Chapter Eight

Unwavering Rage

A guard physically searched Joan on the outside of her clothing and ran a metal detector over her before leading her down the long, institutionalized hallway. It stretched endlessly, its sterile walls painted in the kind of pale gray that seemed chosen specifically to suppress hope. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp, unflattering shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. Identical steel doors lined each side, their small, reinforced windows hinting at the void beyond. The air was thick with the faint metallic tang of rust and something faintly medicinal, mingling with the underlying staleness of too many lives crammed into too small a space.

The echo of distant footsteps, the hum of the overhead lights, and the distant clang of a shutting door created a strange rhythm, almost like the hallway itself was alive, breathing in a slow, relentless cadence. Signs on the walls: "No Loitering," "Stay Behind the Yellow Line" seemed more like commands than helpful guidelines, the institutionalized language of control.

There was an eerie, crushing monotony to the space, a visual representation of the routine and rules imposed on every person who walked through it. The endless stretch of identical doors and walls created a disorienting sense of sameness, stripping away any individuality.

The atmosphere carried a peculiar chill, not from the temperature but from the absence of humanity. It was as if the hallway had absorbed years of hopelessness, anger, and regret, storing them in its unyielding concrete and steel. For those who walked its length daily, it symbolized both confinement and routine, an inescapable reminder of the system’s power.

The prison hallway wasn’t just a physical space; it was a psychological one. It pressed down on the mind as much as it directed the body, leaving an indelible mark on everyone who passed through it.

The final door opened, and Willow waited inside. Wrapping her in a tight hug was one of the best parts of Joan’s visits. For a moment, the pain, frustration, and worry faded away, replaced by the warmth of her granddaughter’s embrace. Joan held her close. Willow’s arms were thin but strong, a testament to how she had learned to survive in this harsh environment.

When Joan pulled back, she took a long look at her granddaughter. Willow’s eyes, though tired, still held a faint flicker of the bright, curious girl Joan remembered at fifteen. The prison hadn’t completely taken that away, not yet.

“I missed you so much,” Joan said, her voice soft as she searched Willow’s face for signs of how she was really doing.

“I missed you too, Grandma,” Willow replied, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

Willow had been in prison since she was fifteen, and it had hardened her in ways Joan hadn’t expected. At twenty-three, she still had two more years before she could finally walk free, and Joan clung to the hope that Willow, who never really got to be a child, could have a happy life after release.

They sat together at the small, sterile table in the corner of the visitation room. Joan made sure to sit close enough to touch Willow’s arm, offering comfort through the connection.

“I was worried they’d lock you down again,” Joan said, trying to keep the tone light but unable to hide the real concern behind her words.

Willow shrugged, her smile fading. “I’m fine. Staying out of trouble.” But there was something about the way she said it, something unsaid in her voice that told Joan trouble was never far away in a place like this.

“How’s Max?” Willow asked, quickly shifting the topic to safer ground.

Joan chuckled softly. “He’s still big and bossy, always acting like he runs the place. He’s probably pacing the house right now, wondering when I’ll be back to let him out.”

Willow smiled again, and this time it touched her eyes. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

For a long time, they hadn’t talked about Willow’s release. The idea had seemed too distant, too fragile to hope for. Now it was close, just twenty-three months away. Joan had started to believe Willow might actually make it out and that she’d come home, and they could rebuild their lives together. Sadly, each time they talked, Joan noticed the darkness that chipped away at Willow’s soul.

“How are your classes going?” Joan asked, eager to talk about something that could bring a spark of hope into their conversation.

Willow’s expression brightened slightly. “Good. Struggling with math, but I’ve got someone helping me. The other classes are fine.”

“That’s good,” Joan said, feeling a small surge of pride. “I always hated math too. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Willow nodded, but her focus seemed to drift, as if her thoughts were already elsewhere. Joan wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into what her granddaughter was really feeling, but she knew pushing too hard might close Willow off. There was only so much they could talk about in the brief time they had together, and Joan didn’t want to waste it on difficult topics.

“How’s that family next door?” Willow asked, glancing at Joan from the corner of her eye.

The question hit harder than Joan expected. She had told Willow all about the Hoggs, their horrible treatment of Carrie, and how they had made life on the ranch more difficult than it needed to be. Joan’s heart ached to think about Carrie, how sick she had seemed the last time she saw her. She hadn’t told Willow the latest details yet.

“They’re as bad as ever,” Joan admitted with a sigh. “Jeb Hogg’s still up to no good, and his boys are just as rotten as he is. Carrie’s not doing well, though. Something made her sick, and I’m worried about her.”

Willow’s face tightened with a frown, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. “Maybe one day she’ll be able to fight back,” she said quietly, though there wasn’t much conviction in her voice.

“I hope so,” Joan replied, feeling the weight of helplessness settle over her. “That child deserves better.”

Their time together always flew by too fast. Even though Joan cherished every moment, she couldn’t shake the dread of knowing their visit was ticking down to the end. She reached over and squeezed Willow’s hand. “You’ll be home soon,” she said, though her voice cracked slightly.

Willow nodded, but the look in her eyes was distant, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

Joan hugged her again, feeling the comfort of her arms, hating that this was all they had. She pressed a kiss on Willow’s cheek and then forced herself to pull away. Leaving was the hardest part, but if she lingered, she would break down, and she couldn’t let Willow see that. Not here.

As Joan made her way out of the prison, the weight of the place seemed to cling to her, adding trepidation to each step she took. The drive back home felt longer, heavier with each mile. She thought about the Hoggs again, about Carrie. Joan knew something terrible was going to happen, she just didn’t know what or when.

When she finally turned the last corner toward her house, her heart leapt into her throat. A figure stood there, shining a flashlight directly at her truck.

Her pulse quickened. What the heck?