‘Late visitors,’ one of the orderlies drawls. ‘All my Christmases come at once.’
‘Folks to see N362,’ Chester says.
Emma steps up to the desk. ‘Our paperwork was signed upstairs. Special Agent Howard Carter sent the request through.’
‘Damn. Special Agent Howard Carter sounds like an important guy.’ The orderly behind the desk has a lean, hard look, with slicked-back hair and a faint jail tattoo on his left hand.
‘Important enough.’ Emma keeps her face neutral. She doesn’t want to antagonize this man, because she might have to visit again, but she’s not going to put up with assholes.
The orderly’s name tag readsGRENIER. Everything in his manner and his words suggests that Byberry is an institution run not by the warden, but by the staff. Grenier looks at Bell and Kristin, looks back at Emma, does a visual assessment. Emma knows she made the right choice not to back down.
‘Okay, here’s the drill,’ Grenier says. ‘You stay on the right side of the corridor, behind the yellow line.’
‘Okay.’
‘You go inside the yellow line, he can reach you. He’s got a long reach.’ Grenier nods toward the CCTV on the shelf beside the desk. It shows a view of the corridor they’re about to enter. ‘I see you cross the yellow line, I pull you out. Understood?’
Emma glances at Kristin, then back. ‘Understood.’
‘If you want to pass him something—’
‘There’s nothing to pass him.’
‘Great. He’s in the last cell on the left. When you’re done, come back and I’ll buzz you out.’
‘Thank you,’ Emma says.
Grenier pauses. ‘Watch yourself with this guy. Because sure as shit, he’ll be watching you. He’s sharp.’
‘I’ve interviewed him before,’ Emma says.
‘Then you know to stay frosty.’ Grenier lifts his chin at the other orderly, who is completing paperwork. ‘Let this one through.’
‘Wait,’ Emma says. She can sense Kristin’s vibrations of alarm. ‘We were sent as a group.’
Grenier folds his arms. ‘Well now, I can’t send no groups. I can send one at a time, or two with an orderly.’
‘That’s—’ Emma thinks fast. Simon won’t talk with an orderly there. ‘I’ll go.’
Bell starts forward. ‘Lewis—’
‘I’ll go.’ Emma raises a hand for damage control. ‘Kristin, you come after me.’
The other orderly unbolts the heavy door.
Emma is accustomed to fear. She has felt afraid in a wide variety of settings, but she doesn’t know what to expect here. Simon’s previous accommodation in St Elizabeths was an old chapel, like the set of a Calvinist morality play. Byberry is different – modern, but more anonymous, and somehow more disturbing.
The corridor ahead is made of white-painted cinder block, more dimly lit than the tunnel – small night-light lamps glow above each cell. Emma takes the first step, and now that she’s broken through that wall it feels easier to keep moving forward.
As she walks on, Emma realizes these cells are not fully enclosed but are fronted by bars, with a steel jail door just off-center. The cells themselves are dark inside, but she hears snuffling noises within. Emma avoids looking toward the noises.
On Emma’s side of the yellow line, spaced white radiators are enclosed in wire mesh. The radiators don’t seem to be giving off heat. All this dim white, and the cold air, gives her a feeling like she’s walking into the dark, hollow stomach of an industrial freezer.
There are two empty cells before Simon’s. Emma can hear her own footsteps resounding, and she can hear someone reciting up ahead in a clear, cultured oratory style.
‘And this is the night…’The voice is a resonant tenor.‘Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be a sharer in thy fierce and far delight – a portion of thy tempest and of thee…’
Emma finds her breath catching. She has not seen Simon for three months, but his voice often slips into her mind uninvited. It’svery strange – and unsettlingly familiar – to hear him speak now, again, in person.
