The Bars Between Us

54. Chicken Coop

I can't help but click my pen as I watch the clock click slowly. The day has been relatively quiet since I broke Nixon out of solitary, and I'm now stuck watching the clock, hoping for myself to get out of here soon.It's growing close to 6 pm, and I still haven't got the call from Roman to excuse me for the night. Roman hasn't talked to me at all after we arrived.
I yawn and wiggle the mouse to see if I've been given anything since I last checked 3 minutes ago. As expected, there isn't. I try and find something to do on my desk, by shifting some of the papers around, attempting to sort them, but when the amount is too daunting as well as not knowing where the move them, I stop. Roman always has something for me to do, so I feel at a loose end sitting here all day without any requests.

A knock on the door has my back straightening and me picking up a random piece of paper to appear busy. If it's Roman, I would rather not see his wrath at me doing nothing. But would that come with the new Roman?
"Yes?" I call, twisting my body to make it look like I've just looked up from the paper in my hands.

The door opens to reveal the domineering figure of Roman. His face is the usual neutral exterior, and to people who haven't had to live in fear of abuse with him for years, maybe they would believe it. To me, under the main expression, there's a flicker of glee like a fox who's just come across the chicken coop.
"We're leaving," he tells me. With him being my boss and my abusive partner, I don't question it, putting the paper down and rushing around my desk. He doesn't give me much of a chance to lock up my office before he's walking to the armory. Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I race off after him, surreptitiously checking my watch as we go. This is the earliest I've seen him leave since he started working here. As they were this morning, his strides are long and confident. I rake my eyes over his body, examining the body language. There's nothing untoward, but the overriding feeling I have isn't one of comfort. Fear is trickling down my spine, and I've learned to trust my intuition.

"We need to stop by solitary," he tells me, his demeanor or body language not changing. He's still focused on something in front of us, not giving me a glance or asking if that's ok.
Something's definitely off.

"Do you want me to stay-" I start to ask, knowing if I don't I could be on the receiving end of his ire. I'm never allowed there when I'm with him.
"We won't be long." Dread takes root in my stomach. I don't know what Roman has planned, but it makes me all the happier that Nixon is no longer there.

We pass by the two guards at the mouth of the hallway, and I duck my head, hoping to go by without any trouble. They don't pay us any attention, not even asking after why we're here.

My steps slow down considerably as we get closer to the cell Nixon is meant to be in, but no longer is thanks to me. I don't know whether to turn and run away, there is not much he could do to me with the guards around. The night with the policeman not believing me springs to mind in response to the thought. Would their loyalty be to Roman in the same way?
The attempt at a relaxed demeanor doesn't reflect the adrenaline pumping around my body. If I didn't have to keep cool, I doubt I would be able to walk with the jitters I would have. My hands are the only things letting on to what's just below the surface, and when I clutch them together to stop the tremors, they worsen.

I don't if it's me or time that has slowed when we get the open door of the cell and find Nixon resting his back against the wall, facing out into the hallway at me. With my face-on view of him, I don't get spared a single thing.
His lip is cut and bleeding, one of his eyes looking worryingly close to disappearing beneath the puffiness of the swelling there. Dried blood is indicative of what was an injury to his nose. There's blood splattering the floor of the cell. Not enough for a severe wound, but still enough to make my stomach twist. Two guards are in there with him, their backs to me. A hand flies to my mouth, downplaying the shock of his state as much as I can.