Page 156 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Jet sank to her knees, giving in to her legs, sliding back against the wall, feet out in front of her, eyes up. The cell didn’t feel quite so small anymore, not as cold.

‘Here.’

Mr Finney was back, bending down to slide a small pile of printer paper through the bars, shushing along the concrete. Too clean, too white. He rolled a ballpoint pen through, no cap.

‘Sorry, I could only find a red one,’ he said.

‘That’s OK.’ Jet picked up the pen, then the first sheet of paper, laid it on the floor, legs hooked around it, one foot pressed to the corner to hold it in place.

‘I’ll come check on you in a few hours. Bring you some food.’

His footsteps clicked along the corridor, taking him away, through the door at the end that Jet couldn’t see.

Couldn’t much see the paper in front of her either, her eyes unfocusing, losing their way. But Jet wouldn’t lose hers.

She was brave, and she was useless, and that was all fine with her.

She gripped the pen in her left hand, the wrong hand, the hand she never wrote with, wasn’t sure she could.

She started. She tried.

D ea r M o m

So slow, the letters squashed and childlike. Red ink crammed together, then spread too far, slipping up and down, out of line, like it was her first time writing, not her last.

It was going to take hours, like this.

But Jet had the time.

She took a breath, steadied herself, anchored herself, looked through her doubled vision, beyond it.

She pressed the pen to the paper and began her goodbyes.

31

The hinges screamed and Jet jerked awake, still alive. She knew because the pain came next, head crushed against the wall, knees tucked to her chest.

She blinked at the open bars, at Mr Finney with his hand on the door.

‘I’m not hungry. Thanks,’ Jet croaked, settling back down on the concrete.

‘Jet.’ He opened the door wider, another creak, an unknown word in the language of metal. ‘You’re free to go.’

But those words she understood.

Jet sniffed, sat up, one cheek crushed, the side she could no longer feel, a ring of salt crusted around her eyes.

‘Wh-what?’ she said.

‘You’re free to go.’

Jet pushed to her feet, one at a time, stumbling, catching herself on the wall.

‘Wh-why?’ She blinked again, no idea what the time was, or how much she had left.

Jack stepped back, cleared the way.

‘We had a witness come in to give a statement,’ he said. ‘It corroborated your account. The state attorney wants us to investigate further, before considering charges. Which means …’ He gestured to the open door. ‘You’re free to go. For now.’