He answers with silence. If this is a cop or worse he’s not giving them anything.
“I’m assuming that’s a yes? The owner of this phone is at work. I don’t know when they will be returning. My name’s H, I’m sure you’ve been told of me? The caller ID indicates you’re calling from Sandstone Correctional?”
Ah. So that explains it. Zayne’s hacker, Dante, or in the underworld network, H.
“I am, yes.”
“Not a secure line?” It’s spoken as a question but it doesn’t come across much like one.
“I’m calling to get in touch with a lawyer.”
“Right. We have one of those who can be in contact. I’ll let them know and send them your way. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll letthemknow you called.” The line goes dead and Sinn'ous has to commend Dante on not even giving away if Zayne is a man or women. His brother is one with a long list of charges, charges they cannot pin to him because they do not know whoheis. Charges they have placed on one invisible,deadly fucker known only as SKhorpion. A prolific serial killer who calls himself as such. At least in Sinn'ous’s presence he does, in the presence of outsiders Zayne comes across as a handsome charmerwho would never dream of so much as j-walking. His camouflage is something Sinn'ous never had the patience to try.
Phone still in hand he sits on his bunk to wait for Rogers to return.
All around him plunges into broken darkness, lights-out shutting off the majority of noise from the other cells. Not everything, but most. It doesn’t, however, shut off the ache behind his eyes holding back the memories trying to swarm him.
~~~
The private visitation rooms are just that, private. And also more in lineto an interrogation room. A lack of adequate ventilation, metal table buffed to a blinding shine, and hard chairs digging into every part they touch, and no matter how you sit you can’t escape it. All it’s missing is the wall constructed of a one-way mirror.
“This is all I require from you for now. I’ll go over both cases, start sorting paperwork and working on appeals.” The put together professional sitting ramrod straight across from Sinn'ous stands fluidly. His whole demeanour screams high-end lawyer from a prestigious law firm. He smooths down his suit jacket, buttoning the expensive designer brand. “I will need to speak to Mr Marcelo in due time.”
The lawyer, Charles Bennett, had been on point, arriving a day after the call. Arranging to meet in the private rooms used for lawyers, law enforcement, or someone with enough money and sway.
“It’ll be arranged through me.”
Charles nods, picks up his briefcase and takes his leave. Striding in a way that glides over the worn floor. His blond well-groomed locks held in the same orderly, pristine professionalism as the rest of him.
Their conversation had been long and droning. Going over his case, but more so, Jasper Marcelo’s case.
Sinn'ous will be getting them both out of here.
According to Zayne’s lawyer, Jasper’s case should be a breezeto overturn. Sinn'ous’s however will require more finesse. Seeing as how Sinn'ous was arrested under an alias.
Everyone here, guards and the incarcerated alike, call him Sinn'ous. The last guard to throw Sinn'ous’s alias name aroundhad ceased to do so once he meant a bloody end.That particular guard blackmailing him also hadn’t helped, it’d just added fuel to the fire. The catalyst to tip the tide.
Now, any guard who doesn’t address him as Sinn'ous, uses his prison number, A-11800. They don’t know he caused the death of their colleague, but rumours spread, and it seems no one’s willing to risk it.
Another challenge to his case is the influential homeowner who has friends in high places. Sinn'ous didn’t have much of a shot when the charges came down on him. Unlawfully breaking and entering a private dwelling.
He broke into what he assumed was a run-of-the-mill mansion, at 3 AM. The witching hour or as he refers to it as, Satan’s hour. The time to kill and partakeinritualistic sacrifices. What he didn’t know was that the homeowner had a panic room set up, and Sinn'ous ended up trapped in a lock box when the entire living room was shut in by heavy-dutymetal shuttersthat dropped down from all points of exit. Over every doorway and window. He was left trapped until the police arrived to arrest him. Luckily he hadn’t begun to set up his sacrificial Satanic circle. So the police didn’t figure out why he was actually there.
Rogers enters right after the lawyer’s departure, cuffs in hand, and twirls a finger to wordlessly tell Sinn'ous to turn around and get cuffed. He complies, spinning and placing his hands at the small of his back. The cuffs click, then they’re exiting the private room into a quiet corridor.
This part of K-Wingis barred off from the general population. All inmates who enter here have to be cuffed and escorted by a guard. For appearances sake, Rogers follows those rules.
The corridor is cleaner here, fresh and flashy. More warm and inviting for the visitors.
They have to pass through multiple locked doors, striding by the waiting area for visitation. Open to the public once they’ve been searched at the exterior doors.
Then some more doors unlock, allowing them to step back into gen-pop, and the corridors that prisoners are able to walk through unsupervised.
Once those final doors relock behind them, Rogers uncuffs him, and steps back, clipping them to his belt.
