Water drains the blood away, but there is still plenty of it splotched and stained all over.
Not this... not here... not again--
His hands tremble. His gut wrenches like he's going to puke any minute. Doesn't help that his stomach is empty; it feels like he hasn't eaten in years. Even when he shuts his eyes, the rotting face of his son remains marked on the back of his lids. The way Charlie's glossed-over stare continues to linger there, holes buried in his head, mouth hung open and tongue swollen and oh God, he must have been down there for days before they fished him out of the lake...
A father trembles, hoping that he could wash it all away, and it never does. The sound of running water and approaching footsteps shake him from his current state.
No, please. Don't do this to me.
The first thing he sees, clutched in his trembling hand, is a bloody shiv. Sharpened to perfection, and recently used.
His vision blurs. Behind his perspective of the blade, is a mutilated face. A greatly respected man who's so badly beaten and marred that he can hardly be recognized anymore.
Murphy feels weak. Every bit of him does. He drops to the wet floor, soaking through his prison jumpsuit. The stench of death extends beyond Frank, though.
Lying next to the corrections officer is another body. This one is more difficult to recognize, but it's a woman. Flat on her back, limp and lifeless... bones crushed and head caved in.
There is one thing, though. One little detail that stabs Murphy in the eye, and it shakes and terrorizes him when he can recognize, mixed with blood and brain and skull, the familiar shade of auburn hair--
{Meet Me Down The River Road | Part II.}
Water drains the blood away, but there is still plenty of it splotched and stained all over.
Not this... not here... not again--
His hands tremble. His gut wrenches like he's going to puke any minute. Doesn't help that his stomach is empty; it feels like he hasn't eaten in years. Even when he shuts his eyes, the rotting face of his son remains marked on the back of his lids. The way Charlie's glossed-over stare continues to linger there, holes buried in his head, mouth hung open and tongue swollen and oh God, he must have been down there for days before they fished him out of the lake...
A father trembles, hoping that he could wash it all away, and it never does. The sound of running water and approaching footsteps shake him from his current state.
No, please. Don't do this to me.
The first thing he sees, clutched in his trembling hand, is a bloody shiv. Sharpened to perfection, and recently used.
His vision blurs. Behind his perspective of the blade, is a mutilated face. A greatly respected man who's so badly beaten and marred that he can hardly be recognized anymore.
Murphy feels weak. Every bit of him does. He drops to the wet floor, soaking through his prison jumpsuit. The stench of death extends beyond Frank, though.
Lying next to the corrections officer is another body. This one is more difficult to recognize, but it's a woman. Flat on her back, limp and lifeless... bones crushed and head caved in.
There is one thing, though. One little detail that stabs Murphy in the eye, and it shakes and terrorizes him when he can recognize, mixed with blood and brain and skull, the familiar shade of auburn hair--