𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

15 | A Tiny Glimmer of Hope

(A/N: This chapter is double the length of my normal chapters... Enjoy)

Y/N

I have only visited Wakefield twice before, luckily never having to work there directly. 'Monster Mansion' as people called it, was known for housing the worst of the worst. And if I got shanked by an inmate on the verge of death in a lower security prison, I know the men in here are a different level of crazy. At least in Wakefield I'll be on the other side of the plexiglass to the prisoners. No more scars for me today thanks.

Normally with maximum security prisons, you have to schedule your visits weeks in advance because they never want to aggravate the inmates. For example, they might know that sex offenders have their family members wanting to visit the jail, so other guests with children in attendance won't be scheduled on the same day. It's really fucked up, pandering to these guys' weird fetishes or racial prejudice; they even try to schedule visits within the same race sometimes.

Driving into the precinct, they scanned under my car for bombs, they gave me a designated car spot and gave me a visitor security pass. Parking in C203, about 100 metres from the entrance in torrential rain, I took a deep breath and touched up my lip gloss in the rear view mirror.

Despite the on and off rain during the four hour drive, I closely inspected the fresh dent in my car bonnet and ran my thumb across a smudge of dried blood which hadn't washed off on the way here. I quickly scratched at it with my nail and hurried to the jail entrance under my large umbrella.

Entering a maximum security jail like Wakefield is difficult at the best of times; the fact you couldn't wear gym tights, you couldn't show too much cleavage, how you couldn't wear denim, no gang colours, no colours that resembled staff or inmate uniform, no branded logos over 5 centimetres. The underwire in a woman's bra often set off the alarms in the security gates, but given I knew the rules inside and out, I wore a wireless bra and zero jewellery.

I was assigned a cubicle to sit down in with walls either side so I couldn't see any other inmates or their guests. On my side of the glass was a small bench to rest any belongings they had approved for me to take in, and an intercom on the wall beside me. This linked to a phone on the other side of the plexiglass for inmates to speak to us.

A large guard brought Tom over, released his handcuffs from behind him and reattached them to the bench on his side of the glass. The chain attaching them was looped under a bar so he couldn't leave, but they were long enough to feel somewhat free to move around.

He looked exhausted, his hair grown out a little over his ears and starting to curl up at the ends. He had a light spray of stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes. His fingernails were chewed and his cuticles peeled back and raw.

"Fuck, it's so good to see your face," Tom sighed, smiling and leaning his head in his hand gently with the phone in the other.

"You look tired Tom, have you been sleeping well?" I asked softly, empathetic for him being detained for just over a month now.

"Does anyone ever sleep well in prison? You know better than me. You know, when they told me I had a guest I assumed it would be Haz," he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

"Have you had any guests so far?" I asked, resting my hand against the glass delicately. He pressed his against mine, well, sort of against mine.

He shook his head, explaining to me that I was his first guest. He was only allowed one per month until they declared him a good behaviour bargain. Sadly, with a tone of voice heavy with disappointment, he explained that the only people within the mafia who would potentially visit him would be his brothers or his mother.