Chapter 22
Chapter 22: The Ashes of the Past
Two weeks later, the prison visiting room smelled of bleach and regret.
I sat on one side of the thick, smudged plexiglass, my posture perfectly straight, my hands folded patiently in my lap.
The heavy metal door clanked open, and Jackson was led in.
He wore a bright orange jumpsuit that swallowed his previously broad, intimidating frame. His hair was thinning, his skin a pallid gray. The arrogant, untouchable monster who had haunted my nightmares for years now looked like nothing more than a hollow, terrified shell of a man.
He sat down across from me, his hands shaking as he picked up the receiver.
I picked mine up slowly.
"You came to gloat," Jackson sneered, though his voice cracked with desperate bravado. "You came to see me in a cage."
I looked into his eyes, searching for the terror that used to grip my chest whenever he was near. I found nothing. The well was completely dry.
"I didn't come to gloat, Jackson," I said softly, the calm in my voice unnerving him more than anger ever could. "I came because I realized something this morning while drinking my coffee. I realized I couldn't remember the exact sound of your voice anymore."
His jaw tightened, a flash of helpless rage crossing his face.
"I came to look at you one last time," I continued, "to confirm that you are exactly what I thought. You are nothing. You were just a stepping stone on my way to the top."
"I made you!" he spat, slamming his hand against the glass. The guard behind him immediately stepped forward, resting a hand on his baton.
May you like
"No," I replied, setting the receiver down. "You tried to break me. I made myself."
I stood up and walked away, not looking back, leaving him shouting into a dead phone, a ghost screaming in a world I had already left behind.
