Sinnerman

Chapter 1 Lions & Lambs

Evelyn Winslow was the kind of woman no one ever saw.

Not that this was ever a detrimental feature. Matter of fact, she thrived happily behind this persona.

All her life she'd been the bookish one. The shy one. The bibliophile who hid herself away behind her self-constructed, unbreakable, fortress of comfort. Supported by books and her intelligence. Held up faithfully by her own proclivity to be first and foremost, who she was comfortable to be.

All for herself, and no one else. Which was just as well. She was a daughter to a single mother, and was raised by both her grandmother and mother alike. It had been many years since she'd lost her granny to cursed old age and her mother to a rotten illness.

She was entirely alone in her world. It was populated now by nothing other than her small corner of cherished hobbies, and her job to fulfil her. It kept her sane, and happy. Even if the loneliness did creep In sometimes... and she was hardly the type of girl to have legions of men fawning after her as lovers... She was a reserved, quiet person who was happy with her own set of well-loved interests.

This was obvious from the first glimpse of her.

Drab formal work-wear wrapped around her unremarkable, small, body, swathed in her trusty granny cardigan, with a patch sewn roughly over the worn elbow.

Her round, owl-like reading glasses perched happily on her pale face. Her plain hair, chestnut auburn, somewhat shiny, but somewhat straggly, was smoothed back into an artless bun at the back of her neck. Though despite her best efforts, wisps of it still managed to catch in her face, swinging in front of her glasses clad eyes and her ears.

She was perched on the edge of an unfathomably uncomfortable plastic chair. Her small form getting swallowed up into the artless frame the seat offered.

One that she couldn't help but think didn't mould to cradle the shape of anyone's ass.

Her body was alight with nerves, she tried to absolve her trembling hands on the reliable paperback she'd sloped in her lap, hoping she could lose herself in the words, and they would provide her the usual succour of her favourite novel.

But the worn, water warped paper backed book did nothing to aid her. Not when she was in this place.

This great sprawling concrete building took up most of the horizon, like some ugly beast. She had hesitated getting out of the car three times before she bit the bullet and went inside.

Entering the place was a challenge in itself. Two forms of ID required, a security check, bag search and finally she was allowed inside this awful, cavernous setting.

She'd been escorted along the drab, cold halls by a broad, silent guard. The hallway she'd been led down filled full of the far off clamour of all male noise.

The musty air mingled with the stale stench of ancient sterile cleaning products that she was sure had been pasted over the peeling lino floors with a mop, in the not too distant past by some inmate.

The lumbering guard ahead of her didn't even bat an eyelid when he led her down a walkway, high above what she could discern was a common room of sorts. Down below, she could see pool tables, and normal tables gathered in groups, surrounded by tall columns of orange clad men of all shapes and sizes mingled around them.

Heat flooded to her cheeks when came the first wolf whistle aimed up at her. She ignored the rising clamour of shouts and calls that were sent her way. Some voices more distinguishable than others- unfortunately.

Voices erupted from beside them too. They walked past rows of white barred cells.

She flinched out of her skin when one huge man thudded down from his top bunk and rattled the bars of his cell so loud it almost knocked her off her feet.