Scarecrow of 1889
Chapter 26: Inside the Prison

Chapter 26: Inside the Prison

"Take this!" The guard shoved the tray of barely edible food towards Sylvester with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"I am innocent!" Sylvester protested, his voice echoing off the cold, hard walls. It felt like an eternity since he’d been brought in.

"That’s what they all say," the guard retorted, rolling his eyes as he walked away.

Now transferred to the main prison, Sylvester scanned his surroundings desperately for any sign of assistance. However, he was encircled by hardened criminals, and the officers who visited had already labelled him guilty, ignoring his pleas and dismissing his reports with cold indifference.

Sylvester spent a sleepless night, the dark circles under his eyes deepening with each hour. He feared that closing his eyes might somehow lead to accusations of another murder he had no part in. His cellmate, a shaggy and shady figure, only added to his discomfort. Although the man only stared silently, sending chills down Sylvester’s spine, Sylvester was grateful for the silence.

In the morning, in another part of town where Elizabeth lived, her husband burst into the kitchen with a newspaper in hand,.

"You have to read this, Beth!" John’s voice was urgent, causing Elizabeth to frown in concern.

"What is it?" she asked, taking the newspaper from him. As she read the headlines, her face drained of colour.

"Do you think he did it? They’re saying the evidence at the crime scenes points to him," John inquired. He knew Elizabeth had been distant from her family, avoiding visits to her mother or brother in Riddleford, though he had never pushed her for an explanation.

"No," Elizabeth replied, shaking her head firmly after a moment’s reflection. "He couldn’t have done it..." Yet, John caught a trace of uncertainty in her voice. "This could be a mistake, right?" she added, her eyes searching for his reassurance.

John nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to offer comfort. "We’ll find the best help we can. Let’s go see him," he suggested, ready to support her through the unfolding crisis.

As Elizabeth and John stepped outside, the weight of local scrutiny was evident. The streets seemed crowded with curious and sombre faces, recognising Elizabeth as Sylvester’s sister. Since Delilah Swan’s death, the local newspapers had not been kind, frequently featuring their grief-stricken faces. Determined, they ignored the whispers and stares, heading straight to the jail where Sylvester was being held.

Upon arrival, Elizabeth immediately noticed her brother’s gaunt appearance. He looked significantly thinner than he had at their mother’s funeral, his eyes shadowed with distress. "I didn’t do it, Beth..." Sylvester’s voice broke through the heavy silence.

"We will sort it out," Elizabeth assured him firmly, squeezing his hand.

Sylvester’s eyes filled with relief. Knowing that his sister believed in his innocence was a small comfort amid the sea of accusations. The thought of being found guilty and facing the electric chair sent chills through him. The finality of such a punishment was too grim to bear.

"Do you know when the court hearing is?" Sylvester asked, a tremor in his voice.

"Two weeks from now," Elizabeth replied, her heart sinking as she watched his face lose even more colour. "John is already speaking to lawyers to take up your case," she added quickly, hoping to provide him with some solace.

They spent a few more moments discussing the details, Elizabeth trying to raise his spirits.

As evening descended on the jail, Sylvester’s mind was clouded with a deepening sense of hopelessness. He couldn’t fathom how his life had spiralled to this point. Pacing anxiously back and forth in his cell, he cast wary glances at his cellmate, whose presence added to his unease. Every nervous tap of his foot seemed to echo ominously in the cramped space.

Suddenly, the warden’s voice boomed through the hall. "Out of your cells! It is time for food!" The command was loud enough for everyone to hear, slicing through the heavy air.

Reluctantly, Sylvester knew he had to leave his cell. Despite his hunger, the fear of stepping into the corridor, where other inmates were already emerging from their confines, made him hesitate. The jail’s reputation for harshness weighed heavily on his mind, and he questioned whether venturing out was wise.

"Are you going to move today?" a gruff voice interrupted his thoughts.

Startled, Sylvester turned to see his cellmate looking at him expectantly. He swallowed hard, the simple act feeling like it took more effort than usual, and quickly mumbled an apology before hurrying ahead. The dining hall, while large, was far from comfortable. It lacked the space necessary for the prisoners to eat without the oppressive sense of crowding.

As Sylvester manoeuvred through the crowded mess hall, a blond man with a scar across his eyes took notice. "Look at that," he remarked loudly, a sardonic smile playing across his face. "We have beauty," he whistled, drawing the attention of others. "When did you arrive?"

"Must be fresh meat. I’m seeing him today," another prisoner chimed in.

Sylvester did his best to block out the invasive comments and focused on joining the food line, but the jeers continued unabated. "Wanna be my bitch, handsome? I’ll treat you right," one called out lasciviously.

Disgusted by the lack of morals, Sylvester gripped his battered plate tighter, appalled that he was categorised with such uncouth individuals. He reached the server, who dished out food with a detached, bored expression.

"Come sit with us! I’ve saved you a spot," the blond prisoner shouted, trying to catch his attention again. "What’s your name?" But Sylvester continued to ignore him, seeking solitude.

"He’s ignoring you, Garry!" another prisoner laughed.

Choosing a corner seat in an attempt to avoid further confrontation, Sylvester’s relief was short-lived as his plate was suddenly snatched from his grasp. Looking up, he saw the blond man standing over him. Sylvester’s concern deepened, but he tried to remain composed. "Give my food back to me."

"Oh, look at the manly voice," the blond cooed mockingly before pressing again, "What’s your name?"

"My food," Sylvester reached out, but the blond playfully jerked the plate away, enjoying the spectacle he created. The other prisoners laughed and jeered, while the indifferent guards merely observed.

"You want your food?" the blond taunted before cruelly dumping the contents over Sylvester’s head. "Eat it now." Laughter erupted around the room.

Amidst the chaos, a voice cut through the noise, "That’s the great, esteemed Delilah Swan’s son."

"The hot Delilah Swan actress? I heard she died recently and was killed by her son," another added, sparking a mix of intrigue and disdain from the surrounding crowd. While some viewed Sylvester with newfound caution, for the rest it didn’t matter.

As the menacing inmate swaggered away with his threat lingering in the air, Sylvester remained seated, feeling the sticky gravy drip down his face. He sat motionless, an empty plate before him, feeling a profound sense of injustice. I don’t deserve this... he silently said to himself. Gathering what little dignity he could muster, he quickly washed off the remnants of his humiliation and retreated to the relative safety of his cell, his mind swirling with apprehension about what the coming nights might hold.

As darkness fell and the cell block was locked down for the night, the distant laughter and crude banter from other inmates filled the air. Sylvester’s own cellmate, clicked his tongue in annoyance before turning towards him, who was quietly muttering to himself in the dark.

"Can you stay quiet already? As if the noise outside isn’t enough," the cellmate grumbled, his voice tinged with irritation.

"Crees que estoy disfrutando de este ruido? Siempre me deja con hambre. Ni comida ni sexo con mujeres!"

The man, who had been lying on his side of the cell, propped himself up on one elbow, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Excuse me?"

"Do you know where to find food at this hour?" Sylvester’s accent had changed heavily, and the man frowned.

"In the kitchen."

The man saw Sylvester walk up to the cell gate and check the lock, while saying, "Donde esta el agujero?" and he heard a click, to the man’s surprise. "You hungry?"

"It isn’t safe for you to go out there," Teddy warned, his voice low and serious. "If one of them catches you, they won’t leave you be."

"You seem nicer than the rest here. I like you. I am Ricardo Wood," Ricardo said, offering a hand that wasn’t taken. He needed an ally, and kindness seemed the quickest path.

"Teddy Walsham," the man replied gruffly. He eyed Ricardo suspiciously. "I thought someone earlier said you were Sylvester Crowley."

"Tch, they got it wrong. I am Ricardo Wood," Ricardo insisted. Without waiting for further questioning, he slipped out of the cell, leaving the door slightly ajar. Teddy stared after him, baffled by the ease with which Ricardo moved.

A few minutes later, Ricardo returned, stealthily closing the door behind him. He tossed a piece of bread to Teddy, who caught it, still in disbelief. Ricardo ate his share quickly and then lay down, falling asleep almost immediately as if nothing unusual had happened.

The next morning, Sylvester awoke to find Teddy staring at him intently. "How did you do it?" he demanded.

"Do what?" Sylvester responded, genuinely confused.

"Open the cell door. It was locked by the guard, and you locked it back without a key," Teddy pressed, his suspicion evident.

People in prison were indeed odd, Sylvester mused silently. Choosing to maintain his innocence, he shrugged nonchalantly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he replied.

Teddy Walsham’s frown deepened as he observed Sylvester, who seemed suddenly different—a change that didn’t go unnoticed. The intensity of Teddy’s gaze made Sylvester uncomfortable, prompting him to avert his eyes and adopt a more guarded posture.