It wasn’t the first time that Joe Warbeck had found himself locked up for speaking his mind, but it was the first time it had panicked him this much.  He’d try to take a breath, try to assess the situation and work out whether there was anything he could use to his advantage, but he just couldn’t.  Whenever he tried to think, it all came back to what he’d seen in the shop upstairs, and what lengths Colwyn would go to in order to hide it.  He could do it.  If a man had enough money, he could have someone like Joe wiped from the face of the earth.  Completely disappeared.  And then he’d never find out what had happened to his girls.

Joe screamed and rattled the bars, threw the plates and cups they’d given him across the cell, tore the blankets and pillows down the middle.  Sanest possible reaction to being in a place like this.  Make as much noise as you could, until they silenced you forever.

It wasn’t until a few hours in that he even registered that there were other cells near his, and when he did, he didn’t much care.  So people were banging on the walls?  So there were voices in the distance that whined at him to keep that racket down?  Why should he care?  Being a good neighbour wasn’t his first priority right now.  Staying alive and seeing his girls again, that was all he could think about.

Eventually, his voice gave out, and he fell to his knees, forehead against the bars, staring into the dark corridor outside.  It hurt just to draw in a breath.  It hurt just to exist.  This must have been their plan all along- let him tire himself out, then come back and put the boot in.

Something white bounced against the wall.  It landed an inch or two in front of the bars.

For a long time, Joe just stared at it.  A screwed-up piece of paper?  Maybe they’d given up on whining and banging around, and decided to throw projectiles at him instead.  If this was the best they could do, he’d be laughing.

There was a muffled noise to his right.  A voice from a throat that sounded even more raw than his was.  “Read it.”

Joe looked at the paper again.  He stretched his fingers through the bars, and pushed it close enough to pick up.  It was screwed-up, alright, but not so badly that he couldn’t read it.  And as he did, his lips slowly twisted into a smile.

(To be continued)