Duke didn’t even bother to glare at him. He watched Betsy being led into an isolation ward and said to himself, “Yum. That one is mine.”

And that’s when Betsy’s life in prison became even worse.

* * *

On a blustery night, Duke slid Betsy’s dinner in through the tiny slat of her isolation cell designed to break people in half, to bring them to their knees, so that they obeyed forevermore. “Hello, sexy lady.”

She didn’t bother to hide her disgust. He saw it on her face, so he dumped her food on the floor. “That’ll teach you to be more friendly to me.”

The food dumping happened on the second night, too. Duke said, “Give me a pretty smile, darling,” and leered at her. Betsy did not smile. He threw the food through the slit, angry, but enjoying the power struggle. She would be on her knees soon. He was practiced at this with the “captives.”

The third night he said, “Betsy, I can make your life easier or harder. Understand? Now show me what’s beneath that shirt.” Betsy was demoralized, near deranged from isolation and grief and used an expletive that started with an F to tell him what she thought of that. He tossed the food in once again.

On the fourth night he opened up her door, furtive, quick, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be there and said, “Do you want to eat?”

She blinked at him. The less she spoke to that vile man, the better.

“I said, bitch, do you want to eat?”

“Yes.”

He undid his pants. “You know what to do.” He leered at her. He was proud of his size. He was big, longer and wider than other men, he believed. Like a stallion. He could drive women crazy with The Pistol. He hung well. He was blessed.

She screamed as loud as she could, and it echoed off the beige-yellow concrete walls. He clocked her, on instinct, right across those high cheekbones, barely missing those puffy lips. “Bitch. I will make you pay for that.”

He shoved his little snake back in his pants, enraged at the screaming, and slammed the door.

“What’s going on, Duke?” Coralee, another guard, asked. Coralee was twenty-eight and had a degree in criminology and wanted to go to law school. She couldn’t stand Duke.

“I don’t know. She’s crazy.” He was panting. His anger always made it hard to breathe. Black was edging his vision, his body ready to attack. “I put her food tray through the opening and she tossed it to the ground like she’s done the other nights. I went in to talk to her, calm her down, pick up her food for her, and she swung her fist right at my face twice. She should be in the psych ward.”