The wind screamed and whipped up brittle leaves like corn flakes in a blender. I shivered as the bitter November storm raging outside buffeted against the flexi-glass as if demanding to be let in. The tarnished, unbreakable excuse for a window, allowing me a distorted glimpse of a world I was no longer allowed to be part of - at least outside the confines of my head. I watched as murky droplets of rain slid reluctantly to the bottom of it and fell to a ground I had not walked on for almost three months.
The light afforded by my unfailing companion the early evening moon was minimal, barely outlining my meagre furnishings. I could scarcely make out the silhouette of my rarely used, unyielding bed and the partition which separated the toilet from the rest of my cell. There was nothing else to see; save for a long-time-redundant shelf, an unopened book languishing resentfully on it.
I pressed my forehead against the pane, chilly fingers of cold creeping over my skin and starting a dull ache in my skull as I stared longingly out into the darkness; but I barely felt it. In my mind I was out there, could smell the night, was part of it. I could hear the whup-whup of wings as an owl hunted to survive against an ominous sky and the muffled, far-away screams floating on sinister breezes through the blackness and into my senses, I could feel it - but most of all - I could feel her.
35946JJ, that's me. I couldn't forget it as much as I tried; it is printed on everything I own in here; the sleeve and pocket of my once white boiler suit, my equally grey and only towel and the sliding tag on my door, I was just another digit in a list of many and more to follow. My reason for being there however, set me apart somewhat from the others detainees.
As my mind wandered like a drunk through a maze, taking me to the one place I remained untouchable, I tried to imagine how she was coping, if she was thinking about me. She was my alter ego, my soul mate, the other part of me and I wasn't coping without her, but she was on the outside, probably continuing our quest and doing it alone.
The bell announcing supper reverberated through my present home: The I.C.D.W. - The Institute for Criminally Dangerous Women, a.k.a The Icehouse.
It ricocheted off metal rafters, seeped through the clogged pores of breezeblock walls and resonated in my ears as the tears slid down my pale cheeks, blurring my normally acustomed night-vision. I soaked them up with the swipe of a sleeve. I was feared in here, respected; couldn't allow any displays of weakness. While the others were in awe of me, they left me alone, helping to make my hopefully brief spell in this concrete prison bearable.
The unexpected sound of keys jangling against my door roused me and I shielded watery eyes as it opened and the artificial landing light flooded my cell. I squinted at the slender silhouette leant casually against the frame.
"Miss Jordan?" a sweet, singsong voice enquired.
"Yeah, none other." I answered, sniffing.
The figure moved through my door and in to the light. I sensed immediately from her elocution and sharp dress that she was no guard.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, unable to keep the curiosity from my question. Since I'd been here, nobody had allowed themselves to get too close to me if it wasn't absolutely necessary, let alone enter my cell. Adding to my surprise, she sat on the bed.
"I wondered if we could have a chat?" She more or less demanded, it wasn't a question, "I like to get to know all the residents, no matter what they're in for." She gave me her eyes as she said this, to show me that she wasn't intimidated by my crimes.
I smiled and regarded her with interest, meeting her stare. I didn't speak for a while, but she refused to look away, hazel eyes steadfast in the semi-darkness. Finally, when I realised she wasn't going to be deterred by my behaviour; I sat down next to her. Remaining resolute, she made no attempt to move, didn't even appear to be aware of my physical nearness, immediately, she had my respect. I relaxed slightly, "This is an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. I haven't exactly had an influx of visitors," I said and meant it.
"Well, you can hardly blame people for staying away now, can you?" she asked with a smile.
I searched for a hint of patronisation and found none. Shrugging noncommittally and leaning back, I said, "People make their own minds up, I haven't even been to trial yet. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" The unoriginality of my question made me inwardly cringe.
She laughed, a warm, genuine sound, like wind charms tinkling on a summer breeze, suddenly my cell didn't feel so cold or lonely. "Jessie? I can call you Jessie can't I?"
I nodded my consent, as if she needed it.
"Jessie, you were found over a body, they have matched your DNA to every murder scene with the same MO since 2003 and you don't have an alibi for any of those dates," she looked at me, "there's not a lot of room for innocence."
I saw her point and the fact was, I wasn't innocent, nor did I care. It was irrelevant; when the time came I would leave. I shrugged, "Ok, you got me there Miss..?"
"Governer Carlisle, but you can call me Lisa."
"Tut, tut!" I exclaimed shaking my head, teasing her, "I hope you're not affording me any special treatment Ms. Carlisle. You know what the others would think to that."
She smiled slightly, "And I know that you don't care. No-one will bother you Jessie and I know you know it," she stated.
I dragged my eyes up to meet hers, "Is that why you're here? Do you want me on side?
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