Despite her rejections, he never wavered. There was always an offer for a drink and promise of a good time.
He was either extremely confident or wildly deluded.
From Singh’s experience, most men seemed to be made up of a mixture of both.
She dialled the number, and as the phone rang and then automatically put her in the queue, she gritted her teeth. A non-descript Coldplay song echoed in her ears, a depressingly apt tune as she abandoned her morals. Using her womanly charm was never a weapon that she kept in her arsenal. It went against everything she’d built for herself.
But she had to know.
Something wasn’t right.
And Singh was damn sure she was going to find out what.
* * *
The week in solitary confinement passed a lot quicker than Sam had expected.
After literally being dragged through the prison, to the delight of the inmates, Sam had been hauled to his feet and roughly pulled down two flights of stairs to the basement which housed a dank corridor, lit only by a few bulbs that were running on empty. There were four, thick metal doors, each of which opened up to a thin, empty room. As the guards unlocked the one in the furthest corner, Sam was happy to smell the putrid smell of damp.
It meant the shock he’d received hadn’t blasted away his sense of smell, but he was soon hurled into the room, followed by a few empty threats and meaningless curse words, before the door slammed shut, sealing him in his dark tomb. As he pulled himself to a seated position, the bottom panel of the metal door slid open and a stained, metal bucket was tossed into the room, clattering loudly.
Then darkness again.
The following day, Harris had come to see him, offering his apologies that Sam’s first night had resulted in such a mess. Sam held his tongue, not wanting to add to the man’s clear health problems by suggesting that it was a set up. Harris wasn’t an idiot, and he confessed as much to Sam that he knew Sharp had a way with inducting new inmates that wasn’t part of the prison policy.
But Sharp, despite being a cruel and power-hungry man, wasn’t an idiot. He had already submitted the necessary reports to ensure that Sam’s incarceration in solitary was acknowledged and approved, which meant Harris’s hands were tied. He could try, but it would take longer than the week Sam had been assigned.
The best he could offer, was to ensure his bucket was cleared out daily and to keep the light on in the room for a few hours a day. Then, in an act of kindness that touched Sam, he handed over a copy of War and Peace, and told him to tuck in.
So Sam did.
After day five, Sharp had entered the room with a few of the guards, goading Sam to lash out to no avail. Sam had kept his calm, even when Sharp had snatched up the book and dumped it in the foul-smelling bucket.
All Sam did was remind Sharp that the book belonged to Harris and smiled when Sharp cursed loudly and stormed out of the room, flanked by his goons.
Moments later, the light went off.
It didn’t come back on for the rest of Sam’s stay.
After what Sam judged to be roughly seven days, he heard the jingling of keys and murmured words through the door, then the loud clank of the lock turning. The light that burst into the room burnt his eyes and he looked away, drawing a delighted chuckle from Sharp.
‘Wakey, wakey,’ Sharp said, his smugness telling Sam it was clearly rehearsed. ‘Fucking hell, it stinks like shit in here.’
‘I’m pretty sure it stinks like shit in every room you enter.’
Sam paid for the remark, as Sharp drove his thick, metal capped boot into his ribs. As the air rushed from his body, Sam hunched forward and wheezed.
‘Get him up,’ Sharp commanded, and two guards strode in and hauled Sam to his feet. It was the first time in a week he’d stepped a foot outside the small room and the lack of proper food and water hit Sam like a tidal wave. He stumbled to the side, collapsing against the wall, much to the crazed delight of Sharp.
‘Not such a smart fucker now, are you?’ Sharp spat, not expecting an answer. Sam didn’t offer one, anyway. Sharp turned on his heel, walking proudly ahead, as the two guards chaperoned Sam behind. As they made their way up the stairs, Sharp, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice, spoke.
‘See, Sam. Despite what Harris thinks, I run this side of the prison. He’s on his way out and soon, he’ll be gone for good. He’s the last of a dying breed. A man who thinks he can make a difference. He believes that a place like this may not change men like you, but it can at least give you a sense of peace.’
They stepped through the doors and into the main corridor where a week ago, Sam had been hauled across the floor like a bag of cement. Sharp continued.
‘But me, I see this place for what it is. A cage. A place to keep the scum and make sure they spend every day regretting every fucking action they took. Now, I don’t expect a man like you to change overnight. I expect you will try to hold your head up high, be this dignified soldier you make yourself out to be. And that’s fine. It will be fun to beat that out of you.’
Sharp stopped in front of the double metal doors that led to the canteen. He turned to Sam with a smile.
‘But you will break, Sam. And when you do, I’ll be there to collect the pieces with a smile on my face.’ Sharp offered him a vulgar grin, his stained teeth shooting out
