Diary of an Ugly Duckling Langhorne, Karyn (reading rainbow books txt) đź“–
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Audra heard clearly, “Officer needs assistance!
Shots fired, Block C, Cell 1211! We need the lights!”
She heard a familiar heavy voice growl from the
hallway and then the crackle of response from
Control.
“Bradshaw!” she cried. “Don’t come in! He’s got
my gun!”
She heard the footsteps hesitate, knew they were
right outside the open cell door. Haines was still
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323
feeling along the edge of the bunk, his eyes focused
on the entrance, where Audra could hear the COs
whispering to each other as they took their posi-
tions for containment and rescue.
Crap, Audra had time to think. This is exactly the
kind of incident that gives female COs a bad name—
Then the lights came on, flooding the room with
fluorescent light. Audra blinked, her eyes shifting
painfully with the abrupt adjustment from dark to
light. Then she saw it.
The gun.
Lying between her feet at the foot of the bunk,
tantalizingly close and yet so far away. Haines saw
it, too—it wasn’t two feet from where he knelt, and
an easy sweep of the wrist from being once again in
his hand. Audra heard the music of the great west-
ern classic, High Noon, playing in her ears as
Haines’s eyes locked on hers, his lips curving into
that trademark sneer of his. Then the two of them
made their move: Haines for the gun and Audra for
Haines.
Her right foot connected to his jaw, just as he
stretched out his fingers for the weapon. But her left
foot had already connected to that too, kicking it
like a soccer ball for a goal toward the bars.
“Bradshaw, weapon on the floor!” she shouted.
“Coming to—”
Haines’s fingers went around her throat, squeez-
ing, choking out any further hope of words, let
alone breath. Audra grabbed for his hands, but the
man leaned into the work now, forcing her down,
weakening her with every second that passed until
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Karyn Langhorne
Haines’s murderous face was replaced by bright
lights popping behind her eyeballs.
Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the lights
faded. The pressure on her windpipe eased, then
lifted completely. Audra coughed, dragging in air
like a drowning woman, blinking fast, trying to fo-
cus her mind, focus her thoughts enough to under-
stand what was happening now.
“Stupid bitch!” she heard Haines’s screaming.
“Fat, skinny, bright, dark—you still ain’t nothing
but a stupid, stupid—”
“Enough!” Bradshaw roared, and Audra could
finally see him, towering over Haines, who lay face-
down on the floor while two other officers hand-
cuffed him. Art held Audra’s service revolver in his
hand and his walkie-talkie in the other. He gave a
quick “all clear,” indicated that Haines would be
transferred to a holding cell in Solitary, then signed
off, looking at Audra, concern writ in capitals on his
face.
“You all right, Marks?” he asked almost gently.
A smart remark, that’s what the situation de-
manded. Something funny that would diffuse the
tension of violence circling the room like a buzzard
waiting for the kill. Audra knew the words were in-
side her somewhere, the perfect quip that would
make this another one of the stories COs swapped
around locker rooms and at shift change. Something
movie-star clever . . . something . . .
But the words wouldn’t come: not with Art Brad-
shaw looking at her with that mix of concern and
care. Not when all she wanted was to run into his
arms and tell him about Laine and her mother, and
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
325
apologize and beg to be forgiven until she could stay
enclosed in those arms forever . . .
Audra rubbed her throat, which felt like it had
been caught in a vise, swallowed once and felt a
fresh pain twist her face into a wince. Tears sprang
to her eyes.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head while
Art’s deep amber eyes bored into hers. “No . . . I’m
not all right . . .”
“I was afraid something like this might happen,” he
muttered in his low voice.
He had insisted on seeing her home, but she
wasn’t ready to face Edith. So he offered his place,
after the appropriate paperwork was filed. The su-
pervising sergeant placed Audra on administrative
leave until the whole encounter could be investi-
gated and dealt with, warning her with the words,
“I’d expect a call from Woodburn—and maybe even
the Warden—tomorrow.” They stopped once, for
breakfast from a nearby deli, but didn’t speak be-
yond the necessaries. The process of filing the inci-
dent report and realizing how close she’d come to
being a participant in a serious attempted prison
break had dried her tears. But now, sitting here in
his apartment, they were right beneath the surface
again.
“I screwed up,” Audra said as Art pulled their
eggs and toast out of the paper bag and settled their
Styrofoam containers on the coffee table in front
of her.
“Big time. You know the protocol. You’re sup-
posed to have backup, no matter what.”
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Karyn Langhorne
“I’m not talking about Haines,” Audra said
slowly. “I’m talking about with you.”
Art joined her on the couch, his eyes on the Styro-
foam. “With me?” he rumbled slowly. “What makes
you say that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Audra said with barely con-
cealed sarcasm. “You haven’t said a word to me
since the Reveal. Hiding out and changing your
shifts around and generally acting like I’ve got the
plague or something! It’s still me, Art. I’ve just got
long hair, a smaller nose and I’ve lost some weight—
and yes, I’m a little lighter—”
“A little lighter!” Art exclaimed, his voice a rum-
ble of distress. “Audra, you’re a completely different
woman!”
“So what? I didn’t exactly see you chasing after
the old Audra. You couldn’t even look me in the
face.” She shrugged. “Not that much has changed.
You can’t look me in the face now, either. Look if
you’re not interested, you’re not interested, but if
this is just because you don’t like my skin tone—”
“You look just like Esmeralda,” he muttered, turn-
ing away from her. “What did you do? Take a snap-
shot of her with you?”
“And if I did, so what?” Audra challenged. “What
if I deliberately set out to make myself over in the
form your ex-wife, a
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