Betsy liked Eartha. She was almost six feet tall, smart, loud, opinionated, interesting, and funny. They were an unlikely best-friend pairing, with Betsy being small, quieter, reserved, and depressed. But perhaps because they were so different, they got along. It was the only thing about prison that Betsy liked. She even shared her future plans with Eartha.

“I like it,” Eartha said. “I’ll be your manager.”

So Eartha and she made plans for their grocery store even though Eartha thought Betsy was dreaming. That girl was probably never getting out of prison.

* * *

Duke would not leave Betsy alone. He always tried to be near her whenever he could. He watched her. He stalked her. Betsy was elegant and petite, and she disdained Duke. Who was she, he thought with a burning rage, to reject him? Does she think she’s better than him, the little murderess? Does she think she can treat him with such dismissiveness and rudeness and get away with it? This was his domain. His. Not hers. He was the guard. She was the prisoner. She should be subservient to him.

He would try to talk to her when she was in her cell. He would try to touch her when she walked by in a line with the other prisoners. She would yell at him, “Get your paws off of me, you animal.” He would try to rub up against her any time he could, which wasn’t often, as there were other people around and he knew where all the cameras were, but he was always there, waiting to rub.

Duke tried, for a short time, to sneak behind her while she was doing dishes in the cafeteria. As soon as she saw him coming, his beady eyes locked on her, she would get a bowl ready. When he stepped up behind her, she would pretend to be surprised, turn, and toss a bowl full of soapy, dirty, preferably hot water on him. The first time she did it, he ripped the bowl out of her hands and threw it. It shattered on the floor. He then turned her around and put her hands behind her back and cuffed her, shoving himself up behind her.

“Get off of me!” she screamed, gasping for breath as his weight pressed in on her. “Get him off of me.” Other prisoners turned to help, but it was no use. He was a guard and no one was allowed to touch a guard. Plus, Mrs. Grisham, their boss, was out that day—her daughter had given birth to twins—so there was no one to ask for help from.

“You attacked a guard,” Duke panted, so excited, thrilled!

“No, I didn’t. I defended myself because I didn’t want your sweaty, fat hands on me again. Quit trying to touch me, Duke!”