– Nolan not liking me very much, as well as my feeling uneasy around him, was finally figured out when I remembered he was with me in the woods, that he was the one who found me and took me home, then proceeded to lie about it. I decide to keep him in the dark about how none of this has fixed my anxiety around him—his affection is foreign to me—and that I calm my feelings of discomfort by imagining cutting off his limbs. I mean, he’s nice and he’s helping me, so that seems like a conversation better left for never.
At this point, the only things in the negative column that I still can’t remember fully or explain at all would be the horrible memories and dreams about pain and misery, all surrounding Dr. Thomas, and, of course, what forced me that night to run away from the prison and out into the woods. Nolan is adamant that anything his mother said during our short visit should go in this column as well, since the medication she’s on confuses her mind, but I’m still secretly placing her mention of the letter T somewhere in between the two lists. There has to be a reason I felt it was important and that she knew a truth about me I couldn’t quite figure out. I wanted her to stop talking because her words made my skin crawl and that’s not something I can easily push aside. The things I’m most uncomfortable with seem to keep turning into true facts about my life.
As soon as we finish with our list, Nolan is turning on his blinker and pulling into the parking lot of Strongfield.
“A lot different from Gallow’s Hill, isn’t it?” he asks as he finds a parking space in the visitor’s lot and turns off the engine.
I don’t answer him as I lean closer to the dash to stare at the building in front of us. It’s obviously quite different than Gallow’s Hill since it was built in the early 1940’s as opposed to the 1800’s. It’s more modern and simple—just one long, single-story building surrounded by a chain-link fence.
“This place was built specifically for overflow when Gallow’s Hill became too crowded,” I tell him. “Then when we closed, the majority of our prisoners were relocated here. With all of the new prisoners’ rights laws enacted since Gallow’s Hill closed, they definitely have better accommodations and less risk of guards feeling like they could treat them however they wished.”
Nolan and I exit the car, and he slides his hand into mine as we take off running through the rain, soon making it to the covered sidewalk that leads to the visitor’s entrance on the side of the building. My palms are sweating, and I can’t stop the slight tremor that travels through my arms as we shake the rain from our hair and clothing. Nolan pulls the hand he’s holding up to his chest, pressing it against his heart.
“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be right there next to you,” he assures me.
I keep my mouth shut as he opens the door, drops my hand, and gestures for me to go inside ahead of him. I’m not nervous about seeing Tobias because I know it will provide answers to my questions. His handholding and overall niceness is what make me nervous and want to run away screaming.
Nolan tries to take my hand again, but I yank it away, moving farther ahead of him and straight to the check-in counter, where a grandmotherly woman sits with a notebook and pen in front of her.
She turns the notebook around, pushing it across the counter toward me with a smile on her face. “Just print your name and the name of the prisoner you’ll be visiting today.”
Grabbing the pen from the top of the book, I neatly print my information at the bottom of the other list of sign-ins. When I’m finished, she turns the book around, glances quickly at what I wrote and begins to get up from her chair. She pauses halfway out of her seat, her head whipping back down to the book. She lifts it from the counter and pulls it closer to her face, her eyes widening as she looks back and forth between me and the book.
“Tobias Duskin? You’re here to visit Tobias Duskin?” she asks in a quiet, shocked voice.
“Yes, is that a problem?”
I start to worry that maybe we made the trip out here for no reason. Maybe he’s not allowed to have visitors. Considering the extent of his crimes, I probably should have thought about that before jumping into the car and racing over here, but the only thing on my mind was getting answers that only he could provide.
“No, no problem,” she replies, the smile again on her face as she places the book back on top of the counter. “Just a little surprising is all. I’ve worked here since before Mr. Duskin was transferred here and in all that time I believe he’s only had one other visitor.”
Nolan and I share a look, and he jumps into the conversation.
“You wouldn’t by chance remember who his visitor was, would you, ma’am?” he asks politely.