by Harlow Stone
“O’Connor?”
I look up to the slightly bigger woman in uniform for the first time. She’s in her mid-forties maybe and a little rough around the edges. She isn’t wearing make-up, but kind eyes lie beneath the professional exterior.
“I read what happened to you. Keep your head up, your mouth closed and stay out of trouble. You don’t belong here. Follow those rules and you’ll be home before you know it. You get me, girl?”
I nod my head. “I get you.”
With one last look she closes the door behind me. I look from right to left and around again. The eight-by-ten cell has a double bunk, but I’m the only one in here which I’m thankful for. There’s a toilet without a camera above it and a small sink with a mirror.
I remember reading stories about a few certain sick fucks from my area who ended up in Kingston Penitentiary in Ontario. I remember reading about child molesters being given a television and murders being given access to computers. I look around my damp drab cell and wonder where those are now?
I’d like to say they were just rumors, but I had a friend who became a guard at the prison and confirmed the rumors to be true. I wonder who the hospitality came from, because aside from how professional my guard was, I don’t see me getting a television or laptop anytime soon.
I don’t know how long I sit there lost in thought before a flap on the door opens and a food tray is pushed inside. I reach out to grab it, only to have it pulled back. I know this game and I don’t plan to take any part in it.
I look through the glass and my eyes meet an evil set of brown ones, belonging to a larger, mid-thirties looking man. I rest my hands on my lap and wait for him to finish eye balling me and leave before I grab the tray.
I’m not hungry, my appetite is long gone. But I’m thirsty. I grab the orange juice and chug it down while surveying the plain looking sandwich and apple. I tear it all apart, looking for anything out of place.
Finding nothing amiss, I start with the apple and eat the bread from the sandwich, not trusting the cheap looking deli meat. I set the tray back in the door and curl up on the bed. Praying, hoping that somebody saves me before Tuesday.
* * *
I listen to the sounds in the prison. The clanking of bars, the unmistakable sounds of hushed voices, all the while avoiding the scent of damp concrete, for it will bring back my darkest nightmares.
I lie awake for the better part of the evening, drifting in and out of consciousness. I have no idea what time it is. Perhaps if I’d listened better to the kind guard who brought me in here I would have a better understanding of when the check times were, which would help me figure out how long I’ve been laying here.
I hear them every time they pass my cell and each time I instinctively reach under my pillow for the gun that’s not there. It’s an endless cycle and habit I have not quit. Every time my hand comes back empty, I feel weaker.
The sound of footsteps causes me to do it yet again, as I hear them slow outside of my cell.
“Breakfast, O’Connor.”
Thankfully, this is a woman’s voice. Not wanting to disrespect her or cause any friction between me and the staff, I dutifully get up and take the tray.
Once again, I have orange juice. My food consists of a banana, scrambled eggs and toast. I once again eat the banana and bread, washing it down with the juice before setting the tray back in the door.
I’m assuming this must be maximum security, not that I really know. I never saw any women grouped in cells on my way through yesterday, but having no clue about the ins and outs of jail, I’m not sure.
The tray is taken and I use my spare time to stretch and workout. I have no energy to do either, but I feel like I need to keep myself centered and fit to keep up in a place like this, hoping my stay is no longer than four days.
“O’Connor, you’ve got a visitor.”
I turn toward the opening door of my cell and follow yet another guard. She leads me through the same series of hallways I came through, ending up outside of a small meeting room.
She opens the door for me and I see my lawyer sitting at the table. As much as I wish it was a more friendly face of the dark haired variety, I’m still happy to see him.
“How are you holding up?”
I shrug my shoulders, not much to say.
“Listen, I am sorry I could not do more for you yesterday. I assure you, this was completely out of my control. This has everything to do with William Becker and nothing at all to do with you.”
“I know that Andrei, I’m not upset with you.”
“Okay. Look, I don’t think it is just Becker. Ryder and his team have been working around the clock. We don’t have proof, but we are certain it was Braumer who found the woman and possibly paid her to make those claims. Cabe found a list of priors for her. Mostly petty crime and drug charges. Want to guess who the arresting officer was?”
Fuck.
“Braumer.”
“You are right. If I’m not mistaken, Braumer has become close with either Foley or Becker. I can’t be sure, but my gut tells me so.”
What are the odds that I would end up in the middle of this mess? I’d like to say that karma has come back to kick me in the ass, but haven’t I been knocked down enough? Haven’t I lost enough? Sacrificed enough?
“Denny followed the woman who is charging you, Bonnie Macintosh, after they left the police station. He has been on her ever since. She lives with a friend in a low income apartment building and has a two-year-old son. I have no doubt that Braumer had leverage, or William forked out some money. We have no idea which is correct, so Denny and Ivan will take turns watching the apartment to see who comes by, or who she goes to see.”
I rest my elbows on the table and put my head into my hands, wondering how my life went from worrying about someone who wants me dead, to keeping good graces with a mayor.
“What happens on Tuesday, Andrei?”
He closes the notepad in front of him.
“It will depend on what Denny and Ivan find out. If this woman follows through with charging you, I need to work on figuring out ways to prove that it was not you. She has priors, but they believe you have a history of violence. I have won all of my cases but a handful when I first became a lawyer. My skills are good, but when people are bought it makes it hard for me to plead a case on deaf ears.
“I assure you that Ryder, his team and myself will not stop until we get you out of here. That’s a promise.”
I nod my head. Hoping the men can figure this out. If not...
“You’re aware of how much money I have?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” he says.
I clasp my hands in front of me and lean forward, speaking in a hushed tone.
“Then if you have to pay her, or someone else more than what they are getting—you do it. Just get me the fuck out of here, Patrov.”
I don’t wait for him to answer. I know our conversation is finished.
I head to the door and knock twice for the guard to escort me back to my cell.
Chapter Thirty-four
I don’t know why I dream. Maybe the same reason everybody else does, to picture ourselves somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from where we currently are.
Somewhere with sunshine and water. Hell, who am I kidding? Somewhere in the cold bush with a fucking rainstorm would be a dream right now. This bed is dry, the room is warm, but I still would rather be anywhere but here.
I take that back. Not anywhere. I once would have wished for this place over the basement at Andrew’s. Regardless, I dream. Daydream that is. I’m still very much awake and not comfortable enough to fall asleep.
I hear cries of other women. I hear swearing and other voices. I hear the squeak of shoes up and down the hallway. What I don’t expect to hear is the opening of my cell while the lights in my room are off.
I feign sleep, hoping this is one of the checks the guard woman told me about.
I’m not that lucky.
“On y
our feet, O’Connor.”
Shivers run down my spine and the hair on my neck stands up. I crack my eyes and move to my feet beside the bed, coming face to face with the guard who teased me with my dinner.
“You will remain quiet and not wake the other inmates. You will follow me to block B and you will not act out of line. Is that understood?”
I would love to act out right now. I would love to use the moves Brock taught me, but I know none of that will help me.
“Yes.”
His evil eyes look me over from top to toe, making me want to find a heavy sweater to cover myself with. I know if I reach for the thin one on the top bunk he’ll stop me. So I settle for shrinking myself down into the shirt I have on.
“Let’s move. No noise, O’Connor.”
I nod my head and follow him out the door and to the left. He grabs onto my arm and leads me through a series of hallways I’ve not been in before. I look to the wall outside the empty guard station and note the time.
12:13 a.m.
I follow him down a set of steps, albeit very open and airy ones. I can see into the courtyard through a window in the stairwell so I know we’re only on the ground floor. Hoping that’s as far as we go, I let him steer me down yet another hallway. This one is much darker than the one I came from. He opens a door at the end with a key and pushes me forward into darkness. I hear the door lock behind me and a motion sensor light comes on.
“Keep moving O’Connor.”
I see the steps in front of me. Only four. Half underground. I could do it, but the damp smell sets in and takes me back there. I close my eyes, feeling his sweaty hand grab onto my arm.
I won’t fall.
I won’t break down.
I don’t look as he leads me down, I don’t pay attention. I keep my eyes closed and my mouth shut like a good little inmate. I focus on the sound of blood whooshing through my ears and the way my hair feels on my neck. I focus on the sound of my canvas shoes on the floor.
“I’m getting paid a pretty penny to bring you down here, not that I wouldn’t do it for free. I hear you’re afraid of the dark? Or is it just going downstairs?”
I cringe and slightly cower away from him but unfortunately it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Scream, complain, and tell somebody what I told you. It doesn’t matter. Nobody cares. You see, it will always be the word of the upstanding guard against the inmate. And you know what O’Connor?” he asks, breathing heavily into my ear.
“The guard always wins.”
I hear a door open before being roughly shoved forward into another tomb of blackness. I pray and hope he didn’t follow me in, but I learned a long time ago that what I want is rarely what will be.
The light in the hallway reflects his silhouette in the doorway. I don't take in much of my surroundings, only note this room is smaller than the one I was in. There’s a bed at least, although at the moment I wish there wasn’t.
“I only have a minute or two before I need to get back, so this will be quick. I’d tell you to be quiet, but I don’t think anyone will hear you.”
His words are the only notice I get before his fist comes at my face. I stumble backward and scold myself for not being more prepared. I haven’t hit the wall yet and his fist comes back full force into my eye. I move my arms up to block his next hit, wanting so badly to beat him but afraid of the consequences that could bring in this place.
“Ah, Ah, Ah! Hands down. I’m finished, for now. Now stay still.”
I see the bright flash of a camera before my eyes squeeze shut at the blinding light. I hear the squeaking of rusty hinges before the room is in darkness. My face throbs, my eye burns and I feel blood running down my face. I remind myself I wasn’t raped, or tortured. I can overcome this.
I have endured worse, I have been hurt more.
I crawl toward the bed and lift myself up onto it. I don’t lay down, I’m too afraid to sleep. I put my back to the wall and pull my knees up to my chest. The concrete is cool at my back, but I don’t dare move.
My body begins to shake, and my hands start to tremble.
I will not cry.
I will not give in.
* * *
Ryder
“What do you got, Ivan?”
I sent him to relieve Denny, watching over the woman who claims mine beat her. One look at Bonnie and I knew this was not her doing. Hell, I knew it before then. This woman may not be a great one, but she sure as shit didn’t want to accuse my woman of beating her.
Bonnie has a few minor drug charges and a petty theft conviction. From what Brock told me she spends more time with her kid at the park than she does drugs. This screams Becker. Or Braumer. Fuck I can’t keep those two straight anymore with the amount of shit they cause.
“Same as Denny. No visitors. She took the kid for pizza and went straight back home.”
“Alright, we’ll sit on her one more night. If she gives us nothing by tomorrow afternoon, we go in and figure out who the fuck is pulling her strings.”
“Got it, Boss.”
I hang up the phone and pace Jimmy’s apartment. I should have left by now. I should have got a room at the hotel. For some reason I can’t. I feel closer to her here. Jimmy has a spare room that I’ve stayed in. Not slept, but stayed. I’m still confused as to why Elle—Jayne? Fuck it, she’s my Elle—slept in the same room with him, but after a long talk with the guy he assured me it’s just always been their thing.
I’m a guy and I’m not fucking stupid. Elle is beautiful. What man wouldn’t want a piece of her? I told him this and he actually told me they haven’t slept together in over ten years, and only the one time because he said if he had a sister, he assumes that’s what it would’ve felt like to fuck her.
After that fucked up conversation, I let it go. It didn’t take me long to figure out why she loves this guy so much. He’s one of the most grounded of people I’ve ever met. Solid guy, and intelligent. Two good things in my book.
My ringing phone stops me from wearing a hole through the floor.
Unknown number.
“Callaghan.”
“Since you are answering your phone, I can assume you are not on a plane back to Chicago?”
“You’d assume right. Your contract with Callaghan Security is over. I will not now, or ever, fucking work with you again. Now get the fuck out of Canada, your time’s up.”
Hearty male laughter comes from the other end of the line. Why this prick wants me with his daughter so bad is beyond me. There are dozens of qualified security specialists who would die to work for him and have no fucking problem dropping their jeans for his bitch of a daughter.
“Mr. Callaghan, you mistake me for someone who will do as they are told. I can assure you, if someone is to give orders, it will be me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Becker. I will ruin you, mark my words. You may make it out of Canada with your dignity intact, but by the time those wheels touch down in Chicago, well, let’s just say the media won’t be your only nightmare.”
“You would do well not to threaten me, boy. I’m parked on the street, meet me downstairs and you will see just how serious I am.”
I don’t get to respond before hearing the click of the call ending.
Chapter Thirty-five
I jog down the steps into the shop, passing Jimmy and Denny on the way. I don’t stop when he calls my name. I continue past them and storm out the front door. Becker’s black town car is parked across the street and I waste no time striding toward it, seeing his smug face through the open window.
“Now before you do something that I will make you regret, I have something for you to look at. You would do best to listen to me.”
I ball my fists at my sides, it’s taking everything in me not to drag this piece of shit out of the car and beat him into the sidewalk. I hear two sets of footsteps behind me, heavy on the concrete. I had no problem being out here alone, but I’m grateful for the support.
“I expect
you to be on a plane by noon tomorrow, Ryder. If not, I assure you the outcome will not be pretty.”
He holds the phone in front of my face. I do all I can to not rip his arm off with it.
“NO! NO! YOU SON OF BITCH I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”
Two sets of arms grab onto me, but it doesn’t stop me from moving closer to the screen. Elle’s beautiful face is swollen. Her eye is barely visible and there’s blood running out of her nose. I have no idea where she’s being kept in the prison, but it looks like the hole. The bare concrete wall behind her and the unfinished floor remind me of the basement she was once kept in. If that’s the first thing I think of, then she’s probably having a fucking panic attack right now. And I’m not there to hold her, help her through it.