Six months later, Barbara Mortonson shuffled down the cellblock hallway, a guard on either side of her. The other inmates glared at her from behind their barred doors, kissing loudly and making hideous sucking sounds, spit bubbling in their mouths. Barbara tried to ignore them, keeping her eyes locked forward. Her feet shuffled in the cuffs, a chain leading up to a belt around her waist, to which her wrists were also cuffed.

“Hey, sweetie,” one big woman said, a bandana wrapped around her head, tongue sticking out and licking the air in front of her. “Yer gonna be mine, Goldilocks…just you wait.”

Another inmate hissed, “I’m gonna eat you alive, cream pie.”

The place stank of farts and body odor and disinfectant, the distant clangs and buzzes echoing through the huge facility.

Barbara knew what awaited her; after months in the New York County jail system, she was almost relieved to be moved to the State Penn, where she was told there would be a more rigidly structured social system.

Barbara knew she’d have to join one of the white supremacist gangs, the only class that would have her. But she was nervous about surviving the beat in, and what she’d have to do to stay alive once in the gang brought a constant nausea to a boil in her gut. Each step took Barbara closer to her new cell and her new cell mate. Of all the people she’d have to face down in that hell-hole, the cell mate was going to be the first and the most difficult to deal with.

Barbara knew what kind of treatment she’d be getting, and with a terrible sense of irony she realized that it made perfect sense. She’d lorded her own sense of control and power over Tia McBride. Barbara knew how intoxicating that power could be, and what it could drive a person to under even the most civilized circumstances. But those were not the most civilized circumstances; it was a place where abuse was the law of the land, a concrete jungle where it would be kill or be killed with a lot of terrible gray area in between.

“Step back,” one of the guards said to Barbara’s unseen cell mate before a buzzer sounded and the bar door rolled open. They un-cuffed Barbara’s wrists and took off the leather belt. Once unchained, Barbara stepped into the cell, the bar doors closing behind her with a terrible and deliberate crash.

Barbara felt the sound ring through her body, standing in a quivering silence as her new cell mate lurked in a shadowy corner. She stepped out, one hand extended in a friendly gesture of welcome.

“Denise,” she said, revealing herself, a beautiful African American woman with dark, wavy hair and a light, milk-chocolate complexion. “Denise DuBois.”

“Barbara Mortonson.”

“Welcome to Newgate.”

Barbara looked around the tiny cell. “Thanks.”

“Hey, relax honey, I’m not somebody you need to be afraid of. I’m new here too, just convicted last week.”

“Oh yeah? What…what did they charge you with?”

Half of Denise’s mouth curled up in a little smile. “Don’t you mean, what did I do?” Barbara didn’t answer. “Smart girl. You might just survive here after all. Anyway, there were a few charges, including conspiracy, attempted homicide…double, actually.”

“Really? Me too. Well, more than two, actually.”

“Impressive.” Denise pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook the pack, three popping out of the paper pack. She offered it to Barbara, who shook her head. “Thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“You will,” Denise said, lighting up and blowing a thick cloud of toxic white smoke into the cell. “So I guess we’ve got a few things in common. We should probably stick together, watch each other’s backs. How are you in a fight?”

“Not so good, or I guess I wouldn’t be here.”

Denise spat out an amused huff. “You’ll learn.” Denise took another puff, throwing her head back and letting the smoke pour out of her nostrils. “So who’d you try to kill?”

“Did I say I was guilty?” But Denise just stared at Barbara, unwilling to be charmed or lied to. Barbara said, “I was with the IRS, one of our cases; it’s a long story.”

“They all are,” Denise said. “I tried to kill my boss and this ginger pimp he fell in love with.”

“A…a what?”

Denise shook her head. “Some uppity redhead, ran a company that kidnapped rich people for hire.”

“You…what?”

“Yeah, weird, right? People hired them to stage their own kidnappings. For a thrill, y’know? It’s a sex thing, really, but they’ve got all kinds of excuses, loopholes.”

Barbara tilted her head to get a better view of her new cell mate and the story she was telling. “Are you talking about Longshadows?”

Denise turned with a start, eyes quickly combing Barbara’s body, sitting next to her in a matching orange jumpsuit. “How did you know that?”

Barbara shook her head. “You’re not gonna believe this. Also, we have to get the hell out of here, go teach that ginger bitch a lesson.”