[January 2021]
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Chapters: 3
Word Count: 19,223
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Warnings: Angst
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UNBROKEN
by
Eleanor Ward
A chance meeting causes long-term repercussions for both Heyes and Curry.
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* * *
The Warden of the Wyoming Territorial Prison sat in his office, a pile of papers on his desk. Taking the next one off the top of the pile, he stamped it with the date; Saturday 14th August, 1885. Taking his pen, he signed his name at the bottom and pressed his blotting paper over it.
Just then, there was a knock at the door and one of the guards opened the door and stood in the doorway.
“Prisoner 103, Sir.” he announced.
The Warden nodded and Prisoner 103 was propelled into the room to stand in front of the Warden’s desk.
“Well, Prisoner 103. Your time has been served and your sentence is complete.” The warden began to fold the sheet of paper he had just signed, “Twenty four months.” He picked up the now folded sheet of paper and, placing his elbow on the desk, held it tantalisingly in his hand, “The territory of Wyoming trusts that during your stay in this facility you have had time to reconsider the folly of your ways and that henceforth you will take steps to continue a law abiding existence, and does not expect to see you here again.”
He studied the man before him, “You may speak.” he said, when he did not reply.
“Yes, sir.” the prisoner replied quietly, his tone flat.
“This is your release paper. The guard will now take you to reclaim your clothes and then you will be escorted to the gate.” The warden held out the folded paper to the prisoner who hesitantly reached out to take it.
“Thank you.” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The Warden nodded to the guard to take the prisoner away before turning his attention to the next sheet of paper on his desk, effectively dismissing him.
“This way.” The guard took the prisoner’s arm and propelled him out of the room.
​* * *
Kid Curry rode along on the buckboard he’d hired from the livery in Laramie. Pulling out his watch, he checked the time. 11:50am. He would just make it in time.
He had waited for this day for two long years, and was both excited and apprehensive at the prospect of seeing his friend again.
Lom’s telegraph had told him to arrive by noon, and he was about five minutes away.
He geed the horses and crossed the bridge across the Laramie river, before bringing the wagon to a halt, some minutes later, outside the walls of the Wyoming Territorial Prison. He looked at the imposing sandstone building with a shiver. He’d heard stories of what life was like inside there and wondered how much of what he’d heard was true. Well, he’d soon get to find out, he thought, grimly.
Pulling out his watch again, he checked the time. One minute to noon.
Pocketing it, he sat watching the gate with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
At the stroke of noon, the gate was opened and a lone figure emerged and began to walk slowly down the path.
Curry squinted at the figure before breaking into a smile when he recognized the face of Hannibal Heyes coming towards him.
His smile faded a little as he took in his friend’s appearance. Clad in the same brown suit he’d been wearing on the day of his sentencing, it now hung loosely on his gaunt frame, his now shorn dark hair emphasising the hollowness of his cheeks.
His eyes were cast downwards, as he walked, seemingly unaware that anyone was waiting for him.
Curry climbed down off the wagon and began to walk towards him.
“Heyes!” he called, when he got to within twenty feet.
Heyes stopped walking, seeming confused. It had been so long since he’d been known as anything other than 103 he barely recognized his own name.
“Heyes!” Curry called again, spreading his arms in a ‘look, it’s me’ fashion and giving him a broad smile.
Heyes briefly raised his eyes to look at him before lowering them once more. He made no move to come towards him so Curry completed the distance between them and threw his arms around him in an embrace.
For several moments Heyes remained motionless before eventually lifting his hands and putting them loosely on Curry’s back, in an ambiguous response, before dropping them back to his sides.
Sensing his unease, Curry let go of him and took a step backwards.
“It’s good to see you.” he told him.
It was a long moment before Heyes said, quietly, “You too.” his gaze still on the ground.
Curry studied him. Lom had warned him not to expect an outpouring of joy at this meeting but he hadn’t expected quite such a subdued reaction.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” he said now. Once he was away from the prison and it had sunk in that he was now a free man, hopefully his mood would improve.
Putting an arm around his shoulder, Curry steered him to the buckboard and helped him up onto the seat.
It was a thirty minute ride to their hotel in Laramie and Heyes said not one word during that time, while Curry wittered on, about nothing in particular, just to lighten the mood, and telling him that Lom wished him well and was looking forward to catching up with him, when he felt up to it.
They arrived at the hotel and Curry led the way upstairs to the twin bedded room he had booked on the first floor.
Heyes looked around what was a very basic hotel room but, after what he’d been used to in the prison, seemed, to him, like a palace. Proper beds, with mattresses and bedlinen - and windows! He crossed to the window and looked out. For the past two years, the only view he’d had was of the high walls surrounding the prison. To see buildings and trees, and people below going about their business, men dressed in a variety of attire and women clad in colourful dresses, was like an epiphany after two years spent looking at the black and white striped uniforms of the other prison inmates and the black uniforms of the guards.
Curry watched him, trying to put himself into his shoes. Heyes had always loved the outdoors, so to have been confined for so long in that dark and soulless prison must have been unbearable.
After he’d filled his senses with the view, Heyes turned and sat gingerly down on one of the two beds, his hand distractedly stroking the faded satin bedspread like he was stroking a beautiful woman. After the hard bunk he’d slept on in the prison, with one sheet and a rough blanket that was too hot in the summer but not warm enough in the winter, this bed seemed like the height of luxury.
“I have all of your stuff.” Curry said now, pointing to Heyes’ belongings, stacked neatly on the floor by the dresser, which Curry had been carrying around with him for the past two years.
Heyes moved to pick up his saddlebags before returning to sit on the bed and opening them, tipping out all the items he carried in them onto the bedspread and sifting through them. Amongst the day-to-day paraphernalia necessary for their survival and comfort, accumulated from years of being on the road, were a little fold-up mirror that had belonged to his Mother, and a pocketknife that had belonged to his father. These he now picked up and held them loosely in his hands, staring absently at them. After being deprived of any kind of personal items, during his confinement, reconnecting with his and his parents belongings felt both strange and comforting. Curry, watching quietly from by the door, could only guess at his thoughts.
His mind went back to his meeting with Lom, in Porterville, two weeks ago, when he’d told him of Heyes’ upcoming release.
“Don’t expect him to be the same person he was, when he gets out of there.” Lom had told him, “I’ve seen the effect that place has on people.”
Curry had been initially sceptical, not believing his term there would drastically change Heyes, who had a chameleon-like ability to adapt to whatever situation he found himself in, no matter how dire, compartmentalising his feelings and emotions and pushing onwards. But Lom had been insistent.
“The regime there is soul destroying. Deliberately so. The general consensus is that enforced silence, isolation and hard labour is the way to rehabilitation. That with no ability to make friends, or socialise, no access to the outside world and no distractions, other than labour, the prisoner will have adequate time to reflect on his crime and determine to reform in order to avoid another term of imprisonment.” Lom shook his head, “But, in reality it doesn’t work. It doesn’t rehabilitate people, very few anyway, all it does is degrade them, and break their spirit. Many have committed suicide, others just become even more hardened. But nobody comes out of there unscathed, physically or mentally, however tough they think they are. It’s just a good thing he didn’t have to go somewhere like Eastern State Penitentiary.” Lom had added, “They don’t even get the luxury of hard labour there, that’s considered a privilege. They’re just locked away in their cells, alone, away from everyone, for their whole sentence, and that’s just inhuman.”
As he looked now at Heyes’ subdued demeanour, Curry began to understand Lom’s words. The question was, how deeply he had been scarred by his time at the prison.
He remembered the last time he’d seen him, the night before his sentencing, when he’d gone to visit him at the jail. Heyes had put a brave face on it, saying that the eighteen to twenty-four month sentence he was likely to receive would soon pass and he’d be “out before you know it”, seeming more concerned for Curry having to try and stay out of trouble on his own than for himself. But, even though he’d tried to hide it, Curry had seen the dread in the depths of his eyes.
He still didn’t know exactly what had happened. Heyes had refused to give him the details. Having been away on a job, in Bryan, he’d only learned of Heyes’ arrest upon his arrival at Green River. Heyes had been employed on another job, in Rock Springs, and with Green River being the midway point between them they had agreed to meet up there once they’d each finished their respective jobs, with Heyes arriving there a few days before him. All Curry knew of what had happened was from what he’d learned from the evidence presented at the trial. Heyes had been found, unconscious, in front of the open safe in the town’s bank, by the bank Manager on his arrival to open up for business early on Monday morning. A wad of money from the safe, totalling $2,000, had been found stuffed inside Heyes’ jacket, with the remaining money, some $38,000, missing. Obviously, there had to have been an accomplice. Under duress, Heyes had given a name, Matt Jenkins, and he had identified himself as Joshua James. By some miracle, nobody had worked out his real identity.
At the trial, Heyes had given an implausible sounding, to Curry at least, story about having been coerced, on the threat of death, by Matt Jenkins, to whom he owed a large sum of money, into helping him to attempt to rob the bank. Jenkins had then incapacitated him and escaped with the majority of the money, leaving him to take the blame. ‘Incapacitated’, Curry later found out, was Heyes’ assertion that his accomplice had administered a hefty dose of chloroform to render him unconscious before planting some of the money on him and then making off with the rest.
Since no record could be found of a Matt Jenkins, nor a Joshua James, being wanted for any other crimes, and with Heyes insisting that he’d done nothing more criminal than force entry into the bank and that Jenkins must have opened the safe, after rendering him unconscious, and then planted some of the money on him to give him the blame, the judge had come to the conclusion that the two were a couple of inept, would-be criminals and that Heyes had been double crossed by his accomplice who had planned all along to abscond with the money and pin the blame on him. After all, bank robbers didn't usually hang around deliberately waiting to be discovered. But, since he had admitted breaking into the bank, the judge could not allow that crime, or its implications, to be diminished and so had sentenced him to twenty-four months in the Wyoming Territorial Prison, saying that he hoped the sentence would deter him from considering any further crimes upon his release.
Curry had pressed Heyes for more information on this Matt Jenkins, hoping to track him down and perhaps recover the money, but Heyes had refused to tell him anything more and Curry had been left confused about the whole affair. They’d been almost their full year into their amnesty deal with the Governor. Attempting to rob a bank risked not only the loss of that deal but also of being sent to serve the twenty year prison sentence hanging over him if his true identity had been established. Curry hadn’t been able to fathom it out and, two years later, he was still as confused by it.
Because Heyes had been charged under a false name, Lom had agreed not to notify the Governor of what had happened. But only on the condition that Curry did not attempt to visit, or contact, Heyes during the term of his sentence, in case anyone should put two and two together and work out who they really were, which would not only have had implications for both Heyes and Curry, but for Lom himself. Heyes had echoed Lom’s sentiments and so had been transported to Laramie, the day after his sentencing, with no farewells.
​
Curry had undertaken his own investigations into the event but had drawn a blank and he wanted to pursue it with Heyes, to find out what really happened. But now wasn’t the time. Heyes needed some time, and space, first, to adjust to being free.
“I’ve ordered a bath for you.” he said now to Heyes, “I thought you’d like to get the smell of that place off you?”
Heyes gave a vague nod, his gaze still fixed on the pocketknife and the mirror in his hands.
“Then, afterwards, we could go out for a bite to eat?” Curry suggested hopefully.
“Heyes?” he called, when Heyes made no response.
“Hmm?”
“I said, afterwards, we could go out for a bit to eat?”
Heyes frowned, “Can we eat in here?” he said presently.
“If you prefer.” said Curry. He supposed that after two years locked away in the prison, it would take him some time to get used to the idea of going out and mixing with other people.
Heyes nodded.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be your bath.” said Curry, “I’ll go out and get us some food while you have it. I put your other clothes in the dresser drawer if you want to change.” He pointed to the location.
“Thanks.” muttered Heyes.
Curry opened the door to let the staff in and headed off to get them some lunch.
After the staff had left, Heyes stripped off and got into the tub.
The warm, soapy water was soothing and he briefly submerged himself under it before sitting back up and wiping his hands over his face to remove the suds.
​
With a sigh, he leaned against the back of the tub and stared absently into the distance. He supposed he should feel pleased, relieved, elated even, at being free once more, but in reality, all he felt was numb.
Curry took his time getting the food, to give Heyes some privacy and, when he arrived back, he found him out of the bath and just finishing dressing in his regular clothes, the fawn coloured shirt and brown pants now loose on his gaunt frame. His gun and belt, he noted, were still in the dresser drawer.
“Jeez, Heyes, what did they feed you in there?” said Curry, as he looked at him, the words escaping him before he could stop them.
Heyes briefly flicked his gaze at Curry, with an expression he couldn’t decipher, before lowering his eyes.
“Not much.” he said quietly.
“Well, I got us some beef stew and biscuits from the restaurant.” Curry smiled, as he placed the covered plates on the dresser.
“Thanks.”
They sat down to eat the meal but Heyes had only eaten about half of his when he pushed the plate away.
At Curry’s concerned look, he shrugged and said, “I’m full.” After two years of living on the deliberately meagre prison rations, that were designed merely to sustain life with minimum financial outlay, his stomach had shrunk.
“I’ll finish the rest, if you’re done?” Curry offered.
“Sure.” said Heyes, a ghost of a smile touching one corner of his mouth. Curry’s voracious appetite hadn’t diminished any in the last two years.
After he’d finished the food Curry said, “I need to take the plates back to the restaurant. Wanna come with me and take a stroll around town?”
When Heyes looked doubtful Curry said, “Come on, Heyes, after being cooped up in that place you need to get out, get some sun on your face and some fresh air in your lungs.”
Heyes gave a vague nod, “Alright.”
They left the hotel and headed to the restaurant, a few streets away, where Heyes waited outside while Curry went in to return the empty plates.
Then they set off on a walking tour of Laramie, a place neither had ever visited before, due to its close proximity to the prison they’d been trying hard to stay out of.
The town had become prosperous following the arrival of the railroad in the late 1860’s and now comprised some three thousand residents and a number of large businesses. Five female residents of the town had enjoyed the honour of becoming the first women in the world to ever serve on a jury, back in 1870, and another female resident had, later that same year, had the honour of becoming the first woman in the United States to cast a legal vote in a general election.
Curry had hoped that Heyes would loosen up a bit as they strolled leisurely around the town in the afternoon sunshine, browsing shop windows and checking out the location of the town’s saloons. But he remained quiet and introverted, speaking little, and had looked positively dismayed when Curry had talked about them perhaps going to the saloon, either that evening, or the next, and maybe playing a hand or two of poker.
Seeing his expression Curry had backed off.
“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I just thought you might enjoy the distraction.”
Heyes shook his head, “Not right now.”
It was early evening when they finally arrived back at their hotel room.
“Do you want to go out for supper?” Curry enquired.
“No. I think I’ll turn in.”
Curry’s eyes widened in surprise, “It’s barely six o’clock.”
“I’m tired.” said Heyes. Having lived for two years with the prison regime that required them to rise at 5.45am and work until 6pm, when they would be locked in their cells for the night, his body had adjusted to the timetable and was telling him it was time to retire. It would take some time before he would be able to readjust.
“Well, O.K.” Curry said doubtfully, “You don’t mind if I do?”
Heyes shook his head, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“I’ll just be a couple of hours,” said Curry, “Will you be OK?”
Heyes turned to look at him, his normally twinkling brown eyes bleak and forlorn, testament to the toll his time in the prison had taken on him.
“Yes.” he said quietly.
“O.K. I’ll see you later.” Curry turned to leave the room, but stopped when Heyes said.
“Kid…”
Curry, one hand on the door handle, turned back towards him, almost startled to hear him say his name.
“Thanks… for coming to meet me today...”
Curry held his gaze, seeing the gratitude in the depths of his eyes.
“Who else was gonna?” he said, breaking into a grin.
A ghost of a smile came briefly to Heyes’ lips.
With a wink, Curry turned and left the room. The old Heyes was still in there, somewhere. Battered and demoralized yes, but not totally defeated. It would take a while to find him but, for the first time today, Curry was hopeful.
​* * *
After eating supper at the restaurant, Curry headed to one of the saloons they’d passed earlier in the afternoon, where he indulged himself in a few whiskies to release the tension he was feeling. He’d known that seeing Heyes today would be a little awkward, but he hadn’t been prepared for the reality of seeing his friend so gaunt and dispirited.
When he entered their hotel room at nine o’clock, Heyes was asleep, curled up in a foetal position but, as he closed the door, he woke abruptly, a panicked look on his face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” said Curry, bending to light the lamp.
Heyes rolled onto his back and rubbed his hands over his face, his mind back in the prison. So many night’s he would hear the prison guards going into a prisoner’s cell, in the middle of the night, to dispense punishment for some alleged infringement of the rules, he was alert to any sound that might indicate trouble.
He himself had been on the receiving end of those visits, the first time only a couple of days into his sentence. Initially he hadn’t been able to fathom out how the guards had known about him whispering something to one of his fellow inmates, as they worked, since he’d made sure that the overseer was out of earshot at the other end of the room before whispering to him. But, late that night, three guards had entered his cell to punish him for flouting the rules.
The guards weren’t supposed to inflict physical punishment on the inmates - violation of the prison rules was supposed to be punished with restriction of the already minimal food rations and/or solitary confinement in the ‘dark cell’ for an indeterminate amount of time - and so all of the blows inflicted were placed carefully, avoiding the face or other parts of the body which were on show and, since the inmates weren’t allowed to talk to each other, and with the guards warning against any attempt to make a complaint unless they wanted more of the same, it was often difficult to tell which inmate had been on the receiving end of a late night visit.
Heyes had watched, and listened, and soon worked out that the guards were able to spy on them from secret locations around the prison workshops, and anyone found to be breaking the rules would receive a late night visit. After that, he’d made sure to follow the rules in the public areas. Unfortunately, the same guards who had come to his cell to inflict their punishment had decided there was ‘too much defiance’ in the prisoner’s demeanour, and in the way he’d fought back against them, and that he needed another lesson in humility. This had come a week later when one of the guards had deliberately provoked him by telling the cook to give him half rations at supper. Indignant, Heyes had responded instinctively, forgetting the no talking rule, demanding to know what he was supposed to have done to deserve that, which had given the guards the opportunity to send him to the dark cell.
In Heyes’ opinion this had been far worse than the beating he’d received the previous week. Having often been locked in a dark room back in the orphanage, for various indiscretions that had earned him the label ‘troublemaker’, but which had usually only been undertaken out of a need to protect Jed and himself, Heyes already had a powerful dislike of being shut in anywhere, especially in the dark. The dark cell was a small metal cell which, when the door was locked, let in not one chink of light nor any sound from outside. As if this in itself wasn’t bad enough his ankles were chained, and his wrists manacled and secured by a length of chain to the wall which restricted his ability to even pace around the small space.
He had no idea how long they’d kept him in there, it could have been a few days, or it might have been weeks, all sense of time having been lost. He’d been given meagre portions of bread and water but at irregular times, to prevent him working out how much time had gone by. At first, he’d tried to keep his mind occupied by planning imaginary bank robberies, and then with thoughts of what he would do when he got out of prison. But, as the hours and days dragged by, the darkness and the silence, which was interspersed only rarely by a guard delivering his meagre food ration or switching the chamber pot, consumed him, pushing him to the edge of madness with macabre dreams and terrifying hallucinations that made him scream out in fear and torment.
It had in fact been ten days before the guards had seen the defeat in his eyes, on taking him his food ration, and, knowing they had subjugated his spirit, finally released him with a warning to follow the rules or risk a repeat visit.
This one incident had predominated the remainder of his time in the prison. Fearful of another spell in the dark cell, he became a model prisoner, doing everything he was told to, without question, keeping his gaze averted and his mouth shut. But even that hadn’t spared him further beatings, for other imagined infringements of the prison rules. Initially, instinct and indignance had made him try to fight back, but he soon learned that all that did was to make it worse for himself and so he abandoned any resistance and took his ‘punishments' without complaint.
”Are you alright?” asked Curry, seeing his panicked expression, “Heyes?” he called, when he received no response.
Heyes blinked as Curry’s voice brought him back from his reverie. He shifted mournful eyes in Curry’s direction.
“I said, are you alright?” Curry repeated.
Heyes gave a vague nod.
Curry moved to sit on the edge of the other bed, studying Heyes’ anguished expression anxiously.
“You can talk to me, you know.” he said quietly, “There aint no rule of silence any more.”
Heyes closed his eyes and sighed, “I know,” he said presently, “It’s just… “ he shook his head, “after so long… it’s hard…”
Curry eyed him sympathetically.
“Was it as bad as they say in there?” he asked quietly.
Heyes’ mind returned to the dark cell. But for that, he could probably have just about handled his time there, although the lack of social contact, or conversation, of having no knowledge of what was going on in the outside world, the meagre food rations and boring, repetitive work from dawn until dusk was soul destroying. But the ever present fear of beatings, from the guards, for some, oftentimes contrived, contravention of the rules, or an indeterminate spell in the dark cell, had made it unbearable. Surviving just for two years had been gruelling. The thought of being confined for twenty years was terrifying.
“Yeah.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Curry leaned over to place a comforting hand on Heyes’ shoulder. Heyes instinctively flinched away, startled by the touch. The only time anyone had touched him in the past two years had been to punish him and his mind now associated physical contact with violence and depravation.
Curry hastily removed his hand, and Heyes rolled onto his side with his back to him.
“I’m sorry.” said Curry, biting his lip anxiously, as he sat looking at Heyes’ back. Lom was right. Heyes might have survived his time in the prison but the man who had gone in there wasn’t the same one who had come out.
Heyes didn’t reply and, with a sigh, Curry got to his feet, “Get some sleep.” he told him, before turning away and beginning to unbutton his shirt and pants ready for bed.
Blowing out the lamp he climbed under the covers and lay with his hands laced behind his head, his earlier hopefulness dissipated, wondering how, or even if, he was going to be able to coax Heyes out of his indoctrinated state, and it was well into the early hours before sleep finally claimed him.
​* * *
Curry felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when he was woken by Heyes moving around the room.
Opening his eyes and squinting in the dim light, he focussed on Heyes who was pouring water into the basin to wash. A glance out of the window told him it was barely dawn.
“Heyes?” he said, struggling up onto his elbows.
Heyes turned to look at him.
“Are you O.K?”
Heyes nodded.
“How come you’re up so early?”
Heyes glanced briefly out of the window and then gave a shrug.
“We always get up at this time.” he said, in explanation, before turning back to the basin.
Curry’s mouth formed an ‘O’. He supposed he should have considered that Heyes would be so conditioned to the prison routine, it would take a while for him to adjust.
“Well, you aint gotta do that no more.” he told him, “It’s early. Even the restaurant won’t be open yet. Why don’t you go back to bed for a while longer?”
“I’m not tired.” said Heyes, as he picked up the towel and began to dry off.
Curry sighed. “Well, I am.”
Heyes looked at him, “Sorry.” he muttered.
Curry pulled the blanket over his head and tried to return to sleep but, after a few minutes, gave up, and threw the covers off, getting to his feet.
Heyes had now moved to sit on the bed, as he buttoned his shirt, and Curry could feel his eyes follow him across the room as he crossed to the basin and poured fresh water to wash.
After washing, and donning his clothes, he sat down on the opposite bed to Heyes and studied him as he sat with his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze fixed on the floor. His gun, Curry noted, was still in the dresser drawer.
“Talk to me, Heyes.” he said presently.
It was a long moment before Heyes said, “What about?” his gaze still fixed on the floor.
“Anything. Whatever you want. Just… something.” replied Curry, trying to keep the note of frustration out of his voice at Heyes’ reticence.
He watched as Heyes continued to stare at the floor, obviously at a loss for some topic of conversation that he had any interest in, or cared to discuss. Obviously, the solitary regime at the prison had impacted greatly on his psyche.
After several moments, Heyes said, “What have you been doing this past two years?” Not exactly the response Curry had been hoping for, but it was a start.
“Oh, this and that.” he said now, “Stayed with Lom for a while. Then I spent Christmas with Soapy. He was upset to hear about what happened. He said to give you his best, by the way, and that we’re invited to spend Christmas with him this year – but only if you want to.” he added, eyeing Heyes who made no comment.
“I did a job or two for Big Mac, and a cattle drive or two.” he continued, “Played a little poker here and there. Basically kept myself to myself.” He eyed Heyes, momentarily, before saying, “I also spent some time trying to track down Matt Jenkins, to try and find out what really happened at the bank.”
Heyes’ gaze remained fixed on the floor.
“I know pretty much everyone you know, Heyes, an’ I never heard of a Matt Jenkins, and neither, it seems, has anyone else.”
Still Heyes’ gaze remained fixed on the floor.
“There is no Matt Jenkins, is there?” said Curry.
Heyes closed his eyes and sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
Heyes shrugged, “Because… it’s over with.”
“Hardly,” scoffed Curry, “There’s the little matter of the missing $38,000. You managed to convince the judge that you were forced into attempting to rob the bank under threat of death, but that’s not the whole truth, is it?”
Heyes didn’t reply.
“Tell me what happened, Heyes.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Heyes said again.
“I’ve spent two years trying to work out what could possibly have induced you to do it.” Curry said now, “Nearly a year into our deal with the Governor and you go and rob a bank? I couldn’t fathom it out then, and I still can’t. Neither can Lom. I need to know what happened, Heyes. If they’d managed to fathom out who you really were, it would’ve been twenty years you’d have been serving, not two, and where would that have left me then? We’re supposed to be partners. I think I’m entitled to an explanation.”
Heyes stood up abruptly and crossed to stand at the window, his back to Curry.
“Heyes?” said Curry, as Heyes stared absently out through the glass.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I took the blame, and I served my time. It’s finished.” he said, his tone anguished.
Curry eyed his partner’s frail form as he gazed unseeingly out of the window, his dark eyes despondent. He’d obviously been deeply traumatized, not only by his time at the prison but by the events that had led to him being sent there. Now wasn’t the time to push him for the details. There would be time for that later, once he’d begun to readjust to life outside the prison.
“Alright.” he conceded. Then, trying to brighten the mood, he said, “I should think the restaurant is open now. Do you want to go get some breakfast?”
It was several moments before Heyes said, “I guess.” He would have preferred to eat here, in the privacy of their hotel room, but he knew he ought to make some effort to try and get back to some kind of normality.
“Come on then, let’s go.” said Curry, putting on his hat and crossing to the door.
“Heyes?” he called, when Heyes remained standing at the window.
Drawing himself up, Heyes turned and followed him out of the room.
​
* * *
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