chapter two

word count : 534

Jessica's hand trembled as she scooped slop onto the inmate's plate. He sneered back, his fat, grisly face fixed in a permanent scowl. He wasn't happy to be getting creamed corn again, and she wasn't thrilled to serve it to him. She nodded to send the animal moving along in line to get his chuck steak from the next worker.

The security guard at the left corridor entrance slipped a smile in her direction. Stan! His grin meant the deed was done.

Jessica's heart took off, zooming her to become another person in a world where nothing looked familiar. What had they done? They were criminals now, just like these filthy inmates she served every day.

First, screwing around with a co-worker was a bad idea. Then she'd gotten knocked up. Oh God! She was skinny so the baby didn't show until she got closer to the end. Then the little bulge began to fill out her uniform in front. She'd tried throwing on baggy sweaters, whatever it took, to hide the bump in her belly. But that couldn't hide the worried lines across her brow. What a mess! She needed this job, and she and Stan were bound to see each other every day at supper time for the inmate's evening meal. If the super found out about their affair, they'd both be fired.

Stan had been in denial. He wanted no parts of the baby, but it wasn't going to go away.

Eventually, he came to reality about it. They were making plans to get married when the accident happened. She slipped rushing to the pantry for their daily tryst. The fall slammed her to the floor, jarring her insides with a violent pounding. It triggered a miscarriage, with Stan finding her in a pool of her own blood, dazed but conscious. She remembered the pain as the baby pushed its way out without mercy. Her lip was still bleeding where she bit it to keep from screaming. Right there in the darkened pantry she gave birth to a tiny premature baby, stillborn.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" were the only words Stan could utter, all while sopping up fluids with an old towel one minute and staring at the dead fetus the next. He'd severed the afterbirth with a pocket knife.

"What will we do?" Jessica asked between gasps.

He returned her gaze with shrunken unenlightened eyes. Then he spied the cans of used grease. With shaking hands, he fumbled a lid off one and poured out a few inches of the slimy stuff. It made a sticky puddle on the floor.

Hot acrid fluid crept up Jessica's throat as she spied particles of yesterday's chicken suspended in the muck.

Stan grabbed up the innocent babe and eased it into the thick slime. The child disappeared into its murky dredges with a dollop as the grease swallowed it up to sink the baby to the bottom, displacing more of the used grease, sending it oozing down the sides of the can. He swiped it off with his sleeve and pushed the lid back on, hiding their shameful act.

Stan turned to her, tears running down his cheeks.

"Once the truck takes these cans away, we're home free," he said.