Sweet Little Lies

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Harry stood in silence as he waited to be buzzed in. It was an eerie quiet. One that wasn't quite right, but he expected nothing less from a penitentiary. The gray stone walls held no heat, Harry sure that if it had been even a few degrees colder, he would have seen his breath.

There was a click to his left, the door finally opening to reveal a large, square-shouldered man. He had a stern look to his features, sharp angles, dark eyes and a perpetual frown marring his lips. Harry could see the lines etched in his face where wrinkles had formed from the constant scowl.

Griffin had connected him with this man. A warden of the halls, in charge of keeping inmates in line.

"Styles?"

Harry nodded once. "Laurent?"

"Good. Follow me."

Laurent led the way, his body blocking nearly all of Harry's view of the hallway. Surprisingly, he had never visited the penitentiary. The building was erected over a hundred years ago, and had held well over a few hundred thousand men in its time. At one point, there had been a woman's wing of the prison, but that hadn't lasted long before its sister building was built about a half a mile down the road.

Obvious work had been done to the old building to keep it standing up all these decades. On the way in, he had noticed an entire wing of the prison under construction. In these particular hallways, there were slabs of new concrete coated on walls and floors, covering up what he imagined were potholes. New beams had been put in to support the ceiling, standing in with the old crumbling ones.

The other guards ignored them as they walked by, some physicians scurrying past them in the other direction. Harry knew they had a full medical staff on, as well as voluntary teachers who spent time in small classrooms with inmates that had earned some trust. Or had good enough ties to get them out of kitchen duties.

Laurent unlocked a door, ushering Harry in another, quieter hallway. He was led back to the far end until they hit a solitary room that no one would bother.

"You'll have fifteen minutes once the prisoner has been delivered." Laurent told him.

"As we discussed?" Harry asked, pulling out his wallet.

"Of course."

"Good." He handed Laurent a few hundreds, promising more when he was done. This was just to secure the room and the promise of no cameras or microphones. "Knock when my time is up."

"If you get hurt, it's not on me."

Harry understood. Once he was locked in the room, Laurent wouldn't be there to help if anything went wrong. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't be worried in the slightest, but this was the farthest thing from normal.

Stepping into the room, Harry stood back from the table and chairs. He was too antsy to sit down, and would rather not be looked down upon today. There was a click of the lock echoing off the stone walls, and then he was alone again.

His phone was checked in at the front, not that it would do him any good. The cell service out here was terrible and the thick walls made it even harder to get through to anyone. This left Harry nothing to do as he waited.

He found a spot against the cold wall and leaned on it, placing his hands in his coat pockets. He crossed his ankles, purposely putting on an air of indifference. Nothing would infuriate the man more than apathy.

Finally, he heard a faint buzzing and had to force himself to stay still. Harry felt his hands twitch in his pockets, the need to fidget becoming stronger and stronger, but he resisted.

Then, the door opened.

Patrick Styles entered in a gray jumpsuit, wrists locked together by cuffs, which were chained to another sett of cuffs around his ankles. The restraints had him hobbling into the room pathetically.