Chapter 4 - THE DEATH ROW CORRIDOR: INSIDE THE MAXIMUM SECURITY WALLS
The maximum security prison in Greenstone County smelled of floor wax, industrial bleach, and raw, suffocating despair. The air was heavy with the collective weight of hundreds of men and women trapped in cages, their humanity stripped away by steel bars and fluorescent bulbs that hummed with a low, maddening frequency.
Douglas had insisted on driving us. He sat in the front passenger seat of my sedan, staring out the window as the grim concrete walls of the penitentiary rose out of the misty landscape like a medieval fortress.
"I’ll wait in the car," Douglas said as I pulled into the visitor parking lot. "Some doors are not meant to be walked through twice."
"You came all this way. Aren't you going to say goodbye?" I asked, testing him.
Douglas shook his head, a dark shadow passing over his features. "My goodbyes were said six years ago, the day my brother was taken from us. Go on. Get it over with."
I left him in the car and walked into the intake building with Mason trailing closely behind me, his small hand gripping the sleeve of my jacket so tightly I could feel his knuckles brushing against my arm.
The security screening was brutal. Metal detectors, pat-downs, bag checks, and the cold, indifferent stares of armed guards who treated every visitor like a potential threat. We were led down a long, sterile corridor painted a depressing shade of institutional green, past heavy steel doors with thick glass windows behind which prisoners sat in silent isolation.
Finally, we reached the private visitation booth—a small, square room divided down the middle by a thick sheet of reinforced Plexiglas. A pair of bolted-down metal chairs sat on either side, and a low-frequency intercom system hummed between them.
We waited for five minutes in suffocating silence.
Then, the side door clicked open.
My mother walked in, escorted by two armed guards. She was wearing the standard-issue orange jumpsuit, her hair cut short and graying at the temples. She looked infinitely smaller than she had six years ago. The weight of her impending execution had hollowed out her cheeks, leaving her skin stretched tight over her cheekbones like parchment paper.
Yet, as she sat down in the metal chair and looked through the glass, her posture was ramrod straight.
She picked up the heavy black telephone receiver on her side of the partition. Mason and I quickly lifted the receivers on ours.
"Mom," I choked out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
My mother’s lips curved into a soft, heartbreakingly familiar smile. Her eyes swept over me, drinking in every detail of my face, before settling on Mason.
"My babies," she whispered, her voice carrying through the static-laced intercom. "You came. I was so afraid you wouldn't come."
"We wouldn't miss this for the world, Mom," I said, tears finally breaking free and spilling down my cheeks.
"I’m sorry I won’t be here to watch you grow up," she whispered, her gaze locking onto Mason, who was already trembling violently, his eyes fixed on her face. "I’m sorry I couldn't protect you from all of this. But you must be strong, Elena. And Mason... you take care of your sister. Promise me."
Mason didn't answer immediately. He dropped his telephone receiver, stood up, and pressed his hands flat against the Plexiglas partition as if trying to reach through the solid barrier.
"Mom," Mason sobbed, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing intensity that made the armed guards tense up instantly. "Mom, don't leave. Please don't leave."
My mother knelt as far as her waist restraints allowed, pressing her palms against the glass on her side, trying to match the position of his hands.
"I love you, my sweet boy," she whispered, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "Always remember that."
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Then, in the heavy silence of the visitation room, so softly that even the guards almost missed it, Mason murmured words that would shatter the universe into a million jagged pieces:
"Mom... I know who put the knife under your bed."
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