Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Langhorne, Karyn (general ebook reader .txt) 📕

as the footsteps pounded closer and

Audra heard clearly, “Officer needs assistance!

Shots fired, Block C, Cell 1211! We need the lights!”

She heard a familiar heavy voice growl from the

hallway and then the crackle of response from

Control.

“Bradshaw!” she cried. “Don’t come in! He’s got

my gun!”

She heard the footsteps hesitate, knew they were

right outside the open cell door. Haines was still

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feeling along the edge of the bunk, his eyes focused

on the entrance, where Audra could hear the COs

whispering to each other as they took their posi-

tions for containment and rescue.

Crap, Audra had time to think. This is exactly the

kind of incident that gives female COs a bad name—

Then the lights came on, flooding the room with

fluorescent light. Audra blinked, her eyes shifting

painfully with the abrupt adjustment from dark to

light. Then she saw it.

The gun.

Lying between her feet at the foot of the bunk,

tantalizingly close and yet so far away. Haines saw

it, too—it wasn’t two feet from where he knelt, and

an easy sweep of the wrist from being once again in

his hand. Audra heard the music of the great west-

ern classic, High Noon, playing in her ears as

Haines’s eyes locked on hers, his lips curving into

that trademark sneer of his. Then the two of them

made their move: Haines for the gun and Audra for

Haines.

Her right foot connected to his jaw, just as he

stretched out his fingers for the weapon. But her left

foot had already connected to that too, kicking it

like a soccer ball for a goal toward the bars.

“Bradshaw, weapon on the floor!” she shouted.

“Coming to—”

Haines’s fingers went around her throat, squeez-

ing, choking out any further hope of words, let

alone breath. Audra grabbed for his hands, but the

man leaned into the work now, forcing her down,

weakening her with every second that passed until

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Haines’s murderous face was replaced by bright

lights popping behind her eyeballs.

Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the lights

faded. The pressure on her windpipe eased, then

lifted completely. Audra coughed, dragging in air

like a drowning woman, blinking fast, trying to fo-

cus her mind, focus her thoughts enough to under-

stand what was happening now.

“Stupid bitch!” she heard Haines’s screaming.

“Fat, skinny, bright, dark—you still ain’t nothing

but a stupid, stupid—”

“Enough!” Bradshaw roared, and Audra could

finally see him, towering over Haines, who lay face-

down on the floor while two other officers hand-

cuffed him. Art held Audra’s service revolver in his

hand and his walkie-talkie in the other. He gave a

quick “all clear,” indicated that Haines would be

transferred to a holding cell in Solitary, then signed

off, looking at Audra, concern writ in capitals on his

face.

“You all right, Marks?” he asked almost gently.

A smart remark, that’s what the situation de-

manded. Something funny that would diffuse the

tension of violence circling the room like a buzzard

waiting for the kill. Audra knew the words were in-

side her somewhere, the perfect quip that would

make this another one of the stories COs swapped

around locker rooms and at shift change. Something

movie-star clever . . . something . . .

But the words wouldn’t come: not with Art Brad-

shaw looking at her with that mix of concern and

care. Not when all she wanted was to run into his

arms and tell him about Laine and her mother, and

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325

apologize and beg to be forgiven until she could stay

enclosed in those arms forever . . .

Audra rubbed her throat, which felt like it had

been caught in a vise, swallowed once and felt a

fresh pain twist her face into a wince. Tears sprang

to her eyes.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head while

Art’s deep amber eyes bored into hers. “No . . . I’m

not all right . . .”

“I was afraid something like this might happen,” he

muttered in his low voice.

He had insisted on seeing her home, but she

wasn’t ready to face Edith. So he offered his place,

after the appropriate paperwork was filed. The su-

pervising sergeant placed Audra on administrative

leave until the whole encounter could be investi-

gated and dealt with, warning her with the words,

“I’d expect a call from Woodburn—and maybe even

the Warden—tomorrow.” They stopped once, for

breakfast from a nearby deli, but didn’t speak be-

yond the necessaries. The process of filing the inci-

dent report and realizing how close she’d come to

being a participant in a serious attempted prison

break had dried her tears. But now, sitting here in

his apartment, they were right beneath the surface

again.

“I screwed up,” Audra said as Art pulled their

eggs and toast out of the paper bag and settled their

Styrofoam containers on the coffee table in front

of her.

“Big time. You know the protocol. You’re sup-

posed to have backup, no matter what.”

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Karyn Langhorne

“I’m not talking about Haines,” Audra said

slowly. “I’m talking about with you.”

Art joined her on the couch, his eyes on the Styro-

foam. “With me?” he rumbled slowly. “What makes

you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Audra said with barely con-

cealed sarcasm. “You haven’t said a word to me

since the Reveal. Hiding out and changing your

shifts around and generally acting like I’ve got the

plague or something! It’s still me, Art. I’ve just got

long hair, a smaller nose and I’ve lost some weight—

and yes, I’m a little lighter—”

“A little lighter!” Art exclaimed, his voice a rum-

ble of distress. “Audra, you’re a completely different

woman!”

“So what? I didn’t exactly see you chasing after

the old Audra. You couldn’t even look me in the

face.” She shrugged. “Not that much has changed.

You can’t look me in the face now, either. Look if

you’re not interested, you’re not interested, but if

this is just because you don’t like my skin tone—”

“You look just like Esmeralda,” he muttered, turn-

ing away from her. “What did you do? Take a snap-

shot of her with you?”

“And if I did, so what?” Audra challenged. “What

if I deliberately set out to make myself over in the

form your ex-wife, a