trace the moment

“The man’s got a maze on his skin.”

Two days after he’d been removed from the general population, the psych ward doctors deemed Haywire well enough to be allowed outside for one hour. He’d been taking his meds and hadn’t had any random outbursts about mazes or pathways to hell in thirty-six hours. So, Haywire stepped out into the sunshine, shoulders slumped, his hands in his pockets and his eyes slightly glassy. The other inmates steered clear of him. Those that were curious about him stared from a distance.

Haywire shuffled along the grass, his feet taking him everywhere but nowhere at the same time. He moved from one part of the yard to another, searching. He came to a halt a few yards away from the tool shed, stopping so fast that he skidded and almost fell, but quickly caught his balance and whirled around, ducking low behind a picnic table.

He’d spotted Michael, the one with the tattoos all over his upper body. Haywire chewed his lip and twisted his fingers in the curls of his hair. He itched to find out exactly where the maze would lead him. The meds had dimmed him a little over the last couple of days, but the images of those tattoos had been burned into his mind. He wouldn’t be able to forget them unless he figured out what secrets they held.

He watched as Michael wiped the sleeve of his navy colored PI work uniform across his sweaty brow, the sleeve pulling back a few inches to reveal the marks on his wrist. He watched as Michael talked with one of the guards and then turned towards the tool shed. No one followed him inside.

Swallowing hard, Haywire stood up and dusted himself off, trying to appear inconspicuous as he slinked over to the building. He thought about whistling a happy tune, but decided against it. That would definitely make him appear like a loony. He flattened himself against the brick and slipped inside.

Michael was examining the selection of trowels hanging above a workbench when Haywire found him. Haywire knew there was no way Michael would let him see the tattoos as long as he was awake, so he’d just have to make him sleep.

He spotted a large metal watering can with a long spout sitting on a shelf. It looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. Haywire gripped the spout in his hands and crept up behind Michael. His shoe nudged against a shovel, knocking it over. Michael spun around at the noise, and Haywire swung the watering can like a bat, catching Michael on the left side of his head, just above his ear.

He went down, hitting the floor and bleeding, but not unconscious. Haywire dropped the can and leapt at him, shoving him against the cold cement and sitting on Michael’s stomach, knocking the wind from him. He was dazed and tried to fight, but Haywire was determined to see the tattoos. He pressed against Michael’s neck with his forearm until he stopped struggling and went completely limp. His eyes closed as he passed out.

Biting his lip so hard that it started to bleed, Haywire knew he had precious few minutes before the guard came poking around. But he wanted to make each second count, because he also knew that after this, he’d probably never see the outside of the psych ward ever again.

Still sitting on Michael, he ran his fingers over Michael’s face, starting at his hairline and brushing over his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. With one hand over Michael’s mouth to keep him quiet in case he suddenly woke up, Haywire tugged at the zipper of the uniform with his other hand. He lowered it to Michael’s waist, then pushed the material aside, revealing the tattoos.

They took his breath away, they were so beautiful, like something out of a gothic dream. It only took him a second to see the lines of the maze. Starting at Michael’s hipbone, Haywire traced a path up along his ribcage, past his nipple, and stopping at the collarbone. His eyes were wide as they darted back and forth across the skin. His hands followed suit, touching, tracing, seeking.

One path took him down again, towards Michael’s hips, but it disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. Breathing hard, Haywire yanked lightly on the fabric, his fingers tracing along the skin with a feathery touch.

He let out a squeal as he was suddenly wrenched backwards, his arms and legs flying. He landed among a pile of empty buckets.

Abruzzi yelled for help as Haywire struggled to stand up and run, but he was immediately descended upon by two guards. Kicking and screaming, he was dragged out of the tool shed. Abruzzi stood back as two more guards entered the shed and radioed the infirmary, telling them they were bringing someone in.

Haywire screamed until he was sedated. Trapped in his mind, the scene played like a video loop, over and over again. He’d been so close. So close. So close. One day, he vowed, just before the meds overtook his thoughts completely, one day, he would learn where that maze would take him.

~end