Silver shackles (1, 2, 3)

PART 1

He entered the warden's office. A calendar with beautiful women immediately caught his eye. The warden was a strange man. Rather stout and bald, with small gray eyes. A tall, blond man with a cold gaze stood before him, staring out the window.

"A new transport of prisoners should be arriving any minute," the warden said, reaching for a cigar, his eyes never leaving the blond. He lit up.

"I'll be right down," the blond replied lazily. He turned and left the office.

"Mr. Guerin," the warden's raspy voice stopped him. Michael glanced at him. "After all, I expect a report.

" "Of course," he added, and left. A few minutes later, fresh air greeted him, and he squinted against the bright sun. He walked through the gate, pausing. Several guards were already there, chatting over cigarettes. They spotted Michael Guerin and waved to him, a greeting. The corner of his mouth curled upward, and he looked into the distance. He hated this job; he'd been in this prison forever and couldn't seem to escape it. He looked up; the sky was perfectly clear, not a single cloud in sight. He reveled in the beautiful view before he heard the murmurs of his colleagues.

"They're coming." Michael spotted clouds of dust in the distance, and a moment later, an old bus appeared. Accepting new prisoners was quite an interesting experience; he enjoyed seeing new faces, seeing how they behaved in a new place and how they reacted. When the bus pulled in, the guards closed the gate tightly. Michael took out his baton, he always did, it was procedure. The door opened, and a burly guard appeared, sweating, his face flushed red. Michael approached him, greeting him.

"Did you have a pleasant journey?" he asked.

"Yeah... enough," the guard replied, scratching his head. The smell of alcohol filled Michael's nostrils. He took the list from the guard and scanned the names.

"Some of them are quite attractive, especially one blonde," the guard added, winking at Michael. "Well, sir, we're leaving one by one!"

The first woman appeared. She was about forty, the grimace on her face betraying considerable displeasure. She glared at Michael and spat. All the women had their hands cuffed.

"Brigit Enstin," she said, and Michael marked her name with his pipe. The next woman appeared, a blonde, very young, with a heart tattooed on her temple.

"Kathy Jeys," she shifted, looking around, chewing gum. Michael was a bit surprised; most of the women were young, which was rare. A moment later, ten women were lined up, ready to go to their cells.

"Phil Bronson," he heard, checking off the list. Three more, and he looked to see who would appear next. The next one was short and petite, smooth dark hair flowing softly down her back, gleaming in the sun like coal freshly chipped from a wall. Michael stared at the girl, who looked dazed and frightened. She approached him cautiously. He saw dark brown eyes, full of golden reflections.

"Name?" he muttered. He felt strange, a little confused.

"Parker… Liz Parker," she said, looking at him softly. Her lips parted slightly.

"What's up? Move!" the guard barked at the girl. Michael regained his composure and cleared his throat. He glanced at Liz Parker again; her eyes darkened slightly, and he saw the depth of regret in them. She stood in line, staring straight ahead. Two more women appeared. Michael forgot about the girl, crossing off two names on the list.

"Just one more and we'll be done with it." A young, rather tall blonde woman emerged, smiling radiantly at every guard. Michael thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The guards' eyes sparkled, she moved with such grace, and despite her gray prison garb, she looked stunning. Handcuffs posed no problem for her. Her long blond hair was tied in a tight braid. She approached Michael, drawing the gaze of several men.

"Isabel Evans," she said softly, drawing out the name, either deliberately or completely by accident. Michael felt a shiver run through him at the look. Her eyes lit up with a playful twinkle.

"Yes," he said, initialing her name. She glanced at him again and walked past, joining the ranks next to the brunette. Several women gave her envious glances.

"WE'RE GOING TO THE CELLS, MY LADIES!!

Hello two."

He hated this prison, but he hated reporting to the warden even more. For two years, he'd been trying to figure out this man. He didn't know why he needed all this information about women. He saw his sparkling eyes and the uncanny expression on his face, and he suspected something, but the warden never appeared among the prisoners.

In the evening, he went on his rounds, inspecting the cells of the new residents. Nights in the jail were the worst; he had to walk alone in the silent, dark corridor. The silence rang in his ears. His eyes were alert, following every movement in the cell. He walked calmly, feeling his blood pumping in perfect rhythm; there was always the possibility of a surprise, but it had never happened to him before. He heard a woman's giggle, soft, but then louder. He took a few more steps and looked to his right. The beautiful blonde wasn't sleeping at all; she was leaning against the bars, tilting her head slightly to the side. He didn't know why or how he stopped; perhaps the blonde was sending him telepathic messages. She turned suddenly, and in the darkness, he saw her smiling. Perhaps she had sent another telepathic signal for him to come over, and he did.

"You're tense," she whispered, her eyes taking in muscular arms and legs, broad shoulders, the line of his mouth, the corners of it turned down. Sweat covered his entire body, despite the chill in the place.

"You should sleep, you have a hard day tomorrow," he said, but it didn't come out as it should; his voice trembled. She smiled, played with a strand of her golden hair. She bit her lip.

"Comfort the brunette, she's sobbing all the time," she whispered, and sat down on the bed, an old mattress that reeked of urine and mustiness. He looked at her again, pointing a finger at the wall next to him.

"Go to La Gutte d'eau," she added. He shuddered, her voice making him tremble. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself, but it was difficult, very difficult. He moved away from the beautiful woman's cell and stood in front of another cell. The brunette lay with her eyes closed, her dark hair spread across the old pillow. Michael noticed silvery teardrops on her face. That unmistakable giggle reached his ears. He tried to hide in the shadows, but he didn't have time, because the brunette stirred and opened her eyes. She sat up in bed, looking at Michael. She was waiting, terrified.

"Don't be afraid, it's La Gutte d'eau," she heard a voice beside her, clearly reaching her. Her eyes glazed over, and Michael's heart skipped a beat under the brunette's gaze. He saw golden glints in her dark eyes, but now there were more of them, multiplying rapidly. He had never asked about such things, but now it was different. He took a deep breath and asked,

"Why did you end up here?

" "Because I betrayed and was betrayed," she replied immediately.

"People don't go to jail for things like that," he said, and froze as she approached the bars. A brunette with dark skin and smooth skin. She didn't smile or do anything, looking at him with deep sadness.

"Liz, ask him if he knows what happiness is," Isabel's words reached her. He raised his eyebrows; it was a game they were playing with him. He froze, waiting for the question, composing an answer in his head.

"What is happiness?" The corner of his mouth curled upwards; the mysterious, small figure didn't move, waiting for his words to flow.

"A successful life and perhaps a favorable fate," he said.

"Wrong answer," he heard the voice of a beautiful blonde. Liz walked away from him without a word and lay down on the bed; that was the end of the conversation for today.

***

"This is Liz Parker, accused of three murders, sentenced to the electric chair." The words echoed off him, and he stared at the warden's lips, not quite trusting him. "This is her last two weeks, death row." Michael wasn't listening; he was still under the influence of last night, and he hadn't fallen asleep.

"Michael?

" "Michael? Are you listening?" the warden said impatiently. Michael looked at him and cleared his throat.

"Yes... yes, I'm listening.

" Isabel Evans deliberately killed her father and stepmother, showed no remorse at the trial, pleaded not guilty. The warden paused, looking at the photo.

"Such a beautiful girl, oh well... as I said, the electric chair in two weeks, just like her predecessor." "She deliberately killed her father and stepmother..." Accused of three murders. I've seen more than one woman convicted of murder in prison, and none of them resembled these two women."

"Watch out for them, we might get a surprise," the warden added, looking at the faces of the other guards, who nodded in boredom.

He stepped outside for some fresh air, needed to catch his breath and get his heart in the right state. They were two delicate creatures, a crime—a blonde—it was possible, anything could be hidden in her soul. He remembered that look, she seemed to be looking at him curiously, but he didn't notice the lump of ice hidden in her eyes. Isabel Evans – a woman of surprise, her every move unpredictable; he could already see the man falling into her trap. He followed her beauty with his eyes, never guessing her true intentions.

Liz Parker – a woman who brought happiness. Michael didn't believe in her guilt; she was something unheard of, enigmatic to him, a paradise fruit, ripe in the sun, from which happiness had been squeezed. At night, he leafed through a French dictionary, pondering the meaning of the words "La Gutte d'eau." They compared him to a drop of water.

"Michael!" He turned, spotted Jack, looked again at the pristine sky, and sighed.

"What's going on?" he asked casually.

"You forgot, prisoners have free time," Jack replied, frowning. He looked at him in surprise. Michael groaned inwardly, completely forgotten, his eyes suddenly sparkling, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Michael? Are you feeling alright?"

"What?" he asked, looking at him blankly.

"I asked if you were feeling alright?" Jack repeated with concern in his voice.

"Oh, so great... great," he said, and walked away, his dark face and eyes full of golden reflections before him.

***

They were together; there was no record in the files that they had known each other before. He hid in the shadows; they stood out from all the women in the square. It was clear that Isabel spoke to Liz calmly and gently, as if afraid to hurt her.

A mysterious aura emanated from them. Two complete opposites attracted each other, not pushing each other away.

"La Gutte d'eau is watching us," Isabel whispered. Liz's eyes darkened, and she smiled furtively, looking at Isabel.

"Do you think he's different from everyone else?

" "Yes, he likes you, my dear," Isabel stated. "He's my type, but he'll stay for you, because I saw the way he looks at you.

" "How?"

"He's never met a woman like you," she added, leaning over her. "You intrigue him."

She hissed. Liz didn't respond, turning away, looking into the dark corner where Michael Guerin was hiding.

"Will he come over here?" Liz asked with a hint of hope in her voice.

"He's afraid, even from this distance he can feel it. I intimidate him," the blonde explained, hissing.