Page 35 of Whispers and Wildfire
Finally.
I hated every person in that stinking prison. The other inmates were nothing but lowlife scum. Idiots, all of them. The staff? Hypocrites. The guards? Bullies and overbearing tormentors.
Not a bit of that showed on my face. It never had. I’d made friends. Formed alliances. Given favors and gotten them in return. None of them saw the depths of my hatred. None of them knew I’d sooner slice them all open with a box cutter than listen to their sniveling voices.
Courting their favor had suited my purposes. I was good at doing what needed to be done to survive.
But finally—finally—it was over. My sentence complete.
I walked out wearing a used T-shirt and jeans that didn’t fit, carrying the few belongings I’d accumulated during my stay in a brown paper bag labeled with my name—RoswellMills. There wasn’t much. A few books, a hooded sweatshirt, my wallet, an extra pair of shoes.
My shoulders hunched forward as I shuffled behind the guard toward the exit. The posture of a penitent. I was sorry, yes, so very sorry, for my crimes. I kept my eyes downcast, a man beaten down and contrite. Quiet, unassuming. Not a danger to anyone.
“Nice day,” the guard said as he opened the door to my impending freedom.
The clear, blue Tennessee sky stretched above the prison, a stark contrast to the ugly walls and barbed wire.
“Beautiful,” I mumbled.
He led me through the outer gate, and without meaning to, I stopped. They were actually going to let me go free? After ten years, I could walk outside… unencumbered?
The guard glanced over his shoulder. “It’s okay. Everybody stops there.”
Impotent rage poured through me. I wasn’t everybody. I wasn’t like the other prisoners—thieves, thugs, drug dealers. I was better than them.
Or maybe worse.
I bottled up the rage, shoving it down so it wouldn’t show. So nothing would show. So I’d stay invisible.
“Just glad to be going free,” I said, not looking up.
“Of course. I’m happy for you, man.”
His voice held nothing but sincerity, but it was probably misplaced. If they knew what I was going to do, they’d have never let me out.
But that was simply because they didn’t understand.
The guard kept walking. My feet moved, and I followed him, eyes still on the ground. Words ran through my mind in a hideous whisper.
They still don’t see you. No one does.
With a shudder, I pushed the whisper away and kept walking.
Of course they didn’t see me. Didn’t really know who I was. How could they? I’d served time for credit card fraud. My sentence had been so long because I’d stolen more than sixty thousand dollars—a Class B felony in Tennessee.
I looked like nothing more than a petty thief—just greedy. A guy who found a way to make a quick buck and got caught.
My lips turned up in the hint of a smile. They had no idea.
“You have a ride coming to meet you, right?” the guard asked.
“Yes. My mother.”
“Hey, man, that’s great. Not everyone who gets out has family to go to.”
He led me through another gate and out to the sprawling parking lot. A worn-out white Dodge caravan was parked in one of the visitor spots, the engine running.
The driver’s side door opened, and my mother stepped out. The past ten years had not been kind to her. She had saggy, wrinkled skin and a thicker middle than I remembered.
