Desperate to stop the events of a recurring nightmare, Leora is forced into a world that wants nothing more than to see her dead.
***
After being plagued with nightmares of the murders taking place in t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CALDWELL PRISON
I SHIVERED, the cold crawled inside of me like an intruder breaking in and stealing the warmth from inside my body. The walls were threatening to crush me in the small rectangular room where light was a distant memory that crept in through the barred window above me and the dimly lit hallway.
I sat on the bed with my face resting on my raised knees, pins and needles spread through my body, the body that was cleaned and dressed by other people – I could feel their phantom fingers on my body still, dressing me in the faded blue jumpsuit.
My eyes burned from the dryness, I refused to blink, to sleep, in fear of what I'd if I did – the murders had stopped which solidified the belief that I was the culprit, knowledge of that didn't make sleep come easier.
With teary eyes I gave in and blinked, when I did images I'd rather forget flashed through my mind along with the bright lights from the cameras and reporters.
A three weeks had passed since that day or so the guard who brought my meals said, meals I hadn't touched. The days had melted together into one mess I couldn't be bothered to sieve through.
I was in 'Caldwell Prison', it was well-known in the city as a maximum security prison that doubled as a jail, the worst criminals were sent to the jail section because it was obvious once they got their sentences they'd end up in the prison either way – it saved them a lot of fuel and hassle.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. It was six P.M., footsteps echoed across the corridor, there were no other prisoners apart from me so I knew who the footsteps belonged to. The same guard who brought my meals, sometimes she'd sneak in a newspaper article or two to inform me about the outside world or make conversation about how Farah or Josh was. She appeared behind the bars dressed in her navy blue uniform carrying a tray of food.
“Mystery meatloaf, some mash and greens tonight, the only mystery I spy is how anybody thinks this is edible, ”she mumbled shoving the tray through the alloted slot for meals.
Despite my silence she was still trying to make conversation, it grated my nerves. I preferred the hostility of the other guards, at least I knew where that stemmed from.
They all came to the conclusion that I was Valentine, as insane as the thought of it was to me I couldn't blame them. It was the first lead the police had in the case, not to mention the people he had murdered spanned further back than I'd seen in my dreams and further back than the police publicised – it seemed he'd been busy for the past two years.
And to the police, any lead was a lead.
The guard whose name tag read Cassie West cleared her throat. I paid her no mind, of course it did nothing to deter her. She had a habit of lingering, maybe she was sent to dig information out of me, to pretend to be on my side and gather information.
