Willard's long nose twitched and wriggled as he smelled the air. It smelled like urine, sweat

and blood (the unlucky gentleman who had ripped out his IV). Willard sat up in the florescent

illuminations coming from the damp, mildewy ceiling. He looked down the row of clear, plexi-

glass showers in front of him as a hot tear ran down his clammy face. Willard lowered his

head as his dark brown locks covered his tear-streaked face, almost as a curtain would

detaining any sign of emotion until the morning sun came up to greet the ecstatic prisoner.

The sun would not rise for many, many days. The curtain of darkness would not be lifted to

let emotion frolic about in its emancipation. Suddenly, a ray of light shone through the thick

curtain, the sound of high-heels echoed throughout the room. Willard's head shot up and

looked towards the source of the sound. It was Catharine, walking through the room swiftly

but poised like a cat. Willard's first reaction was to shrink towards the wall in a huddled mass,

ashamed of the horrors that had transpired at his house, the unlucky Mr. Martin, murdered at

the hands or should I say, paws of his henchmen. But Willard then remembered Catherine's

sympathetic nature and crawled hands and knees as a wounded animal would towards the

door of the cell. Catharine approached eyeing Willard's every movement from above, but

with a warm and almost sad smile on her face. "How you holding up?", she said, her voice

almost snapping in two. He didn't reply, he just nodded a distant look on his face.

Catherine's brow furrowed, she tried a different approach. "Um, I thought you might like

this....", Catherine said drawing a small contented white rat from her purse. "SOCRATES!",

Willard yelled a smile spreading across his face as the white rat scurried under the door and

into his sleeve. The guards turned around, threw Catharine into a steel table and threw open

the door to Willard's cell. They kicked and hit him until he was gasping for breath and

struggled to draw life into his rattled lungs. Catharine pushed through the guards and ran to

him. She dropped to her knees ajadcent to him and mussed up her prim and perfect bun

she had when she walked in. "You bastards, you didn't have to hit him so hard!" she spat.

Willard looked up at her as he shook with concealed sobs. "Catharine" he said softly,

"please don't leave me here...." Catharine clutched his collar. "I won't, " she promised as a

huge pair of burly arms dragged her away from the frightened man. Willard bolted upright

with a second wind as he clutched the cold metal bars as he watched his hope in a fur coat

dragged out the door by an officer.