An Extract from Echoes of a Dead Man by Terry James

‘Well, Jethro, you’ve served your time and paid your debt to society, so keep your nose clean and with luck you and I won’t see each other again.’ The craggy faced warden, a short man of wide stature and very little hair, pushed back his chair and stood up behind his cluttered desk. ‘Here’s the watch and the twenty-three dollars you had on you when you were brought in,’ he said, handing over a lumpy brown envelope. ‘The rest is the stage fare to get you back to Wagoner where you were sentenced.’

Without raising his gaze, Jethro Davies tore the package open and tipped the contents into his hand, glancing disdainfully at the money before shoving it into the pocket of his ill-fitting suit. Like him, the clothing had seen better days and a moth flew out as he withdrew his hand. He watched it flutter towards a ribbon of sunlight coming through a single dirty window, the only brightness in a room made dark by harsh rules, neglect and the same loathing that filled the tiny prison cells beyond its walls...

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