’ ’bout bad luck.”

            “You mean because I’m in jail?” he said defensively.

            “Yeah, you‘re the richest and most handsomest man this jail has ever had,” said Roxy sadly. “Here drink up.” She then offered Brice another helping of wine.            He shoved it away, splashing her.

            “Hey now! Why’d ya go and ruin my new dress like that,” Roxy whined.   “We just wanna keep ya happy until its time.”

            “Time for what?” Brice asked suspiciously.

            “She didn‘t mean nothin‘,” Jolene said trying to play referee.

            “Is there something going on around here I should know about?” Brice asked.

            “Nothin’!” they both said unconvincingly.

            Realizing the girls and perhaps the entire town was hiding something strange and possibly deadly from him, Brice out of anger and confusion, knocked over the portable radio, breaking it.  “Now if the sheriff or his deputy is gonna kill me, tell me now.”

            “Its gettin’ dark fast, we better go,” said Roxy ignoring the question.

            “Yeah we gotta go,” Jolene said grabbing her wrap from off the cot as both girls began yelling for the sleeping sheriff to let them out.

            “I hear ya. I hear ya,” he yawned before entering the room and unlocking the cell door as the girls scampered off.

            “Now go straight home,” the sheriff said. “Don’t stop nowhere.”

            “What ‘bout your deputy?” Jolene said.

            “That dumb fool! I’ll try and get him. You girls just get home…fast,” the sheriff said. 

            Seeing the door open, Brice tried making a break, but was hampered by the sheriff.  “Now wait a minute boy, we still need you,” the sheriff said shoving the frightened prisoner against the adjacent wall.

            “Need me for what? When am I getting my phone call?“ Brice asked. “Please!”

            Watching the trembling man babbling like a baby on the cold dirty floor, the sheriff was moved. He handed Brice his cell phone and glumly said. “I’m real sorry ‘bout this. My boy, Randy, was ‘bout your age when he died.” 

            Brice took the cell phone and after wiping his eyes, quickly dialed the number. “This is Brice Conrad and I’m stuck in a Roseville, Ohio, jail for speeding.  Contact the family attorney and get me out.  Understand?”  After a few seconds of silence Brice said, “great! I’ll be waiting.”

            A relieved Brice returned the phone to the sheriff and smiled a grateful smile believing his two days of incarceration were over. Suddenly the harmonica playing abruptly stopped alerting the sheriff, but relieving Brice. 

            “Finally! I can have some peace and quiet,” he said walking to the window and looking out. What he saw was unbelievable.  Mr. Nomed had ripped the deputy’s head open and was eating his brains.

            “Oh my God!” Brice screamed as Mr. Nomed noticed him and spit out the brains he savored in his mouth.

            “There aint no God in Roseville son,” the sheriff said turning off the light and exiting the room.

            Suddenly a fine white mist floated in the cell window transforming into Mr. Nomed.  Horrified, Brice yanked viciously on the cell doors screaming. “Help me sheriff. Please help me.”

            “No one can help you now, Brice,” Mr. Nomed said.

            Brice spun around and grabbed the glass ashtray Jolene and Roxy had left and yelled.  “Stay away from me you monster. I’m warning you.”

            “Others had warned me and failed.”

            “Its because of you, everyone in this town is afraid?”

            “We all have fears!”

            “And what’s yours?”

            “Of going hungry.”

            “You’re the reason the sheriff stopped me, aint ya?”

            “Yes!”

            “Why me?”

            “Because you’re the one who got stopped.”

            “What are you?”

            “I’m a creature of the world just as you are. I breath, I walk, I talk . . . I eat.”

            “You’re nothing like me. You’re not even remotely human. You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

            “Roseville and I came to an agreement many, many years ago.”

            “An agreement!”

            “We agreed if I left the townsfolk alone, I could take my meals at the jail.”

            Brice was frozen with fear.  The realty of his fate was revealed. “Oh please mister, please don’t kill me.”

            “But I must Brice. I have an agreement.”

            The next afternoon, a visitor showed up.  Upon entering the office, the short man said. “I’m the Attorney representing the family of Brice Conrad.”

            “We’ve been expecting you,” the sheriff said wiping the dessert from his face.

             “Can I see my client now, I‘d like to get him home as soon as possible?” asked the attorney.

            “Right through that door,” said the sheriff pointing to the cell entrance.

            “I would have been here sooner,” he said grasping the door knob as the sheriff trailed. “But I had trouble finding the town.  Roseville seems to be very isolated from the rest of the world.”

            “We like it that way,” the sheriff said as he slammed the door shut locking the attorney inside.

            “Hey what’s going on here and where’s Brice?” he asked realizing the cell was empty except for a man playing a harmonica and wearing a stained blue silk tie.                                  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                   

 

 

Author's Note

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