No thanks. I don’t drink whatever you touch.
SHAE (smile audible):
Smart girl. You’re learning.
[Metal chair legs scrape.]
CELLMATE:
Tell me something. You really think you’re getting out?
SHAE:
I’m already out in the ways that matter.
CELLMATE:
Mmh.
SHAE:
I’m serious. The door is a formality. The lock’s in their heads. You open it with a key shaped likepoor me.
CELLMATE:
And who’s “they,” preacher?
SHAE:
Everyone who wants to be the rescuer. It’s a kink with tax deductions.
CELLMATE:
You’re not right in the head.
SHAE (cheerful):
Correct.
[End clip.]
THE WATCHER:
That laugh? She uses it when she’s pleased with herself. Conversational applause. Keep an ear on it.
Clip 2 — Unit Corridor, 2:03 a.m.
[Ambience: fluorescent buzz. A radio squawks two rooms away. Keys jingle.]
MALE VOICE (GUARD, low, careful):
You should be in your cell.
SHAE (soft):
And you should write me up, Officer.
GUARD:
