“Pull it together, man,” Wright whispered. “I need you thinking clearly so we can get out of here.”

“We ain’t getting out, Corporal,” Arnold said. He sniffed some snot back into his nose. “I had to kill a man. In my cell. I killed him.”

“Guess we’ve had similar stays,” Wright grunted. “I didn’t get laid either. Starting to seriously doubt that I’m going to.” Wright chuckled at his own jest, but it only made Arnold more nervous.

“He was saying something to me,” Arnold said. “I couldn’t understand.”

“Who?”

“The man I killed, Wright! If only we could’ve talked--”

“Clear your head!” Wright snapped. “And stop twitching!” He lowered his voice considerably. “We need to get out of these ropes.”

“Ssshhh,” Arnold said. “She’ll hear!”

“Of course she will! We still have to escape. Listen, do you know what happened to Layne?”

Arnold shook his head no.

“He had the truck and the guns,” Wright said in a loud whisper. “He might have gone to get help. Sergeant Reynolds and the boys will level this place.”

They froze at the rustling sound of approaching footsteps in the hall behind them. A doorknob turned, followed by the squeak of hinges.

“Ciao,” the woman said, gliding into view. She stood with marvelous posture, wearing a long, skin-tight black dress and a hat that was tall and pointed with a wide brim. Arnold shook like he was riding a boxcar. Her lips bunched in a half-restrained smile. “My goodness,” she said. “You have fear?”

Arnold closed his watery eyes tightly and nodded.

“You are wise to have fear.” She pivoted Arnold’s table so that he was facing Wright. Wright remained stone-faced.

“Look at this one,” the woman said, pointing to Wright. “Is soldier. Big, tough soldier man. Who do call him? Mister Wright?”

Arnold nodded yes.

She sighed deeply as she walked between the two tables. Wright turned to her.

“What are you?” Wright asked sternly, looking her up and down from the point of her hat to the hem of her dress. “You look like a witch.”