Free Black Ransom by Stone Wallace Page B

Lee felt a twinge of hurt, as the photograph was a reminder of Melinda.
    Watson concluded his briefing with: “It’s after six and you missed tonight’s supper. Y’might as well go direct to your cell. Breakfast is at five a.m. Workday starts at six.” He focused his attention on some other paperwork laid out on his desk and added curtly, “Dismissed, Burrows.”
    Ehron Lee was taken to another building. There were three such enclosures, each situated on the north, east, and west sides of the compound. Each was a long, rectangular, one-level structure comprised of large chunks of granite with rows of about twenty evenly spaced barred windows all facing south, but opening upon a view that extended no farther than the high walls of the prison. Each block was supervised by a captain. Mr. Brady was the captain in charge of the block that Ehron Lee would be occupying.
    The interior was dark and depressing. The cells were separated into sections of four units, with each unit walled off from the next. A heavy wooden door with a sliding bolt lock on the outside provided entry to each. A guard was responsible for supervising each of these units. There was a narrow corridor running lengthwise between the entrance to the block and the cells, and on the width of wall between the first two cells was a wooden peg on which hung a large ring holding four oversized metal keys, positioned so that the ring was far out of reach from either of the two cells.
    The cell itself was small and cramped, measuring eight feet by seven feet, and an unpleasant odor permeated the air. There were three bunks fastened to the walls by chains, two on one side and one on the other. If as the superintendent said there was occasion to fit four men into a cell, one would have to sleep on the floor.
    Once Mr. Brady turned the key, locking the new arrival inside the cell, Ehron Lee noticed his cell mate, lying on the top bunk, on his side facing the wall. He was lying very still, didn’t even seem to be breathing. Maybe he was asleep, maybe not. Ehron Lee was in no rush to get acquainted and so just sat himself on the bunk against the opposite wall.
    After a while the man spoke.
    â€œYou don’t gotta mouse around. I ain’t sleepin’.”
    Slowly, he shifted his body and turned to face Ehron Lee. At first his face was partially shadowed, but it soon came full into the fading light of day.
    Ehron Lee’s first glimpse of the man almost caused his breath to catch in his throat.
    He had witnessed all manner of terrible sights during the war: mutilation, disfigurement. After a while, if only to maintain his sanity, he’d become immune to most. But the face looking at him now truly chilled him.
    It didn’t even resemble a face, really, but rather, a ghastly mask.
    The flesh was as white as a freshly laundered sheet. The only coloring evident was a long, brownish-red scar that stretched from the far corner of the right eye down to the upper lip. The eye drooped, veered outward, and had a twitch, suggesting that it had just escaped being permanently put out. A black bowler rested atop the head, under which long white hair, almost translucent, flowed straight and stringy over the shoulders and halfway down the back.
    Gradually the man sat himself upright, his short legs dangling over the side of his bunk. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just observed his new cell mate intently, boring into him with pale, lifeless eyes.
    Ehron Lee tried not to appear ill at ease, and he kept shifting his eyes so they would not be drawn particularly to the disfiguring scar. The wound was deep and evidently had never properly healed. Perhaps because of the prominent scar and affected eye, the man’s face seemed sort of lopsided.
    His odd appearance made it difficult to determine his age: maybe late teens, early twenties. Whether he was, in fact, a younger man or if it was due to his strange condition, there was no