Emancipation

Chapter 1

Wadding up the letter, Tobias used it to wipe his ass and threw the paper in the trash. Another dumb verse of gospel bullshit from another zealot right where it should be. What part of "I'm searching for my soulmate" do people not understand when they find an online profile? They all thought spewing scripture could save his soul; like some light from Heaven would beam down, and forgiveness would be bestowed.

Fuckers.

There was no clemency for murderers, thieves, and philanderers. Never would be. Tobias didn't want it, and he doubted anyone else did. Those holier than thou freaks could shove their automaton gospel straight up their asses. It's as if they hope it'll be some magical cure for the compulsions.

He shook his head.

There was no savior where he was, and the urges were there to stay.

As the doors were racked open and he was ushered into the moving line, he pulled out the second letter, praying it would contain something other than Jesus Saves. It had been carefully folded, and as he opened it, something fluttered to the floor.

Henry "Beast" Rowden leaned down and scooped up the errant article as he passed, turning it over in his meaty paws. "Hey, she's a looker." He stuffed it in his pocket. "Sure you won't mind if I keep this."

Tobias clenched his fists, feeling the all too familiar sensation that told him he was about to do something unforgiveable racing through his veins. But there was a time and a place for everything. Beating the shit out of some two-bit fucker who thought he was entitled to the fresh air he took in, rotted, and belched back into the atmosphere while twenty cops were less than a foot away would be stupid. And Tobias wasn't an idiot. The time would come. "Course not. Keep it. Enjoy." He smiled and clapped Beast on the shoulder once before continuing in the line to the dayroom.

"No touching. Keep moving." A guard prodded Tobias forward.

Other guards nodded as he passed, each one tense as though waiting for the chance to strike in some way. Hell, they probably were. Still, he returned the nod with one of his own to keep things as civil as they could be. He clutched the letter until he could sit down to read it.

The men of cellblock three were ushered to the middle of the building where several tables-all bolted to the floor, as everything was in that shit hole-with four small stools at each. As soon as the guards released the prisoners, they split into their race classes, lit contraband cigarettes, and fired up the music.

No one ever sat with him, and he never complained. Last guy that took a seat next to Tobias lost an ear. Since then, everyone gave him a wide berth. It was easier to have an excellent behavior record when there were no assholes pissing you off. He hunched over and unfolded the wrinkled paper, smoothing it as best as he could, trying to ignore the cacophony of a hundred men all talking at once.

Dear Toby,

I hope it's okay that I call you that. I think it's sweet.

My name is Jessica Phang.

I'm going to start this by saying I'm a lawyer, fresh out of school (I've been practicing about a year now). I have to be honest; I sought you out specifically. Details surrounding your case have given me a lot to think about over the last few years. You probably find all this confusing, but I hope to sort it out with this letter.

I found your profile on penpalaninmate.com after performing a search for you online; I was drawn immediately to you. Your photo is wonderful. I see such depth in your eyes. There's no proper way to express how pleased I am that you signed up so I didn't have to do more research to find your prisoner number. While I knew where you were housed, your link made the process much easier. Besides, I got to see you outside the images in your case file (which are less than flattering, I must admit).