The warden stares at me for a few seconds then sets the small black ball he's holding down on the corner of a stack of papers in front of him.
“I'll have to get him to sign a release, but if he gives permission, I don't see any reason you shouldn't be able to listen to them.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He makes a few calls, then walks over to a large filing cabinet on the far side of the office. He pulls out a file and brings it back to the desk.
"So much of what we do is kept on computers these days, but there's nothing like solid, reliable paper," he says.
It sounds as if he's trying to make a joke, but I actually understand the files. Computer files are easily corruptible or could be deleted. Even if they are completely secure, they require technology to access, and that isn't always possible or convenient. A paper file can simply be handed from person to person, and all it takes to read what's inside is to open it. I've known of countless other facilities that keep hard copies of all records and regularly scan them into the computer system for a backup.
He opens the file, and I notice the first page looks like a schedule. He points to it.
"A day in the life of Xavier Renton."
I get a closer look at the page and notice the standard schedule has been modified in what I can only imagine is Xavier's handwriting. He's squeezed in several additional activities and a few notes. But it's an item typed at the top of the schedule that catches my eye.
"Morning vitamins, supplement magnesium?" I ask. "Do all the inmates get that?"
He glances at the schedule from the drawer he's opened and is digging through.
"All the inmates receive vitamins as part of our health initiative. Some also receive additional supplements or medications depending on their needs. Xavier takes extra magnesium every day on the recommendation of his doctor. Something with his heart."
"Oh," I say.
For some reason, that hits me. It doesn't take long before another knock on the office door makes the warden release the automatic lock and call for the person to enter. A guard walks in with Xavier handcuffed and chained beside him. Warden Light asks for his permission to release the recordings, and he promptly signs the form put in front of him.
As he's being led away, I reach out to touch his arm. The guard pulls him away to prevent the touch, but Xavier looks at me.
"Your heart," I say. "Is it alright?"
Xavier nods. "It's fine. Just floppy."
They leave, and I see the warden shaking his head, leaning back in his chair as he rolls the paperweight around in his hand again.
Twenty minutes later, I'm walking out of the facility with a flash drive of all of Xavier's messages from the last six months. My phone was held along with my gun and wallet while I was inside, so I check it to see if Dean has called me. There's a message saying he might be longer than he thought, so I tell him to meet me in my room when he gets to the hotel.
The sun is working its way down toward setting as I get inside and pull out my computer.
Chapter Forty
Raymond James
Anderson Whitley
Brad Coleman
Ashley Teiger
Van Carlton
Presley Hanson
The list of names written in the notebook sitting on my bed keeps growing as I pace back and forth, listening to the messages. I'm not surprised that nearly all of them come from Lakyn Monroe. Hearing her voice is an odd experience. I’d heard it before when I was listening to videos she posted, but it's different when it comes through a phone. She's being more personal, more real when she talks to Xavier than she was when she was performing.
When I started listening to the messages, I was expecting something different. I'm not exactly sure what I thought she was going to say, but I figured it would be like listening to voicemails left for anybody else. Instead, the messages sound more like she's dictating notes.
Every message starts the same. She greets Xavier, confirms that it's her, then starts listing things. Sometimes it's names, and she makes notes about them, like locations or dates. Sometimes it's places she went during the day. Sometimes it's things she did, errands or projects. They come with brief commentary, but it's hard to string it all together.
It's not the same as listening to Xavier. Lakyn's words don't seem to have a consistent flow. They aren't a continuous collection of thoughts or jumbled, tangled ideas presented to the filter of her mind. Instead, it's as if she's speaking to him in a form of code that doesn't rely on confusion or misdirection. She's saying exactly what she means to say, only she's leaving out the part other people would need to understand the point of It.
But Xavier understood. He knew exactly what she was talking about with every message. And I'm taking notes of everything I hear so I can try to understand them, too.
There's something in here. I know there is, I just don't know exactly what.
My phone rings, and I pause the message I'm listening to so I can answer it.
“Hey, honey,” I answer with a long sigh.
“That doesn't sound like a voice of someone who is making tremendous strides in her case,” Sam chuckles.
“Honestly, I don't know. I might be.”
I tell him about everything that happened at the jail.
“He said his heart is… floppy?” Sam asks.
“I like that, of everything, that's what you got out of that,” I say.
“I mean, that's an odd thing for him to say.”
“Actually, not really. It's an odd thing for somebody else to say. It's fairly pedestrian for Xavier.”
“What about these messages? Have you gotten through all of them?”
“Not all of them,” I say, letting out a breath
