Page 56 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

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KINKAID

COMING CLEAN

The laundry I'm surrounded with stinks, but I don't give a fuck as I struggle into the black jeans and jacket that the warden's brother-in-law tossed into the back of the truck. It's not easy to balance, buffeted by the bumps in the road. My orange prison pants rest discarded in a lurid heap on the floor as I pull on the boots. In ordinary clothes, it’s like I've shrugged off an outgrown skin. I wonder how long it will take the stench of the pen to leave my nostrils. Maybe, when I bury my face in Lory's hair, and it smells of feminine shampoo, I'll forget everything that came before.

She doesn't know I'm coming for her, but I am.

The truck stops suddenly on the side of the road, and the driver gets out. He's taking a piss, and this is my chance. I open the back door of the vehicle and jump out, disappearing into the trees and bushes that line the road. When he's driven away, I wait a few minutes, checking no one's watching before I make my way into town. It's a mile walk, but with the breeze in my face and the stars spread above me, I'd walk a hundred miles. The only thing I need is tucked into my sock. The tiny bit of paper Lory slipped past me before Grady led her away. Her name, her address, and her phone number. The sweet girl gave us everything we could need to find her. I just have to pray she’s still there.

On the outskirts of Holdridge, there's a dusty patch of land around half a mile from the road. There are five trees with gnarly roots and broad canopies, one of which is hiding something for me.

In the darkness, it's a struggle to find my way, so I'll have to go back. The money in the pocket of the pants supplied by Grady's brother-in-law won't get me far, but it's enough for a hotel room, a meal, some supplies, and a bus ticket if I need it.

It's almost dawn by the time I reach the street Lory lives on. Her apartment is above an old-fashioned shoe store, across from a dive bar where I used to hang out with my buddies. I pull a cigarette from the half-finished packet I brought with me. My hands are jittery, and I need the nicotine to take the edge off my nerves.

I get halfway through and decide to discard it. Thinking about what might happen next is only making me more nervous. A motorcycle passes me, and I instinctively turn my face into the shadows, conscious that my escape could be discovered at any time. I have to keep moving, or this might all be in vain.

My finger hovers over the buzzer to Lory's place. It's five a.m. and if she's home, she'll be sleeping. Maybe she has a man inside. The thought makes me fucking crazy with rage.

I press the buzzer, and it lights up, confirming it's working. Then I wait with my heart in my throat. Seconds pass.

Nothing.

I press again and turn, scanning the road. Standing in one place too long will get me caught.

Nothing.

Maybe she's gone already. It was always a risk. Her sister needed help and lived out of state. Maybe she used the money she got to be with us to travel.

“Hello.” Lory's sleep-husky voice travels through the intercom, filling the night air with sweetness.

“Lory. It's me. Open up.”

“What?” she asks, but the door buzzes open, and I'm inside like a flash. In the stairwell, I realize I don't know where I'mgoing, but locks slide, and a door opens upstairs, and I sprint to where I think she is. “Kinkaid?”

The hope in her voice sends my heart soaring. She's not scared that it's me. She didn't hesitate to let me in. On the second floor, she's there, peeking around her door with dark searching eyes, and for the first time since I went through puberty, tears prick behind my eyes.

“Lory.”

She pushes the door open and runs to me, in a tangle of messy hair and twisted pink pajamas, flying into my arms so hard, she knocks the breath from my lungs. I gasp to breathe her in, all strawberry shampoo and warm femininity. The lingering staleness of the pen fades to nothing.

“How?”

“I don't have long,” I say. “I need to leave the city. Will you come?”

“Yes.” It's said with no hesitation. “I need time to pack.” She glances back and drags me inside. She hasn't even asked me where we're going or if I can wait. “Hyde? Rock?”

“They're still inside. Bring what you can fit into a small suitcase. What you can't live without.”

“Okay.”

She closes the door behind us and throws her arms around me again, tugging at my neck so she can reach for a hard kiss. “I prayed,” she says against my lips. “I don't even know if I believe in God, but I prayed you'd all come for me.” She strokes her hand over my beard, eyes wide and smiling. “This is new. I like it.”

“Pack,” I urge her, grinning like I'm sixteen and drunk. The impulse to sink into her body and show her how much I crave her is fierce, but I won't give in to short-term desires when the chance we have at a future is within our grasp.

“Do you have a car?”

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