As the guard types away on his keyboard, I stare straight ahead at the wall, trying not to throw up.
When the officer disappears through a door behind the desk without a word, I sneak a glance at Cormac.
His shoulders are tight, and I can tell from the hard set of his jaw that he’s bracing himself for something.
“Phones and keys,” the guard orders when he returns a few moments later.
My phone disappears into a small plastic locker behind the desk.
Suddenly, I feel naked without it, completely cut off and unreachable.
After walking through the metal detector, we’re finally handed visitor badges and escorted toward a set of locked doors.
I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want to see him.
I don’t want to hear his voice.
You’re here for Cormac.
That’s what I need to remember. Even when the bad memories surface and all the pain that comes with them, I need to remember that I’m doing this for Cormac, for Scout, and for the entire Sullivan family.
Myfamily.
The first locked door buzzes open with a sound that makes my skin crawl, then it slams shut behind us.
The second door does the same, and then the third.
Each one seals us deeper inside, cutting off the outside world piece by piece until it feels like we’ve crossed some invisible line we can’t uncross.
The corridor beyond is long and narrow, the concrete walls scarred with gouges and scratches that look less like wear and tear and more like desperation carved into stone.
There are voices now, shouts echoing from behind closed doors somewhere in the distance.
I keep my gaze fixed ahead, afraid that if I look too closely at the reinforced doors lining the hallway, I’ll start imagining what’s behind them. Or worse,who.
Cormac walks half a step ahead of me, subtly positioning his body so I’m shielded from view. It’s instinctive. Protective.
I know he’s doing it without thinking, and the knowledge both comforts and terrifies me because no matter how strong he is, no matter how dangerous people think he can be, here he’s just another man.
We’re almost at the meeting room when a sharp, piercing alarm slices through the air.
I flinch instinctively, my hand finding Cormac’s.
The guard freezes for half a second, just long enough to make my stomach drop.
Then all hell breaks loose.
“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the rising noise.
Cormac doesn’t answer. He pulls me closer, his arm coming around my shoulders, his body angling in front of mine without hesitation.
One of the guards snaps into his radio. “Inmate disturbance. Possible riot.”
Riot?
Somewhere down the corridor, a door slams and someone yells, then footsteps start thundering from multiple directions, and suddenly inmates are flooding the corridor.
