No one seemed happy to see her. The prison didn’t hold a welcome-back party or anything like that. They just gave her a new pair of pajamas and showed her to the old cell she’d had before.
“You’re going to be in here a long time,” the warden said with smug satisfaction. And then he attached a chain around her ankles so she couldn’t run, couldn’t climb, couldn’t escape. “A very long time.”
She wasn’t allowed to work in the prison kitchen. She wasn’t allowed in the exercise yard or the TV room. The only room she could enter was the visiting room, but who would come to see her? She’d made plenty of enemies on the outside, but no friends.
That’s why it was most surprising that on the sixteenth day of her incarceration, someone came calling.
Prisoner #90 sat in the chair, tapping her slippered feet. Who had the nerve to keep her waiting? Didn’t anyone have any respect? She was and would always be Madame la Directeur.
She leaned forward, peering through the thick glass window, as the door on the other side opened. An old woman shuffled through. Her stained gray dress and white apron flapped against her shins; her rubber boots squeaked along the concrete floor. She adjusted her plastic shower cap, then sat.
A sour taste filled Madame’s mouth. “Come to gloat?”
The Unpolluter said nothing. She scratched her blueberry-sized mole.
“Or maybe you wanted to make sure I was comfortable,” Madame said sarcastically. “Maybe you were worried about me.”
The Unpolluter’s voice drifted through the speaker. “I came to tell you about the kids.”
“The kids?” Madame snorted. “Why would I care about the kids? I despise both of them, and I wish they’d never been born!”
“I thought you might like to know that Homer W. Pudding is the new president of L.O.S.T.” A smile, ever so slight, formed on the old woman’s lips. “I thought you might like to celebrate his good fortune.”
Madame’s body temperature rose five degrees, turning her face and neck crimson red. Hot breath shot from her nostrils, as if she were part dragon. “President?” she hissed. “President?” She shot to her feet. The ankle chain tightened as she lunged at the glass partition.
“Sit down,” the guard hollered.
Madame’s body shook with fury as she lowered herself back onto the chair. “President,” she whispered. “A twelve-year-old boy will lead L.O.S.T. What is the world coming to?”
“That’s not all,” The Unpolluter said cheerfully. “There’s something about the girl I thought you should know.”
“That girl is a menace. I took her off the street, gave her a job, and she turned against me. She stole my…” Madame hesitated.
“She stole your lair,” The Unpolluter said. Madame’s eyebrows darted upward. “Don’t be so surprised. Of course I know about the lair. It’s my job to keep my eyes open. Besides, I’ve been watching over the girl ever since she was left at the orphanage.”
“What do you mean, watching over her?” Madame asked. “You’ve been protecting her?”
“No, not protecting. My job is to protect L.O.S.T. The girl needs no protection. She has to be strong and make her own way. I’ve simply been keeping track of her.”
“Why would you do that? She’s a street urchin, nothing more.”
“But she is more. Much more.” The Unpolluter stood. She pulled up her kneesocks and smoothed out her apron. “I’m so happy I didn’t have to get rid of her. I’m so happy she’ll be joining L.O.S.T. The organization could use her talents. Her blood runs true.”
Once again, Madame’s face burst with color. She took a ragged breath. “Her… blood?”
“Yes, her blood.” The Unpolluter headed toward the exit but turned just long enough to deliver the information she’d come to deliver. The thing that would haunt Madame la Directeur for the rest of her days.
“Lorelei’s last name is Smeller.”
Madame clenched her hands in her lap and tried, with all her might, to control the surprise that hit her like a piano dropped right onto her head. The pink-haired street urchin was a Smeller.
“A Pudding and a Smeller working together. Imagine that,” The Unpolluter said with a smile. “There’s no telling what amazing things those two will accomplish.” Then, with a little wave, she left.
The visiting room door closed with a thud.
Prisoner #90’s scream echoed throughout Soupwater Prison.