Page 6 of Pretty Cruel Love

“Sadie Pretty,” he says, “meet Dr. Ethan Weiss. Dr. Weiss, Sadie Pretty.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” we say in unison. I look away from him before getting lost in his eyes again.

“Dr. Weiss is an esteemed behavioral and mental expert who runs a state-of-the-art program for people in your situation.” He pauses. “Have you ever heard ofThe Weiss Experiment?”

“No, sir,” I lie. Every inmate who has ever hoped for release has heard of it.

Dr. Weiss’s name alone is enough to spur weeks-long conversations about news and rumors regardingthe cabin.Apparently, it’s two weeks in isolation with him while he opens your mind and unspools your brain to see if you can be trusted in society again.

Last I heard, his success rate outpaces that of The Innocence Project, and if you're lucky enough to get selected to check in, he’ll be escorting you into the real world shortly after.

“Well, here’s what you need to know about it.” He hands me a thick plastic binder that features a grey cabin on its cover. “Your lawyer did one hell of a job on this.”

“Am I—” I look at Dr. Weiss. “Being considered for your program?”

“No,” Dr. Weiss answers. “You’re being admitted.”

“What? I mean, how? My lawyer said?—”

“Your lawyer died in a car accident two weeks ago…” The warden shoots me a confused look. “Didn’t Ackerman tell you?”

No. He didn’t.I shake my head.

“Hmmm. Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. “He must’ve put in quite a word for you, because you’ve skipped to the front of Dr. Weiss’s line. You’ll be transported tonight, and your new lawyer will be in touch about your parole board preparation.”

I want to smile and jump for joy, but memories from my first parole hearing still linger; the board set a “fastest-ever” record by denying me in three seconds flat.

“Anyway…” He gestures to the walls around us. “Dr. Weiss, every piece of artwork in this house was painted by Miss Pretty. Every single one.”

“I’m impressed…” Dr. Weiss looks me up and down before roaming the room.

I feel embarrassed while he eyes the mundane things I’ve been forced to paint: fruit baskets, bridges, rainbows.

My worst work is the painting of the top prison guards standing under a rainbow. The warden has yet to notice the faint‘these are evil people’in the badges’ shadows.

“Don’t worry,” the warden says, reappearing at his side. “No one here knows that Miss Pretty is the artist, so I happily take all the credit. I can’t have people thinking that a criminal is getting special treatment, you know?”

Dr. Weiss looks over at me with an expression I can’t quite understand, but it sends tingles up and down my spine.

“What’s this one?” Dr. Weiss pulls a canvas I haven’t seen in forever from behind the couch.

It’s one of my earliest and best works—a bone-white skull trapped under a blood-splattered bell glass. Its head is wreathed in ruby red roses, and a heavy rainstorm wreaks havoc in its eye sockets.

It’s my favorite…

“Oh, no, no!” the warden rushes over to him, laughing. “That ugly thing was far too dark and creepy for me, so I took it down and turned it around. I’ve been meaning to burn it for years.”

I swallow. I’d never known how he really felt about it; he’d even told me he gifted it to a friend.

“Hmmm.” Dr. Weiss runs a hand along the edge of the skull, letting his fingers linger on the darkest rose. “I like this one the best.”

“Then be my guest, Doctor.” He laughs. “Take it home with you, if you want.”

“I will.” He’s still staring at it, and I wonder if he can see the messages I’ve hidden in the shadows.

Sharp and shrill sirens suddenly rip through the air, cutting our meeting short.

“Damnit.” The warden unclips the walkie-talkie from his belt. “So much for a proper introduction. Ackerman, get back to my quarters so you can escort Inmate Pretty to her cell. We need her counted.”

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