entire
world seemed to consist of the computer screen and keyboard in front of him.
“We’re at almost double our capacity and short-staffed.” He answered her unasked question
with a defensive tone as if she should just beg forgiveness and leave him the hell
alone. “You’ll have to wait.”
“For how long?” Caitlyn asked. The reception hall was already filling with families
queuing for visitation.
“Look, lady, you either wait here or sit in an interview room.”
“I’ll take the interview room.” Better than standing here being scrutinized by resentful
women and risk being contaminated by snotty-nosed kids. Another strike against Paul—he
wanted a family, would make the perfect father, while she’d be Mommy Dearest at best.
Growing up, her friends all loved her mother because Jessalyn Tierney treated them
like adults, the same way she treated her daughter. No coddling, although plenty of
hugs and kisses, but mostly a determination that her daughter would be strong. Stronger than her father was the unspoken refrain that colored every moment of their life together.
Watching her mom stand so strong against her grief, while also being treated like
an adult, expected to fend for herself since the age of nine, hadn’t cultivated any
maternal instincts in Caitlyn. Just the opposite: To her kids were miniature aliens
from a strange planet invading her world.
“Suit yourself.” He waved to another guard, who made her fill out more forms as he
took her weapon and locked it into a drawer, then ushered her through the metal detector.
The second guard, Smith was his name, seemed in a better mood than the first. They
walked to the visitation area, passing through several layers of doors. Once they
were inside he led her down a hallway, nodding to two inmates mopping the floor and
a guard juggling a cup of coffee while turning a key in a door leading to the monitoring
room.
“So this is why I’m starting my shift early,” the second guard said to Smith, eyeing
Caitlyn. “Guess it’s worth it.”
The two inmates looked sideways at her and she stared right back. One, a black man
with short dreadlocks, smiled a hopeful smile. Caitlyn arched an eyebrow at him in
incredulity. His partner laughed and elbowed him back to work.
Smith led her past the three of them to an entrance to a corridor. Inside there were
interview rooms along one side, ringing the main visitation area. The interview room
was empty except for two vinyl chairs, too light to be used as weapons, and a table
bolted to the floor. Two walls were solid, white cinder block, while the two with
doors were made of reinforced glass, floor-to-ceiling, thick enough that as soon as
the door closed behind her, all noises of the prison block died.
Smart design, Caitlyn thought. Privacy but without the need for additional staff to
monitor them. The single man operating the video feeds and watching out the observation
window above them could handle it all.
“Not sure how long it will be,” Smith told her. “He’ll be coming through the inmate
entrance.” He pointed out the window to the secured glass doorway on the other side
of the large general visitation room. “If you need anything, here’s the intercom.”
His radio buzzed. He raised it to his lips, gave her a wave, and left, the door shutting
with a thud behind him.
Caitlyn took a seat and faced away from the door she’d come in through, out the glass
wall opposite. The second door and window led to the general visitation hall, a large
cafeteria-like room with chairs swiveling out from round tables. There was a play
corner for kids; the far wall was lined with vending machines. If not for the guard
sitting inside a glassed-in monitoring room one level above or the signs reminding
visitors and inmates of the rules, it could have been a low-priced family-style fast-food
joint.
The inmate entrance was below the monitoring
Learning to Kill: Stories