He couldn’t do this.
How the hell was he supposed to willingly walk inside that cell? He felt sick to his stomach with fear while he told himself to stay strong, not just for him but also for his brother. Quinten just wasn’t sure that he knew how to anymore.
His legs weakened as he stared into the small space in front of him. The metal-framed bed with a thin mattress sat to one side, while the shower, stainless steel toilet, and sink had been placed to the back of the cell with a small window above.
He really couldn’t do this.
“C’mon, Quinten. You know you have to step forward.” The guard looked younger than him. He also looked sorry that he had to force him inside.
Inhaling, Quinten forced his legs to move him forward. The minute he stepped inside, the door closed and locked behind him.
“Turn around.”
On automatic pilot, he turned and let them remove the chains while he kept his eyes closed.
“They’re off. Move away from the door.”
He followed their orders.
He always did.
He was a model prisoner.
His eyes finally opened as he moved closer to the bed and dropped to the mattress, his legs no longer willing to hold him up.
Quinten rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
He stayed like that for a long time.
* * *
10:45pm
* * *
Her body hardly had any life left in it.
She was fading fast.
So cold.
The pain.
“You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” He caressed her face with fingers that felt like icicles. “Saige, it’s me.” He softly kissed her lips.
His eyes so familiar...
Shooting up in bed, Saige reached out and struggled to turn the lamp on.
As soon as there was light in the room, she scrambled and rested against the headboard. Sweat poured off her as she wrapped her arms around her bent knees.
She’d had dreams before, but none that she remembered once she woke.
Trees had been behind the man who’d crouched over her. She remembered the sound of the birds chirping, and the sound of the man crying, promising to protect her. The man she’d seen had been the one who was sitting on death row.
The dream felt real. Too real. She felt like it had been the pain that had pulled her under. No fight had been left in her and she wanted to go to sleep so that she wouldn’t hurt so much.
Then he came.
She’d felt his presence and knew he’d help her.
She’d known not to fight him when he wrapped her up in something.
Why had she felt safe with him?
“Saige, it’s me.” His voice whispered in her dream…maybe even in her memory.
He knew her.
He’d expected her to know him, recognize his voice.
Unable to hold her tears in any longer, she let them fall unchecked down her face while a feeling of overwhelming grief surrounded her.
For the first time in eight years, she’d dreamt something that had felt real—something that she remembered the details of after waking, at least, she presumed it was the first time.
One thing she realized was that she wanted to know about the trial. She wanted to know about the man who was going to be killed in twenty-eight days.
The man she should have feared and hated. But that hadn’t been what she’d felt.
In frustration, she sent the room back into darkness.
* * *
11:20pm
* * *
Alexander Peterson, known for the past six years as Alex Peters, danced around the old leather bag in front of him, wishing like hell it was Richard Lockwood.
For eight years, his hate for the Lockwood family had grown and fueled his anger at the lies they’d told. And just like when his brother had been arrested and subsequently charged with the murder of those college girls, and the attempted murder of her, he felt helpless.
He loved his brother and knew he was innocent. Even when the evidence piled up and eventually incriminated him, Alex had never given up hope that one day Quinten would be acquitted.
Alex had hoped that she’d come forward and tell the world that it was all lies...except she hadn’t. She’d been hidden away by her family and he’d had no idea where to even start looking.
Quinten had needed her, he’d needed her, but Alex had given up searching because their mother had lost all hope. Just before she died, their mother begged him to get his life together instead of festering on the hate and betrayal he’d felt at his brother’s incarceration. He’d kept his promise, becoming a firefighter, but he’d still let the hate and betrayal fester. He’d just learned to hide it from her and his friends.
His brother’s defense attorney had filed so many appeals and motions to try and get another trial, but he’d hit a brick wall with all of them.
Time now slipped through his fingers.
Twenty-eight days.
Just hearing those words made him want to hurl.
In eight years, they hadn’t been able to get a retrial.