His Short Minute
Feb. 1st, 2007 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamcranverSo, this is a story based the book/movie Animal Factory, which is a movie about a young drug dealer in prison and the old convict with whom he becomes friends. I wrote it for SQ in this past year's ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide fandom exchange. It's just about the NC-17-est story I've ever written, so if you don't care to read cuss words and descriptions of prison sex, this probably wouldn't be your thing.
10:48 AM
“TO: THE CAPTAIN
SUBJECT: KNOWLES, 54678
At 9:00 a.m., this date, while on duty in Block B, the writer was overseeing the flow of traffic in the hallway when shouts were heard from the lavatory. I found IRON, 39678, physically restraining KNOWLES, 54678. COPEN, 15863, and DECKER, 69578, who were injured on the scene, were escorted to the hospital clinic. Copen, Decker, and Iron have all testified that Knowles assaulted Copen and Decker with a sharpened toothbrush while they were showering. Knowles was placed in administrative segregation pending hearing by the Disciplinary Committee.”
“Hey, Earl,” Rand said as Earl removed the report from his typewriter. “What you doin’ at work? Heard you got shivved by some spook in the shower.” The fat fuck sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.
“Fuck,” said Earl, his mind returning to the itching ache in his shoulder where his stitches were beginning to pull, “you know nothin’ keeps me down.”
Rand laughed. “Got that right.” He peered over Earl’s shoulder to read the report. “Hey, Decker. Ain’t that your girlfriend?”
“Ah, shut the fuck up,” Earl said. He pictured Ron’s pale face when he’d left the infirmary and didn’t feel like bantering with Rand. “How many times have I got to tell you assholes? He’s not my kid. We’re friends.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” said Rand with a snort. “Boy, that must ‘a been one stupid motherfucker, screwing with you and your little friend.”
“No kidding,” Earl muttered. Goddamn, but he wanted to kill that fucker Knowles. Still, God knew the last thing he and Ron needed right now was a race war. Shit. If he could just keep T.J. and them from doing anything too stupid, he and Ron would be out of there, soon. Soon as he thought up a brilliant plan, he and Ron would ditch this Popsicle stand and then it’d just be the two of them, all the way to Costa Rica.
11:23 AM
“Holy shit, man,” Vito said, his perpetually glazed-over eyes alert and alarmed. “The fuck happened to you?”
“Some fucking lunatic stabbed me with his toothbrush in the shower,” said Earl. “It’s not that serious, but Ron got his face cut up pretty bad.”
Paul took a long drag on his cigarette, shaking his head. “That’s a damn shame, Earl, man. Pretty kid like that.”
“Ah, fuck you, Paul,” said Earl, giving his friend a glare. “Kid’s lying in a hospital bed, doped up on Demerol, maybe got nerve damage on one side of his face, and you’re still making stupid jokes.”
“Demerol, man,” said Vito. “Fuck this shit, somebody cut me in the face so I can get me some of that.”
Earl laughed. Vito was perpetually baked, was barely capable of thinking of anything beyond his next high, but he was a good guy—it was impossible to stay mad for too long with him around. “Ah, you know, brother, they cut it with Valium. It ain’t a pure high.”
Vito said, “Fuck if I care” with a laugh.
Paul looked serious, though. “He gonna be okay?” The look he gave Earl clearly said, You gonna be okay? Earl didn’t know when he’d become such a pussy his friends started worrying about flesh wounds like that, but he knew Paul had seen a lot of tough guys brought low by a weak or stupid piece of ass. Hell, Earl had seen it often enough, but it wasn’t like that with Ron, and Paul ought to know it.
Still. It’d been a pretty bad stretch of weeks for Ron, between Buck Rowan, his fucked-up court hearing, and now this. And somewhere along the way, a bad time for Ron had become a bad time for Earl, too, though fuck if he knew when that had happened.
1:26 PM
Earl had figured Ron was probably still going to be asleep when he walked into the infirmary. He’d been pretty out of it after they hooked him up to that IV. But Earl still felt like paying a visit, seeing how the kid was doing. Hell, it might even be easier with Ron asleep. He gave Ivan a casual wave as he made his way over to Ron’s bed. Ivan nodded back, his expression vaguely uncomfortable and a little amused. Earl was getting pretty used to that expression—he seemed to get it every time Ron came up in conversation. Fuck it. He knew Ron wasn’t his kid, and if Ron didn’t know it, at least he didn’t let it bother him. Who gave a shit? Even if he and Ron had been fucking, everybody liked Ron, knew him for a stand-up guy, and no one was gonna fuck with Earl here.
He’d guessed right: Ron was asleep, his good cheek resting on his arm and his hair falling in his face like a little boy’s. Earl leaned over him to get a look at the injury on his cheek. They’d taken off the bandage and sutured the cut. It was still red and raw and ugly-looking on Ron’s pale face, but whoever stitched him up had done an okay job, and it looked a hell of a lot better than it had when they’d been brought into the infirmary in the morning. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if it scarred—God knew Ron could stand to look a little older and tougher, or he was gonna get fuckers like Buck Rowan after his ass for the rest of his prison career—but Earl hoped it wouldn’t.
Ron shifted, his mouth twitching, and he moved the arm on his pillow to prop himself up on one elbow. “Hey,” he said, blinking groggily.
“Hey,” said Earl. “The Demerol wear off yet, or are you still stoned?”
“High as a kite, man,” Ron said with a weary smile. “My face hurts like hell, though.”
“Don’t be such a pussy, kid.” Earl couldn’t decide whether he was being stern in earnest or joking. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, his smile fading. “Guess so.” He looked down for a moment, chewing absent-mindedly on his lower lip, and then he looked up again at Earl. “How’s your shoulder?”
Earl dismissed Ron’s concern with a wave of his hand. “Eh. It’s not bad. I’ve got about half a dozen stitches, but it’s not like my mobility’s impaired or anything. The guy didn’t hit any muscles.”
Ron nodded solemnly. “Good.” Earl could tell he wanted to say something more, but for once he seemed to be holding himself back. Good. Ron was a sharp guy, but he didn’t always censor himself the way you had to in prison. Earl wasn’t sure whether he was unaware of the insults he occasionally offered other convicts, or whether he just didn’t care, but it was something he was going to have to grow out of.
On the other hand, Earl didn’t give a damn if Ron accidentally insulted him, and the youngster was giving him a pinched look that usually meant he was impatient or frustrated. “Go on,” he said. “What else were you going to say?”
Ron sighed. “Did you talk to the guys about…about retaliating?”
Shit. “Not all of ‘em,” said Earl, unable to muster either his usual boisterous confidence or the avuncular tone he often took with Ron. “Paul and Vito aren’t gonna do anything, but I gotta get a hold of T.J. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, get it all straightened out.” He didn’t remind Ron that there were places in this prison his influence did not reach, and that the current tense relations between black and white convicts was among them.
Ron clearly remembered anyway. “You think they’ll try anything?”
“Who do you mean, they?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was so low, Earl could hardly hear him. “I just, you know, we’re so fucking close.”
Earl momentarily regretted ever bringing up the subject of escape. Because who the fuck knew how close they were? They still hadn’t come up with a working plan for escape, beyond the vague notion of Costa Rica parrot farming and the availability of Ron’s father’s resources. Who knew what the repercussions of this thing with Knowles would be? They were still reeling from the repercussions of Buck Rowan. But none of it seemed to matter to Ron when he had freedom in his sights.
All Earl said was, “Yeah, I know.”
Ron gave him a rueful smile and carefully probed the area around his cut cheek. “Hey,” he said in a more normal tone of voice, “you know when I can get out of the infirmary? I’d kind of like to get back to my cell. More privacy, you know?”
Earl snorted. “If it’s privacy you want, you’re in the wrong place.” But he understood what Ron meant. The infirmary was more well-guarded than the cell blocks, and it was impossible to have any kind of private discussion with sick or injured men on either side of you. He gave Ron’s leg a pat and said, “Lemme check.”
8:54 AM
Oh, God, that fucking hurts.
But he’d pushed the guy against the wall, and he could already tell the cut on his shoulder wasn’t deep. Now if he could only get this crazy fucker under control….
Ron screamed. Earl could see him from the corner of his eye, could see blood running through his fingers and down his face and neck.
Shit.
He hoped to God it had only been his face, and not his neck. Neck wounds bled fast. There’d probably be a bull there in a few minutes, but would it be fast enough? For all he knew, the guy he was holding now could have a friend or two waiting outside the door with shivs of their own, in which case he and Ron were fucked.
Oh, God, Ronnie....
A voice behind him grunted. For a split second, Earl feared that their attacker’s backup had shown up, but he recognized the voice, and suddenly one of Iron Man’s friends was restraining the toothbrush guy.
Thank God. Earl crouched down next to Ron, who was groaning and holding a hand to the blood still flowing freely from his face. The pain in Earl’s own shoulder seemed to vanish. He’d been stabbed before, probably would be again—the important thing was to get the kid to the infirmary, make sure he hadn’t got his throat cut.
He got an arm around Ron’s shoulder and helped him stand. No sense waiting around to see if the lunatic overpowered the other guy. There had to be a bull around someplace. “You okay?” he asked.
Ron gave him an incredulous look. “No!” A second’s pause, and he said, “Yeah, I guess.” And Earl almost laughed at that, because here was a kid that was gonna grow up to be one tough motherfucker, but shit, there was a fair amount of blood running down Ron’s bare chest, and he wasn’t going to grow up to be much of anything if he didn’t survive this.
“Is it just your face?” he asked. “Let me see.”
Ron grimaced, but he nodded and turned his face towards Earl. It was hard to make out much under the blood, so Earl ran his fingers down Ron’s face and along his neck. The face was clearly cut pretty deep, but the neck seemed okay. “You’re gonna be all right,” he said, a bit shaky with relief and left-over adrenaline. “Let’s just get out to the hallway and get some help. The infirmary’s not that far from here.”
“Right. Okay,” said Ron. He swallowed and gave Earl a tremulous smile, and it hit Earl like a load of bricks—he loved this kid. They’d known each other only a few months, but Earl knew if this kid had gotten his throat slit, or if that toothbrush had gotten him in the gut and he’d bled out on the bathroom floor, it would have fucked Earl up, almost as bad as it would if Paul or Bad Eye or T.J. bought the farm. Shit. Paul was never gonna let him hear the end of it.
Ron made a small, muffled noise of pain. “Here, grab my hand, kid,” said Earl. Ron squeezed so tight it hurt, but Earl didn’t register the pain at all. I should have seen it coming, he thought. This toothbrush guy, the thing with Buck Rowan, his parole getting turned down. This thing with Ron. Fuck. He should have seen it all coming.
2:17 PM
“Hey, look out, dumbass,” Earl said as Ron tripped over his own shoelace. “I thought you said the Demerol wore off.”
“It did,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “Guess I’m still a little out of it.”
“Well, you better wake up. We’re here.” Nobody had messed with Ron’s shit; Earl sent silent thanks to Paul for keeping Vito and the boys in line. He thought of offering Ron a hand as he stiffly walked towards his bunk, but hell, it was his face, not his leg, that got cut up.
Ron sat on the edge of his bunk, his clothes wrinkled and his expression distant. He looked younger than he was, which made Earl feel like a dirty old man. It was a weird thing, getting a hard-on for a guy who was young enough to be your son.
Ron exhaled loudly and gave Earl the tight, close-mouthed smile that meant he wasn’t sure what to say. “So. Do we get the day off work?”
Earl shrugged. “You do. I did some work this morning, but I could probably skip it this afternoon if you want me to hang around.”
Ron’s smile became a bit more genuine. “That won’t piss Rand off?”
“It might,” said Earl, thoughtfully, as if he were actually giving the matter serious consideration. “Shit. Can’t imagine what would happen if Rand got pissed at me.” The truth of the matter was, Rand didn’t give a fuck, and Earl was tired of his smart-ass remarks about Earl getting soft.
Ron actually laughed at that, and Earl let himself smile. “You want me to get some weed?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. For a drug dealer, Ron seemed to live pretty clean.
“Nah,” said Ron. “Probably shouldn’t do anything until, you know, the Demerol’s completely out of my system.” Earl refrained from reminding him of his earlier claim that the drugs had worn off—the kid was right, he probably shouldn’t be doing weed so soon after having his face stitched up. Ron scratched his chin, his expression solemn again. “So. Um, I saw you talking to Iron Man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Was that guy in the bathroom just a, a crazy guy, like I thought or….” He gave a squirmy little half-shrug.
“Yeah. Name’s Knowles. Scuttlebutt is he thinks people are trying to put a radio in his brain to monitor his thoughts or some shit.”
Ron stared at him with wide eyes. “Wow,” he said. “Shouldn’t he be in a mental institution or something?”
“Shit, if they sent everybody here who needed some therapy to a mental institution, the place would be empty.” Earl decided he’d had enough of leaning against Ron’s wall and went to sit on the bunk with him. Ron shifted a bit, but he didn’t object, so Earl made himself comfortable and continued. “Point is, it wasn’t any sort of organized attack. I don’t know if I can control some of these young hotheads, but I’ll put the word out, try to cool tempers.”
“You can do it,” said Ron. The faith in his voice was as sure as the trust T.J. and Bad Eye and Vito had in Earl to work out their problems, and it made Earl feel old. He was getting tired of this shit, getting stabbed in the shower, faking insanity, playing peacemaker between gangs of young hotheads. This escape he was planning with Ron was just about the only thing that made him feel young again, and that was just a fucking pipe dream. But God, if Knowles really had slit Ron’s throat and taken that pipe dream away, Earl didn’t know what he would have done.
The emotions that came with that thought overwhelmed Earl, and he covered them with concern. “Hey, how’s your face doing?” he asked.
“Eh, it’s okay,” said Ron. “It doesn’t hurt so much. But it itches like a motherfucker.”
“Lemme see.” He reached over to run a finger gently down the line of stitches. Ron squirmed but made no noise, so Earl figured he wasn’t hurting him. It didn’t look like much, considering the pain and the fear and the goddamned hassle it had caused. Probably wouldn’t even scar, and there’d be nothing to remind either of them of this shitty day.
“Earl--” Ron’s bitten-off question brought Earl back to himself, and he realized his hand had moved away from the cut, caressing the curve of Ron’s jaw.
Damn. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, kid,” he said, dropping his hand to the bed. He grinned as if nothing had happened and hoped Ron would leave it at that.
Fat chance of that. Ron frowned, and Earl knew that a shitload of things had to be going through his head: Buck Rowan assaulting him, Psycho Mike’s attempt to make him the victim of gang rape, the constant jokes about his being Earl’s kid.
All of Earl’s instincts said Bad idea. Walk away. But for whatever reason, he sat there and waited while Ron thought.
After a long moment, he shook his head. “What the hell, Earl?” he asked. “I’m not a punk. You know that.”
“You think that’s what this is about?” Earl knew Ron was a cynical little prick, and he knew that in this particular instance, he was right to be, but hell, Earl didn’t pull the kind of shit a glue-sniffer like Psycho Mike would try, and his pride was hurt by the thought. “Fuck. You could have died today. We both could have. You ever think of that? You ever think of how fucking scared I was when you were bleeding all over the bathroom floor this morning?”
Ron swallowed loudly. “I’m sorry, man,” he said, his expression softening. “Thanks for, you know, tackling that guy, and checking up on me, and everything.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to say that he’d have done it for any one of his friends, and it was probably true, but the fact of the matter was that he and Ron wouldn’t have been friends at all if Earl hadn’t been attracted to him from the first, and both of them knew it. But that wasn’t the kind of thing you said when someone thanked you for helping them out in a knife fight, so Earl cleared his throat and said, “You gotta be on guard for that kind of thing in here, but I’ll admit, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting a guy to stab me in the shower this morning. I guess you could call that an educational experience for both of us.”
“I’ll say,” Ron muttered with a wry smile. A beat, and then: “Do you want to have sex with me?”
Earl couldn’t even feign shock; he’d seen the question coming. “I told you already. If all I wanted was to fuck you, I could have done that already, no problem.” It didn’t quite answer the question, but then, maybe an indirect response was the right way to go with this.
Ron nodded. “Yeah. You did, but….” He looked away. “I don’t know, man. I’m getting pretty good at recognizing lust when I see it.”
There wasn’t any point in denying it. Fuck, it might make things even worse. Ron would probably trust a guy who wanted him and was honest about before he’d trust a guy that lied to him. At least, Earl would if he were in Ron’s shoes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ron,” he said. “I’m not some asshole who’s gonna gangbang you in return for ‘protection.’ I’m not gonna take anything you don’t want to give me. You know that.”
Ron bit his lower lip and nodded again. “I know.”
Earl stood up. “I should go,” he said. “You should get some rest or something.”
“No,” Ron said, his hand on Earl’s arm. “I’m not tired. Don’t—don’t just leave.” Earl sat again, feeling embarrassed and guilty. It went against the grain with him to intimidate someone into sex, and he wasn’t sure that this didn’t qualify.
Ron was staring at some point over Earl’s shoulder. “Look,” he said, “if you want to do something…well, I’m not gonna let you fuck me, but we could do something else, if you wanted.” Earl’s shock must have shown on his face, because Ron made an awkward gesture with his hands and continued. “Earl, man, I would have been in so much trouble if you hadn’t started looking out for me. I’d feel like a jackass, you know, not giving you anything, when I owe you so much. And I’m not gay or anything, but fuck, a handjob’s a handjob, right?”
That startled a laugh out of Earl. “Kid, you’re gonna get along fine in prison.” Sobering up, he said, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You wouldn’t be,” said Ron. “It’s not like you asked or anything. I suggested it. And maybe….” He shrugged, a vulnerable expression on his face. “Maybe if we do it now, you can get it out of your system, you know?”
Well, that had been the theory behind many a late-night masturbation session. And it had been a damn long time since Earl had had a sexual encounter with anyone but himself. Maybe Ron had the right idea, maybe all of it was just horniness. “You sure?” he asked Ron, but he was already discarding his many reservations about the idea.
“Sure. I mean, yeah, I’m sure.” And with a tight, awkward smile, Ron curled a hand around the side of Earl’s neck and kissed him.
Earl had had better kisses. Ron was nervous—hell, it was probably the first time he’d ever kissed a man before—and hadn’t done much of anything with his tongue. It was almost chaste. Even so, Earl felt himself responding.
“Hold on,” he said. “Lemme make sure nobody’s hanging around outside. Half the prison already thinks we’re fucking, but I don’t want to ruin your image.” He stuck his head outside the door, quickly scanning the hallway. There was a tier tender at the end of the hall, but Earl recognized him as a friend of Buzz’s, and Buzz was a good guy. Other than him, and the bull, a rookie that Earl didn’t know, the place was empty—not too surprising. It was a nice day, so the guys who weren’t working were probably out playing handball or basketball in the courtyard.
“Is the coast clear?” Ron was laughing at him. Earl knew that it was because Ron still didn’t have a good grasp of how much a reputation could help or hurt you in prison, but it still made Earl feel good. Young.
“Yeah,” said Earl, all but jumping back on the bed. “What say we try this again?” he asked Ron, and without waiting for an answer, he kissed him. Ron still didn’t seem especially sure of himself, but he was a quick learner, and Earl wasn’t complaining.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Ron wasn’t about to make the first move when it came to anything more than kissing, so he moved his hands towards Ron’s fly. “That okay?” he asked, pulling his mouth away from Ron’s for a minute.
“Sure,” said Ron dazedly. “Do I have to….”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Earl interrupted. “Just relax.” He unzipped Ron’s fly and smiled at the sight of his half-hard dick. The kid might not have been into guys, but at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. Carefully, he wrapped his hand around Ron’s penis, and was gratified by its sudden stiffening.
“Jesus!” Ron exclaimed, sounding more surprised than he did turned-on. Earl chuckled and rubbed his thumb up and down the underside of Ron’s dick. Damn, it had been too long since he’d done this.
“You like that?” he asked, moving his thumb in a small circle over the tip.
“God, Earl, that feels really good.” Ron was panting, and he wiped his palms on the bedspread. Then, to Earl’s surprise, he put a hand to Earl’s face, gently cupping one cheek. “Don’t stop,” he said breathlessly.
Earl found he was getting a little short of breath himself. “Okay,” he said, and he rubbed his thumb along the length of the penis again, harder and faster. Ron squirmed, and Earl gave him a light smack on the shoulder. “Don’t move!” he ordered. He made a fist again, pumping Ron in earnest now.
“Fuck,” Ron moaned softly. “That’s….”
“Shh.” Earl squeezed gently. He could feel the soft skin of Ron’s balls against the curve between his thumb and index finger, and the sensation was sending shivers of pleasure along his own spine. His hand was moving now, faster, faster....
With short, sharp cry and a loud exhalation, Ron came in a spurt over the fly of his jeans and Earl’s hand. Earl just about came himself from the expression on Ron’s face.
They sat like that for a moment, Ron staring at his wet pants as if he didn’t understand what he was seeing. “Ah, shit,” said Earl finally. “You got a towel or something?”
Ron frowned. “Wait, you didn’t come. I mean, I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Earl said, stretching his shoulders and wincing as he pulled at his stitches. “Trust me, I had a pretty good time doing this.”
“No, no, fuck that.” Ron looked uncomfortably at his fly and tucked himself back into his pants, and then he looked up to give Earl an earnest look. “I don’t really…I’ve never done this before, but I could probably figure it out.” He wiped his hand on his pants and rested it on Earl’s thigh, at the place where his leg his groin. “That okay?”
The idea of being coaxed into sex like a virgin made Earl irrationally indignant, and he growled, “If you’re gonna do it, kid, do it.” His hard dick was starting to hurt, rubbing against the inside of his pants, so he unzipped them and pulled them down a bit to give Ron easier access.
Ron looked a little intimidated by the sight of Earl’s erection, and Earl knew there was a joke in there about the relative sizes of their dicks, but he wasn’t thinking any too clearly at that moment. And what thoughts he was able to gather went right out the window when Ron touched his penis.
He stroked it tentatively, looking to Earl for approval, and then wrapped his hand around it. His fingers were cold, but smooth, and the feeling of them rubbing against his cock, first slow, and then a little quicker, made Earl gasp. Ron grinned, but before Earl could smack him for being a cocky little bastard, he squeezed near the base, running his thumb over Earl’s balls, and Earl thought maybe he had reason to be cocky.
And now he was really jerking Earl off, hard, and maybe it was too much, too fast, but Earl wasn’t about to complain. He’d always liked it a little rough, and the sensation when Ron started moving his thumb around and between Earl’s balls was…well, it was pretty damn good.
Oh, God. He could feel an orgasm coming on, and the thought that it was Ron bringing him there pushed him over the edge.
Shit. Now his pants were sticky, too. He was gonna have to have another shower, and hope nobody stabbed him this time.
Ron looked excessively pleased with himself, and Earl didn’t mind feeding his ego. For a with no experience giving handjobs, it hadn’t been bad. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked.
“Oh, shut up,” said Ron, but he was still smiling. He grabbed a towel from under his bed and, after wiping off his hand, threw it to Earl. “You good?”
Earl snorted. “Why?” he asked, trying to find a clean spot on the towel to use on his pants. “Did you want to cuddle?”
“No, I meant--” He shrugged and gave Earl a questioning look. “You good? ‘Cause, I mean, I had fun and all, but....” His smile had turned anxious. “Isn’t it bad for your image, anyway?”
Ah. He looked at Ron appraisingly, taking in the mussed hair, the stained pants, the ugly cut on his cheek. If he were younger, and had more energy, he’d jerk the kid off again in an instant, or fuck him, or kiss him. So much for getting it out of his system. “Yeah,” he said, knowing his tone had lost its earlier levity but unable to do anything about it. “I’m good.”
11:36 PM
Earl stared at his ceiling. It was gray and cracked, like a huge spider web strung above his bunk. His dick hurt. That’s what he got for getting a hand job from an inexperienced kid without lube.
Shit. Ron was still—Jesus, fifteen, twenty years younger than Earl. Earl still felt like a dirty old pervert. And Ron still wrote to his girlfriend on the outside. And fuck if they weren’t still running away to Costa Rica together.
Earl rolled over and closed his eyes. He was getting too old for this shit.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
This is mostly based on the movie, but the format of Earl’s memo at the beginning and the idea that Knowles thought people were trying to install radios in his head both come from the book by Edward Bunker. The title is from John Donne’s “A Lecture Upon the Shadow.”
yuletide fandom exchange. It's just about the NC-17-est story I've ever written, so if you don't care to read cuss words and descriptions of prison sex, this probably wouldn't be your thing.10:48 AM
“TO: THE CAPTAIN
SUBJECT: KNOWLES, 54678
At 9:00 a.m., this date, while on duty in Block B, the writer was overseeing the flow of traffic in the hallway when shouts were heard from the lavatory. I found IRON, 39678, physically restraining KNOWLES, 54678. COPEN, 15863, and DECKER, 69578, who were injured on the scene, were escorted to the hospital clinic. Copen, Decker, and Iron have all testified that Knowles assaulted Copen and Decker with a sharpened toothbrush while they were showering. Knowles was placed in administrative segregation pending hearing by the Disciplinary Committee.”
“Hey, Earl,” Rand said as Earl removed the report from his typewriter. “What you doin’ at work? Heard you got shivved by some spook in the shower.” The fat fuck sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.
“Fuck,” said Earl, his mind returning to the itching ache in his shoulder where his stitches were beginning to pull, “you know nothin’ keeps me down.”
Rand laughed. “Got that right.” He peered over Earl’s shoulder to read the report. “Hey, Decker. Ain’t that your girlfriend?”
“Ah, shut the fuck up,” Earl said. He pictured Ron’s pale face when he’d left the infirmary and didn’t feel like bantering with Rand. “How many times have I got to tell you assholes? He’s not my kid. We’re friends.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” said Rand with a snort. “Boy, that must ‘a been one stupid motherfucker, screwing with you and your little friend.”
“No kidding,” Earl muttered. Goddamn, but he wanted to kill that fucker Knowles. Still, God knew the last thing he and Ron needed right now was a race war. Shit. If he could just keep T.J. and them from doing anything too stupid, he and Ron would be out of there, soon. Soon as he thought up a brilliant plan, he and Ron would ditch this Popsicle stand and then it’d just be the two of them, all the way to Costa Rica.
11:23 AM
“Holy shit, man,” Vito said, his perpetually glazed-over eyes alert and alarmed. “The fuck happened to you?”
“Some fucking lunatic stabbed me with his toothbrush in the shower,” said Earl. “It’s not that serious, but Ron got his face cut up pretty bad.”
Paul took a long drag on his cigarette, shaking his head. “That’s a damn shame, Earl, man. Pretty kid like that.”
“Ah, fuck you, Paul,” said Earl, giving his friend a glare. “Kid’s lying in a hospital bed, doped up on Demerol, maybe got nerve damage on one side of his face, and you’re still making stupid jokes.”
“Demerol, man,” said Vito. “Fuck this shit, somebody cut me in the face so I can get me some of that.”
Earl laughed. Vito was perpetually baked, was barely capable of thinking of anything beyond his next high, but he was a good guy—it was impossible to stay mad for too long with him around. “Ah, you know, brother, they cut it with Valium. It ain’t a pure high.”
Vito said, “Fuck if I care” with a laugh.
Paul looked serious, though. “He gonna be okay?” The look he gave Earl clearly said, You gonna be okay? Earl didn’t know when he’d become such a pussy his friends started worrying about flesh wounds like that, but he knew Paul had seen a lot of tough guys brought low by a weak or stupid piece of ass. Hell, Earl had seen it often enough, but it wasn’t like that with Ron, and Paul ought to know it.
Still. It’d been a pretty bad stretch of weeks for Ron, between Buck Rowan, his fucked-up court hearing, and now this. And somewhere along the way, a bad time for Ron had become a bad time for Earl, too, though fuck if he knew when that had happened.
1:26 PM
Earl had figured Ron was probably still going to be asleep when he walked into the infirmary. He’d been pretty out of it after they hooked him up to that IV. But Earl still felt like paying a visit, seeing how the kid was doing. Hell, it might even be easier with Ron asleep. He gave Ivan a casual wave as he made his way over to Ron’s bed. Ivan nodded back, his expression vaguely uncomfortable and a little amused. Earl was getting pretty used to that expression—he seemed to get it every time Ron came up in conversation. Fuck it. He knew Ron wasn’t his kid, and if Ron didn’t know it, at least he didn’t let it bother him. Who gave a shit? Even if he and Ron had been fucking, everybody liked Ron, knew him for a stand-up guy, and no one was gonna fuck with Earl here.
He’d guessed right: Ron was asleep, his good cheek resting on his arm and his hair falling in his face like a little boy’s. Earl leaned over him to get a look at the injury on his cheek. They’d taken off the bandage and sutured the cut. It was still red and raw and ugly-looking on Ron’s pale face, but whoever stitched him up had done an okay job, and it looked a hell of a lot better than it had when they’d been brought into the infirmary in the morning. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if it scarred—God knew Ron could stand to look a little older and tougher, or he was gonna get fuckers like Buck Rowan after his ass for the rest of his prison career—but Earl hoped it wouldn’t.
Ron shifted, his mouth twitching, and he moved the arm on his pillow to prop himself up on one elbow. “Hey,” he said, blinking groggily.
“Hey,” said Earl. “The Demerol wear off yet, or are you still stoned?”
“High as a kite, man,” Ron said with a weary smile. “My face hurts like hell, though.”
“Don’t be such a pussy, kid.” Earl couldn’t decide whether he was being stern in earnest or joking. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, his smile fading. “Guess so.” He looked down for a moment, chewing absent-mindedly on his lower lip, and then he looked up again at Earl. “How’s your shoulder?”
Earl dismissed Ron’s concern with a wave of his hand. “Eh. It’s not bad. I’ve got about half a dozen stitches, but it’s not like my mobility’s impaired or anything. The guy didn’t hit any muscles.”
Ron nodded solemnly. “Good.” Earl could tell he wanted to say something more, but for once he seemed to be holding himself back. Good. Ron was a sharp guy, but he didn’t always censor himself the way you had to in prison. Earl wasn’t sure whether he was unaware of the insults he occasionally offered other convicts, or whether he just didn’t care, but it was something he was going to have to grow out of.
On the other hand, Earl didn’t give a damn if Ron accidentally insulted him, and the youngster was giving him a pinched look that usually meant he was impatient or frustrated. “Go on,” he said. “What else were you going to say?”
Ron sighed. “Did you talk to the guys about…about retaliating?”
Shit. “Not all of ‘em,” said Earl, unable to muster either his usual boisterous confidence or the avuncular tone he often took with Ron. “Paul and Vito aren’t gonna do anything, but I gotta get a hold of T.J. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, get it all straightened out.” He didn’t remind Ron that there were places in this prison his influence did not reach, and that the current tense relations between black and white convicts was among them.
Ron clearly remembered anyway. “You think they’ll try anything?”
“Who do you mean, they?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was so low, Earl could hardly hear him. “I just, you know, we’re so fucking close.”
Earl momentarily regretted ever bringing up the subject of escape. Because who the fuck knew how close they were? They still hadn’t come up with a working plan for escape, beyond the vague notion of Costa Rica parrot farming and the availability of Ron’s father’s resources. Who knew what the repercussions of this thing with Knowles would be? They were still reeling from the repercussions of Buck Rowan. But none of it seemed to matter to Ron when he had freedom in his sights.
All Earl said was, “Yeah, I know.”
Ron gave him a rueful smile and carefully probed the area around his cut cheek. “Hey,” he said in a more normal tone of voice, “you know when I can get out of the infirmary? I’d kind of like to get back to my cell. More privacy, you know?”
Earl snorted. “If it’s privacy you want, you’re in the wrong place.” But he understood what Ron meant. The infirmary was more well-guarded than the cell blocks, and it was impossible to have any kind of private discussion with sick or injured men on either side of you. He gave Ron’s leg a pat and said, “Lemme check.”
8:54 AM
Oh, God, that fucking hurts.
But he’d pushed the guy against the wall, and he could already tell the cut on his shoulder wasn’t deep. Now if he could only get this crazy fucker under control….
Ron screamed. Earl could see him from the corner of his eye, could see blood running through his fingers and down his face and neck.
Shit.
He hoped to God it had only been his face, and not his neck. Neck wounds bled fast. There’d probably be a bull there in a few minutes, but would it be fast enough? For all he knew, the guy he was holding now could have a friend or two waiting outside the door with shivs of their own, in which case he and Ron were fucked.
Oh, God, Ronnie....
A voice behind him grunted. For a split second, Earl feared that their attacker’s backup had shown up, but he recognized the voice, and suddenly one of Iron Man’s friends was restraining the toothbrush guy.
Thank God. Earl crouched down next to Ron, who was groaning and holding a hand to the blood still flowing freely from his face. The pain in Earl’s own shoulder seemed to vanish. He’d been stabbed before, probably would be again—the important thing was to get the kid to the infirmary, make sure he hadn’t got his throat cut.
He got an arm around Ron’s shoulder and helped him stand. No sense waiting around to see if the lunatic overpowered the other guy. There had to be a bull around someplace. “You okay?” he asked.
Ron gave him an incredulous look. “No!” A second’s pause, and he said, “Yeah, I guess.” And Earl almost laughed at that, because here was a kid that was gonna grow up to be one tough motherfucker, but shit, there was a fair amount of blood running down Ron’s bare chest, and he wasn’t going to grow up to be much of anything if he didn’t survive this.
“Is it just your face?” he asked. “Let me see.”
Ron grimaced, but he nodded and turned his face towards Earl. It was hard to make out much under the blood, so Earl ran his fingers down Ron’s face and along his neck. The face was clearly cut pretty deep, but the neck seemed okay. “You’re gonna be all right,” he said, a bit shaky with relief and left-over adrenaline. “Let’s just get out to the hallway and get some help. The infirmary’s not that far from here.”
“Right. Okay,” said Ron. He swallowed and gave Earl a tremulous smile, and it hit Earl like a load of bricks—he loved this kid. They’d known each other only a few months, but Earl knew if this kid had gotten his throat slit, or if that toothbrush had gotten him in the gut and he’d bled out on the bathroom floor, it would have fucked Earl up, almost as bad as it would if Paul or Bad Eye or T.J. bought the farm. Shit. Paul was never gonna let him hear the end of it.
Ron made a small, muffled noise of pain. “Here, grab my hand, kid,” said Earl. Ron squeezed so tight it hurt, but Earl didn’t register the pain at all. I should have seen it coming, he thought. This toothbrush guy, the thing with Buck Rowan, his parole getting turned down. This thing with Ron. Fuck. He should have seen it all coming.
2:17 PM
“Hey, look out, dumbass,” Earl said as Ron tripped over his own shoelace. “I thought you said the Demerol wore off.”
“It did,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “Guess I’m still a little out of it.”
“Well, you better wake up. We’re here.” Nobody had messed with Ron’s shit; Earl sent silent thanks to Paul for keeping Vito and the boys in line. He thought of offering Ron a hand as he stiffly walked towards his bunk, but hell, it was his face, not his leg, that got cut up.
Ron sat on the edge of his bunk, his clothes wrinkled and his expression distant. He looked younger than he was, which made Earl feel like a dirty old man. It was a weird thing, getting a hard-on for a guy who was young enough to be your son.
Ron exhaled loudly and gave Earl the tight, close-mouthed smile that meant he wasn’t sure what to say. “So. Do we get the day off work?”
Earl shrugged. “You do. I did some work this morning, but I could probably skip it this afternoon if you want me to hang around.”
Ron’s smile became a bit more genuine. “That won’t piss Rand off?”
“It might,” said Earl, thoughtfully, as if he were actually giving the matter serious consideration. “Shit. Can’t imagine what would happen if Rand got pissed at me.” The truth of the matter was, Rand didn’t give a fuck, and Earl was tired of his smart-ass remarks about Earl getting soft.
Ron actually laughed at that, and Earl let himself smile. “You want me to get some weed?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. For a drug dealer, Ron seemed to live pretty clean.
“Nah,” said Ron. “Probably shouldn’t do anything until, you know, the Demerol’s completely out of my system.” Earl refrained from reminding him of his earlier claim that the drugs had worn off—the kid was right, he probably shouldn’t be doing weed so soon after having his face stitched up. Ron scratched his chin, his expression solemn again. “So. Um, I saw you talking to Iron Man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Was that guy in the bathroom just a, a crazy guy, like I thought or….” He gave a squirmy little half-shrug.
“Yeah. Name’s Knowles. Scuttlebutt is he thinks people are trying to put a radio in his brain to monitor his thoughts or some shit.”
Ron stared at him with wide eyes. “Wow,” he said. “Shouldn’t he be in a mental institution or something?”
“Shit, if they sent everybody here who needed some therapy to a mental institution, the place would be empty.” Earl decided he’d had enough of leaning against Ron’s wall and went to sit on the bunk with him. Ron shifted a bit, but he didn’t object, so Earl made himself comfortable and continued. “Point is, it wasn’t any sort of organized attack. I don’t know if I can control some of these young hotheads, but I’ll put the word out, try to cool tempers.”
“You can do it,” said Ron. The faith in his voice was as sure as the trust T.J. and Bad Eye and Vito had in Earl to work out their problems, and it made Earl feel old. He was getting tired of this shit, getting stabbed in the shower, faking insanity, playing peacemaker between gangs of young hotheads. This escape he was planning with Ron was just about the only thing that made him feel young again, and that was just a fucking pipe dream. But God, if Knowles really had slit Ron’s throat and taken that pipe dream away, Earl didn’t know what he would have done.
The emotions that came with that thought overwhelmed Earl, and he covered them with concern. “Hey, how’s your face doing?” he asked.
“Eh, it’s okay,” said Ron. “It doesn’t hurt so much. But it itches like a motherfucker.”
“Lemme see.” He reached over to run a finger gently down the line of stitches. Ron squirmed but made no noise, so Earl figured he wasn’t hurting him. It didn’t look like much, considering the pain and the fear and the goddamned hassle it had caused. Probably wouldn’t even scar, and there’d be nothing to remind either of them of this shitty day.
“Earl--” Ron’s bitten-off question brought Earl back to himself, and he realized his hand had moved away from the cut, caressing the curve of Ron’s jaw.
Damn. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, kid,” he said, dropping his hand to the bed. He grinned as if nothing had happened and hoped Ron would leave it at that.
Fat chance of that. Ron frowned, and Earl knew that a shitload of things had to be going through his head: Buck Rowan assaulting him, Psycho Mike’s attempt to make him the victim of gang rape, the constant jokes about his being Earl’s kid.
All of Earl’s instincts said Bad idea. Walk away. But for whatever reason, he sat there and waited while Ron thought.
After a long moment, he shook his head. “What the hell, Earl?” he asked. “I’m not a punk. You know that.”
“You think that’s what this is about?” Earl knew Ron was a cynical little prick, and he knew that in this particular instance, he was right to be, but hell, Earl didn’t pull the kind of shit a glue-sniffer like Psycho Mike would try, and his pride was hurt by the thought. “Fuck. You could have died today. We both could have. You ever think of that? You ever think of how fucking scared I was when you were bleeding all over the bathroom floor this morning?”
Ron swallowed loudly. “I’m sorry, man,” he said, his expression softening. “Thanks for, you know, tackling that guy, and checking up on me, and everything.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to say that he’d have done it for any one of his friends, and it was probably true, but the fact of the matter was that he and Ron wouldn’t have been friends at all if Earl hadn’t been attracted to him from the first, and both of them knew it. But that wasn’t the kind of thing you said when someone thanked you for helping them out in a knife fight, so Earl cleared his throat and said, “You gotta be on guard for that kind of thing in here, but I’ll admit, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting a guy to stab me in the shower this morning. I guess you could call that an educational experience for both of us.”
“I’ll say,” Ron muttered with a wry smile. A beat, and then: “Do you want to have sex with me?”
Earl couldn’t even feign shock; he’d seen the question coming. “I told you already. If all I wanted was to fuck you, I could have done that already, no problem.” It didn’t quite answer the question, but then, maybe an indirect response was the right way to go with this.
Ron nodded. “Yeah. You did, but….” He looked away. “I don’t know, man. I’m getting pretty good at recognizing lust when I see it.”
There wasn’t any point in denying it. Fuck, it might make things even worse. Ron would probably trust a guy who wanted him and was honest about before he’d trust a guy that lied to him. At least, Earl would if he were in Ron’s shoes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ron,” he said. “I’m not some asshole who’s gonna gangbang you in return for ‘protection.’ I’m not gonna take anything you don’t want to give me. You know that.”
Ron bit his lower lip and nodded again. “I know.”
Earl stood up. “I should go,” he said. “You should get some rest or something.”
“No,” Ron said, his hand on Earl’s arm. “I’m not tired. Don’t—don’t just leave.” Earl sat again, feeling embarrassed and guilty. It went against the grain with him to intimidate someone into sex, and he wasn’t sure that this didn’t qualify.
Ron was staring at some point over Earl’s shoulder. “Look,” he said, “if you want to do something…well, I’m not gonna let you fuck me, but we could do something else, if you wanted.” Earl’s shock must have shown on his face, because Ron made an awkward gesture with his hands and continued. “Earl, man, I would have been in so much trouble if you hadn’t started looking out for me. I’d feel like a jackass, you know, not giving you anything, when I owe you so much. And I’m not gay or anything, but fuck, a handjob’s a handjob, right?”
That startled a laugh out of Earl. “Kid, you’re gonna get along fine in prison.” Sobering up, he said, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You wouldn’t be,” said Ron. “It’s not like you asked or anything. I suggested it. And maybe….” He shrugged, a vulnerable expression on his face. “Maybe if we do it now, you can get it out of your system, you know?”
Well, that had been the theory behind many a late-night masturbation session. And it had been a damn long time since Earl had had a sexual encounter with anyone but himself. Maybe Ron had the right idea, maybe all of it was just horniness. “You sure?” he asked Ron, but he was already discarding his many reservations about the idea.
“Sure. I mean, yeah, I’m sure.” And with a tight, awkward smile, Ron curled a hand around the side of Earl’s neck and kissed him.
Earl had had better kisses. Ron was nervous—hell, it was probably the first time he’d ever kissed a man before—and hadn’t done much of anything with his tongue. It was almost chaste. Even so, Earl felt himself responding.
“Hold on,” he said. “Lemme make sure nobody’s hanging around outside. Half the prison already thinks we’re fucking, but I don’t want to ruin your image.” He stuck his head outside the door, quickly scanning the hallway. There was a tier tender at the end of the hall, but Earl recognized him as a friend of Buzz’s, and Buzz was a good guy. Other than him, and the bull, a rookie that Earl didn’t know, the place was empty—not too surprising. It was a nice day, so the guys who weren’t working were probably out playing handball or basketball in the courtyard.
“Is the coast clear?” Ron was laughing at him. Earl knew that it was because Ron still didn’t have a good grasp of how much a reputation could help or hurt you in prison, but it still made Earl feel good. Young.
“Yeah,” said Earl, all but jumping back on the bed. “What say we try this again?” he asked Ron, and without waiting for an answer, he kissed him. Ron still didn’t seem especially sure of himself, but he was a quick learner, and Earl wasn’t complaining.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Ron wasn’t about to make the first move when it came to anything more than kissing, so he moved his hands towards Ron’s fly. “That okay?” he asked, pulling his mouth away from Ron’s for a minute.
“Sure,” said Ron dazedly. “Do I have to….”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Earl interrupted. “Just relax.” He unzipped Ron’s fly and smiled at the sight of his half-hard dick. The kid might not have been into guys, but at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. Carefully, he wrapped his hand around Ron’s penis, and was gratified by its sudden stiffening.
“Jesus!” Ron exclaimed, sounding more surprised than he did turned-on. Earl chuckled and rubbed his thumb up and down the underside of Ron’s dick. Damn, it had been too long since he’d done this.
“You like that?” he asked, moving his thumb in a small circle over the tip.
“God, Earl, that feels really good.” Ron was panting, and he wiped his palms on the bedspread. Then, to Earl’s surprise, he put a hand to Earl’s face, gently cupping one cheek. “Don’t stop,” he said breathlessly.
Earl found he was getting a little short of breath himself. “Okay,” he said, and he rubbed his thumb along the length of the penis again, harder and faster. Ron squirmed, and Earl gave him a light smack on the shoulder. “Don’t move!” he ordered. He made a fist again, pumping Ron in earnest now.
“Fuck,” Ron moaned softly. “That’s….”
“Shh.” Earl squeezed gently. He could feel the soft skin of Ron’s balls against the curve between his thumb and index finger, and the sensation was sending shivers of pleasure along his own spine. His hand was moving now, faster, faster....
With short, sharp cry and a loud exhalation, Ron came in a spurt over the fly of his jeans and Earl’s hand. Earl just about came himself from the expression on Ron’s face.
They sat like that for a moment, Ron staring at his wet pants as if he didn’t understand what he was seeing. “Ah, shit,” said Earl finally. “You got a towel or something?”
Ron frowned. “Wait, you didn’t come. I mean, I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Earl said, stretching his shoulders and wincing as he pulled at his stitches. “Trust me, I had a pretty good time doing this.”
“No, no, fuck that.” Ron looked uncomfortably at his fly and tucked himself back into his pants, and then he looked up to give Earl an earnest look. “I don’t really…I’ve never done this before, but I could probably figure it out.” He wiped his hand on his pants and rested it on Earl’s thigh, at the place where his leg his groin. “That okay?”
The idea of being coaxed into sex like a virgin made Earl irrationally indignant, and he growled, “If you’re gonna do it, kid, do it.” His hard dick was starting to hurt, rubbing against the inside of his pants, so he unzipped them and pulled them down a bit to give Ron easier access.
Ron looked a little intimidated by the sight of Earl’s erection, and Earl knew there was a joke in there about the relative sizes of their dicks, but he wasn’t thinking any too clearly at that moment. And what thoughts he was able to gather went right out the window when Ron touched his penis.
He stroked it tentatively, looking to Earl for approval, and then wrapped his hand around it. His fingers were cold, but smooth, and the feeling of them rubbing against his cock, first slow, and then a little quicker, made Earl gasp. Ron grinned, but before Earl could smack him for being a cocky little bastard, he squeezed near the base, running his thumb over Earl’s balls, and Earl thought maybe he had reason to be cocky.
And now he was really jerking Earl off, hard, and maybe it was too much, too fast, but Earl wasn’t about to complain. He’d always liked it a little rough, and the sensation when Ron started moving his thumb around and between Earl’s balls was…well, it was pretty damn good.
Oh, God. He could feel an orgasm coming on, and the thought that it was Ron bringing him there pushed him over the edge.
Shit. Now his pants were sticky, too. He was gonna have to have another shower, and hope nobody stabbed him this time.
Ron looked excessively pleased with himself, and Earl didn’t mind feeding his ego. For a with no experience giving handjobs, it hadn’t been bad. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked.
“Oh, shut up,” said Ron, but he was still smiling. He grabbed a towel from under his bed and, after wiping off his hand, threw it to Earl. “You good?”
Earl snorted. “Why?” he asked, trying to find a clean spot on the towel to use on his pants. “Did you want to cuddle?”
“No, I meant--” He shrugged and gave Earl a questioning look. “You good? ‘Cause, I mean, I had fun and all, but....” His smile had turned anxious. “Isn’t it bad for your image, anyway?”
Ah. He looked at Ron appraisingly, taking in the mussed hair, the stained pants, the ugly cut on his cheek. If he were younger, and had more energy, he’d jerk the kid off again in an instant, or fuck him, or kiss him. So much for getting it out of his system. “Yeah,” he said, knowing his tone had lost its earlier levity but unable to do anything about it. “I’m good.”
11:36 PM
Earl stared at his ceiling. It was gray and cracked, like a huge spider web strung above his bunk. His dick hurt. That’s what he got for getting a hand job from an inexperienced kid without lube.
Shit. Ron was still—Jesus, fifteen, twenty years younger than Earl. Earl still felt like a dirty old pervert. And Ron still wrote to his girlfriend on the outside. And fuck if they weren’t still running away to Costa Rica together.
Earl rolled over and closed his eyes. He was getting too old for this shit.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
This is mostly based on the movie, but the format of Earl’s memo at the beginning and the idea that Knowles thought people were trying to install radios in his head both come from the book by Edward Bunker. The title is from John Donne’s “A Lecture Upon the Shadow.”