I told them I was innocent whenever I could. No-one believed me except Ms Jenny Fowler, the goody-two-shoes prison visitor. She liked me, I could tell from the way she blushed whenever I spoke to her. I started to touch her hand if it was within reach. The first time she jumped like a startled rabbit but she let her hand stay for a few seconds longer each time. Slowly I progressed to her leg.
It's difficult to cultivate a relationship when under constant surveillance. I always made sure to tell her how nice she looked and how grateful I was to have her on my side. She swore to help prove my innocence. I looked forward to her visits immensely; after all, she was pleasing to look at, not a great beauty but my type of woman, shy and innocent. Like me.
I liked the way her auburn hair curled around her ears and the way she fidgeted with one particular lock of hair. She began wearing lipstick, a luscious light pink that suited her well. Seeing her became the highlight of my week.
I imagined our first night, finally alone together and holding her in my arms. Kissing those pretty lips, feeling her body against mine. Those thoughts kept me going during those long years.
I was always denied parole because I would never admit my guilt and remorse. I insisted I was innocent; so I had to serve my full sentence. It was hard but Jenny promised to help when I was released. We made plans. First we would have a holiday to get to know each other properly, then on our return I would get a job, flat, etc. She started saving hard.
Once I knew my release date, she arranged my passport, our flights and currency. I didn’t care where as long as it was sunny and far, far away.
I waited patiently. I’d learned that, inside. I savoured the thoughts, the anticipation, counted off the days. I told her not to meet me at the gate. Our fresh start had to be away from the prison; had to be in freedom.
So I walked onward, down the road to redemption. If I wanted it. But I didn’t. I wanted to see that sweet innocent flesh bleed like all the others. Number thirteen. Unlucky for some. Unlucky for Jenny.