Page 3 of Cry for Help

I liked it as much as he did.

Someone knocked on the door, bursting in without waiting for a response—dangerous and stupid in a women’s prison—the kind of action that told me exactly who it was.

Susan.

Dr Susan Holdsworth. The prison psychiatrist.

Her arms were laden with folders, and her hair sat in a high bun with a halo of flyaway strands. She smiled at me apologetically, dumping her files on the nearest surface and ignoring the warden as she signed a greeting in ASL.

“Madeleine! Did the warden tell you about the transfer yet?”She asked, signing every word when she didn’t need to.

Susan often forgot that there was nothing wrong with my ears.

I lifted my hands, drawing attention to the shackles and shrugging.

The doctor turned to the warden, her eyes round with admonishment. “Why did you restrain her hands? She needs them to speak!”

The warden pinched the bridge of his nose. “InmateSpeck is a prisoner, Dr Holdsworth.”

Susan flailed her hands before signing at me so fast that it was hard to distinguish one word from another.

“...Transfer... No appeal... Victim’s family... Retrial... Death Penalty.”

My brow furrowed, and I sat up.

What?

Sensing my confusion, Dr Susan slowed her hands. “Your appeal was denied. There is a possibility that the victim's family will go for a retrial. They want to push for the death penalty. You need to make a choice.”

It felt like the world had dissolved under my feet, and there was nothing to hold onto.

The death penalty.

For a crime I didn’t commit.

While the real murderer pranced about the streets. Free.

My mouth filled with saliva, the precursor to vomit, and I froze, unable to move as Susan’s words circled around my head like a figure skater.

“Will you two broads stop using that damn hand-speak?” The warden bit out, his cheeks flushed.

“I was just informing Ms Speck about the recent appeal and the potential for a transfer.” Dr Holdsworth replied cooly.

“Transfer?” The warden barked a laugh. “Its death by lethal injection, or the Red City, Inmate Speck.” He knitted his fingers together and leaned forward, his gaze oddly intent. “I’ve got the board of goveners on my ass about sending more prisoners to the Red City. The demons run out of playthings faster than my prisoners run out of Kotex.”

My nose wrinkled.

Susan glared at the warden, but he continued speaking. “It is a legal duty as warden of Sandy Village Correctional Facility to inform you that in light of the lack of success of yourlatest appeal, you are being given the opportunity to transfer your sentence to one of the Red Cities around the country. You will be subject to a retrial if you deny your right to transfer your sentence. Where your sentence may change and is likely to become more severe.”

Deathor demons? Those were my only options?

The warden waved a hand toward Susan. “I’ll leave you to talk it over with Dr Holdsworth, but I need a decision before you leave this office.” He grabbed a color pamphlet from his top drawer and slapped it on the desk, sauntering from the room—leaving me alone with two guards, a psychiatrist, and half a beef sandwich.

Susan waited for the door to close before stepping closer, kneeling before me, and placing her hand on mine. The guards bristled, but the good doctor ignored them.

“You don’t have to go to the Red City, Maddie.” Dr Holdsworth said in a soft voice.

It didn’t escape my notice that she had chosen not to sign. Maybe she’d signed for the benefit of the warden. I couldn’t begin to decide her motives.

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