The Prison

by Amy Cross

  “It's not easy,” Robin added, glancing at Amanda. “You have to learn to stay strong.”

  “I don't really -” Amanda started to say, before stopping herself.

  “You don't what? Believe in ghosts?” Robin smiled. “Doesn't matter if you do or you don't, the ghost isn't gonna care when it comes for you, is it?”

  “I remember sitting on my bunk this one time,” the other woman continued, “reading a magazine and slowly becoming aware of someone standing in the corner of the cell. Even out the corner of my eye, I knew it wasn't one of the regulars, it was a kid. Plus, the room was starting to get cold and that's always another sign that Leonora Blake is around, the temperature really starts to plummet, like it gets so bad that you end up shivering.” She paused again, as if she wanted to drive home her point. “But I did the right thing, yeah? I did the only thing that can save you when that happens. I kept my eyes on the magazine and I didn't look over at that kid, not even when she came closer to me. It was hard, and she stood there for a good couple of minutes, closer than either of you are right now and I swear, I had to fight to not look at her. I thought she was just gonna stand there forever, watching me, but eventually the temperature went back up and, like, in the blink of an eye she was gone.”

  “Same thing happened to me,” Robin replied. “Everyone here can tell you a similar story. Some have just felt a presence, or heard a noise, but everyone knows she's here, even the ones who won't talk about it.”

  “What do you think she wants?” the other woman asked.

  “God knows, but I'm not giving it to her. She seems more interested in some people than in others, though. I've seen her twice now, and both times I managed to keep from looking at her. Most people haven't actually seen her, but a few have had the pleasure on multiple occasions. Something's twisted about that kid.”

  “Well...” Amanda turned to her, fully aware that some kind of response was expected. “That's good. That you survived, I mean.”

  The woman laughed as she put an arm around Amanda's shoulders.

  “So you're a quiet one,” she said with obvious amusement. “That's cool, I like quiet people, the loud ones get on my tits. My name's Karen, and if you need anything at all while you're in here, come and talk to me. I can help, not just with advice but also with practical things, you know? Plus, unlike certain other people at this table, I won't keep trying to shove my hand down your pants.”

  Rolling her eyes, Robin looked down at her food.

  “Give over,” Karen added, nudging her arm. “Can't let another six-toed freak get angry with me, can I?”

  “Excuse me?” Amanda asked.

  “We've both got an extra toe on the right foot,” Karen explained. “Freaky, huh? Even more freaky is that there's another just like us, she's sitting over on the other side of the hall.”

  “What are you all talking about?” asked another girl at the far end of the table.

  “This is Emma,” Karen continued. “As you might have noticed, she's the only -”

  “Weir!” a guard called out from the door. “Visitor!”

  Amanda glanced across the room, convinced that there must have been a mistake, only to see to her shock that the guard was waving for her to join him.

  “That's fast,” Karen muttered, “and it's not even visiting hours, it's way too late. Must be someone important. They're normally really strict.”

  “Weir!” the guard shouted again, more firmly this time, “you have a visitor! Come on, follow me. We haven't got all night!”

  “I don't want a visitor,” Amanda said, with shock in her eyes.

  “Tough,” Karen replied, nudging her in the ribs. “If they've gone to all the trouble of approving an out-of-hours session, they must think it's important. Go on, kid. You're lucky. Looks like someone in this tough old world actually gives a shit about you.”

  ***

  “Hey,” James said as he got up from the chair and hurried toward the door. “Amanda, how -”

  “No physical contact,” the guard said, stepping forward. “Sir, go back to your seat. You'll be allowed a brief moment of physical interaction when you leave, but other than that you must remain a short distance from one another at all times.”

  “But -”

  “Sir! Sit down!”

  “Sorry,” James added, taking a step back while keeping his eyes on Amanda. “How... How are you doing?”

  “Sit down,” the guard continued. “Both of you. It's your first time, I get that, but you need to learn the rules real fast.”

  “Sure, sorry,” James muttered, heading back to his seat as Amanda was led across the room. He watched her every move, looking for some sign that she was pleased to see him, but she barely even made eye contact with him.

  “You have ten minutes,” the guard explained as he pushed Amanda down into her chair. “I'll be present at all times, and there's to be no whispering and no attempt to pass any items to the prisoner. Is that understood? Infraction of any of the rules will result in immediate termination of the visit and suspension or even permanent termination of visiting rights.”

  “Absolutely,” James told him.

  As the guard made his way over to the door and took up a watchful position, Amanda focused her gaze on the tabletop, as if she was unwilling or unable to meet James's gaze. They sat in silence for a moment, as if neither of them knew how to begin the conversation. Slowly, the silence began to grow, until it was in danger of suffocating everyone in the room.

  “So how are things going in here?” James asked eventually. “Are you settling in okay?”

  She nodded.

  “How's the food?”

  She nodded again.

  “And are they treating you right? The other prisoners, I mean. It must be... Well, and the staff too, I guess. Are they causing trouble, because if they are, you don't have to stand for it. There are rules and procedures, it's not like a movie where you have to stand your ground and take it...” His voice trailed off as he waited for her to finally make eye contact. “Can you at least look at me, Amanda? I came a long way to see you, and it's been a while.”

  “It's okay,” she said quietly.

  “It's not okay, I want to see your eyes.”

  Slowly, cautiously, Amanda raised her face and looked straight at him.

  “You've been crying,” he said after a moment.

  “No.”

  “Any chance of a smile?”

  She stared at him for a moment, before flashing a brief smile that quickly faded away.

  “That's better,” he said with a smile of his own. “It's... I've missed you. You have no idea, God, how much I've missed you.”

  He waited for her to reply.

  “Amanda?”

  “Get used to it,” she said flatly.

  “Amanda -”

  “What do you want me to say?” she asked. She hated talking to him like this, but at the same time she was determined to push him away, to make him realize that she didn't want visits. “I told you not to come and see me. I was really firm about that, I thought you understood! It was the one thing I told you not to do!”

  “How can I not visit my wife in prison?”

  “I asked you not to. I told you I'd write.”

  “So I'm supposed to sit around and wait for a letter?”

  Sighing, she leaned back in the chair.

  “I've been working on it,” she said after a moment. “It's not an easy one to write.”

  “I need to see you,” he replied, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I need to be in the same room as you, to breathe the same air as you, to...” He glanced at the guard and saw that they were being watching intently. “I also need to tell you that I'm working on some leads, okay?” he continued after a moment. “No-one's forgotten you. Remember I told you that there were some possible angles to try? This isn't over, I'm convinced I can prove your innocence if I can just get the woman next door to -”

  “I'm not innocent,” she said firmly.<
br />
  “Amanda, listen to me.”

  “I'm not! I did it all!”

  “No,” he continued, “you didn't, and you know I know the truth, so don't even...” He paused for a moment, exasperated but determined to push on. “You might have fooled everyone else, but they don't know you like I know you. I love you, remember? I know why you're doing this, and in some ways I even respect it, but Jesus Christ honey you can be honest with me. I know exactly what you did and didn't do, so let's cut out all the lies. I can get you out of here. It's going to take time, but -”

  “I'm fine here,” she replied. “Just forget about me. Please, James...”

  “Never. Have you even heard the stories about this place? Hardstone is the last place in the world someone like you should be, it's like something from Victorian times -”

  “So?”

  “So I can't bear to think of you being here! The history of Hardstone is just... filled with horrific events.”

  “I'm not coming out of here,” she continued, with the first hint of tears in her eyes. “Not ever. The past is the past, it's over for the prison and for me. The sooner you accept that and move on, the easier this is going to be. I did what they say I did, and I deserve to be here, and I am never, ever leaving this prison, so it'd make things a lot easier if you weren't running around out there trying to prove my innocence -”

  “Honey -”

  “Because I'm not innocent,” she hissed.

  “Voices up,” the guard said sternly. “No whispering. Final warning.”

  “I...” James stared at her for a moment. “I never said you were innocent, Amanda. I just said you didn't kill them. That's two different things.”

  “Only in your head.”

  “In the eyes of the law, actually,” he pointed out. “It's just that your confession kind of complicated things.”

  “I told the truth.”

  “You can't stop me doing this,” he continued. “When you were out, when you were waiting for your trial, you managed to get in the way and stop me clearing your name, but now you're in here there's nothing you can do. You can't wipe the files on my computer or block calls on my phone or burn my notebooks, not from in here.” He waited for her to say something, but she simply fixed him with a determined stare. “So maybe that's a good thing,” he added finally, with a faint smile. “You're out of the way for a little while where you can't stop me. Once I prove that you didn't do it, they'll let you out and you'll be able to come back to our -”

  “I'm not safe,” she said firmly.

  “Not this again -”

  “It's better for everyone that I'm in here,” she continued, “and it's better for me if I'm left to get used to my new life. Having people from the past keep showing up like this isn't very helpful.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that it upsets me to see you.”

  “I can't not come and visit my wife in prison,” he told her. “I love you, Amanda.”

  She nodded as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “I love you,” he said again.

  “I know,” she replied, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep from crying, “and I love you too, but please don't come for a while, and please don't waste your time trying to change things. The only thing worth doing is... Make sure you take some flowers to the cemetery, okay? That'd be good.” Getting to her feet, she turned to the guard. “I'm ready to go now.”

  “Amanda,” James continued, getting to his feet.

  “You can hug him if you want,” the guard said drily.

  “Just get me out of here,” she replied. “I want to go back to my cell.”

  “Amanda!”

  “Sir,” the guard said, stepping toward him and putting a hand out to stop him getting closer to Amanda, “I need you to sit down while I escort the prisoner out of the room. Someone will be along in a few moments to take you out.”

  “But -”

  “Is that understood?”

  “I...” Pausing, he stared at the back of Amanda's head as she stood by the door. He could tell she was quietly sobbing, and although it broke his heart not to go over to her, he finally realized that there was nothing he could do to change her mind. “I'll be back soon,” he told her. “I'll give you some time, but I'll be back. If you think you can keep me away, you're about as wrong as a person can get, okay? And I sure as hell am not going to accept that this is how your life has to be, how our life together has to end.”

  Opening the door, the guard led Amanda out into the corridor.

  “I know you're innocent,” James called after her, “and I'm going to prove it, whether you want me to or not!”

  He watched, hoping that she'd at least turn back to look at him, but as the door swung shut he was left standing alone. Listening to the sound of Amanda's footsteps heading away along the corridor, he turned to look back at the table. There were tears in his eyes now, and he sighed as he realized that the visit could not possibly have gone any worse.

  “You're innocent,” he said again, “and I swear to God, I'm going to prove it.”

  One year ago

  “I can't help you if you won't talk to me,” Andrew said, keeping his eyes fixed on Sabrina. “We need to establish some dialogue here, something we can use as a starting point. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking?”

  Sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk, Sabrina was staring down at her lap, while her thick mop of black hair was almost entirely covering her face.

  “You've been cutting yourself again, haven't you?”

  He looked at her arms, where several white bandages covered her latest wounds.

  “Here's an idea,” he continued. “Instead of internalizing all of this anger, why don't you try to redirect it and use it as a positive force. It's all just energy, after all.”

  Slowly, she raised her head to look at him.

  “I'm sorry if that sounds simplistic,” he told her, “but if you disagree with what I'm saying, why don't you talk to me about how you view the situation. I'm sure you don't want to stay like this forever, so how do you see the situation progressing?”

  He waited for a reply, but she merely stared at him with dark, angry eyes.

  Getting to his feet, Andrew walked around the table and crouched next to Sabrina's chair.

  “I'm your friend,” he said finally. “I shouldn't say that. We're told when we're training that we shouldn't encourage personal connections with our clients, but I think there's something about you, Sabrina, something different. I want to help you.”

  He paused for a moment, before reaching over and placing a hand on her bare knee, just below the hemline of her dress.

  “Maybe if I help you,” he said quietly, “you can help me in return.”

  Today

  “Just give me the short version,” Governor Windsor barked as he marched along the corridor, flanked by two guards on either side. “Tell me what the hell happened down here!”

  “The guy from the kitchen raised the alarm,” one of the guards replied hesitantly. “He... He said he delivered her food at the right time and then when he came back to get the tray later, he saw she hadn't touched it. He figured he should take a quick look inside, just to make sure she was okay, and...”

  Stopping by the door to Chris Bradford's cell, the governor turned and waited for the rest of the story.

  “And what?” he asked finally.

  “He saw...what had happened.”

  “Jesus Christ,” the governor muttered, as he opened the door to the cell, “can't anyone give me a straight answer around here. What -”

  Stopping as he entered the room, he saw that Doctor Bell was already kneeling by the bed and injecting something into the inmate's neck. Or at least, what was left of her neck, since much of her upper body was now little more than a bloody mess.

  “It's a sedative,” Doctor Bell said calmly, “combined with something for the pain. It's the strongest stuff we've got, and I'm having to
give her a new dose every fifteen minutes because somehow it's wearing off so fast.”

  “What...” As he made his way closer to the bed, the governor stared in horror at the sight before him. Strips of flesh had been torn away, and pink flesh was glistening in the electric light. “My God, is she still alive?”

  “For now. I wouldn't count on her lasting much longer, though.”

  Still strapped to the bed by her ankles, Chris had somehow managed to free her hands from the leather restraints, although in the process she'd torn off most of the skin around her wrists and down to her fingers, leaving strands of flesh on the bed. Her bloodied, de-gloved hands were resting on her chest now, with portions of bone exposed, but the most shocking sight was her face: most of the flesh on her cheeks and forehead had been torn away, and there were two dark red pools of blood where once she had eyes.

  “She literally tore her hands out of the restraints,” Doctor Bell explained, “even though that meant leaving the skin behind, and then she proceeded to scratch her face off.”

  “How is that even possible?” the governor asked.

  “It's not. Well, clearly it's physically possible, but the psychological ability to do such a thing...” The doctor paused for a moment. “She was at the very beginning of the detox process. She's been using heroin for many years, so it was to be expected that she'd experience certain difficulties as she came off the drug, but it should have taken forty-eight hours for her to get even close to a manic stage, and even then...” She looked down at the pieces of skin that were still stuck to the restraints, including the hollow tubes of flesh that were once the patient's fingers. “She literally tore her hands out of her skin so she could attack her own face. The exposed bony tips of her fingers allowed her to gouge the flesh away with particular force. Quite resourceful, really. One can only speculate as to the cause of her terror.”

  “And no-one heard her screaming?”

  “No-one. And anyway, even if they had, the guards had all been informed to ignore her. She's basically a junkie. Some people are good and some people are bad. This one's as bad as they come.”