Page 49 of The Mood Board

Chapter 18

Liam

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I LOOKED UP FROM MYbook at the sound of heavy footsteps. I was, unfortunately, getting used to the routines around here, from mealtime to shower time to recreation time. I was even seeing the pattern in the guards’ schedule as they made their rounds—and this wasn’t a usual part of their rounds.

Turning back to my book, I tried to focus on the words, but all I could hear was the footsteps growing closer. I wasn’t even sure why the sound of the guard walking down the cell block had me on edge—it wasn’t like I had done anything to get into trouble, and they had never touched me beyond what duty called for. And yet tension began in my shoulders and shivered through me.

“For you or me?”

“Huh?” I turned my head toward my cellmate and realized he was looking at me with a crooked grin.

“What do you think? For you or me?” he asked again,

It was an odd question, but he was odd. Short and thin with wild tufts of hair and a wild grin, he was like a character from a novel. He often seemed to speak in riddles for no apparent reason when he wasn’t rambling on about random subjects. He appeared to be harmless enough, for which I was glad, but it had made what was already a jarring experience truly bizarre.

“It could be for anyone else down the row,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t pull me into one of his odd, one-sided conversations that still required my attention. If I ignored him, he often grew agitated.

Thankfully, he didn’t get the chance. He had just opened his mouth to begin the flow of words when the guard stopped at our cell. It was the same one as the day Bailey had come to visit.

“Visitor, Mr. Bradford,” he said, still without inflection.

I perked up. It was probably my lawyer, who I knew would be coming in the next day or so to discuss what he had found and what we could do about it. We’d briefly met after my arraignment, but I desperately needed a more thorough discussion and a clear path forward. Otherwise, I was afraid I might sink to the bottom of the pit forming under me.

Remembering what had happened the last few times I’d done this, I was more ready for the long walk, the scrutiny, and the searches before he led me to the room with visitor booths.

It wasn’t my lawyer but Bailey sitting on the other side of the glass. Instantly, the world seemed brighter despite the gloom that surrounded the prison.

I was in the chair and saying her name before I had the receiver to my ear. Bailey was slower to pick up the phone, her hand hesitating a heartbeat before she nodded to herself and pulled it resolutely toward her own ear.

“Bailey,” I repeated. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Hi, Liam,” Bailey said, but she didn’t smile.

It was an odd greeting, her tone quiet and reticent, and it made me pause and truly look at her. She was pale today, dark circles under puffy eyes as if she had been crying recently. Her mascara was slightly smudged, as though she had tried to wipe away the evidence before coming in here.

More than that, her shoulders were hunched, and she looked withdrawn, as though she wished to be anywhere else. I knew we both did—who wanted to be in a prison?—but this was something more.

Something was wrong.

“Bailey?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” she began, then her mouth snapped shut, her shoulders rising and falling with rapid breaths.

What was so terrible that she couldn’t say it?

“Bailey, what’s wrong?” I repeated.

She stared at me through the glass, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears even as she worked to get her emotions under control. I felt my own anxiety spike—what else could have possibly happened? But it probably wouldn’t make any difference. Trapped in here, amid this mess, I was helpless to do anything about it.

“Bailey—” I put my hand up to the glass, just as I had before, but she didn’t mirror me this time, both hands clenched around the receiver until her knuckles were white, and I felt a prickle of unease. “Bailey, sweetheart, what’s going on? Please tell me.”

For a moment, she shifted, her eyes widening like a frightened deer. She even looked like she wanted to run. Then she shut her eyes, squeezing them tightly, her shoulders still rising with her effort to breathe.

It was a long moment before she opened them again until my apprehension began to rise in time to her breaths. Until I almost couldn’t stand it.

But when she opened her eyes, I almost wished she hadn’t because I saw something in them, a message I didn’t want to see. I didn’t even quite know what it was, but something sent a shiver of warning down my spine.