Kellen sat back, his gears clearly turning. After a moment, his resolve was apparent. “Well, I think I know.”
Kellen walked brisklythrough the terminal, a determined look on his face. He was on a mission, his bag slung over his shoulder, heading towards his gate. When his flight was called, he handed over his boarding ticket to the attendant, granting her the obligatory smile, and then he headed down the breezeway. Minutes later, he was seated, buckled in, and headed for his destination.
The following morning, he woke bright and early and called a cab.
As Kellen slid into the taxi, he leaned against the seat of the musty sedan smelling of fast food and air freshener.
“Where you headin’?” the driver asked.
Kellen handed the driver a piece of paper with the address—a location that elicited a puzzled look from the old man behind the driver’s wheel.
The seat, upholstered in once vibrant but now faded and slightly worn fabric, hinted at the cab’s years of service. In the front, the dashboard was adorned with an array of personal mementos and trinkets belonging to the driver, including family photos wedged between the speedometer and the fuel gauge, and a small, bobbing-head dog positioned on the rearview mirror.
“Going to visit family?” the nosy driver asked.
“No,” came Kellen’s reply. “Just a…friend.”
Okay, that was a little white lie. But the situation warranted a white lie and more.
As the cab wove through the city streets, the soft buzz of the radio played in the background, the driver occasionally humming along to a familiar tune. The back seat offered a confined space, just enough for Kellen to stretch his legs slightly before they bumped against the seat in front at the next curve. Every turn and stop brought a chorus of creaks and groans from the vehicle, telling the tale of its many journeys.
Looking out of the slightly tinted windows, Kellen watched the world blur by, the rhythmic motion of the cab almost soothing. Despite the cab’s humble and worn interior, there was a sense of life and stories within its confines, a silent witness to the countless individuals it had transported. As they approached the prison, the realization of their destination cast a somber shadow over the journey, turning Kellen’s attention away from the cab to thoughts of what awaited him at the end of the ride.
What he had in mind was a win-or-lose proposition. The stakes were high.
He only hoped that the scales would tip in the right direction and this one would land in the win column.
33
Kellen reached the front entry door and stepped into the large, old brick building and out of the baking Texas sun, the inside air a welcome respite from the heat emanating from the concrete. Despite the cooler temperature, sweat formed on his scalp.
A woman officer dressed in a blue shirt, damp at the underarms, stepped forward. “I’ll need your driver’s license.” She thrust a clipboard at Kellen. “Sign at the designated spot and put the time next to your name.” She tilted her head toward a large clock on the opposite wall. “And place your belongings in the basket.”
He swallowed and did as he was told. When finished, he held up the basket to the officer.
The woman pointed to a wall lined with lockers and handed him a key. “Over there.”
As soon as Kellen stored his belongings, he glanced around, confused about where to go next. An older black lady with white hair gave him a toothy smile and pointed toward a metal door with a sign posted above that read “Visitors Holding Room.”
Kellen gave the lady a token nod of gratitude and followed a crowd of people moving in that direction. After passing through the metal detector, he was patted down by another female officer, who smelled of cigarettes and maple syrup. “Wait over there,” the woman said, pointing to metal chairs lined up against a pea-green wall in bad need of paint.
He nodded and scanned for an empty chair, then sat to wait.
A man moved past, mopping the floor. His shoes made a slight squeaky sound every time he sludged forward, slowly pulling the dirty-looking mop across the speckled linoleum floor.
Kellen leaned his head back against the cold, hard wall of the holding room, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see countless young girls waiting to see their baby daddies. The sight was far too depressing.
“Kellen Warner?”
The booming voice caused him to startle. He glanced about the room. “Me?” he asked.
The officer with the clipboard heaved a sigh laced with boredom. “Your name Warner?”
Kellen nodded and stood. He followed the officer through the door and down a long hallway with windowless walls the color of dried mud.
He was led through a heavy metal door into a room less than half the size of his tiny kitchen at home. A barrier cut the room in half, the upper portion made of glass grimy with handprints. The scene was straight out of a television episode ofCSI.
Kellen turned to thank the officer, but he was now alone. Nervous, he slid into the empty chair on his side of the barrier.
