Low Security; Mary & Night
Baby Doll was giggling when they brought her in, but then again she always did that. A defense mechanism, shutting out what was around her; she sat through the medical examination, the cataloging of all her cuts and bruises and broken bones, and didn’t even throw a single ‘tantrum’, which the nurse praised her for even though she wasn’t technically allowed to. No ‘indulgences’, they said.
For her good behaviour, they led her down the hall not towards maximum security, where she generally ended up for the first few days of her stays - a flight risk, that was the only reason - but towards the low security ward, to be housed with those nutcases who freely roamed the halls. With an orderly to watch them of course. Her lawyer had swung it that way during the trial, but of course she hadn’t been all that aware of what was going on.
In her cell now, the laughing stopped. It was cold, it was dark, and there was no way to pretend that this was make-believe anymore. Not even the slightest chance. Instead, her eyes narrowed, moving to stare out the thick plexiglass window of the door. Her eyes locked on the inmate opposite, also encased. Lock down, lights out. No talking. She did anyway.