A thief in fan’s clothing.

My name is Orelia Mason. I’m coy and sweet but I’m coming for you.

9

Every time Alan West thought about his meeting with the creepy little witch, a shiver ran up his spine. She’d done something that day during the visit with him and his attorney. Put a hex over him or something. The evil little bitch. This could be the only explanation for his fate.

Although he enjoyed the last laugh. Ha ha! There was a god and he protected against unnatural creatures like her. Prior to his apologize-and-everything-will-be-just-peachy meeting, he was a healthy and kinda happy man. Of course, not totally happy. Who was happy thrown in prison for an act, which was understandable given his circumstances on that day? Anyway, that’s what his attorney had said in his summation and it sounded about right to him.

Seven days after the little witch gave him her evil stare, he noticed a lump on the side of his neck. At first he thought the raised skin was an insect bite. This place could be infested with God knows what: spiders, mosquitos, wasps, fleas even.

The lump didn’t go down though, and a few days later another appeared. This time in his groin, and this one hurt as if someone had shoved a plum-sized ball infested with stinging ants up his privates.

Two nights in a row he’d awoken drenched head-to-toe with sweat. His bedclothes were soaked through like they’d been dunked in a bucket of salty water.

By the third day he struggled to get out of his cot at wake-up call. His legs felt as if the bones had been replaced with brittle sticks and his head ached like he’d gone ten rounds in a boxing bout.

Even though he didn’t want anybody checking down there, he couldn’t take the pain. Something was wrong. Outside, he’d ride it out; in here he had little choice.

Good medical treatment in prison was a joke. However, some do-gooders sure did good here. A 60 Minutes’ segment, Executing Prisoners, aired after two old timers died unattended in their beds, shone a brief spotlight. Preventable deaths they’d said. So the prison had been forced to lift their game when it came to health support.

The place would revert to the same old dump soon enough. But just being here had begun his streak of luck. Right time to get sick. Right prison to be locked away in.

Multiple tests later, tests he wouldn’t have received before 60 Minutes visited, he sat in the burning-bright prison medical center hearing the news he struggled to understand. The doctor’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if describing the flu.

“Do you want me to explain anything in more detail?”

After pausing to be certain he wasn’t dreaming, Alan replied, “Yes. All of it.”

He wanted to say, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” but he wasn’t a complete moron. He needed this doctor’s help, so he bit his tongue—an important skill he’d learned in here. Alan listened more carefully the second time and began to comprehend what lay ahead.