Free By Reason of Insanity by Randy Singer Page B

years, every one of those boys is going to be asking you out."
    Sierra made a face. "Those boys are lame."
    "You just keep a mental list of all their names," Quinn responded. "When you get to high school and they start asking you out, tell them to go find some girls with short, stubby legs."
    Sierra didn't smile, but Quinn thought he detected a little glint of pride in her eyes. He realized that he would probably make a lousy dad, teaching a thirteen-year-old girl about the fine art of revenge in order to build her self-esteem. Some men just weren't cut out to be fathers.
    There was another long silence as they headed back to the house. "Are we going to win next time?" Sierra eventually asked.
    "Oh yeah," Quinn assured her. "We are definitely going to win."
    "What happened last time?"
    "We just got a bad jury. That's all. It won't happen again."

18

    The minutes ticked by for Catherine O'Rourke on day two of her involuntary confinement. How can someone ever serve a ten-year sentence? How does anybody do this for life?
    The blows to her dignity and sanity came from all directions. She had barely slept the previous night. Three times a deputy had come around and shone a flashlight in Cat's eyes as part of the shift counts. At 4:30 a.m., a deputy had come by to rouse the prisoners from sleep, and the screeching voice of another deputy came over the loudspeaker, barking out names and commands for the day. When Cat used the toilet, an inmate from the cell across the hall stood and watched.
    Cat shot her a disapproving look that only made the woman sneer. "You'd better get used to it, Barbie," the woman said.
    The nickname was a carryover from Cat's first day in the slammer. Most of the inmates were housed in two-story "pods"--groups of fourteen cells that opened into a common area containing bolted-down metal tables and benches as well as a wall-mounted television set. Prisoners like Cat, who were serving time in solitary, stayed in a separate wing composed of single cells on each side of the hall. A few other prisoners, however, occasionally passed through the hallway in front of Cat's cell. One of them, a woman with a buzz cut, had said, "Look, it's the brunette Barbie. Hey, Barbie, you're gonna be my baby doll." The inmates within earshot had laughed, and the name, like everything else in prison, had spread like wildfire.
    Cat felt the book she was reading slip from her hand and realized she had been dozing. For most of her second day, she had remained sprawled out on her cot, reading a James Patterson thriller, one of several books Marc Boland had provided. Now she closed the book and placed her head on the pillow, facing the wall. The inmates' shouts from the pods or other cells on her hall became a distant hum as Cat dozed in and out, completely exhausted. In a strange way, she was almost too tired to sleep, her body wired to run or fight or somehow survive this awful experience.
    That's when he entered her cell.

    She saw him reflected on the cinder block wall, which had turned into a mirror. She clutched the pillow tightly, keeping her eyes nearly closed, not daring to breathe. Maybe he would go away if he thought Catherine was sleeping.
    Catherine didn't recognize the man, though the sight of him paralyzed her with fear. He was tall, maybe six-two or six-three, and solidly built, as if he spent half his life in the gym. He wore baggy jeans and no shirt. An African-American man with close-cropped hair, a three-day stubble, a broad nose, and molten eyes. Tattoo ink covered the upper half of his body.
    He stood on the opposite side of the cell, leering at Catherine as she slept. She wanted to cry out but feared the deputies would be too slow to respond, too late to save her. Instead, she held her breath, deathly still, waiting for her visitor to make the first move.
    Instead of attacking, he turned toward a corner of the cell, as if he heard something. The leer disappeared, replaced by a look of sadness, and a single tear