Nancy stands at the bars of her cell, trying to look down the hallway. She can’t see anything, but she hears commotion. Lots of voices and static from the police radio. She hasn’t been able to make out everything, but she understands enough. The police are going somewhere. They think they know where Stephen Small is being kept prisoner.
A knot of people begins walking down the hall toward Nancy’s cell. A group of cops and FBI agents are clustered around Danny. He is in handcuffs. His head is hanging low.
“Danny,” Nancy says, her voice a whisper full of fear. “What’s happening?”
Danny looks up at her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
As he passes by, she stares at him. The yellow lighting makes his skin look pallid, his hair greasy, his eyes red with burst capillaries. More than just his appearance disgusts her. The way he carries himself, as if he doesn’t care what’s going on, as if all of this is some kind of inconvenience to him. His apology to her lacked any sort of conviction in its tone. He’s not sorry.
She sees him in a way she’s never seen him before.
He’s a thug.
A selfish, no-good narcissist who only cares about himself.
A criminal who would rather sell drugs than get a job.
How could she have ever fallen for him?
Tears fill her eyes as Danny and the rest of his entourage disappear down the hall. Nancy turns her head and the woman cop returns and stands outside the jail cell.
There is no sympathy in the woman’s face.
“You better hope they find Stephen Small alive,” the woman says. “If he’s not, you’re going to get the electric chair.”
“But I didn’t know,” Nancy says, sobbing.
“They shave your head, you know,” the woman says. “So your hair doesn’t catch on fire.”
Nancy collapses to the floor, weeping. She hears the woman’s boots retreat down the hallway, leaving her alone with her tears.
“I want to see my son,” she wails.
Her cries echo down the empty hallway.
No one is listening.