Chapter 8 - A Desperate Call From The Concrete Cage
The shrill,
jarring ringing of my cell phone broke the quiet afternoon silence of my living room,
pulling me out of the deep,
restful nap I had finally managed to take on my luxurious velvet sofa.
I glanced at the glowing screen,
my heart skipping a tiny,
insignificant beat when I saw the automated caller ID displaying the name of the county correctional facility.
I accepted the call,
pressing the cold glass of the phone to my ear,
waiting in absolute silence as the automated voice prompted me to accept a collect call from an inmate.
I pressed the button to accept,
and instantly,
the frantic,
panicked,
and furious voice of the man who used to control my every breath filled the receiver.
"Why haven't you posted my bail yet,"
Daniel screamed,
his voice echoing hollowly against the cold,
concrete walls of his temporary holding cell,
sounding nothing like the powerful executive he pretended to be.
"I have been sitting in this filthy,
disgusting cage for fourteen hours,
and my lawyer told me the joint bank accounts have been completely frozen."
I took a slow,
calm sip of my hot chamomile tea,
letting the silence stretch out,
forcing him to wait for my response,
forcing him to feel the excruciating helplessness he had subjected me to countless times.
"They are frozen because they are currently under investigation for massive financial fraud,
Daniel,"
I finally replied,
my tone casually indifferent,
as if we were discussing the weather rather than his impending criminal conviction.
"You set me up,"
he hissed,
his voice cracking,
shifting rapidly from arrogant demands to pathetic,
whimpering desperation in a matter of seconds.
"You planted those documents,
you called the police,
you threw my own mother out into the freezing streets like a wild animal."
"I didn't plant anything,"
I said,
my voice dropping to a deadly,
icy whisper that made him instantly stop talking.
"You built your own grave,
Daniel,
you dug it with every slap,
every shove,
every lie,
and every single dollar you stole from me."
"Please,"
he begged,
his tough facade shattering completely,
"Please,
just transfer the money,
get me out of here,
I promise I will change,
I promise things will be different."
It was the exact same promise he had made a hundred times before,
the same beautiful,
poisonous lie that had kept me trapped in his web of abuse,
but this time,
the words sounded hollow,
weak,
and utterly useless.
"Things are already different,"
I said softly,
feeling a triumphant smile spread across my face.
"Enjoy the prison food,
Daniel,"
I added,
pressing the red button on my screen,
May you like
cutting off his desperate screaming,
and throwing the phone onto the coffee table with a deeply satisfying clatter.
