The Ninth Hour / Season 1, Episode 4
Unsteady Shadows of C-Block
The flashlight beam jittered across the concrete floor of C-Block, catching the edge of a metal doorframe before snapping back to the center of the corridor. Diane Kessler’s hand wasn’t steady tonight, hadn’t been since 2:45 AM ticked over on her watch. Her boots scuffed against the grit underfoot, each step echoing too loud in the stillness, like she was stomping on purpose just to hear something human. The air down here smelled of damp steel and bleach, a sharp sting in her nostrils, but beneath it, something older, sour—like rot that wouldn’t scrub out. She stopped at cell C-18, the empty one, and angled the light through the narrow window. Nothing. Just the bare cot, the chipped sink, the dark smudge of a stain on the wall that hadn’t been there last week. Her breath fogged the glass for a second before she pulled back, her jaw tight. “Ramirez, you copy?” Her voice rasped into the radio clipped to her shoulder, rough from lack of sleep. Static hissed back at her, then a crackle. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up, Kessler?” Ramirez sounded half-asleep, probably slumped at the control desk with a cold coffee. She could picture his boots propped up, the grainy security monitors flickering in front of him. “Walk C-Block with me. Now.” She didn’t ask. Twenty years...