Chapter 8 - Behind Bars
In the visiting room of the Cook County Department of Corrections, the fluorescent lights buzzed with a dull, irritating hum.
I sat on one side of the reinforced Plexiglas partition, my fingers wrapped around a plastic telephone receiver. A moment later, the heavy steel door on the opposite side clicked open.
Preston shuffled in.
He looked unrecognizable. His custom tuxedo was gone, replaced by a standard-issue orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his frame. His hair was unwashed, his face unshaven, and the arrogant, golden-boy swagger that had defined his entire existence had completely vanished.
He sat down heavily, picking up his receiver with trembling hands.
"Evelyn..." His voice sounded hollow, cracked from days of screaming in a maximum-security holding block. "Please... you have to help me. My lawyer is a joke. They’re offering twenty-five years without parole. Elena... Elena set the whole thing up, Evie! I was just a pawn!"
I didn't smile. I didn't scowl. I simply looked at him with complete, utter indifference.
"I know, Preston," I said calmly through the speaker. "I saw the security footage."
He swallowed hard, desperate hope flickering in his bloodshot eyes. "Then you know I was tricked! You can tell the judge! You can testify that I was manipulated!"
"Why would I do that?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.
Preston stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Because... because we're family! We share the same blood!"
"Blood," I repeated quietly, letting the word hang in the air between us. "The same word you used when you drove a heavy oak menu board into the side of an eight-year-old child's head while our parents cheered you on."
Preston flinched, pulling back as if I had struck him.
"You spent thirty years treating me like an invisible ghost," I continued, my voice steady, unyielding, and utterly cold. "You spent your whole life believing you were invincible because mom and dad protected your every mistake. Well, your protection ran out, Preston. And unlike you, I am not going to spend my life cleaning up your messes."
I stood up, sliding my chair back against the linoleum floor.
May you like
"Wait! Evie, don't leave! Where are you going?!" Preston cried out, pressing his palm against the glass partition. "Evie! Please!"
I didn't look back. I hung the receiver up on its cradle, turned my back on my brother, and walked out of the prison doors into the warm, golden afternoon sunlight.
