First To Fall. Carys JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.
and I are going to get beautified at the local salon. They were more than happy for me to take her there whilst I got my hair done. I could never have done that in Chicago.’
‘See, we are already reaping the benefits. I’m home; you are now a God-fearing housewife…’
‘And since you are home, you can prepare tea tonight with me for a change.’
‘What is on the menu for chez Connelly?’
‘Spaghetti bolognaise.’
‘Ah, bellisimo!’
That evening was one of the most pleasant Aiden had experienced in a long time. He cooked dinner with his wife, played with his daughter, and as the sun set he didn’t feel exhausted and drained, he felt alive. He sprawled across the couch, glass of wine in hand, surrounded by cardboard boxes in various stages of unpacking. The house was slowly starting to come together and feel like home. Isla had already started to paint some of the walls which made a huge difference. A little time and a little love and it would be amazing. He looked out into the garden wistfully, imagining summer barbeques with friends, Meegan playing happily with Edmond’s grandson, Grant. The men enjoying ice-cold beers, the women nattering over some wine. Isla seemed to be settling in which was good news. This was all such a culture shock for her but she was taking it really well. Aiden assumed that finding the beauty salon had made a big impact on her mood. His wife loved to pamper and shop. Since shopping was confined to the few stores Avalon had to offer she would have to make do with pampering for now, not that he was complaining.
‘You coming to bed, baby?’ Isla asked from the doorway.
Aiden craned his neck to see her and noticed a familiar, knowing glint in her eyes. He sprang up from the couch and bounded upstairs like an excited schoolboy. Oh yes, he most certainly could get used to this life.
From the little research that Aiden had done, he knew that Eastham Ladies Penitentiary was a maximum security prison for the most serious offenders. This didn’t unnerve him too much as he had expected as much. In his ignorance he felt mildly relieved that it was a female prison, knowing how much more intimidated he would feel about his impending visit if it were a men’s institution. He had seen one too many prison movies and avoided male prisons as much as he could.
The previous night he had enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep and had awoken so refreshed he truly felt that he could take on the world. Full of optimism he kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and, with Betty’s directions, headed out to Eastham.
The prison was not hard to find, it was well signposted for pretty much the entire journey. Aiden had been driving along empty roads that seemed to lead to nowhere for a good forty minutes when a huge, grey castle appeared on the horizon. Instead of a moat there were rolling fields with various layers of electrical fencing. The gate was dozens of barriers and enforced metal doors which grudgingly slid open when he stated his name and purpose to the hard-faced security man. From a distance Eastham seemed strangely beautiful. A huge blot on the endless expanse of rolling prairies, it looked like something from another world. Aiden half expected to be greeted by Spock as he parked up and headed towards yet another guarded entrance.
All the outer walls were a dense grey, the only fleck of colour coming from the blue uniform worn by the guards. Despite being surrounded by luscious acres of green grass, none grew within the walls of the immense prison. Aiden wondered if this was a result of all the electrical fencing, or if nature just knew that she was not welcome here. This was a place for those who did not deserve to hear the sweet lullaby of birdsong, or breathe in the luscious scent of a blooming flower. Here, the condemned were at the last outpost before hell, but no doubt many felt like they were already there. Whilst from a distance Eastham looked impressive, once inside you realised just how imposing a structure can really be. Aiden had only just arrived but was already looking forward to being able to drive away.
‘Freedom’, he mused to himself, ‘is much too underrated’.
Inside was not much better. The air felt decidedly cooler and the indifferent grey of the stone had crept along the interior walls in the form of paint. Green doors, though the colour of baby sick, were a welcome break from the dismal decorating. Aiden was led along countless corridors, his footsteps echoing on the plastic-tiled floors. He was ushered through so many security gates that he began to worry if he was ever going to be able to get back out.
‘Prisoner 929 is in maximum security,’ the burly female guard had told him when he had finally made it to reception, her voice monotonous as if she had forgotten how to express emotion. He was currently being led by another, equally ample female form, down a labyrinth of corridors. His palms were sweaty and his attempts to make small talk had not even been acknowledged. The women who worked there were tough, he supposed that they had to be. But no matter how tough they were, he knew that they would be no match for what lay behind the locked doors which they were now passing by. Aiden had expected hands grasping through railings, voices crying out their innocence, but all was quiet. Those cells he passed where you could see in, the lone occupants were sat, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring space; none so much as fluttered an eyelid as he clomped past.
Finally he was motioned into a small room where one wall was made entirely of Perspex glass. Beyond the glass, there was a lone chair facing him which was flanked by two guards. On Aiden’s side of the glass there was a basic desk and chair.
‘929 will be with you shortly,’ the woman told him. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’
Aiden nodded and thanked her but she was already gone before the words had even left his mouth. He moved the chair and positioned himself opposite the currently vacant chair. Placing his briefcase on the desk he took out a Dictaphone and a notebook. He had no idea what to expect from Prisoner 929.
‘Are you ready?’ one of the guards asked from the other side. Aiden merely nodded in response.
‘Send her in!’ the other guard yelled. Her. It was the first acknowledgment that Brandy White was indeed a woman and not just a number.
Prisoner 929 was ushered into the room. She was wearing a garish orange jumpsuit and her hands were handcuffed. Eyes trained to the floor she obediently followed the guard’s instructions and sat herself down in the chair opposite Aiden. Still she did not look up. She placed her cuffed hands in her lap and he noticed how tiny they were. The thick metal bracelets overwhelmed her small wrists so much so that he wondered if she could easily free herself from her constraints if she so desired. Not that the guards needed to worry if she did come free. When she shuffled in Aiden assessed that she was no more than 5ft 1 and incredibly petite in build. They could easily lift her up with one arm. Her bleach-blonde hair fell in waves upon her shoulders and down her back. She appeared like a fairy child, not a murdering monster. Finally she raised her eyes to meet his and Aiden looked upon his first client in Avalon.
His breath caught in his throat for a moment as he gazed at Brandy White. She was devastatingly beautiful. Her lips were a deep red, plump and permanently pouting, the skin which was exposed on her face and hands was as white and as delicate as the finest china. Her face was a perfect heart shape, with a delicate button nose. But it was her eyes which had captivated Aiden. They were so round and wide in her little head, the colour of autumn leaves, fringed with dark, curled lashes. Her eyes bore into his, questioning, confused.
‘Mrs. White, I am your attorney, my name is Aiden Connelly.’ He noticed her relax at his introduction.
‘How do you do, Mr. Connelly?’ Her voice was soft and melodic, laced in a lazy Southern drawl. ‘I thought you might be a priest.’
‘A priest?’
‘Yes, sir. I asked them if I could see a priest but I haven’t been visited yet.’
‘Why do you want to see a priest?’
Brandy seemed alarmed by his question.
‘Why,