TITLE: The Last Number on Cellblock C
CHAPTER 1
The steel gate slammed shut with a sound that echoed through every hallway of Blackridge State Penitentiary.
The noise wasn’t just loud.
It felt final.
Ethan Mercer stood between two correctional officers while thirty inmates watched from behind thick bars. His wrists were cuffed. His prison uniform hung loose after three months in county jail. A fresh bruise colored one side of his face.
A guard shoved him forward.
“Move.”
Ethan caught himself before hitting the concrete.
Laughter rolled through Cellblock C.
“Look at him.”
“Teacher’s scared.”
“They sent us a professor.”
Someone clapped slowly.
Someone else barked like a dog.
Ethan kept walking.
He had once taught history at a public high school.
Now he wore inmate number C-48192.
The officer unlocked a cell.
“Your roommate.”
Inside sat a broad-shouldered man with gray hair and tattooed hands. He looked up from a chessboard made of folded paper.
“You snore?” the man asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You fight?”
“I’d rather not.”
The man nodded once.
“Then learn fast.”
The cell door slammed behind Ethan.
Lunch arrived less than an hour later.
The dining hall buzzed with shouting, metal trays, and scraping chairs.
Ethan carried his tray carefully, searching for an empty seat.
There wasn’t one.
A tall inmate with a shaved head stretched one boot across a bench.
“Taken.”
Ethan moved.
Another table.
“Not here.”
A third.
Someone slapped the tray from Ethan’s hands.
Mashed potatoes splattered across the floor.
Milk spilled over his prison boots.
Silence spread for half a second.
Then laughter exploded.
The shaved-head inmate stood.
His name tag read RICO VALE.
Everyone knew him.
Everyone moved for him.
Rico smiled.
“You gonna clean that up?”
Ethan looked at the food.
Then back at Rico.
“I didn’t drop it.”
Rico stepped closer.
“You did now.”
A mop landed at Ethan’s feet.
One guard leaned against the wall.
He watched.
He didn’t move.
Rico folded his arms.
“Kneel.”
Nobody spoke.
Even the kitchen workers stopped serving food.
Ethan stayed standing.
“I said kneel.”
Rico shoved him hard.
Ethan stumbled backward.
His shoulder hit another table.
Metal trays crashed to the floor.
Several inmates stood.
Not to help.
To watch.
The guard finally spoke.
“You made the mess.”
His voice was flat.
“Clean it.”
Rico smirked.
“There it is.”
Ethan looked around.
Thirty faces.
Nobody blinked.
Slowly…
he picked up the mop.
The laughter returned.
One inmate whispered,
“They broke him already.”
Back inside Cellblock C, Ethan scrubbed dried potatoes from his sleeves.
His cellmate watched quietly.
“My name’s Walter.”
“Ethan.”
Walter pointed toward the hallway.
“You know why they picked you?”
“I was convicted.”
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
“They picked this block.”
Ethan frowned.
“What difference does it make?”
Walter leaned closer.
“Block C belongs to Rico.”
“He doesn’t run it officially.”
“He runs it anyway.”
Ethan looked toward the bars.
“So everyone just accepts it?”
Walter laughed without smiling.
“They accept breathing.”
That evening, Ethan stood in line for medication.
A skinny inmate accidentally bumped Rico’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Too late.
Rico grabbed the man’s shirt.
“You touched me.”
“It was an accident.”
Rico shoved him into the wall.
The inmate slid to the floor.
No punches.
No blood.
Just humiliation.
Rico pointed at everyone watching.
“This is what happens.”
Nobody stepped forward.
A correctional officer rounded the corner.
He looked once.
Then kept walking.
Walter whispered beside Ethan,
“See?”
Ethan did.
The guards weren’t losing control.
They had already given it away.
Lights out came at nine.
The prison settled into distant footsteps and clanging pipes.
Walter quietly moved one of the loose floor tiles.
Inside lay a tiny notebook.
“No names,” Walter said.
“No dates.”
Ethan looked confused.
“It’s a record.”
“Of what?”
Walter hesitated.
“People who disappear.”
Ethan stared.
“What do you mean disappear?”
Walter replaced the notebook.
“You’ll find out.”
The next morning began with sirens.
Every inmate rushed into the corridor.
A search.
Guards flipped mattresses.
Dumped lockers.
Scattered legal papers across concrete.
One officer stopped beside Ethan’s bunk.
“What do we have here?”
He lifted a homemade knife.
Ethan froze.
“I’ve never seen that.”
The officer smiled.
“Sure.”
Walter stepped forward.
“That wasn’t—”
Another guard shoved Walter into the bars.
“Quiet.”
Ethan reached toward the knife.
“I didn’t—”
Hands grabbed his arms.
Another officer twisted them behind his back.
Pain shot through his shoulders.
“I said I didn’t—”
“Contraband.”
“I’ve never touched it!”
Several inmates watched silently.
Rico leaned against the railing above.
Smiling.
He slowly applauded.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The entire block heard it.
The disciplinary hearing lasted less than four minutes.
Lieutenant Mason never looked up from the report.
“Weapon found in your possession.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“Witness?”
Walter stepped forward.
“I saw the officers enter with—”
Mason slammed the folder shut.
“I asked him.”
Walter fell silent.
Ethan clenched his fists.
“You already decided.”
Mason looked at him for the first time.
“Careful.”
“I’m innocent.”
“So were half the men here.”
Two officers grabbed Ethan’s shoulders.
He pulled free.
“Look at the security footage.”
One officer shoved him back into the chair.
“I said sit.”
“I’m asking for evidence!”
The second officer grabbed Ethan’s collar.
The chair tipped over.
Metal legs scraped across the floor.
Walter instinctively stepped forward.
Another guard blocked him.
“No.”
Ethan stood anyway.
“You don’t want the cameras.”
The room went completely still.
Lieutenant Mason’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Walter noticed.
So did Rico.
Watching through the small window in the hallway.
Mason calmly straightened the papers.
“Thirty days.”
“Solitary.”
The hallway leading underground felt colder than the rest of the prison.
Each steel door closed before the next one opened.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Ethan walked between two officers.
One whispered,
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
The other chuckled.
Cell 9 opened.
Tiny.
Concrete.
No window.
One blanket.
Nothing else.
The cuffs came off.
The door started closing.
Ethan stepped forward.
“You planted it.”
The officer smiled.
“Can you prove it?”
The door slammed.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
Time disappeared underground.
Then…
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Three slow knocks echoed through the wall.
Ethan froze.
Another tap.
He leaned closer.
Someone whispered through the vent.
“Teacher.”
Ethan whispered back.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then…
“They framed the wrong man.”
Ethan’s heart pounded.
“What?”
“They thought you’d confess.”
“Confess to what?”
No answer.
Only breathing.
Finally…
“Find Number Seven.”
Footsteps approached.
The whisper stopped.
Keys rattled outside.
Another voice shouted,
“No talking!”
Silence returned.
Three days later Ethan emerged from solitary pale and exhausted.
The prison looked different.
Or maybe he did.
Conversations stopped when he walked past.
People stared.
Not with pity.
With curiosity.
Walter waited outside the cell.
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
Walter handed him half a piece of bread.
“You’ve got visitors.”
“I don’t know anyone here.”
Walter looked around before speaking.
“They’re not here to visit.”
He nodded toward the laundry room.
Inside stood an elderly inmate folding uniforms.
Thin.
Bent shoulders.
White eyebrows.
He never looked up.
Without turning, he spoke.
“You asked for cameras.”
Ethan stiffened.
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You asked the prison.”
The old man finally faced him.
His prison number ended with…
Ethan remembered the whisper.
Find Number Seven.
“You know who framed me?”
The old man smiled sadly.
“I know why.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
Before the old man could answer—
The laundry door burst open.
Rico stormed inside with four inmates.
“There you are.”
He grabbed Ethan’s shirt and slammed him against a stack of laundry carts.
Clean uniforms exploded across the room like white flags.
Walter rushed in.
“Leave him!”
One inmate blocked Walter’s path.
Another shoved him backward.
The old man tried to step between them.
Rico shoved him aside.
The old inmate stumbled into a rolling cart.
It crashed into industrial dryers.
The entire room thundered with metal.
Workers jumped back.
A correctional officer appeared in the doorway.
Instead of stopping Rico…
He pointed at Ethan.
“You again?”
Rico grinned.
“Told you he’s trouble.”
The officer grabbed Ethan’s wrist.
Rico grabbed the other.
For one impossible second, Ethan stood trapped between the law and the criminal who seemed to own it.
“Which side are you on?” Ethan shouted.
Neither man answered.
Instead—
The old inmate pulled something from inside a folded prison shirt.
A faded photograph.
He held it high.
“Stop!”
Everyone turned.
The picture slipped from his shaking fingers.
It landed face-up on the wet concrete.
Ethan stared.
The photo showed Lieutenant Mason…
Standing beside Rico.
Smiling.
And between them stood a much younger correctional officer wearing the name badge:
MERCER.
Ethan’s father.
Dead for fifteen years.
The room fell silent.
Rico’s smile vanished.
Lieutenant Mason lunged toward the photograph.
Ethan dove first.
Their hands reached it at the exact same moment.
The lights flickered.
Someone shouted for backup.
And the chapter ended with both men pulling the same photograph in opposite directions as every inmate in the laundry room realized the prison’s oldest secret had just been dragged into the light.
