Transcription by Ike Hamill Page A

it comes up again, but Fradeux will be back to rescue me before then. I’m not sure I could make it twelve hours. I stop humming just to hear.
    The sound is gone, but it comes back after a few seconds, like it was waiting for me to listen.
    There are words there. It’s not just noise. I’m not sure how they know, but my ears are telling me that the origin of the sound is closer now, too. It’s coming from somewhere in the middle of the cell block. I should yell for Fradeux and see if he can hear the sound outside my cell. That would be cheating though. Nobody ever cracked a big story without the right amount of persistence and stamina. I’m not going to break at the first sign of adversity. Once I call Fradeux down here, I have the strong suspicion that he will end my experiment. He’s just looking for a reason to evacuate the cell once more and end his responsibility. The Superintendent of Prisons made it clear—the guards would not be held responsible for my well-being, but they would end the experiment at any time if they felt that I was in danger or causing a disruption.
    Calling Fradeux away from his packing duties would certainly be a disruption.
    It’s funny—the sound is made of words, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s the sound of someone speaking. I know this doesn’t make logical sense. There has to be a better way of describe it. Imagine a series of words, written on a page, and then communicated via sound, but not spoken. It’s like trying to describe what sad feels like, or how LSD changes your perception. There are no words which could describe the words. I can describe how they make me feel—disturbed, disquieted, uncomfortable, and unsettled come to mind. Insane also comes to mind.  
    I’m humming again. I’m humming and writing all this down, just in case it’s the record of my last sane thoughts.

CHAPTER 7: BALCONY
     

     
    “S HESHAL DELIBERY ,” B O SAID , as he summited the balcony with the bag in his mouth. He swung his legs over and handed the bag to James. “You can’t possibly be done with the last one already.”
    “I poured it out,” James said.  
    “What? After I went to all that trouble to bring it to you?”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Bo laughed. “I’m just kidding you. The liquor store is right on my way home. Anyway, this stuff probably makes better drain cleaner than beverage. I don’t mind taking a cut of my profits and buying you a slightly better grade of rotgut.”
    “No, thanks,” James said.
    “Did you write anything good last night?”
    “No,” James said. In fact, he had written terrible things. He had chosen a thick story, hoping to lose himself in the flurry of words and let his hand fly a little faster. Sometimes his father’s descriptions were almost pretty enough that he could forget the gruesome events they depicted. It was like looking at a beautifully composed black and white photo of a war scene. The grace of the blocking almost overshadowed the horror of the material. But even his father couldn’t lighten the mood of the terrible rape and murder he had documented.
    It took a second for Bo to realize that James was not going to elaborate on his single-word answer.
    “Okay. Well, I had a pretty decent night. I hooked up online with a wonderful young man from Florida,” Bo said.
    “Wait, what happened to Jeff?”
    “Jeff is still Jeff. Bo is still Bo. The way I figure it, online doesn’t count on my permanent record. If there’s no physical contact, I’m not even obligated to divulge it to Jeff.”
    James smiled. “Does Jeff know about this rule?”
    “I’m not sure I’m even obligated to divulge the rule.”
    James laughed.
    “I’m too young for rules, anyway. Long-term, exclusive relationships are not my forte, and I’m very open about that.”
    “I thought you said you wanted to have kids some day.”
    “No, if you recall correctly, you’re the one who said I would make a good father. I merely agreed with you. I may or