The Ninth Hour / Season 1, Episode 7
Walls Closing In
Diane Kessler’s boots scuffed against the polished concrete of C-Block as she rounded the corner, her flashlight beam slicing through the dim haze of the 2:45 AM shift. The air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of industrial cleaner and something older, sour, like damp earth after a storm. Her pulse ticked in her throat, not fast, not yet, but steady enough to remind her she wasn’t as numb as she liked to think. Twenty years walking these corridors, and she’d never felt the walls lean in quite like this. Not until the new wing. Not until 3:00 AM started meaning something more than just a shift change. “Ramirez, you got eyes on C-18?” Her voice crackled through the radio clipped to her shoulder, low and tight, the words scraping out of her like she’d swallowed gravel. She stopped short of the cell in question, the beam of her light trembling just enough to betray her. Empty, of course. Always empty. But the cold seeped out from under that steel door like a living thing, brushing against her knuckles as she gripped the baton at her hip. Static hissed back before Ramirez’s drawl cut through. “Nothin’, Kessler. Same as last night. Same as the night before. You gonna call me every time you get the creeps now?” Her jaw...