HL 04-The Final Hour Read Online Free PDF

with fear. “Where’s my visitor?”
    He jerked his head toward the open door. “Let’s go.”
    He herded me out of the cell and along the second tier of cells and down the stairs. We went past a Plexiglas module where a guard sat at a control desk surrounded by computers and security monitors. There was an iron door blocking the way ahead.
    The guard with me nodded at the guard in the module. There was a loud buzz and the iron door slid open.
    We went through the door and down a faceless concrete hallway. There were more doors, white doors in the white wall, almost invisible. We stopped in front of one of them. The guard unlocked it with a key and pulled it open. He tilted his head for me to go inside.
    I stepped through and he slammed the door behind me. I heard the key turn again, locking me inside.
    I looked around. There wasn’t much to see. It was a small, cramped white room. There were no windows, no two-way mirrors, just the rough painted surface of the blank, white cinder-block walls. There was a white table bolted to the floor, and two plastic white chairs, one on either side.
    For a minute or two, I just stood there, staring stupidly at all that whiteness. My head was still a little messed up. The memories from my attack still clung to me. The scene had been so real, it was so much as if I were there, right there. It hurt to be back here again, back in this prison. Any place would have been better.
    I heard the lock on the white door snap again. The door opened.
    I turned and saw Detective Rose step into the room.
    Man, I can’t tell you what that was like. At the sight of him, I felt my sore, battered body go weak with relief. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so happy to see anyone.
    “Rose!” I blurted out. “Dude! Oh, man, it’s about time you showed up!”
    Rose didn’t answer. His face was blank, expressionless. But then he never was much in the expressing-himself department. He was a black guy with a round face and flat features, a thin mustache and smart, steady eyes. He rarely smiled. He rarely even grimaced. Even his suits seemed to have no particular color. He was always all business.
    I saw his eyes go over me, pausing on the cuts and bruises. But all he said was, “Sit down, Charlie.”
    I lowered myself painfully into one of the white chairs. Rose didn’t sit down in the other one. He put his foot up on its seat. He rested his arm on his raised knee. He looked down at me—studied me—for a long time.
    “What happened to you?”
    “I fell down,” I said.
    He snorted. “You fell down, huh.”
    “I fell down on a sadistic guard.”
    “That was clumsy of you.”
    “Tell me about it.” I looked up at him, searching his eyes for something, some kind of hope. I couldn’t stand the suspense. “So,” I said to him. “Are you gonna get me out of here or what?”
    “What’s the matter, Charlie? Don’t you like prison?”
    I wanted to come up with a snappy answer, but I wasn’t feeling very snappy. “It’s bad,” I admitted. “I’m trying to stay strong in here, you know? But I’ll tell you the truth, Rose: It’s really, really bad.”
    I thought I saw a trace of sympathy rise in Rose’s eyes, but it was tough to tell. He just nodded. “That’s the way it works, Charlie. You put a lot of bad guys together in the same place, you end up with a pretty bad place.”
    “Are you talking about the inmates or the guards? Because in here, it’s tough to tell the difference.”
    The faintest trace of a smile appeared at one corner of Rose’s mouth. “The guards wear the blue shirts.”
    I tried to laugh. I tried to sound hard and cool the way Rose did. But even I could hear the desperation in my own voice and I’m sure Rose could hear it too. The truth was I didn’t know how much more Abingdon I could take.
    “So?” I said again, my voice shaking a little. “What’s the deal: Are you gonna get me out of here?”
    Rose let out a breath. Something about the way he did