Prologue
Anonymous
Present Day
The clank of metal on metal startles me. I look up to find the guard tapping her baton on the bars. She sneers down at me. Obviously amused that she caught me by surprise, yet again.
“Ghost, another letter for you.”She waves a small envelope in front of her face.
I ignore her and look away. Maybe if I pretend she isn’t here, the letter and the prison guard will disappear.
“Ghost, I’m talking to you!” I hate her. I hate that stupid nickname these idiots gave me when I arrived here. They call me that name when they want to get a reaction from me. I won't give them that. The more you react, the easier it is for them to get to you, and when they get to you, they win. News about charge sheets travels fast in this hellhole.
I know that ignoring an officer is a federal offense, so I sit upright on the thin mattress that digs into my back, and I get off my ass, staring at the woman in front of me. She's about my age, my height, round about the waist in her uniform, and she's chewing gum. She’s always chewing gum. I wonder if her jaw aches. I bet it does.
I’ve heard why she was transferred to the women’s prison. Her hair is braided and piled on top of her head. She could be beautiful, with the voice of an angel. I often hear her singing as she moves down the corridor, baton in hand, slamming on the bars, waking up inmates, because she can. I console myself with the fact that I know things about her. I’ve seen the ugliness that is Officer Frieda Turner.
She slips the small envelope through the bars, and it lands on the floor at my feet. I wait for her to walk away before I make any attempt to move toward the letter. I look at the white envelope lying on the grimy concrete floor, and I can't help but feel that it's misplaced. It’s not from Sin, although she has written me a letter a week since I’ve been here. I have a single cell, so nobody interferes with my stuff. I guess it helps to be fucked in the head. I wasn’t lucky enough to get into one of those hospitals. I’ve been deemed a threat.
I have her letters, all fifty of them. Some are unfeeling, others are bitter and angry. Accusations. Her wanting to know why I did what I did? But most times, she's sad and confused about the past. About me. At times she tells me how grateful she is for my sacrifice. She thinks there’s more to what happened. I read them all, and then I stack them under my bed, and I read them again and again. I memorize the words and hope that they'll give me some kind of comfort.
I sit, removing the paper from the already open envelope. A few lines stare back at me.
I can’t waitto see you.
You will walk out into the sunshine.
And when you do, I’ll be here.
You look so much like your mom.
PS: You still owe me a lap dance.
Anon.
My blood runscold at those words in the familiar scrawl dated a week ago. I read it over and over again, and I finally ring for the guard. She stalks over to my cell, disinterested. "What is it, Ghost?"
“I’d like to have a word with the warden. It’s urgent.” I hear the shake in my voice and taste the fear in my mouth. It’s a very real thing right now.
I'm not the most popular person around here, so I don't expect any favors.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I just need to get in touch with someone from the outside. Get a letter to them. Please just look at it.” I hand it to her through the bars. Placing the fate of my circumstances in her hands.
She takes the paper from me lazily and glances at it.
“Please, just show it to the warden.”
“Sure, whatever.” She says walking away. I sink onto the bed, my head in my hands. Why do I care? This isn’t something that should shock or distress me, except it ends something that barely began. I went into this thinking I had control of the situation, but what I found proved otherwise. I have to believe that the warden will listen to me. He has to. This cannot be happening. It’s a trick, but something in me tells me it isn’t.
The guard returns, and the look on her face does nothing to calm my nerves.
The warden will see you for half an hour after lunch. I look up at the guard, and for the first time in the years she's been stationed here, I think she’s human.
“Thank you.”
She turns and disappears down the corridor.
