Chapter 11

Peter reached for him. “Jacob.”

Jacob didn’t look back. He scrambled out of the bunk and walked to the end of the cell, to the gate, away from everyone else. He wrapped his fingers around one of the bars and sucked both his feelings and his tears down with one mighty sniff.

“Lover’s tiff?” said a bedraggled looking man called Williams, who was leaning against the end post of a bunk.

Jacob lunged at him, grabbing him around the neck.

“Watch your words, old man,” he snarled, saliva flying in strings from his mouth.

Williams looked terrified and held his hands up in surrender. “Mercy. Have mercy.”