The Bars Between Us

7. News

I was wrong, I can update today. Yay! ;)

I rest my head on the desk in front of me, wishing the day to be over. It's a Sunday afternoon, and I don't usually work over the weekend. But this weekend, for some reason, Roman asked—well, demanded—that I come to work. After all, the prison doesn't close for the weekend. I agreed, frightened of what he would do if I said no.

A beep from my computer notifies me of an incoming email. I look up and see it's from Roman, letting me know of the visits that are coming up this week. As I thought, I am visiting Anthony on Friday. I have a couple of other new inmates this week too. One of them is tomorrow, but the day and person I'm interested in is Tuesday and Nixon.

I was going to see him again. Why? He probably wanted to know my answer, not because he liked me. I feel disheartened at this thought, but quickly push those feelings aside. He's an inmate, it's not like we can have a relationship. I'm with Roman anyway.

I scratch the back of my head as I think. I've not been able to come to a conclusion about him. I usually have a gut feeling, which is accurate, but with Nixon I feel nothing. He's truly confused me. I stare at my computer screen before deciding. I open the search engine, and type in his name. There is bound to be many opinions and news articles out there on Nixon's case. I press enter, and bite my lip. My eyes fly up to the door, and check that Roman isn't going to barge in and interrupt. The door doesn't open, and I don't hear any movement so I look back down at my monitor.

I wasn't wrong; hundreds of results come up. Most of them are from different news pages. I choose the first news website, thinking that they will all have the same sort of information. The link takes me to a page with a video from two years ago. With another glance up at the door, I click the play button.

"Thank you, Paul. I am standing here outside the New York County Courthouse as we wait for the conclusion from the jury over the horrific events that first hit our screens five months ago..." the female reporter starts, her brown hair whipping around her face. She pulls it away from her mouth before continuing. "Nixon Hawk, the defendant, found his girlfriend, Grace Logan, and their unborn baby, stabbed brutally thirty-nine times. The prosecution's argument has been that instead of arriving to find his girlfriend already dead, Nixon Hawk arrived to find that the Miss Logan was leaving him. Afraid and paranoid about their relationship coming to a potential end, he grabbed the closest kitchen knife and repeatedly stabbed her. The evidence is stacked up against the defendant, suggesting that the conviction will come back as guilty."

The camera goes back to the studio where the male news anchor transitions to the next article.

"Thank you, Claire; we will keep you posted on the actions that unravel at the courthouse..." The clip continues with an effect, before returning to Claire outside the court.

"That is right; the verdict has just come in. Nixon Hawk has been found guilty of second degree murder, and will be sentenced next week."

The video stops, and I ponder what I've just been told. Without the evidence, I feel like I can't make a decision, but I trust the justice system, and after everything that I've seen and heard, I'm starting to agree with their decision on Nixon's case. But, at the same time, my gut has decided to make its decision by telling me that it thinks Nixon is innocent.

I sigh. It hasn't helped at all.

*^*^*

It's the next day, at one in the afternoon and I am sitting in the visiting center waiting for the new inmate to come out. Instead of where I saw Anthony and Nixon, we are sitting in the communal room. There are metal tables scattered around the room, where the convicts can see their visitors without any glass in their way.

After I finished watching the video, Roman had come in, asking what I was listening to. I explained to him about an inmate, not being specific, who asked me whether I thought they were innocent. His reply had me feeling deflated:

"Don't be so naïve. All the inmates think that they can get someone who is dumb to believe them. They're all where they are meant to be."

As I hear the door open, I shake my head to try and get rid of his comments. I look up to see a young man, about nineteen, walking through the door. He looks like he is new to the prison system. He walks in with his shoulders back, in a confident stride, but it's written all over his face that he doesn't know what to do.

He looks like he doesn't know what is expected of him, and what is seen as 'cool' in the prison environment. His green eyes dart around the room, and when he sees me rising to meet him, he lets a grin come onto his face. I smile hesitantly back, feeling uncomfortable. The correctional officer takes off his cuffs, so I extend my hand to shake his.

"I'm Aphrodite, call me DeeDee," I offer in introduction.

"I'm James," he replies with the same grin that makes me feel uneasy.

"Nice to meet you," I tell him, sitting back down. He moves and sits down next to me. I narrow my eyes, and turn in my chair to see him, confused.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" I ask. He shrugs, staring at me. His stare makes me feel on edge, unlike Nixon's whose was more intense.

"Um... okay. Why were you arrested?" I ask.

"I tried to rob a bank," he responds.

"Um, how long have you been in?" I ask.

"Six months," he tells, me moving closer. I look him up and down cautiously.

"How long do you have left?" I ask another question, noticing he is inching forward.

"I don't want to talk about me, what about you?" He leers, moving even closer.

"Um, you'll have even more on your sentence if you try anything," I let him know.

"I've been away from girls for six months, and you're the one they all talk about back in there. If I go back and tell them that I kissed you, I'll be one of the respected ones," he explains, moving his face closer. Shocked, I stay where I am.

"It doesn't work like that," I tell him.

He wants to be accepted, but he's going to make it worse for himself. I know that the prisoners know their boundaries; they might talk about me, and shout crude comments, but they never act on what they say having respect for my boundaries Prisoners who rape or kill women, or children, are known as undesirables, and are usually targeted by the other prisoners. They are usually put into their own block for their own safety.

James puts his hand on my thigh, squeezing it. I move back, looking around for the guard.

"No. Stop," I tell James, pushing him back. "Help!" I shout as James forces his lips closer to mine.

Suddenly, he is pulled back from me, his hands being shackled together. Breathing heavily, I get up and run out of the visitation room. I've never had an inmate try to attack me.

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