“Fox River State Penitentiary, just outside of Illinois.” The convict admitted freely, biting on his already chewed up bottom lip, “The last place I want to go is a prison – you don’t have to worry about me trying to get in there, trust me.” Scofield was trying to joke it off, trying to joke off the fact he knew that this guy would be more comfortable putting a bullet in his skull than letting him walk. The young man took a step back, hands pushing into his pockets, “You gonna let me go, or you gonna pull a gun on me?”
♙ —At the mention of a prison, he tensed. At first because he assumed he was talking about the prison they currently lived in. Then he tensed even more at the fact he’d been in prison when the world had fallen apart. To him, any man that had been in prison, had been a criminal. He looked over his shoulder for a brief second, looked to his home before turning to face the man again. That was a relief, he believed the man too. ❝ I have no reason to stop you, not if you ain’t gonna try anything. ❞
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