The Bars Between Us

6. Nixon Hawk

Most of the week goes by, and I still haven't seen Nixon since I visited Anthony. As the week went on, my mind grew further away from Nixon, and focused more on the work that Roman had me doing.

It's the end of Thursday, and I'm sitting in my office trying to find something I can do. Roman has been quiet today, and hasn't given me any work. I look through the mess on the top of my desk, seeing if there is anything outstanding that needs doing. A beep from my computer tells me that I have an email.

Jumping at the chance for something to do, I look up at the screen to see who it's from. It's from Roman. I look at the subject, and sigh when I see that it's only an email telling me that I have a visit with somebody. Still intrigued to see who is asking for a visit, I open the email. I groan when I see that it's scheduled for tomorrow.

Roman could have warned me sooner, but it's not like I had anything planned. Sighing, I look at the name. My breath catches and my heart starts to beat faster. Nixon Hawk. The dark stare, that I have been trying to keep out of my mind all week, flies back to the forefront of my mind. The words 'double homicide' also come to the forefront of my mind. Excited, and nervous, about tomorrow, I start to gather my things, after reading the note at the bottom telling me to go home.

*^*^*

I look around the small cubicle I am sitting in, although it's exactly like every other one I have sat in before with two wooden 'walls', one of them holding the receiver, and one glass. I hit my fingernails on the counter in front of me, causing it to sound like a horse galloping.

The correctional officer left me here, telling me that Nixon would be right out. It feels like ten minutes has passed. It's probably only been two. The door opens, causing the horse-like rhythm to stop suddenly. I sit up straighter and look to see who is coming into the visitation room.

Nixon walks in, closely followed by a prison guard. The guard directs Nixon to the seat in front of me. I pick the receiver up as Nixon's handcuffs are taken off. The correctional officer leaves us, and Nixon reaches for his receiver. I wait for him to talk, but he just stares at me with those dark eyes. Thinking I should start the conversation, I introduce myself.

"I'm Aphrodite, but you can call me DeeDee."

In response I get the expected look over, but this time it causes me to shift in my seat as I feel his gaze moving over my body. This brings a smirk to his lips. His eyes go back up to my face and in association my wound (which is now healing and less painful). I clear my throat, trying to break the silence.

"You don't look like a DeeDee," he comments.

His deep voice surprises me, along with his statement. I don't know how to respond, so I end up opening and closing my mouth. I decide to change the subject, so I don't have to look awkward anymore.

"Um... so is there anything you want to talk about?"

"You're the warden's wife, right?" he asks.

"Yeah," I reply with a sigh. His stare has not wavered from my face the whole time he has been sitting in front of me.

"How did you get that?" he asks pointing towards my wound with the hand he was holding the receiver with.

"I fell," I mumble.

"What, onto a bottle?" he asks disbelievingly.

"What?" I reply my heart starting to beat faster.

"I've seen loads of wounds in my life, and you don't get a wound like that from falling. You were hit over the head with something, and by the looks of the wound, it was glass. Hence, a bottle. So, who hit you? You don't seem like the kind of person to be involved in a bar fight."