The Prisoner Project

NINETEEN

I stepped back. Jesus.

Hank winked at me. "But don't you worry, Miss Black, I'll make him suffer for it."

I hid my shock and feigned a straight face.

Glancing once more at Frank, my face turned sour.

"Aria," Franks frustration could be deciphered from the way he whispered my name. He seemed worried, and terribly curious. "Aria, if you need anything at all, let me-"

"No, thank you." I said, impassivity painted over my words.

If I spoke to Frank, I'd be so upset and overwhelmed that I would embarrass myself. I didn't want to dwell on what Banshee had said till I got home.

I slipped out into the hallway.

I shut the door behind me with an unnecessarily loud bang. I hissed at the metal door. "Traitor."

It was certain that Hank was not my favourite person.

I glanced around the musty hallway and sighed. The interview was just as emotionally draining as the others. Nothing would ever make me used to it. I trailed my fingers over the grim cobblestone walls. I was going to lie to the recorder, tell them Banshee never really told me anything and I never spoke.

I was beginning to understand that anything I said could be detrimental to me. It could be detrimental to Nicholas too, I thought naturally. Not that I was supposed to care about a convict, but it was hard not to. He seemed to be the only one with an honest tongue and nothing to lose.

My thoughts were cut short by my hands touching something damp on the cold stony wall. "Eugh." I wiped my hands on my jeans in disgust.

Stockholm prison often baffled me. The outer frame of the building, the hallways I walked, the exterior walls I had leaned on, were always gritty and unkempt. Yet, the rooms within these grimy walls remained pristine.

It was almost like the staff wanted people to think the place was hideous. They wanted to put people off it. To create the illusion of ugliness. And I wondered vaguely if that was how the prisoners were made to look. Were the prisoners like the building? Ugly on the outside but soft on the inside?

I reached the last door and pushed into a small white room. A severe contrast to the hallway I had just walked. It was an office, with browning files littering a desk table at the corner. In the middle of the room were two arm chairs, and a coffee table.

On one of the sofas, a man was sat there, eyes focused on an iPad. I licked the perspiration off my lips and cleared my throat. "Is this where I record?"

He jolted as if I had surprised him and spun in his chair. He looked new. His shirt was buttoned to the very top, and a stationary blue tie hung around his skinny neck. His eyes were impossibly big, and blue. He was a man with attributes that mimicked Diana's worst date-mare; birdy and thin. "Oh shit. Sorry, you bloody well startled me. Hi, Hello! I'm James."

He was adorable if I had the time to compliment him.

I eyed his outstretched arm and involuntarily wiped my hands on my jeans. He was leaking. James' suit was cheap, but not as cheap as my outfit. I couldn't judge him when I was here because I was this close to abject poverty.

I pretended not to notice his hand and smiled. "I'm Aria. Are you the person recording me today?"

James took a second to retrieve his arm before clearing his throat. "Uh, Yeah." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck to conceal the rejection. "I mean; why else would I be here? This set up isn't for a date, is it?"