"Nino Sexton." I twitched an ear at the name, but offered no response. The gruff voice belonged to Mr. Garrison, a senior guard at the Detroit Detention Facility. From my position perched on the edge of my bunk, I could see my face in his ridiculously shined shoes as he looked in on my cell. Tall, stocky, no-nonsense, I decided that I wasn't going to waste my time on this stiff. And that was really saying something, seeing as I'd been incarcerated in this same cell for over two months with nothing better to do than count the marks that past prisoners had left on the wall.
The guard rapped his baton against the bars brusquely as if I were a bug in a cage. "Mr. Sexton," he repeated, "Lunch time."
That on the other hand, was worth getting up for. I rose to my feet and met him at the door. "It's about time."
"Same time as it is every day." He replied impatiently as he ushered me into the corridor leading down the vast rows of cells. At various points down the line, I could see other guards were leading prisoners to and fro, attempting to keep some semblance of order in the twice daily rotation of the meal crowd.
"Like I have any way of knowing what time it is in here," I egged him on, allowing my usual derisiveness to ring clearly in my tone. "'Cept the dimming of the lights which I'm guessing means you want us to sleep."
"Always the cheeky one, aren't you? Come on." He prodded me forward once more and I shot him a quick glare over my shoulder, but I complied. I was hungry anyway. It wasn't only the food that made each walk to and from the dining hall a blessing in what would just be another mind-numbing day in prison. We neared the end of the cell block, where they held the female prisoners separate from the men, and I slowed my lanky stride ever so slightly.
Thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six… There, fifth gate from the end on the right side; Samantha Lowmow.
She sat near the bars, her slim legs tucked to one side as she leaned despondently against the wall of her cell with her hands clasped loosely on her lap. She was always waiting for me when I passed. Even without the aid of the sun or clocks, she always had this uncanny sense of what time it was at any given moment, and today was no exception. I had wondered on occasion whether she moved to that spot just before I came around, or if she simply preferred the location. Either way, it was such so that every time I passed, we had the opportunity to lock hands briefly before I was swept along with the flow of other inmates and guards.
I was close enough now so that I could see her eyes, lacking in their characteristic luster. They rested, unfocused, as she looked off at something no one else could see. Every day she seemed a little less attentive, more withdrawn. I wondered what she thought about to pass the time. Did she have a house? Friends that would miss her? Did she think about me as often as I thought of her? I know we'd been together all of a day before getting apprehended, but I couldn't help but feel a little protective towards her, and not only because she helped me out initially to create her crime syndicate.
Prison was no place for a girl like her. She was a do-er and a planner, a body of action much like myself. People like us could go mad locked up for too long. We'd managed to meet once since arriving here together. There was a mix-up in the outdoor activities schedule, so our meeting was limited to the time it took the guards to separate the two groups of prisoners in the yard. Even then, I could see that I had to get her out before she lost that glimmer in her eyes, the one that always kept her snap-talking in that cute1930's fashion. We promised each other then and there, that if one of us were to get out we would figure out a way to come back and free the other. Maybe it was a silly vow to make. But it was one promise that I fully intended to keep. And for once, there was a reward in it that was greater than money, something that I had not thought possible before.
She raised her eyes to meet mine as I got close and I drifted so that I would pass close enough to where our fingers could at the very least brush against each other's as I passed. Mr. Garrison however had other ideas.
"Come on Mr. Sexton, keep to the middle of the lane. We don't want you picking any fights through the bars." He shoved me roughly back into the middle, where Samantha's fingers would be just out of reach even if I were to lift my arm towards hers. Both of us knew better than to reach for each other. Instead, our eyes met for a brief moment until she sadly looked away. I kept watching her until we passed however; craning my neck to see the back of her head before she slipped out of sight.