The Juvenile Hall Thief written by Jimmy

 

The Juvenile Hall Thief

 

by Jimmy

 

The thief was watchful. 

 

In the bowels of the night, his keen eyes roam the halls of the facility windows and doors watching and learning the layout of the land and more importantly how to break-out a certain inmate. 

 

His name is Silas Dark. 

 

The thief is clever and bides his time. Several weeks have passed since Silas Dark was first brought to Bartlet Juvenile Hall and in that very short time Silas Dark has made a reputation of himself. No one crosses him. Silas Dark’s edgy demeanor, and quiet watchfulness was pegged for shyness. A mistake that Cliff still regrets to this very day. Ever since Cliff staged an attack on Silas Dark during his first night in the institution he has been made out to be the plaything of Silas’s.

 

Everyday a new torture awaits him, and this night is no different as Cliff steaks down the hall naked as the day he was born with words written along his back: Fresh Meat! The words were written like a tramp stamp above his ass, the cursive writing just dipping into the globes of his hairy ass. 

 

Silas Dark awaits his thief, he knows that he has failed him and will come to redeem himself. And he sits quietly on his bed, hands tucked behind his head as awaits his arrival. 

 

The thief does not disappoint.

 

Coming along the roof, the window trembles in its frame as the thief works at the lock from above a small and narrow wire slowly sliding along the tracks of the wooden frame. 

 

Silas Dark listening to the screams of Cliff, pops out of bed and pulls on a handmade rucksack over one shoulder as he casually struts to the window the glass opening just as he gets to the wall. 

 

“It’s raining be,” Silas Dark comments as his lip curls annoyed as the gentle drops hit his chest and forehead.

 

A rope dangles down, and Silas Dark sighs wondering if it is even worth it to go out in such terrible weather but he decides that the rain if it keeps up like this will block and hide his escape quite nicely.

 

Taking the rope in hand, he prepares to jump out the window but a hand drops only his shoulder. It’s his roommate and trusted “ally” from the inside.

 

“Push the rope back for me, I’ll be right behind you,” he says. 

 

Silas Dark barely looks over his shoulder but coolly tells him “Of course.” 

 

He was not bad for the time in here, but Silas Dark would never chance his escape on someone he barely knows.

 

After scrambling out the window, rain pelts him hard and his well-worn sleeveless jumpsuit from the Bartlet facility is easily soaked to his skin as he climbs up the side of the building. It’s only three quick hand-over-hand pulls and the thief helps him as he tugs the other end of the rope up.

 

When he is standing up on the roof he can just hear his roommate below calling for the rope.

 

Silas Dark wishes to just cut the line and watch the young fellows face fall, but he can’t risk the falling rope being seen or heard even over the rain. Already he is on the clock and does not wish to be caught. 

 

“This way,” the thief tells him.

 

Silas Dark not usually a follower grits his teeth as he takes up the rest of the rope, and begins to follow. 

 

At the fire escape stairway, Silas sees in the darkness a car waiting and running the headlights are off but the exhaust puffing out the tail pipe puffs slow little dark clouds that he can barely make out against the starless night sky. 

 

Lightning crackles overhead and Silas Dark spots the thief dressed in dark jeans, a black long sleeve shirt with his trademark mask in place. ‘That must be annoying to wear when wet, good.’

 

They take the stairs, the lightening overhead bursts and cracks in the sky angry white light illuminating the pair as they head down the stairs. 

 

A hand reaches out and grabs the thief by the collar, hands twisting viciously around his neck and stopping him in his tracks. An open window, a mistake that Silas Dark would not have made us all the way open a man with flaming red hair, and a close cut mustache of the same color just out the window preventing him from taking another step. 

 

“Stall still!” the guard urges, and Silas remembers this one. He liked to trip the delinquents from the juvenile hall as they were crossing the corridors or switching their dry towels for wet ones when they were not looking. He loved to harass the young boys and Silas Dark takes a lot of pleasure as he appears next to the thief and punching him solidly between the eyes. 

 

Red blood blossoms from the guard’s nose and as he takes a step back, covering his face Silas Dark reaches down roughly grabbing the bulge in his dress slacks. It’s not much of a handhold and he suppresses a laugh as he gives it a twisting squeeze and drags him back to the window. 

 

The guard begins to squeal, a natural response in this instant but a punch to his throat takes that away from him. The guard’s eyes bulge and Silas Dark continues to crush his pathetic testicles in his nutclaw as he drains the resilience from him and he drops to the floor. 

 

Silas Dark does not give him a second look, but takes the walkie talkie and chucks it far into the grounds. 

 

“Move faster, thief.”

 

Silas Dark never bothered to learn his name. The only thing he is interested in about him is his lock picking knowledge and his loyalty. Silas Dark pays him well for both. 

 

Upon reaching the grass the two take off for the car, and the thief tries to give him directions but Silas Dark shushes him. “I see it, just run.”

 

The doors slam shut, and the car headlights flick on. Immediately the windshield wipers are out to work as the car blasts down the road the alarm just now going off.

 

“Where to?” the thief asks. 

 

“You have to ask?” Silas Dark says unzipping his uniform and reaching into the back for his clothes packed nicely into a pile for him, they are still warm to the touch. 

 

“Bring me to Hell House, Sam and I have a score to settle,” Silas Dark orders and he swears that he can see the lips curl underneath the wet mask of the thief in the driver’s seat smile. 

 

“I owe that brat, and Sam Hell too. Let’s go…and make it quick.”

 

Silas Dark nods as he takes the wet jumpsuit and juvenile hall issued shorts and tosses them into the bag. He’s naked, but he feels free and Silas Dark checks the rear view mirror. 

 

No one is following. 

 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he starts to get dressed as the fantasies he has been playing in his mind twist and turn each one placing Sam Hell and his “invincible devil coins” to the rest. 

 

After he’s dressed Silas Dark reaches into his pocket and pulls out the new cell phone and calls his contact. 

 

“I’m on my way to Hell House. Update?”

 

“Jake, he’s gone. Reunited with his mother. Want me to keep checking on him?”

 

“Don’t bother, with him out of the way that makes things even easier,” Silas Dark’s lips curl into a snarl. “Are they home?”

 

“Yes…but… there is one problem. The Dad is at home.”

 

Silas Dark smirks and chuckles. “Don’t worry about Daddy Brady, I took him out easily the last time. I have no doubt that I will again. Let me know if anything changes, Silas out.”

 

Dropping the phone into his top pocket, Silas Dark lays back content that his prey is about to be in his claws. His fingers itch next to his thighs and he longs to message Sam Hell that he is on his way but he refrains. He will know soon enough. 

 

 

 

 

To be continued….