CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"This could be the day, right?" he whispered as he stood at the door of his cell, waiting for it to automatically open. He couldn't speak too loudly for fear of alienating his extremely large cellmate, Oscar, and getting punished again.

There was no reply, but that didn"t trouble Mark Haddonfield. Sometimes he just had to be patient, no matter how eager he was to start the day.

For most inmates here at the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown Los Angeles, the days all ran dully into one another, but not for him. He always had something to look forward to. And in the last two weeks, even more so. Each time he entered the day room or the library, there was the promise of some new piece of news that would change everything.

That's because two weeks ago, on Thanksgiving, his manifesto had gone live. He had written and pre-set the timing of its release just in case he was caught or killed. And despite all his precautions, the first—and almost the second had happened.

That was why he currently stood by the bars of his cell, waiting for the door to open at 7 a.m. Then he could check to see if there had been any developments since yesterday. Had anyone read his personal narrative about how he'd slaughtered people that Jessie had once saved? Had anyone listened to his call to arms and picked up where he left off?

It was challenging to come by good information. He had limited computer access and only supervised use of the internet, so he couldn't search for updates online. He wasn't allowed any visitors besides his lawyer, and that guy certainly wasn't willing to provide information on whether the manifesto was catching fire with the public.

But he did have access to the television in the day room, that is when other inmates would allow it. And he was permitted to read newspapers in the library, even if they were several days old. For him, the daily search for information was like opening presents on Christmas morning, even if so far, there was nothing inside the wrapping. He had yet to see or read any news items about copycats. But all it took was one to get the ball rolling.

Sometimes, he began to doubt if that would happen, and his positive attitude took a hit. He"d find himself asking: had no one seen the manifesto? That was hard to believe. Were people too stupid to follow his directive? Too cowardly? But when uncertainty threatened to bring him down, he knew there was one person he could always turn to for support: Jessie.

"This could be the day, right?" he whispered a second time, hoping that his humility and passion would generate a reply this time.

"It could be," Jessie finally agreed. "But even if it's not, you can't lose faith."

"You don't sound confident," Mark muttered.

"I just need you to stay even-keeled," she reminded him. "Sometimes when you get disappointed, you get agitated, and you get loud. That annoys the other prisoners, which is when you get beatdowns. It won"t do you much good to have someone take up the mantle of vengeance if you"re too brain-damaged to know about it."

"Good point," he said under his breath. "Thanks, Jessie."

He'd noticed that in recent weeks, she had taken to berating him less. There were fewer diatribes about how Jessie Hunt had outsmarted him. There wasn't as much needling about how he'd failed to complete his mission. It seemed that she was finally starting to take him under her wing, as he'd always dreamt of.

"Don"t read too much into this," she warned. "It"s not like we"re a couple. If you get shivved and die, I die too. It"s just self-preservation on my part."

But Mark knew better. She was starting to care about him.

"I'll take whatever I can get," he said with a half-giggle.

"If you don't stop mumbling to yourself, I'm going to break a more important finger than last time," growled Oscar, who must have just woken up. "I'm tired of repeating myself, worm."

"Sorry," Mark said quickly. Having his pinkie finger snapped in half was painful enough. He didn't need to lose the function of another digit.

He let Jessie be for now and focused on his future beyond visiting the library today. His upcoming murder trial, the first of many, was scheduled to begin next month. He knew that he was certain to be convicted on some, if not all, of the charges against him. Barring a miracle, he was unlikely to ever walk free again. But he"d made his peace with that. He had accepted that this was the price he must pay for his acts of greatness.

All he wanted was for Jessie Hunt to pay a price too. And if his manifesto spoke to just one person, he was certain that she soon would.