Free Lights Out by Nate Southard Page A

something unintelligible as Morrow walked away, not that he gave a shit what the con had to say. You had to pay some attention to these assholes, or else you might not see them coming until it was too late. Paying too much attention, though, would drive you crazy real quick.
    There was a fine line a good correctional officer had to walk. You had to balance being fair with being smart and being firm. You had to form relationships with your prisoners, get them to trust you so they wouldn’t try to stab you in the back, but you could never have faith in them. You could never get close, though. Close was only inches away from receiving a shank between your ribs. Morrow thought he walked the line pretty well, better than most of the younger guards, the John Wayne’s who thought the prisoners were their private whipping posts, at least. Their behavior made him sick.
    He walked past three more cells. At the fourth, he came to a stop.
    “What are you doing in there, Hollis?”
    Bobby, a computer fraud con in his mid-thirties, looked up from his bunk. “Me, Officer Morrow? I’m not doing anything, just minding my business and all.”
    “Good to hear.”
    “Officer,” Bobby said, rushing up to the bars, “Can I ask you a question?”
    “What is it?” he answered. He stepped closer to the cell, remaining casual.
    “Well, I was just wondering who I have to talk to in order to get the new Flight Simulator installed on some of the computers in the library.”
    “Flight Simulator, huh? You want to be a pilot or something?”
    “I just like the game, man,” Bobby answered as he slipped the folded bills between the bars. “It relaxes me. It’s not like I’m practicing to do an Al-Qaeda when I get out or anything like that.”
    “I don’t know.” He took the cash and pocketed it, retrieving the small glass vial at the same time. He pressed it into Bobby’s palm, and it disappeared. “I can ask around a little, see what I can find out. How’s that?”
    “That would be great.”
    He looked down his nose at Hollis. “You want me to come back tomorrow, let you know if I’ve found anything out?”
    The con flashed a stupid, enthused smile. “That would be awesome.”
    “Fine. See you tomorrow.”
    “I can’t wait, Officer.”
    Morrow watched Bobby shuffle back to his bunk and slouch into it. He turned away and started walking, made it three whole steps before he heard the snorting sounds. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore them. He had other deliveries to make. Lockdown wasn’t an excuse Ribisi was going to buy.
    Ten years, he’d been working in Burnham. Ten years climbing the shit-smeared ladder. Ten years in the palm of Anton’s Ribisi’s hand.
    His heels clicking on the walkway, he continued on his rounds, trying not to hate himself.
     
    ***
     
    Maggot spent the day on his bunk, curled in as tight a ball as he could manage. His eyes stood wide open, and he stared at the walkway outside his cell. He shivered, and his heart refused to slow to its normal pace. Every now and then, he would cry without making a sound, tears rolling down his face until his eyes ran dry. Whenever he cried, he saw Dr. Wilson lying twisted on the floor with the other two men, their blood spattered around the cold morgue, and he would quake harder. His body’s movements made the entire bed shake, and after a moment his cellmate--a large man whose name Maggot could never seem to remember--would tell him to cut it out before he beat Maggot’s ass three different shades of blue. He did it, too. Twice. And after each beating, Maggot just curled back up onto his bunk and stared out at the walkway again.
    Meals came and went, and still Maggot refused to leave his bunk. The guards tried to make him, but he told them he wasn’t feeling well. They asked him if he wanted to go to the infirmary, and he told them he would be fine if he could just lie still for a while. The guards believed him, and they left him alone. Even Nicholas only gave