“They told me those are only granted if my life is in immediate danger. That I’d have to go to the courthouse during business hours to file for a standard restraining order.”
“Exactly.” Callahan spread his hands like he’d just proven his point. “An emergency protective order requires evidence of extreme and ongoing danger.”
“An obsessive ex-boyfriend who followed me hundreds of miles and assaulted me isn’t extreme enough?”
“If you have a problem with that determination, I suggest you take it up with the police department.”
“I’m taking it up with you.” I leaned forward. “You’re the one who hired him. You run a prison. You should know better than anyone where these loopholes exist. How someone could slip through the cracks and land a position with this much power.”
Callahan’s expression didn’t change. “He passed a background check. No arrests in Illinois. No red flags in our system.”
“Because the system is broken.”
“The system is what it is.” He leaned back in his chair again. “Again, I empathize with your situation. And once this works its way through the courts, if there’s an arrest, I’ll be able to take action. But right now, my hands are tied.”
“And if they decide there’s not enough evidence for an arrest?”
His lips thinned. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”
It dawned on me then—that this prison being perpetually understaffed had to influence how easily and quickly Silas got hired.
“And in the meantime?” My voice cracked despite my best efforts. “He’s still allowed to work here?”
Callahan met my eyes. For a moment, something almost like sympathy flickered there.
“If that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll understand if you want to tender your resignation.” He paused. “But I hope you won’t. This prison is terribly understaffed. These inmates need you.” Another pause. “I need you.”
It was unprofessional to glare at him.
But at least I didn’t flip him off like I wanted to.
“Can they at least transfer him to another part of the prison?”
Callahan exhaled through his nose. “It’s not that simple.”
“What’s complicated about it? Move him. Anywhere. I don’t care if he’s guarding the broom closet.”
“Correctional officers are union.” He said it like that explained everything. “I can’t just reassign personnel without documented cause. If I move him based solely on your accusation, before there’s an arrest or formal disciplinary action, he could file a grievance. The union rep gets involved. Hearings get scheduled. And suddenly, I’m the one answering questions about wrongful treatment of an employee.”
I stared at him. “Wrongful treatment. Of him.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“No. You just hide behind them.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
“So, let me understand this.” My voice was climbing, and I didn’t care. “He followed me across state lines. He tracked down where I work. He got himself hired here, which is stalking with a benefits package. He hit me this morning. And your concern is that he might file a grievance?”
“My concern is liability.”
“For him.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “There are protocols to protect him. Union rules to protect him. Legal procedures to protect him.” I pressed my palm flat against my chest, where my heart was slamming against my ribs. “What protects me?”
Callahan was quiet for a long moment.
“The law,” he finally said. “Once it catches up.”
“And if it doesn’t catch up fast enough?”
