#bo and yancy pt 5

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Bo and Yancy

Guess what story is finally back after like two weeks!

Yancy has returned to Happy Trails after a brief month spent with Professor Beauregard, but the Warden wants to know what he’s been up to while he’s been gone. And he’s willing to push Yancy to the brink to get the answers he wants. But the other inmates of the penitentiary won’t just stand idly by...

Part Five: Break My Face

“Now, Yancy, you’ve always been like a son to me, you know,” the Warden begins as the guards lift Yancy from the floor. “I don’t particularly enjoy seeing these guys bust you up, but children need to be disciplined when they misbehave. You understand that, right?”

He tilts Yancy’s chin up. “Answer me.”

Yancy, blood dribbling down his jaw from his busted lip, tries to open his swollen eyes. “I understand.” He hangs his head when Murder-Slaughter drops his chin, and something in his stomach twists. Yancy always tried to do right by the Warden, so why was he treating him like this? “I just... don’t understand what you wants me to tell youse.”

The Warden wipes the blood from his hands on the shoulder of Yancy’s white shirt. “I’ve told you, Yance. I just want to know what you and the professor were up too while you were gone. That’s all.”

“I tolds youse,” Yancy whines, his head lolling to the side, “she did all these tests, and I don’t knows why. A few weeks in she saids I wasn’t what she was looking for! Then I came back here. This is where I belong. This is where I’m hapy.” He looks up at the Warden and flinches.

This was the wrong thing to say.

Murder-Slaughter clicks his tongue. “But why would she take you at all? There is nothing special about you. Aside from that exceptionally thick skull of yours.” He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. “Alright, Yancy, alright. I think we’ve talked enough for today. You’re obviously not going to tell me what I want to know... yet.”

“That’s all I knows!” Yancy struggles against the guards, and one of them cracks him in the back of the head. The world spins. His heart his hammering in his chest. “Warden, I swear. That’s all I knows... I don’t knows what else to say!”

The Warden smiles and leans his hands back against his desk casually, as if he and Yancy are just having a chat over drinks, like old pals. “It’s okay, boy. I know you’re trying, but maybe after a few days in solitary, you’ll try a bit harder.”

“No!” Yancy shouts as the guards drag him towards the door. His shoes scrape the floor. He tries to grab for the door frame, but his hands are cuffed behind his back. “No! I’ll tell youse anything, anything youse wants to know!” He’ll make something up. He’ll sing like a canary. Anything the Warden wants, but not solitary, anything but that. “Please, Warden, please!”

But Murder-Slaughter just gives a tiny wave as they take him away.

Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he shouldn’t be raving and screaming and throwing himself against the walls. Maybe he should sit there and take it because he killed people, and he deserves to go crazy sitting here in the absolute darkness with nothing but the sound of his own guttural cries to listen to.

But Yancy remembers her, and how sweet she could be when she was too distracted to realize it. When she wasn’t threatening to remove his spleen or feed him to the zombies, she could be genuinely kind. And he’d left her for this.

She probably doesn’t even miss him.

Curling into the corner of the room, he traces the tip of his tongue along the scab on his lip and tenderly pokes the bruise on his cheek. The guards haven’t been back since they locked him up in here a few days ago--he guesses days based on the sparse meals he’s been brought--and he hopes that doesn’t mean Murder-Slaughter has forgotten him in here. He’s been known to do it in the past.

That’s how they lost that Barnum guy from a few years ago.

So he sings to himself to try to forget how terrified that thought makes him, but as he’s singing, he feels that weird shift in the air that he felt before with Professor Bo. The shift that got him out of the cell she was keeping him in. The shift that suddenly brought him into her kitchen. Was that why she had taken him? Is that what made him special?

Is that what the Warden wants to know about?

So Yancy stops singing. He doesn’t want to disappear and pop up somewhere else. He doesn’t want to make the Warden mad anymore. He just wants things to go back to the way things were before Miss Bo took him. He wants to forget her completely. He’s done it before, forgotten things.

Yes, that’s for the best.

Beauregard slides a hundred dollar bill across the table. The coffee shop is crowded, loud with music and talking and the hiss of the espresso machine. The man sitting across from her is well-dressed but quiet. He snatches up the money and drops a file onto the table.

Yancy’s name is written on the tab. His picture is pinned to the inside as Bo skims over the therapist’s notes. “Memory loss?”

“He suppressed the memory of killing his parents, only knows what other people have told him about that night.” The therapist adjusts his collar like his tie is on too tight. “Can I go now? I gave you what you want.”

“Not yet,” Bo snaps. She smacks the file closed. “I want to know about him. How is he doing since he came back? Have you noticed any... changes?”

The therapist, Dr. Flemming, Bo thinks he said his name was, shakes his head. “I haven’t seen Yancy since he returned to the penitentiary. He’s been confined to solitary by the Warden. It’s apparently caused a big fuss with the other inmates. Yancy always was a favorite.”

Bo is only vaguely aware of the coffee cup scalding her fingers and palms as she clutches it tight. “What? How long has he been in there?”

“Nearly two weeks at this point.” Flemming rubs his temples. “If this goes on much longer, it’ll be considered a violation of Yancy’s rights. Not to mention the hunger strike.”

“Hunger strike?” Bo finally releases her coffee cup and looks down at her reddened hands. This is all her fault. A whole prison full of inmates starving themselves over one sweet, naive idiot all because she was too curious for her own good. “Thanks for the information, Flemming. It was good doing business with you.” She gets up, taking her coffee and slipping the file under her arm as she goes.

She’s got some calls to make.

Yancy is poking at the dry spots on his tongue when the door to his cell opens. He curls in on himself as the light assaults him, and someone drags him to his feet even as he tries to shield his eyes, shield his face from another attack. “Yancy!” It’s the Warden.

Tears slip down Yancy’s cheeks. “Please, let me out. Please, I’ll be good. I will.” His accent is softer after so long in the dark. It always is. Something about the dark and the quiet smooth out Yancy’s personality until he’s just a nobody at all.

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, boy,” Murder-Slaughter mutters. “The whole prison is on a hunger strike because of you, do you know that?”

Yancy’s heart squeezes so tight that his toes curl up. “A-a what?”

“They refuse to eat until I let you out of solitary!” the Warden barks, and Yancy winces at the loud noise. Everything is loud. So loud. “So they won’t eat until you tell me what I want to know. Are you really going to be the reason that your friends starve?”

No, Yancy doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him. “Tell ‘em... tell ‘em not to do that. I’m okay. I’m...” He shakes his head. His brain keeps fading out like a radio station turning to static. “I’m okay.” He hangs limp in the guard’s arms.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

But he can’t. Because then the Warden will only be even more mad. He’ll want Yancy to show him how he did it, how he disappeared from one place and reappeared in another, but Yancy himself doesn’t even know how he did it. So instead, he tells him something between the truth and a lie. “Something about my tattoos, Mr. Warden, sir. She said something about a temporal map, I think. Whatever that means.”

The Warden grabs Yancy’s face and strokes a thumb over his bruised cheek. “And that’s all?”

“That’s all,” Yancy sobs. He resists the urge to lean into the Warden’s hand. “That’s all I swear.”

Murder-Slaughter kneels down so that his eyes are level with Yancy’s, and he smiles. He really does have a nice smile. “I know you’re lying to me, and for that, you can stay in this hole. Your friends will get tired soon enough. They’ll eat again before long. And everything will go back to normal, only without you in it.” He tilts his head to the side and watches Yancy’s eyes break with fondness.

“And you can rot in here for all I care until you decide to tell me the truth.”

[energyember]

No! Yancy!

I’m coming for Murder-Slaughter’s kneecaps!

Bo and Yancy

Guess what story is finally back after like two weeks!

Yancy has returned to Happy Trails after a brief month spent with Professor Beauregard, but the Warden wants to know what he’s been up to while he’s been gone. And he’s willing to push Yancy to the brink to get the answers he wants. But the other inmates of the penitentiary won’t just stand idly by…

Part Five: Break My Face

“Now, Yancy, you’ve always been like a son to me, you know,” the Warden begins as the guards lift Yancy from the floor. “I don’t particularly enjoy seeing these guys bust you up, but children need to be disciplined when they misbehave. You understand that, right?”

He tilts Yancy’s chin up. “Answer me.”

Yancy, blood dribbling down his jaw from his busted lip, tries to open his swollen eyes. “I understand.” He hangs his head when Murder-Slaughter drops his chin, and something in his stomach twists. Yancy always tried to do right by the Warden, so why was he treating him like this? “I just… don’t understand what you wants me to tell youse.”

The Warden wipes the blood from his hands on the shoulder of Yancy’s white shirt. “I’ve told you, Yance. I just want to know what you and the professor were up too while you were gone. That’s all.”

“I tolds youse,” Yancy whines, his head lolling to the side, “she did all these tests, and I don’t knows why. A few weeks in she saids I wasn’t what she was looking for! Then I came back here. This is where I belong. This is where I’m hapy.” He looks up at the Warden and flinches.

This was the wrong thing to say.

Murder-Slaughter clicks his tongue. “But why would she take you at all? There is nothing special about you. Aside from that exceptionally thick skull of yours.” He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. “Alright, Yancy, alright. I think we’ve talked enough for today. You’re obviously not going to tell me what I want to know… yet.”

“That’s all I knows!” Yancy struggles against the guards, and one of them cracks him in the back of the head. The world spins. His heart his hammering in his chest. “Warden, I swear. That’s all I knows… I don’t knows what else to say!”

The Warden smiles and leans his hands back against his desk casually, as if he and Yancy are just having a chat over drinks, like old pals. “It’s okay, boy. I know you’re trying, but maybe after a few days in solitary, you’ll try a bit harder.”

“No!” Yancy shouts as the guards drag him towards the door. His shoes scrape the floor. He tries to grab for the door frame, but his hands are cuffed behind his back. “No! I’ll tell youse anything, anything youse wants to know!” He’ll make something up. He’ll sing like a canary. Anything the Warden wants, but not solitary, anything but that. “Please, Warden, please!”

But Murder-Slaughter just gives a tiny wave as they take him away.

Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he shouldn’t be raving and screaming and throwing himself against the walls. Maybe he should sit there and take it because he killed people, and he deserves to go crazy sitting here in the absolute darkness with nothing but the sound of his own guttural cries to listen to.

But Yancy remembers her, and how sweet she could be when she was too distracted to realize it. When she wasn’t threatening to remove his spleen or feed him to the zombies, she could be genuinely kind. And he’d left her for this.

She probably doesn’t even miss him.

Curling into the corner of the room, he traces the tip of his tongue along the scab on his lip and tenderly pokes the bruise on his cheek. The guards haven’t been back since they locked him up in here a few days ago–he guesses days based on the sparse meals he’s been brought–and he hopes that doesn’t mean Murder-Slaughter has forgotten him in here. He’s been known to do it in the past.

That’s how they lost that Barnum guy from a few years ago.

So he sings to himself to try to forget how terrified that thought makes him, but as he’s singing, he feels that weird shift in the air that he felt before with Professor Bo. The shift that got him out of the cell she was keeping him in. The shift that suddenly brought him into her kitchen. Was that why she had taken him? Is that what made him special?

Is that what the Warden wants to know about?

So Yancy stops singing. He doesn’t want to disappear and pop up somewhere else. He doesn’t want to make the Warden mad anymore. He just wants things to go back to the way things were before Miss Bo took him. He wants to forget her completely. He’s done it before, forgotten things.

Yes, that’s for the best.

Beauregard slides a hundred dollar bill across the table. The coffee shop is crowded, loud with music and talking and the hiss of the espresso machine. The man sitting across from her is well-dressed but quiet. He snatches up the money and drops a file onto the table.

Yancy’s name is written on the tab. His picture is pinned to the inside as Bo skims over the therapist’s notes. “Memory loss?”

“He suppressed the memory of killing his parents, only knows what other people have told him about that night.” The therapist adjusts his collar like his tie is on too tight. “Can I go now? I gave you what you want.”

“Not yet,” Bo snaps. She smacks the file closed. “I want to know about him. How is he doing since he came back? Have you noticed any… changes?”

The therapist, Dr. Flemming, Bo thinks he said his name was, shakes his head. “I haven’t seen Yancy since he returned to the penitentiary. He’s been confined to solitary by the Warden. It’s apparently caused a big fuss with the other inmates. Yancy always was a favorite.”

Bo is only vaguely aware of the coffee cup scalding her fingers and palms as she clutches it tight. “What? How long has he been in there?”

“Nearly two weeks at this point.” Flemming rubs his temples. “If this goes on much longer, it’ll be considered a violation of Yancy’s rights. Not to mention the hunger strike.”

“Hunger strike?” Bo finally releases her coffee cup and looks down at her reddened hands. This is all her fault. A whole prison full of inmates starving themselves over one sweet, naive idiot all because she was too curious for her own good. “Thanks for the information, Flemming. It was good doing business with you.” She gets up, taking her coffee and slipping the file under her arm as she goes.

She’s got some calls to make.

Yancy is poking at the dry spots on his tongue when the door to his cell opens. He curls in on himself as the light assaults him, and someone drags him to his feet even as he tries to shield his eyes, shield his face from another attack. “Yancy!” It’s the Warden.

Tears slip down Yancy’s cheeks. “Please, let me out. Please, I’ll be good. I will.” His accent is softer after so long in the dark. It always is. Something about the dark and the quiet smooth out Yancy’s personality until he’s just a nobody at all.

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, boy,” Murder-Slaughter mutters. “The whole prison is on a hunger strike because of you, do you know that?”

Yancy’s heart squeezes so tight that his toes curl up. “A-a what?”

“They refuse to eat until I let you out of solitary!” the Warden barks, and Yancy winces at the loud noise. Everything is loud. So loud. “So they won’t eat until you tell me what I want to know. Are you really going to be the reason that your friends starve?”

No, Yancy doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him. “Tell ‘em… tell ‘em not to do that. I’m okay. I’m…” He shakes his head. His brain keeps fading out like a radio station turning to static. “I’m okay.” He hangs limp in the guard’s arms.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

But he can’t. Because then the Warden will only be even more mad. He’ll want Yancy to show him how he did it, how he disappeared from one place and reappeared in another, but Yancy himself doesn’t even know how he did it. So instead, he tells him something between the truth and a lie. “Something about my tattoos, Mr. Warden, sir. She said something about a temporal map, I think. Whatever that means.”

The Warden grabs Yancy’s face and strokes a thumb over his bruised cheek. “And that’s all?”

“That’s all,” Yancy sobs. He resists the urge to lean into the Warden’s hand. “That’s all I swear.”

Murder-Slaughter kneels down so that his eyes are level with Yancy’s, and he smiles. He really does have a nice smile. “I know you’re lying to me, and for that, you can stay in this hole. Your friends will get tired soon enough. They’ll eat again before long. And everything will go back to normal, only without you in it.” He tilts his head to the side and watches Yancy’s eyes break with fondness.

“And you can rot in here for all I care until you decide to tell me the truth.”