9:00A.M

Mark and Harold hastily walked up to the warden's office, carrying with them the pile of letters found inside 247's cell. Mark ascended the steps with a frown on his forehead, clearly irritated. He and Harold had a bit of a scuffle about the letters earlier. Mark had suggested that they leave the letters alone and perhaps have them sent to the morgue and be buried with 247 without notifying the higher-ups. However, Harold disagreed and reasoned that whatever they found inside the cell must first make it to the hands of the warden. He also elaborated to Mark that decisions like those would always fall on the warden and not them.

Before they reached the top of the staircase, they were immediately told to enter the office by the warden's secretary. She must have noticed us emerging from the steps, Harold thought to himself.

"The warden is expecting you," she said happily, ignoring the grinning Harold, and lightly throwing a meaningful look in Mark's direction.

Melinda was a 21-year-old female who started working for San Fernando Correctional at the same time as Mark. They spent a lot of intimate time during their one-month briefing and training as part of the maximum-security prison rules. They had a bit of a romantic connection, but Mark never went past kissing because he knew it was wrong. He was a married man.

Melinda accepted it when he broke off all communication between them. That was a few months ago. His wife never suspected anything, how could she? She was always busy with the kids. She used to check his phone during their first year of marriage, but when their firstborn came she stopped and focused on household chores, cooking, and a bunch of things that Mark believed she could have tackled easily without neglecting him. Now with their eighth anniversary coming up, Mark wondered if she even had the time to celebrate with him.

When Mark and his senior entered the office, they were immediately greeted with the smell of tobacco and brewed coffee. The warden, Mr. Protacio Carbonell had been running the prison for three decades. He was a good warden. Fair and just to his employees and the inmates as well. Rumour has it that he was once a convicted fellow himself. But those stories never had any evidence to back them up.

"So, what's the deal with 247?" The question boomed with an intensity that, for a minute, broke the guard's strides. The shock lasted briefly, though, as Warden Protacio threw them an amused look.

With a frown, Harold walked up to him and gave the letters. Protacio immediately raised an eyebrow and gazed at them curiously.

"We found this inside his cell," Harold explained.

When the warden got the letters, he immediately flipped through them but hadn't bothered to read any. What he did, however, was count the number of letters. When he was done, he gently laid it on his desk and then sighed.

Mark and his senior watched how the warden scrunched up his nose, rubbed his temple, walked up to his office window, and, despite the air-conditioning, drew open the curtain, then proceeded to unlock the panoramic window of his office. He took a deep breath, stared at the sky then stalked back to his desk. He lit another tobacco, then returned to the window.

Mark and Harold eyed each other, both confused at the weirdness of their warden's behaviour. Warden Protacio was someone who had always been difficult to read, yet on some occasions, Harold understood his motives and actions; unfortunately, at that moment, the veteran guard was failing miserably in understanding the confusion painted on their warden's visage.

"Do you know why that man was imprisoned?" Protacio asked as he craned his neck to the side to face the two guards who stood in the middle of his office.

Mark and Harold shook their head in unison. Their cluelessness was obvious in their eyes. Harold had been working in San Fernando Correctional for a good number of years. He knew the prisoners by their number and knew how long they had been incarcerated, but never had he bothered to look into their charges.

It wasn't that he took his job for granted. It had more to do with his heart. He'd never been wayward in the past. He used to be more alert, dedicated, and knowledgeable about the people around him. But that was when he was in the police force. He lost that enthusiasm when he was injured and reduced to becoming a guard. Yes, he never wanted to become a guard, especially inside a prison building. But he wasn't given much of a choice. When he had his accident during an entrapment mission, his life fell apart. He couldn't give up on the service so he settled to being what he is now.

"Murder, he was given a life sentence without the possibility of parole. He had lived his life behind bars for fifty years," the warden explained.

Mark and Harold remained silent but wondered why their warden suddenly decided to give them a prisoner 101 about the inmate in 247.

"When I first became the warden of this prison, his case was one of those that caught my attention. His trial lasted only five days. According to his records, he was found at the scene, drenched in the victim's blood with the murder weapon clutched in his hand. He immediately confessed to the crime, pleaded guilty and that was it."

"Why are you telling us this?" Harold questioned, unable to comprehend why the warden, who often brushes off an inmate's death as somewhere along the lines of that's life, curiously turned keen to give attention to prisoner 247.

The warden walked towards his desk, picked up the letters, and stared at them. "I always believed there was more to his story and the crime, but every time I proposed reopening his case, he would frantically decline."

Mark, unable to hold his curiosity, asked, "Did you think he was innocent?"

The warden smiled and then answered. "I thought there was more to the story and I believe we found it."

"What do you mean?" Harold questioned.

The warden flipped one letter so that the front faced both guards. "Dear Maria," he murmured, then eyed the guards while smirking.

"Oh man, enough with the suspense, and tell us!" Harold snapped.

Their warden laughed and replied,
"The man he murdered, his wife was named Maria Ventura."

At that moment, Harold and Mark finally understood what their warden was implying. "You think she had something to do with the case?" Mark asked.

"I think she hired him, I believe they had some kind of agreement," the warden answered.

Harold rubbed his temple, then retorted, "It won't do any good even if we figure it out; he is dead."

The warden looked them both in the face then he shook his head. How could he possibly explain to them that as a warden and former police officer himself there are cases that you couldn't let go of? Even if it bore no justice, or had passed the statute of limitation, one would still want to know the truth.

After a few minutes of curious staring and deep sighs, Mark and Harold left the warden's office with an agreement that the duo would join the warden after their lunch to read the contents of the letter. The warden believes that he would find a clue within the words written inside the letters.

"Don't you think it's pointless?" Mark asked as his senior walked in front of him, descending the stairs with difficulty. It's as if his senior's leg couldn't hold his weight. His lower half shook every time he took a step.

"Well, if I look at the evidence and what the warden said. I say the guy was guilty. He was found at the scene, had the victim's blood, had the weapon, and confessed to the crime; it's a no-brainer," Harold answered after taking a few laboured breaths.

Mark didn't respond. Harold had a point.

***

The morning went on as usual. Mark had his lunch with his seniors and a few others, sharing the meal his wife made for him. He was often teased about his lunch box. According to his co-workers, he was such a lucky man. Did he think so? Yes, he did, but in the previous years, he couldn't help but wonder if he and his wife still possessed that spark in their relationship. His wife rarely found time to cuddle or do sweet things with him. He never dared to initiate it because it dampened his ego as a man. He believed, or you could say, wanted her to make the first move.

"Alright lad, let's get to the warden's office," Harold suggested after he picked up his tray.

Mark bobbed his head, fixed his lunch box, and left it in the pantry kitchen then followed his senior up to the warden's office.

The warden had just finished his meal when the two of them arrived. Lighting his cigar, the warden eyed Mark, pointed at the letter and motioned for him to pick them up.

When he had the letters, "Now read them out loud," the warden commanded. Mark frowned, but the warden finished his sentence with, We will take turns reading them."

The young guard stared curiously at the letters and thought that they were invading 247's privacy. He wanted to say no. However, he must follow his seniors. Those were the rules. So with a heavy heart, he asked, "Where should I start reading?"

"There are dates on the upper left. I've asked my secretary to fix it. So start with the one on top." Warden Protacio answered.

After a long sigh, Mark sat on one of the seats in front of the warden's desk and then read,

Dear Maria...