Six
Click!
Clarence stumbled. The room blurred. Breakfast oatmeal fought its way up. Cold metal encased his wrists. Handcuffs.
“Michael! Help!”
Michael just stood there beside the door, head bowed.
The guards backed away a step but kept a tight grip on his arms. “Who’s Michael?”
Clarence swallowed and cleared his throat. “Randy. What the hell?” He coughed. “Randy. Why are you doing this? What did I do?”
All three—Randy and the two guards—blended together. They wore the exact same uniform: drab brown with patches on the sleeves, ball hat. Same old uniforms Clarence had stared at for the past sixty years in prison.
One guard’s eyes flitted to everything in the room but Clarence. The skinny one glared, eyes boring into Clarence as if he had a personal vendetta against him. An evil amu
