Working the nightshift meant taking the medicine to the diabetics and blood pressure patients. I nervously made my rounds, jumping at every sound and scream I heard. The catcalls continued, but most of them just glared at me through their cages. They were plotting. I could see it in their seedy looks and tightened mouths. They wanted the prize money.

Douglas was my escort and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was a good guy. I’d learned firsthand who the dirty ones were, but Douglas was a sweetheart. He smiled and bantered with me, trying to keep my spirits up and make me feel safe. As we finished our rounds, he escorted me back to the medical unit.

“You okay, Lyla?” he asked, his eyes studying me.

“Of course,” I lied. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem jumpier than normal.”

How was I supposed to answer that? Of course I was jumpy. Someone was out to kill me—no—not someone, everyone with the exception of a few. It wasn’t looking good for me, but I had to stay. At least until I could leave with Christopher.

“Things are just different on nightshift. I guess I’m still adjusting.”

Douglas patted my arm and smiled warmly. He reminded me of Santa Claus without a beard—all jolly and smiley—he actually jiggled when he giggled. It was kind of funny.

“I promise you the monsters won’t get you while you’re here. You have my word.” He winked at me as I walked through the doors into medical, making me chuckle and shake my head.

I believed him, and I knew he was one of the few people in the prison I could trust. I felt safe with him, and his words were comforting. He wouldn’t let them hurt me. Luckily, we worked a lot of shifts together.

His radio blared and told him to dial a number. He excused himself, walked over to my desk, and picked up the receiver. I turned to Dr. Giles, leaving him to his call. Giles was in his office scribbling notes. The man worked every day. He always looked disheveled and worn out, but somehow had the energy of a five-year-old. He amazed me.

As I entered his office, he glanced up at me quickly before returning to his paperwork.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“They all had really good glucose readings tonight. Brett Caroway was complaining of dizziness, but I think he’s just making excuses because his sugar was great.”

“Good. You’re getting good at predicting who’s lying and who’s really in need of assistance. It took me a while to pick out the fakers.” He smiled up at me, making me feel proud.

I was beginning to feel at home at Fulton, but having a target on my chest wasn’t what I had bargained for when I took the job. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee from the break room. Want a cup?”

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Sounds good. Black. No sugar.”

Walking to the door, I waited for control to buzz me out. I didn’t normally walk through the prison by myself, but I needed coffee and I knew it was lights out for most of the guys by now. Lights out meant an officer on the catwalk in the cell house gallery. That officer would have a shotgun, and he’d be waiting to fire a warning shot if by some chance an inmate got loose from his cell.

It was the same procedure in the yard. COs weren’t allowed to be armed at Fulton. The only ones allowed were the ones in the catwalks, but then again, they could “accidently” mistake me for an inmate and collect. I didn’t put anything past someone low on their luck.

My shoulders were tense and my back straight as I made my way toward the break room. As I walked by the cells full of inmates, the COs began to shuffle. Most of them were just coming on for their shift and some were still trying to get the sleep out of their eyes. I relaxed and moved quickly through, smiling at them as I passed. My eyes scanned the shadows at my side, expecting it to be my last breath at any time.

When I reached the break room, I felt relief wash over me. The room was empty. Quickly, I grabbed two Styrofoam cups and poured the freshly brewed coffee. Someone was a lifesaver. They knew I needed the caffeine. As I filled one of the cups, I heard the door open. Douglas poked his head in and took a deep breath, breathing in the delicious scent of the coffee.

“Yes” he said, his smile taking over his face.

I laughed at him and handed him a cup.

“Thanks, doll,” he said as he began pouring himself a cup.

Sugar dissolved into the blackness in my cup, and I stirred it, taking in his comedy routine. He took his coffee black, but he ripped open at least ten packets of sugar and emptied them into his cup. As he took his first sip, he moaned.