Death Watch - Ep 2 Part 2
Episode Two - The Cell (Part Two)
DISCLAIMER
DEATH WATCH is a work of fiction. While the author works as a Corrections Officer and draws on that experience to create a semi-authentic atmosphere and somewhat procedural accuracy, all characters, events, institutions, and incidents depicted in this series are entirely fictional. The town and prison are fictional and coincide with the Towers Valley universe which I have created.
This is horror fiction, not memoir. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or institutions is coincidental.
The views, actions, and conduct of characters in this story do not reflect the views, policies, or practices of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, the Department of Justice, or any correctional institution or agency.
This is a story. Nothing more.
Towers Valley Penitentiary
0617 Hours
C Block, Cell 113
Officer Cade arrived at C Block and stopped at the entrance to the tier.
The entire block was locked down. Every cell door was closed, every inmate sealed inside. But they were all awake, standing at their cell doors with their hands wrapped around the bars, watching in silence. The air felt wrong—thick and still, like the whole building was holding its breath.
Cade walked down the tier, her boots echoing too loud against the metal grating. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The only sound was her footsteps and the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
She reached Cell 113.
Sergeant Briggs stood outside the door, calm as stone, his face unreadable. He still had the baton in his hand, ready for anything but at his side.
Lieutenant Rourke stood beside him with his jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on the cell trying to comprehend what he was looking at.
Officer Koss stood a few steps back, his face white as paper, hands trembling at his sides.
Cade looked past them into the cell. Her hand went to her mouth when she finally saw it for herself.
“Jesus Christ,” she gasped.
Officer Ray Donnelly sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. His uniform was soaked in blood—dark, wet, still spreading across the fabric. His hands rested in his lap, fingers limp, covered in it.
Officer Burke lay on the floor beside him. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. His throat had been cut deep and clean, ear to ear, the kind of cut that didn’t leave room for mistakes. It was meant to kill. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading out the cell and seeping into the seams between the tiles.
An inmate lay on the bunk above them. White guy, mid-40s, his throat slashed so deep his head was nearly severed from his body. The wound gaped open like a second mouth, raw and red. His eyes were open too, staring at nothing.
A knife was plunged into his chest. Donnelly’s pocket knife! Briggs knew it because most of them had one, just in case, wasn’t policy but it was needed at times.
Donnelly sat between the bodies, silent, and staring at the wall like he couldn’t see anything else.
“What happened?” Cade asked, her voice barely steady.
Briggs shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Rourke looked down at Donnelly, his voice tight. “Roy. Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Donnelly’s eyes were open, but he wasn’t there. Wherever he was, it wasn’t in that cell… or even in his body for that matter.
Footsteps echoed down the tier. Two medical staff arrived—a nurse and a paramedic, both moving fast until they reached the doorway and stopped cold. The nurse looked at Burke, then at the inmate on the bunk, then at Donnelly sitting in the middle of it all.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
The paramedic stepped inside and knelt beside Burke, pressing two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. He waited, counting silently in his head.
Nothing.
He looked up at Rourke. “He’s gone.”
Rourke nodded once, his jaw working.
The paramedic moved to the inmate on the bunk and checked his wrist, holding it for a long moment before letting it drop.
“Him too.”
He looked over at Donnelly. “What about him?”
Briggs stepped forward. “He’s alive.”
“Is he injured?”
“I don’t know.”
The paramedic knelt beside Donnelly and checked his pulse, his breathing, his pupils. Donnelly didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t react at all.
“He’s in shock,” the paramedic said quietly.
Rourke looked at Briggs. “Get him out of here.”
Briggs knelt down beside Donnelly and looked at his old friend.
“Roy,” he said softly.
Nothing.
He looked at Burke’s throat, then at the inmate’s throat. The cuts were different.
Burke’s throat had been cut from left to right—clean, precise, like someone knew exactly what they were doing. The inmate’s throat had been cut from right to left—jagged, desperate, like someone was fighting for their life.
He looked up at Rourke. “I need to cuff him.”
Rourke nodded. “Do it.”
Briggs put his baton away, reached down and pulled Donnelly’s hands behind his back, slowly and gently, like he was handling something fragile. Donnelly didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. The cuffs clicked into place.
Donnelly’s lips moved, just barely.
Briggs leaned closer. “What?”
Donnelly’s voice was a whisper, barely audible. “...too late...”
Briggs froze. “What’s too late, Roy?”
Donnelly didn’t answer. He just stared at the wall.
Koss stepped into the cell, his voice shaking. “What the fuck happened?”
Nobody answered.
Cade stood in the doorway with her hands trembling at her sides. She’d seen fights before. She’d seen stabbings, beatings, blood on the floor. But this—this was different.
Burke was her friend. They’d worked together for three years, dated for two, covered each other’s backs, shared coffee in the break room. And now he was gone, lying in a pool of his own blood with his eyes still open.
Rourke stepped out of the cell and looked down the tier. Every inmate on C Block stood at their cell doors, hands wrapped around the bars, watching in silence.
He walked to the nearest cell. Old Eddie stood at the bars, his good eye locked on Rourke, his bad eye milky and still.
“What the fuck happened?” Rourke demanded.
Eddie didn’t answer.
Rourke stepped closer, his voice rising. “I asked you a question.”
Eddie looked at the floor.
Rourke slammed his hand against the bars, the sound ringing out like a gunshot. “Look at me!”
Eddie looked up slowly. His good eye was wet, his voice quiet and shaking. “I don’t know, boss.”
“Bull-fuckin’-shit.”
“I don’t know.”
Rourke moved to the next cell. A white inmate stood at the bars, covered in Aryan Brotherhood ink, his face blank.
“You,” Rourke barked. “What did you see?”
The inmate shook his head. “Nothing, boss.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Rourke walked down the tier, stopping at every cell, asking the same question over and over. Nobody answered. Nobody said a word. The silence was suffocating.
He walked back to Cell 113 and looked at Briggs, his voice cracking. “Nobody’s talking.”
Briggs nodded. “I know.”
Rourke looked at Donnelly, then at Burke’s body, then back at Briggs. His hands were shaking. “Burke’s dead. Donnelly’s—I don’t even know what the fuck Donnelly is. And nobody saw a goddamn thing?”
Koss stepped forward, his voice unsteady. “Lieutenant, we need to—”
“We need to what?” Rourke snapped, his voice rising. “We need to figure out what the fuck happened in this cell! We need to—”
“Lieutenant.” Briggs’ voice cut through, calm and steady as a blade. “We need to lock it down.”
Rourke stopped and looked at him.
Briggs stepped closer, his voice low and firm. “The whole prison. Now. We lock it down, we secure the compound, and we process this scene. We do it by the book. Call the Captian. Everyone, now and we do it right.”
Rourke stared at him for a long moment. His hands were shaking, his jaw tight, his eyes wild. He looked like he was about to come apart at the seams.
Briggs put a hand on his shoulder.
“Lieutenant. Get on the horn. Do it,” Briggs encouraged.
Rourke swallowed hard and nodded. He keyed his radio, his voice hoarse. “Rourke to Control. Lock down the Institution at this time. All units. Full lockdown. No movement.”
“Copy that.”
The radio crackled again.
“Control to all housing units and outcount areas begin celling all inmates up immediately at this time. I say again, Lockdown. No movement. Advise when your Blocks are secure.”
Briggs pulled Donnelly to his feet slowly and gently. Donnelly didn’t resist. Briggs walked him out of the cell, one hand on his arm, guiding him like a ghost.
The paramedic stayed behind, kneeling beside Burke’s body. He looked at the wound, the blood, the knife on the floor.
The nurse stood in the doorway, her voice quiet. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.”
The nurse frowned. “So who killed who?”
The paramedic looked at the blood on the floor, at the knife, at the two bodies lying in the cell. He didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know.”
Moments Later
Corridor
Briggs walked Donnelly down the corridor. Cade walked beside them. Koss walked behind. Donnelly’s boots dragged on the concrete. He didn’t lift his feet. He just shuffled forward.
Briggs looked at him. “Roy. You with me?”
Nothing.
Cade looked at Briggs. “You think he did it?”
Briggs didn’t answer.
“Sarge. You think he did it?”
Briggs looked at her.
“I don’t fuckin’ know!” he growled back.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
Briggs stopped and turned to Cade. She could tell he was feeling conflicted but there were answers she needed as well. They all were processing two losses.
“I’ve known Roy for twelve years. Twelve years! He’s never been violent. He’s never been unstable. He’s never been anything but… but fuckin’ solid.”
Cade looked at Donnelly. “People snap.”
“Not like this.”
“Then what happened?”
0720 Hours
Medical Observation
Donnelly sat on a metal chair. His hands were cuffed behind his back. His uniform was still soaked in blood but cut open so the medical staff could hook him up to machines and examine him for wounds.
The nurse had cleaned his hands and face. The entire time in the infirmary Donnelly hadn’t spoken to anyone. Barely even blinked.
Briggs stood close by in the corner trying to wrap his head around it all.
The door opened.
Lieutenant Rourke walked in. Behind him, two men in suits. FBI.
Rourke looked at Briggs. “They’re taking him.”
“Where?”
“Federal Medical Center for questioning and a psychiatric evaluation—”
Briggs looked at Donnelly. “Yeah but where?”
One of the FBI agents stepped forward. He looked at Donnelly. Then at Briggs.
“Best if you let us handle this. Need to know basis,” the agent said coldly.
“But what if?” Briggs stepped closer. “What if he didn’t do it?”
The agent looked at him. “Then who did?”
Briggs didn’t answer.
“That answers that, then.” The agent nodded to his partner. “Let’s go.”
They pulled Donnelly to his feet like some lab animal or criminal.
Donnelly didn’t resist. Briggs wanted to say something but decided against it. He stood there while his friend was taken out.
Rourke looked at him. “You alright?”
Briggs didn’t answer. Rourke stepped closer.
“Harlan. You alright?”
“Something happened in that cell.”
END EPISODE TWO (PART TWO)
