Page 7 of Freshman

“My dad might enjoy all that stuff. Don’t know and don’t care. Exactly his sentiments for me…”

That stumped the man in the cell, and he gave over his name with a huff. Alfie continued up the metal stairs, then asked for the names of the next thirty prisoners, one by one. It was a job that took the three of them twenty minutes on G-wing, and the insults were said with less venom and less promise. An hour passed, and Alfie was finally on the home straight.

Two more prisoners left, he knocked on cell door 149. The voice momentarily stunned him. Not the aggressive, deep tone he was expecting, but higher and softer. The feminine voice told him to go hang himself, and he looked over the railing, then shrugged.

“I didn’t bring my rope.”

The man in the cell laughed, deeper than his spoken voice.

“You could use your intestines after I cut you open.”

The nearest prisoners howled with agreement and boomed their hands together.

Alfie grimaced. “Sounds messy. I’d feel bad for the poor guy that would have to clean it up in the morning…”

“That’s my job, and I think I’d enjoy it.”

Alfie snorted and shook his head. “Name, please?”

“Tyrone Gear, but I’d prefer if you call me Queenie.”

Alfie ticked off Tyrone but didn’t move on from the door. He stewed the name over in his head before nodding.

“Queenie, it is.”

Queenie was one of the few who didn’t continue to hurl abuse his way. His cell fell silent, and a smile twitched on Alfie’s lips. He moved along to the next door, and before his fist struck the metal, a hissed word seeped through.

“Freshman.”

Alfie took an unconscious step back. With all the violent threats and foreshadowing of rape, he had forgotten about Nate. Even when Ryan told him he was to move to H-wing, the disappointment at a night shift blinded him from the most notorious prisoner.

Nate hissed the word again, and Alfie blinked when he realised the whole prison had gone silent. The sudden muteness was eerie, and he leaned over the railing to see the lobby below.

Marie and Glen both stood behind the gate. They peered up at him with their mouths open, and Alfie shrugged with a matching expression.

“Freshman…”

Alfie jolted at the voice. Nearer than before. It sounded like it rushed through the cracks of the door. A whisper of wind only meant for him. All the other prisoners had kept their distance. They’d hurled insults from their beds or threw whatever possessions they had at the door.

He knew Nate was out of bed, pressed right up against the metal. The door stood between them, and Alfie’s eyes lingered on the hinges and the chunky lock.

He was safe, but he didn’t feel it.

“Name,” Alfie said with all the confidence he could muster.

“I could say a name, but how do you know it’s really me? How do you know that any of the guys that answered you are who they said?”

Alfie mouthed at the air, thinking of a retort. Nate was right. One hundred and forty-nine prisoners had answered him, had given him the correct name for the cell, but it didn’t prove it was them. He didn’t know what any of the prisoners looked or sounded like.

“I’ve got you thinking, haven’t I, Freshman? Maybe to be on the safe side, you should open the hatch, check it’s really me.”

Alfie shook his head. “I know it’s you.”

“Oh? How?”

By the shiver of his skin, the sinking in his gut, and the chill at his neck. The voice, Nate’s masculine purr, affected him, and his body reacted.

Nate couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t see Nate, but he remembered the look, the way he’d dragged his gaze over Alfie’s body.

---