Page 14 of No Way Back
I shine my light next to the door, where the plastic casing holds data sheets for the inmates. There’s a greenband on the top of the paper, and it reads my least favorite set of words:
Child Molesters.
“What’s in here?” she asks again, a little more annoyed that I’m withholding information she can’t see at her height.
“Pedophiles.”
Her groan is both of frustration and excitement, and I quickly turn the flashlight off so we don’t become a point of focus.
“Babyyyy.” She drags the second syllable like it's a request, like she’s waiting for permission, because she knows I’m well aware of what she wants.
“Hmm?” She’s gonna need to ask for it, though.
“Remember when I said ‘let’s not discriminate?’Well, I want to discriminate.Bad.”Her whisper is practically a yell.
“Say what you want.” I slip my hand under her mask, wrapping her throat in my hold.
I’m not putting any pressure, but she strains as if I was. “Let me play.”
I hum in amusement, loving the way her pulse picks up under my touch. “How can I say no?”
She’s out of my range of vision immediately, but the flood of worry is only momentary. I hear the handle of her ax hittingevery bar as she makes her way to the end of the cell block. She joins the clanging of metal with her own melody, whistling “Twisted Nerve” flawlessly.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice calls from one of the cells.
Her voice comes from deep in the shadows, “God.”
The inmates begin to shout. They aren’t stupid; dark or not, they’ve heard shit go down. Their panic is nearly palpable, the rattling of the bars filling the space along with their protests.
“Now, now,” Camila sings, her voice getting louder, as if she’s walking toward my end of the block again. “I could be your savior.”
She’s so unhinged, and I’ve never been more in love.
Their clamoring turns into a roar of begging, calling for God to get them out of here.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” She puts on that sickly sweet voice, the one I know means she’s sharpening her canines.
I hear the inmate’s nervous stutter before he steadies his words. “S-six years.”
Camila’s tongue clucks loudly, echoing off the walls. “I said,whatare you doing here.” Her tone drops an octave, no longer playful. “This isn’t the army. I don’t give a fuck how long you’re serving.”
“S-statutory,” the man says quietly.
“Oh?” Camila fakes interest.
“She said she was eighteen. I-I swear, I thought she was eighteen!”
I hear her snort. “Sure ya did.” In a few seconds, I can feel her in front of me again. “Turn the flashlight on and gimme that folder.”
I illuminate the documents near the door, pulling them down. “Give me the deets, Professor,” she says in a teasing tone. I’m not her teacher anymore, but she knows what it does to me when she gives me a grain of authority over her.
I open the folder and point the light. “Andrew Forester.” I hear a grunt to my left, and I don’t have to guess that their files are in order with their cages. “Indecent exposure.”
Camila cackles, “Creep!” She bangs the metal of her ax on the bars, the sound jarring and abrasive. “Next!” We walk side by side, like we’re picking out a puppy at the animal shelter, deciding which one is just right for our needs.
“Greg John—”
“Ehn!” She cuts me off with a buzzer sound. “Never met a single Greg I’ve liked.” She s ahead, letting her weapon dangle beside her, fingers softly grazing each iron bar. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo.” She hops with both boots at once and stops in front of a cell, giving me nothing but a tilt of her head.
