Chapter 6

A small door inside the gate of MCI-Framingham penitentiary opened and Natalie stepped out. The wind pulled at her flaming red hair, and her green eyes scanned the place.

A line of trees ringed the prison walls. And a parking lot boxed in fences separated it from the road.

She knew nobody was waiting for her, still, at some level, hopped to see someone. But only a deserted road and a bus station were in front of her. She hugged a box that contained her belongings, walked to the bus station, and rested her wiry frame on the bench.

The rain started, but the fiberglass shelter kept her dry. She shivered in the cold and watched the raindrops bounce off the pavement. After about fifteen minutes, the bus arrived, and its front door opened. She ran to avoid as much rain as she could but still got wet. Not many passengers were on board. The area had little population because people don't want to live in the vicinity of a prison. She sat down and ignored all the 'she's an ex-con, what she's done?' looks. 

 ***

The bus came to a halt, and Natalie was thrown forward. It was her stop, and she got off the vehicle. 

The rain had stopped, and the clouds were dispersing. She walked for a few steps before realizing her hands were empty. Her box was still on the bus, and the vehicle was all the way down the street. She sighed and patted her jeans pockets. At least she didn't lose her money and keys.

Two blocks away, she stopped in front of a two-story house. Shrubs and grass had grown tall in the yard, and a couple of windows were broken. No one had lived there since her parents died three years ago.

The hinges squeaked as she opened the door and flipped the light switch, but it didn't turn on. She tried a few more times but no luck. The dim light of the day crept in through the windows and provided some illumination. The dust had covered everything. A cold draft, coming from one of the broken windows, touched her face.

She went to her bedroom upstairs and picked up the phone. But there was no service. She dropped the receiver back on the phone and decided to pay all the bills first thing tomorrow. 

A shadow moved on the wall and startled her. She looked at it. Her blurry reflection moved on the dirty full-length mirror that stood next to her bed. With her sleeve, she cleaned the glass and her grim face stared back at her. Her fingers ran through her hair. In the semi-dark room, she saw a lot of grey in the red and new wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth.

And I'm only thirty-five.

She sighed. They had mirrors in prison—plenty of them—but time seemed to have stopped in this house for five years. As irrational as it was, at some level, she expected to see her face from before she went to the prison.

She dropped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The cold house was getting darker; she pulled a cover up to her neck.

When she woke up, the moon had risen, and its white glow lit the room. She went by the window and looked outside. Not far from her home, a diner sign blinked among the city lights. Her stomach grumbled.

 She went to the diner and sat at a table. A waitress came to take her order. Her name was written in the italic font on her nametag; Christina.

 ***

The next morning, Natalie was in the state penitentiary for men. She sat in the visiting room, and a piece of reinforced fiberglass separated her from where the prisoners sat. It felt strange to be free and inside a prison. 

The last time she saw Anton, her EX, was five years ago at their trial. She got ten years, and he got life without parole. 

After a few minutes, he stepped in. Much of his hair had turned white, and a handcuff shackled his wrists. Both picked up the receivers. A moment passed, and they stared at each other.

"So how are you, bunny?" He asked. 

"Good. You?" She hated that nickname. He called her that because of her appetite for sex.

"Good. Good."

Silence prevailed again. Five years later, and they were out of words to say to each other.

"You got old." She pointed at his hair.

"Yeah I did, but you're still beautiful and in shape." 

"Nah. I got old too." She touched her hair. No grey streaks remained in them anymore. Last night she had bought a bottle of dye and remedied the problem.

Anton scratched his chin. "When were you released?" 

"Yesterday."

"Got parole, huh?"

"Yes." She felt guilty.

"Good. Good. It was about time." 

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and then fell silent again. 

"How is your appeal going?" She asked.

"Not good. Not good at all. Life without parole is going to stick. They want me to rot in here."

 Something glittered in his eye. She could swear it was a drop of tear. 

"This happens when the state gives you a rookie lawyer who doesn't know his head from his ass!" He shook his head.

She sensed his bitterness. Her lawyer was not a rookie; her parents hired a pricey one, and he saved her from several decades behind bars. What did he expect anyway? He shot a cop!

"That's what I came here to talk about." She said. 

"Oh?"

"We have to get you out of here, and for that, we need the best lawyer that money can buy. He must prove you didn't kill that guy intentionally. It was an accident."

"Well, it was an accident." He stared into her eyes and didn't blink.

She remembered vividly the day they tried to rob that bank. When the alarm went off they panicked and ran off to get into their car. But outside the building, a beat cop opened fire on them. Anton shot him in the stomach; the officer fell and dropped his gun. Anton walked to him. He begged for mercy but Anton shot him in the head.

" Yes, I know. That was an accident. So where do I get the money? My parents haven't left me much." She lowered her voice. As if a hushed tone would prevent anyone from eavesdropping on their conversation.

"And you want the money to get me out of here?" 

"That's what I said."

His eyes welled up, and he wiped them with his finger. "I still love you, girl."

"Me too, big guy, Me too. So what about the money?"

 He scratched his chin. " Um, let me see… Let me see… What about Eric?"

 "Yeah, that works. But what if he doesn't want to help?"

 "He has to. He owes me. Tell him that if he says no."