Page 5 of Death Row
“I won’t . . .”
“You will,” he insists. “Let me call. I’ll be Albert. I’m a much better liar than you are.”
That impish smile is playing on his lips, which annoyed me the first time I saw it, but later it became one of the things that made me fall in love with him. I could look at that smile all day long. Except ...
I suddenly get an uneasy feeling in my chest as my world goes on tilt. Something about this interaction feels “off,” although it’s hard to explain how. It’s almost like ... it’s not really happening. Like I’m replaying a reel in my brain, and if I reached out to touch Noel, he’d disappear into thin air.
But that’s ridiculous. Noel is real,obviously.
I’m just upset about losing my dream venue. But that’s about to be remedied. Noel will call, and he will pretend to be Albert Swecker, and he will secure our reservation at the Vineyard for our wedding.
He is, as he pointed out, a very good liar.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
He grins wider as he drops the phone and pulls me closer to him. His lips are close enough that I can feel the heat of hisbreath. He leans in to kiss me, but before his lips can touch mine, I wake up in a prison cell.
Chapter 5
Present Day
It’s time for my visit with Clarence Bowman.
There’s a routine for visitors, and it’s not pleasant. Good thing I don’t have many visitors. Even my best friend, Kinsey, has come only a handful of times. My parents might have visited, but they are both long gone. When I was a teenager, my father died of a heart attack in the bed of another woman, an unfortunate occurrence that pretty much scarred me for life. My mother went later, after such a prolonged and agonizing battle with cancer that the first thing I did after she was buried was sign an advanced directive to ensure that I wouldn’t end up the way she did. But it looks like my death will be quicker than expected. Well, it will if Bowman doesn’t have good news today.
If Noel were alive, he would have come to visit me every chance he got—the irony, of course, being that if he were alive, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.
I can’t leave my cell without being shackled, so that is a process I go through before meeting with Bowman. In preparation for Rhea entering my cell, I have to stand against the wall with my hands planted on the chipping paint. Thenshe comes in and shackles both my wrists and ankles. After that’s done, I tense up, waiting for the pat-down.
“Don’t worry,” Rhea says in a voice that is not unkind. “I’ll be done quickly.”
Sometimes the pat-downs are agonizing, especially when a male guard is doing it. But as promised, Rhea is quick about it.
When Rhea is sufficiently satisfied that I am not packing heat in my tan prison jumpsuit, she escorts me to the area where Bowman is waiting for me with news on my appeal. As we walk, I once again hear that distant beeping sound from somewhere within the prison walls, and the sound gets louder until it suddenly dies down again. The silence is even worse, though, and with nothing to distract me from my thoughts, my stomach flip-flops. Is it possible that there’s good news waiting for me?
“How did Bowman look?” I ask Rhea.
She’s thoughtful for a moment. “He looked the same as always. Wearing a nice suit. Losing his hair a bit.”
“Was he smiling?”
She doesn’t hesitate this time. “No.”
Well, great.
Rhea leads me into the visiting area, which consists of a series of booths with glass partitions to separate me from anyone coming to visit. On either side of the glass is a stool and a bright-red phone so that I can communicate with my visitor without having to breathe the same air.
Thank God the prison has these shackles and glass to protect the rest of the world from me.
Clarence Bowman is seated in the booth nearest to the door. As Rhea warned me, he is wearing a nice suit. And his hairline is indeed receding.
And also, he is most definitely not smiling.
I sit down across from Bowman, and even when he’s looking right at me, his lips don’t twitch. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say anymore, but I may as well get this over with. My right hand trembles slightly as I reach for the phone on my side of the glass, and he does the same on his side.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello, Talia.”
