Ex-Convict Attack

Chapter 10

The frown on Nila's forehead deepened after hearing the woman's words. She put down the spoon and wiped his lips with a tissue.

"Wait, why did you say that?" A faint shake of her friend only answered Nila's question. "Don't make it up." She let out a long sigh. "If no one helps him from the start, that means they know the consequences that can be accepted later."

"Coward, you mean?"

"Eh?" Suddenly Nila blinked, a little confused by Vera's sarcasm. "Yeah… your vocabulary is terrible, but—" She had a hard time continuing because he was confused. Vera's words were not wrong, but they were too 'cute' if the person in question heard them.

"I'm just asking. No need to think about it." Vera replied nonchalantly.

Nila breathed a little relieved. It would be a problem if Vera's words came true.

***

"In the end, we parted ways like this, sir?" It was not a question. San was just confused about starting to say goodbye to the man.

The person spoken to did not answer. His eyes were full of something that could not be guessed. San was also surprised. As long as he was with that person, almost no one ever talked to the man with the scars other than himself.

"Are you also going to run the trial?"

"Have you decided to give up on life, son?" Instead of answering, he just asked back.

San understood what the man still sitting while bending one leg meant. "Give up on life, huh?" His sad smile was etched. "My late mother just told me to live no matter what." His chest was starting to feel tight, but his gaze was blank.

"While you're imprisoned, as long as you're still alive. Is that what you mean?" The man took another deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I thank you in advance. The question just now indirectly shows that you believe in me." San smiled slightly. "Sir, I hope prison isn't that scary. Coward or not, I want to live quietly. The world out there needs the struggle to create a calm life."

Sam paused. Whether his decision was wrong or not, regret it or not, he doesn't know. "I'm just… tired."

There was a flash in the eye that was difficult to decipher. The person then smiled. San was even surprised because this was the first time he saw that person smiling so sincerely.

"Take care, boy. Wherever you are, no place is quite what you want it to be. This is the world. What can one expect from the world, kid?"

The rhetorical question, which was also the man's last words, kept ringing in San's mind.

***

On the same day, San was transferred to Lapas. Together with other detainees, they boarded a special bus to the Maritime Lapas, which is in the western part of Bandung city.

Along the way, for some reason, his heart was significantly burdened by the words of his former cellmate. It wasn't a high-philosophical expression that he needed more effort to interpret. It's just that San was getting worried.

What kind of life will he lead in that 'society dump'?

A journey of approximately one and a half hours brought him to a multi-story building with partially faded wall paint. The initial color was salted egg blue, but as the building is old and lacks maintenance, it has turned seaweed green.

San and several other prisoners passed through the main gate, then a long, dark passage until they finally arrived at the main hall. On the second floor of the building are two wings separated by a path leading to the backcourt.

They lined up and listened to the Warden reading the rules. Then, they continued with the division of their rooms.

"Prisoner 5777!"

San gasped when he was called.

"Come with me!"

Without hesitation, San followed behind the uniformed man. After getting a set of clean prison uniforms, he headed to his cell.

"This is your room." The Warden opened the door lock with a small rectangular hole in it.

A faded yellow-painted room greeted him. There is a tube TV on, and in front of it, three male figures are now staring at her. San thought he would live alone in this cell.

"What is there to expect in this world, son?"

Unlucky. Could this be what the man with the scars meant?

One person with prison number 4555 made a big smile that showed his gums. "Wow, the new family!" Two rounds of applause followed this.

Someone with prison number 2999 only glanced briefly at San, then returned to watching the news broadcast in front of him. On the other hand, a stocky man with curly hair stared at San for a long time, scanning his appearance from head to toe, the man with the number 1333.

"Come in," said the Warden.

San took a step, and just as he stopped at three steps, the door behind him closed again.

"Oh, you that one—" Man 4555 pointed at San and the TV screen alternately. "The Killer?"

San, who was just about to put his clothes on an empty shelf, suddenly stopped. There was silence for a moment before the sound of the door opening. It came from a room that San assumed was a washroom.

"I didn't expect to be in the same cell as the killer of Anthony's family." Number 4555 burst out laughing.

"What is the difference?" Another man who had just left the toilet approached number 4555, then hit the owner on the head.

"Uncle Bob! Sick!"  4555 complained angrily to the perpetrator.

"You talk like the most pious prisoner," joked the man with prisoner number 3888.

San didn't care about that. He just continued his activities, then sat back while closing his eyes.

Everyone looked at each other—except Number 2999—with astonishment.

"Arrogant person, it turns out."

"You rancid boy."

"No manners."

They said almost simultaneously.

***

San didn't speak to them, not even as dinner came. He chose to pull over in a corner with a pack of rice and a glass of mineral water. At the same time, the others were seen gathering in the middle, exchanging side dishes, and making small talk, except for Number 2999.

As the night was getting late, the four roommates had fallen asleep. San is still awake and having trouble sleeping.

"We heard a lot about you." Amidst the stillness of the night and the dim light, someone lying on the far left—quite a long way from San's position on the far right—made a sound. It was Number 3888. Still lying on his back and eyes closed, he continued, "You look younger than Sandy. How old are you?"

San thought that what Sandy meant by that person was Number 4555, the noisiest person here. "Twenty."

"Hm… as I thought."

Long silence.

"You know? Nothing is normal here, Santiago."

At first, San gasped when the man yelled his name, but he remembered that he was famous some time ago. "Criminal. Some studies say that some criminals have a slightly different mindset from ordinary people."

There was a chuckle from the other end, then a moment of silence. "I suggest you be more careful how you behave—otherwise, you don't want to lose your body parts the next night."