Page 4

Present Day

I wake up, my heart pounding.

For a moment, I forget where I am and think that I am lying in bed with my husband. There’s a distant beeping sound coming from somewhere within the prison that almost sounds like my alarm clock at home. Any moment now, Noel will silence the alarm and stumble in the direction of the bathroom, where he will pee for so long, it’s amazing that he has any fluid left in his body when it’s over. Then he will crawl back into bed and cuddle with me for a few more minutes before we have to start our days.

And then I remember. I remember that I’m in a prison cell, all alone, and Noel is dead. The only place he’s still alive is in my dreams.

The dreams seem to be getting more vivid, which is even more frustrating. I still remember the day Noel and I met at that café, and in my dreams, it’s like I am there . I can almost reach out and touch him.

I grab the flimsy blanket, trying to cover my body. It must be winter because it’s ice cold in the cell. During the winter, it’s freezing, and during the summer, it’s a sauna. There is no air-conditioning whatsoever. Honestly, I’m lucky they give me a toilet and not just a bucket in the corner of the room in which to do my business.

I hear a scratching noise from the corner of the room. I can barely see because the lights have been off in the prison since ten o’clock sharp, but the sun has started to rise in the sky, and there’s just enough light coming through the tiny window to make out some of the details of my room. I squint into the corner, trying to make out the source of the noise.

Sure enough, it’s a rat.

It’s a big one too. Much bigger than the rats I used to see on the outside. It’s so big that it almost looks like a mutant rat from some sci-fi TV show, who might also do karate. And the rats here are so bold . They have no fear whatsoever. The rat knows I can’t hurt him. The most dangerous object I’ve been given in the cell is a spork.

Do rats bite humans? There was a time when I would’ve googled this information, but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t have access to the internet. So I just have to lie here in bed and wonder if the giant rat is going to bite me.

Today is the day that I meet with Bowman about my appeal. Technically, I get unlimited appeals on death row, but if this last one fails ... well, then what? I’ve been banging my head against the wall for years, and I’m tired of it.

The part I don’t understand, though, is why. Why would they think I killed my husband? It’s not like I had a criminal record. It’s not like we were having marriage troubles. And on top of that, at the moment Noel was killed, I was having dinner with my friend Kinsey. She vouched for me, as did the waitstaff at the restaurant.

But the prosecutor argued otherwise. It doesn’t matter if she had an alibi. She set the whole thing up. If not for this woman, Noel Kemper would still be alive.

The scampering of the rat grows louder. He’s coming closer to my bed.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so frightened of a rat. Don’t kids keep rats for pets? I’m so lonely in this cell—maybe I could turn the rat into a companion. Noel and I always talked about having children, but that never ended up happening, and now it never will. But I can have a pet rat. I can even name him.

What’s a good name for a rat? How about ... Pat? Pat the Rat.

The scurrying of the rat grows louder. I lose track of him for a moment, because it’s still so dark in the room. Did he go back out the hole that he came in through?

And then I see it. Two glowing red eyes staring at me from the other end of my bed.

Pat the Rat is on my bed.

Despite the fact that I was planning to turn this rat into my pet and/or surrogate child, I start screaming. There’s something about finding a rat in your bed that is particularly disturbing.

“Kemper!”

The harsh voice of the guard from the other side of the door is enough to quiet my screams. It’s not Rhea. I can’t tell who it is, but I would recognize Rhea’s voice.

“Kemper!” the guard barks again. “What’s going on in there? Are you injured?”

“No, I just . . .”

I look around the dimly lit cell. My screams have frightened off Pat the Rat. He’s vanished back to wherever he came from. Or at the very least, he’s not on my bed anymore.

I could tell the CO about the rat, but what are they going to do? Get an exterminator? Very unlikely. Besides, I don’t want them to hurt the rat.

“I had a bad dream,” I finally say.

The guard grunts. I don’t expect any sympathetic words, and I’m not disappointed. “Go back to sleep or shut up.”

I don’t see how I could possibly sleep after my encounter with the rat, but I guess I’m more tired than I thought. Because when I lie back down on my bed, my eyes slowly drift shut.