Chapter 3: The Lesson Begins

Week three in prison. The days bled together, each one feeling like the last. The walls of the cell were the only constants, the only things that knew him by heart. The silence of the place suffocated him, but it was in the silence that he could hear everything—every whisper, every shift in movement.

Jorge "Tombstone" Malone made his move that week. He was a hulking figure, tattoos crawling up his neck, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and too many drugs. His reputation preceded him. He'd been known to break men with just a look, using fists to carve respect into the bones of the weak.

But he wasn't looking for respect. He was looking for power, for control. And Vale, with his blank stare and dead calm, was an anomaly in the chaos of the prison. An oddity to be tested.

"Whatchu starin' at, little psycho?" Jorge growled, shoving Vale against the wall as he passed. The echo of the blow bounced off the concrete, but Vale didn't budge. He didn't flinch. His expression remained unchanged.

Jorge didn't understand that. He liked fear. It made him feel strong. But Vale was an enigma.

"Say somethin', man. I told you—don't stare at me," Jorge repeated, this time jabbing his finger into Vale's chest.

Vale's eyes flickered up to meet his, but his lips were sealed. He didn't respond. Instead, he waited.

That night, when the lights were dimmed, when the guards' steps grew distant, Vale moved quietly, like a shadow, to Jorge's bunk. His fingers brushed the cool metal frame, and he leaned in close, just enough for Jorge to hear his whisper.

"Your mother doesn't forgive you."

Jorge's body stiffened, and his breath caught in his throat. It was like a cold hand wrapped around his chest, squeezing.

"You see her every night. Her face, staring at you from the stain on the wall, left of your bunk. Her eyes follow you. You see it, don't you?"

Vale's words hit with surgical precision. They weren't just insults; they were traps, clever little pieces of psychological manipulation. He wasn't speaking from a place of anger. He was speaking from a place of knowledge—knowledge gained from years of learning the art of human behavior. Cold Reading. The technique of telling someone just enough to make them believe you know everything about them.

Jorge's chest heaved, the air in the room thickening. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine. His eyes darted to the corner of the room, where the flickering light cast shifting shadows against the wall. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and for the first time in a long while, the iron walls around him felt like a cage.

Vale didn't wait for a reaction. He slipped back into the darkness of his cell, leaving the words hanging in the air like poison.

By morning, Jorge looked like a man who hadn't slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements sluggish, and the usually indomitable air of menace that surrounded him was gone. Gone, replaced by paranoia.

Vale had observed everything—the little tremor in his hand when he gripped his cup, the way his eyes darted to the corner of the room, scanning for the "stain" that Vale had mentioned. It was an illusion, of course. The stain on the wall was nothing more than years of grime, built up from months of inadequate cleaning. But in Jorge's mind, it was something far worse. It was a specter. A haunting reminder of guilt.

That evening, Vale slipped into the dormitory again. Jorge was asleep, but his restless movements showed he wasn't truly getting any rest. Vale left a note, carefully tucked under his pillow, written in trembling cursive: "I forgive you. But I'm not alone."

The handwriting was shaky, intended to make the note seem more genuine, more desperate. It was a perfect touch, another psychological bait. Jorge wouldn't know whether to feel comforted or unsettled. Either way, the seed was planted. It was enough to gnaw at his mind until it consumed him.

A few days passed. The tension in the air grew thicker. Vale observed Jorge with even more intensity, watching his behavior slip further. Jorge's usually loud, dominating presence was replaced by an anxious silence. He began avoiding eye contact, checking the corners of the room constantly, even when walking to the mess hall. His food went uneaten, his movements stiff and erratic. It was as if the walls were closing in on him, and the face he saw in the stains wasn't just his mother's—it was something far worse.

Vale saw an opportunity.

One evening, as Jorge sat in the corner of the yard, staring at the ground, Vale slipped a red pen into his pocket. The pen was the same color as lipstick. He sat on the other side of the yard, out of sight, and wrote a message in Jorge's Bible, knowing the book was something Jorge never parted with. He scrawled the words in the margins, the ink thick and bold:

"Hell isn't fire. It's watching you lie."

The words were meant to dig deep. To break him down. Vale understood that manipulation wasn't just about physical pain. It was about making the mind turn on itself, creating a cage of self-doubt and terror.

That night, as Jorge read his Bible in the dim light, he flipped open to the page where Vale had written. His face went pale, his lips trembling as his fingers traced the words. His breath came in shallow gasps. The guilt that had been festering in his chest now had a shape, a form.

On the seventh day, Jorge was found hanging from his bunk, a shoelace tied tightly around his neck. It was soaked in bleach—another deliberate touch, another psychological torment Vale had introduced into his already fragile mind.

The guards found him, but Vale knew what had happened. He knew that Jorge had cracked under the weight of his own demons, unable to escape the mental hell Vale had forced upon him. Vale didn't feel triumph. He didn't feel sorrow. He only felt the calm of someone who had learned that control could be taken in the quietest of ways.

In the cold, sterile silence of the prison, Vale had learned something vital: The body could be broken, but the mind? The mind could be molded into something far worse.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***