Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 1:THE VISIT
————
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Date: March 9, 2015 Time: 9:42 a.m. Location: Rikers Island Women's Correctional Facility – Queens, NY
Sarai
The van doors slammed shut behind her.
Sarai didn't flinch, but her stomach did a little somersault. Not out of fear—she'd been in sketchier neighborhoods after dark with less protection—but this place carried a different kind of weight. It wasn't loud. It wasn't chaotic. It was the stillness that hit her.
Still like a warning.
The air smelled like old bleach and concrete sweat. Cold, sharp. The kind of air that didn't move unless someone told it to.
A correctional officer with a dry cough and no neck led her toward the entrance. He didn't speak much. Just motioned with two fingers, like she was a stray dog he didn't feel like chasing.
"Put your phone in the locker. ID goes to the window. You'll get it back if nobody acts stupid today."
Sarai nodded once. No attitude. No jokes. She had a smart mouth, but today wasn't the day.
She slid her NYU ID across the glass slot and stepped through the metal detector, arms raised like she'd been through this before.
Her boots clicked softly on the dull linoleum. Black Timberlands. Clean laces. Her jeans were fitted. Her coat was thrifted but fly—brown leather, shoulder-padded, early 90s vibes. She wore her hair in a high curly bun under a slouchy grey beanie. No earrings. No lip gloss. Not here.
This wasn't a photo shoot.
She was here to listen.
The holding area was silent except for the flickering light overhead—one of them long bulbs that made a low bzzt sound, like it was chewing through the last of its energy. One wall had faded posters that said things like "Rehabilitation is a Right" and "Hope Starts Here", but even the glue behind them looked unimpressed.
