Page 1 of The Freshman

Chapter One

Alfie thought about hurling insults,he thought about punching Ryan in the face, but in the end, herolled his eyes and stomped his heel to the floor. The angry clompdidn’t stop the snort of amusement from the man strollingaway.

For the past few months, Alfie hadbeen subjected to hundreds of colorful new names. Being called adipshit arse-wipe by the prisoners was preferable over what thestaff called him. Rookie, newbie, fish, tender meat—they were a fewof his new names from his colleagues.

“It’s Alfie.” He hissed,then turned and leaned against the metal gate.

Alfie, that was all his mother gavehim. His name that sounded too soft for the world, a weak name hewas determined to strengthen. He was the youngest prison officer towork at Larkwood in decades, but so far, he’d only be assigned tothe brain numbing nightshift. Every time a post opened up on days,Ryan, his superior officer, always denied him. He said it wasbecause he was too inexperienced, but he couldn’t get anyexperience until they shoved him on days, even working thevisitor’s corridor would’ve been a step up.

Ryan didn’t like Alfie’s age, and hedidn’t like that he was from the care-system. He never said it, butAlfie strongly believed Ryan thought he was a plant in the prisonby one of the cons.

“Have a good night,Rook.”

Alfie didn’t turn at the taunt. Hebreathed deep and exhaled to an internal count of ten.

The day shift had just handed over tothe night staff. The graveyard shift where the very walls lookedlike they were shifting in the darkness. He stood inside G-wing,behind him was the lobby, and on the opposite side was another gatethe led to H-wing. The lobby acted as a space to ferry prisonersthrough whatever gate they needed to go. Whether that was to thehospital, the visiting area, the church, or the classrooms. Alfieimagined it was bustling with activity during the day, but at nightit was an echoing chasm.

Staring straight aheadwithout blinking, the darkness bled into Alfie’speripheral,until onlyblack splodges remained, forming faces, sinister ones that put theprisoners to shame. The prisoners had been locked up since seven.All of them accounted for in the droning roll call. It wassurprisingly quiet, and the only sound came from behindhim.

The office where the night staffmunched on doughnuts and drank coffee after coffee. Where the lackof activity turned them to zombies, and the tug of weighted eyelidwas too much. People never grassed on those officers that fellasleep, but it did irritate Alfie that it was always the same one.Henry, wrinkled and frail, had wisps of white hair hanging from theback of his creased neck. They might’ve been attached, but Alfiesuspected they had been trapped in his folds of wrinkles or hadbeen stuck there with glue.

Henry believed himself to be a craftybastard. He lounged in a worn chair facing one of the camera feedsfrom the bottom floor.

Dark green sunglasses covered hiseyes. He claimed they helped with his apparent glaucoma, buteveryone knew it was to hide, so he could nap. Once Alfie walkedright up to him, clicked his fingers, rudely gestured, then finallypicked up a stack of heavy books and dropped them from aheight.

Henry had jolted forward so violentlythe glasses had flung from his face, and he threatened to clipAlfie around the ear for trying to kill him.

Six of them worked the night shift,three officers assigned to each wing. The two others with Henrywere Ben and Dan. Identical twins with identical mullets, and aftertwo months Alfie still couldn’t tell them apart. They had identicalsmoking habits too, and often left the lobby to satisfy them. Henryand the twins were assigned to H-wing, while Alfie was assigned toG, alongside Marie and Glen.

“Hey, newbie?”

Alfie cocked his jaw, then flashed anirritated expression over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Marie’s cheeks were bright red, andshe shifted from foot to foot like she was desperate for a piss.Behind her stood Glen, grinning manically, and staring down Marie’sopen shirt as she jiggled side to side. She didn’t need a piss, butthey were heading for the staff toilets.

“We heard a noise, gonnago check it out.”

Alfie nodded his head patronizinglyslow. “Sure, and when I hear wails and moans, I’ll just assume it’sthe ghost that haunts our shift…”

She cocked her head and wore anexpression of bewilderment.

Glen leaned over and bobbed his head.“Thanks, bro.”

Alfie tutted and turned back to facethe prison. “Don’t mention it.”

At least ‘bro’ was better than all theother names that had been thrown his way.

Henry always fell asleep, the twinstook smoking breaks every ten minutes, and Marie and Glendisappeared for their intimate ghost hunts. Eighteen, and Alfiebehaved the most professional out of all of them. It was somberthought, and he shuddered. He had to grow up fast in the caresystem, and he prided himself on being mature for his age, focusedunlike his peers. His colleagues taught him with age, came lesscare. If they did the bare minimum, and got paid, they were happy.That was maturity in the workplace.

Alfie ran his eyes along all theclosed doors, imagining the prisoners inside, most of them fastasleep.

In the center of the room was a metalstaircase that led to the next rows of cells, and then another thatled to the second level of convicts. Those were considered the moredesirable cells, private cells instead of bunks. Those well-behavedprisoners could even buy curtains, luxurious duvet sets, and paintthe walls as long as it was approved.

It was an incentive to do well—get tothe top and you can make your cell a home. Fall from grace and findyourself at the bottom, where you’re welcomed by a bed of nails anda chilly draft from the outside world.

The gate screeched open behind him,but he didn’t turn to see who it was. There were tapping feet,murmured voices, and then the startled croak of Henry. The officerswho had strolled into the prison exchanged small talk with him, butthey were too far away for Alfie to hear clearly.

“Freshman.”

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