It was almost a let-down. There were no reaching arms or cat calls, as there always are in the movies. No tin cups clanking against bars. In fact, there were no bars at all. No inmates either – the wing was all closed doors and concrete. It was also dark. The corridor was only lit every six metres by a lightbulb inside a metal cage. Each bulb only threw the light a few feet. Jax could not see far enough to even count all the steel doors, each of which he presumed led to a cell. He could only just make out the stairwell in the middle of the corridor, which led up to another floor. As far as he could make out in the dim light, it was a mirror image of the ground floor: the cells stacked like shipping containers – one up, one down. Jax couldn’t make out any colours; everything was a shade of grey.

‘Right,’ Rogers said after taking a fresh look at Jax’s cell card, ‘follow me.’

Jax breathed only through his mouth as he followed Rogers into the darkness – ammonia hung in the air and the wing smelled a little like a hospital. And the chemical smell masked something more acrid, an odour Jax couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was no stranger to close quarters – army barracks always imparted an odour that you couldn’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard you scrubbed. This was worse.

Rogers stopped in front of a door on the left. ‘One-out,’ he said after opening the cell door. ‘Someone must have liked you . . . Well, in ya get. Judge has already written ya a fucking invitation.’

Jax’s heart dropped to his stomach as soon as he stepped into the cell, a freezing concrete box with a single bed and a stainless-steel toilet without a seat, measuring about three metres by one and a half metres. The walls were covered in graffiti. No hanging points. The only other furniture a desk, a chair and a small unit containing box-like shelves. No storage tubs. And his mattress was a urine-stained slither of foam.

He turned to ask about the two missing tubs, only to have the door slammed in his face. He remained still and slightly stunned as he was locked in, the lock first buzzing and then snapping. Then he listened to Rogers’ footfall. Light. Lighter. Gone. Then nothing.

Jax was astonished by the silence. He had expected a ruckus, shouting and screaming. He listened hard. No voices. He listened harder. No passing cars. He was hoping to at least hear a cricket chirp.

Dead silence.

He suddenly felt completely alone.

And then the lights went out.

CHAPTER 3

Supermax, Goulburn Correctional Centre, Goulburn, NSW, Australia