Finding Mayumi

Chapter 8

Morning came without Peter noticing.

A deafening buzzing sound coming from every corner of the facility woke everyone up. An alarm for all prisoners to go out of their beds and leave their cell immediately.

Peter sat on his bed first before going down from the second deck of the bed. He suddenly felt dizzy because of not getting enough sleep. He remained his eyes closed while stretching his back and both arms as he yawns. His back hurts so bad and his skin has spots of redness because of the bites he got from the bedbugs as a sign of their welcome.

He didn’t get a pleasant sleep because of them, and the humidity inside the facility throughout the night was something he couldn’t bear. Plus, his bed was swinging because the upper part of the double desk sways when someone moves below.

Peter tried his best to get some sleep, but his mind was preoccupied with so many things throughout the night.

“Peter.” The old Japanese painter taps tap his leg twice to get his attention.

That tapping made him open his eyes and he immediately saw the old man in front of him. He stared at him clueless about who he is. Everyone was already outside waiting for him, but for a second, he forgot where he was and who they were.

He gave them a confusing look one by one. He scrubbed his eyes and stared back at them. His left eye that was damaged is making his vision blurry, affecting his other eye. He blinked a few times before he sees them.

“C’mon buddy!” The tattooed guy called him.

He immediately jumped out of the upper deck and ran to the broken sink they have inside their cell to wash his face and gargle, ran back and snatched his face towel, and wipe the water on his face as fast as he could before joining them.

All the cell doors were unlocked and everyone was being monitored through the CCTVs in every alley to check if a prisoner is missing by scanning all the numbers printed on their clothes and will be automatically recorded in their computer.

They followed the flood of men going in one route. Going on the field for their daily morning exercise. Peter’s cellmate explained some rules last night that’s why he already know what to expect in the morning but he was surprised when he woke up that he felt like his spirit went somewhere last night and suddenly forgot what place he ended up waking this morning.

He found that so strange; it was the first time something like that occurs and he felt so different this morning.

Peter saw countless men walking along with them wearing the same color of clothes with different printed numbers. Some of them look frightening, they were carrying an eerie dark aura that he couldn’t explain why he could sense something from them.

He felt death and smell something; it seemed blood. He noticed dark auras from some prisoners, most are from those who were glaring at him. Trying to mark his face, while some just gave him a quick look, wondering why he seemed familiar.

“Hey, pretty boy!” Someone shouted behind. He was referring to him right after they passed by.

The tattooed guy immediately warned Peter not to look, but he didn’t bother to listen.

A bald guy with a long scar on his face winked and stick his tongue out while raising his middle finger.

“I told you don’t look.” His cellmate uttered. He grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to show them he has company.

Peter heard them laughed in unison. Speaking language unfamiliar to him. They stopped far from those men. All the prisoners fell in line by rows and after positioning themselves, he heard a song playing.

The tattoo artist next to him moved closer to him and whispered. “You should follow and dance.”

“Huh? But I don’t know how to dance.” Peter replied, freaking out and confused.

His five cellmates glanced at each other and the old man whispered, “See the guy holding a rifle in front?”

“Yes.” He answered quickly after looking at the guy he was referring to.

“If you didn’t dance, he will shoot you in the head.” The old man said.

Peter’s face turned pale in fear. He looked at the guy with a rifle and he was looking around like searching for someone while getting ready to fire anyone he spotted.

“Seriously?” He murmured and all of his cellmates nodded.

Four men climb on a higher platform where they were all facing. They were clapping their hands with joy on their faces. They started dancing, doing moves to warm up, and after, they asked everyone to follow.

They hop, they jog, shake their booty. Everyone followed with all their might while counting along with the beat of the song. Peter tried to blend and do his best to move his body even his bones hurts and aches like hell.

After that exercise, his sweat was dripping like waterfalls. He was gasping for air, heartbeat raising.

His five new friends praised him after and laughed at him because they fooled him.

“You all are so unbelievable.” He commented while gasping.

The Japanese painter handed his towel to Peter to wipe his sweaty face. After resting, they entered the canteen to get breakfast while talking about something, about arts, colors, and mixtures of paints.

He got one sliced loaf of bread, scrambled egg, and a half mug of hot chocolate without milk and sugar for breakfast. Too small serving, but enough then nothing.

“We have work today, I’m sure they will ask you to come with us.” The youngest said while chewing the loaf he rolled with his scrambled egg inside.

Peter curiously asked what work it is, but they told him it’s related to their forte. Arts is their forte.

After breakfast, they returned to the field where they exercised. A jail guard approached them and asked them to come with him. All of them, including Peter.

He took them to the compound’s sports complex. It was empty. No one was there except them and the jail guard. He noticed the wall immediately; it was oddly painted. Colors were fading but images are still visible. Most were related to violence that turned the entire place into murals with different stories to tell.

All materials needed were already there. The paints, brushes, and ladder needed to reach high places. They were asked to repaint the walls, which were already started weeks ago according to his cellmates, and it seemed he was waiting to arrive to finish the job.

They are changing the theme to something nice and lite. To turn the place alive without a touch of anything dark and will remind prisoners of the past they are paying already.

“What’s nice and lite for you, buddy?” The old man standing next to him asked.

“A paradise.” He answered and smiled after. Mayumi’s face popped up in his mind because for him she’s a part of that paradise. It won’t be completed without her. Without the light, his sunshine.

“Then let’s start, that wall is for you.” The old man said while pointing at a wall that screams torture.

He chose black paint and started painting his wall, and for days, that was what they do every day. That’s how Peter gained his trust and friends.

While he fights to survive inside his best friend Eddie was helping him gain attention. To gain more signatures for his case to reopen.

The judge who sentenced him guilty and put him in prison filled an early retirement because he couldn't take all the judgments he was getting from the people who come in and out of his workplace. They even traced his house and throw eggs and tomatoes to their window and front door every day since Peter was put to prison. To show how disappointed they were in him. For not doing his job right and for not telling the public who pushed him to do it because of fear.

His entire family flew to a different country to run away from shame and fear. They couldn’t bear the humiliation they get from social media and in public places from Peter’s supporters.

Eddie gained millions of signatures after a month. A petition for Peter's case to reopen. He visited Peter to tell him that news, and he was so happy. His cellmates were amused at how far his supporters will do to help him and after a week, the trial went on and a new judge took the case.

He went three times in his trial. They found Merideth in a mental institution due to too much use of drugs. She abused her body and broke down. She couldn't even talk.

Because of her condition, they couldn't invite her to the trial to give statements and her condition also is enough to tell she’s the user and owner of those drugs found hidden in Peter’s closet because she was occupying the place when Peter was in a coma.

Case solved but one mystery remains unanswered. Who's behind Peter's death and who is the person who sent men to force the judge to sabotage the trial?