Chapter two. I hope you guys like it.

Back at Willard's cell he sleeps. He felt warm fur against his hand. A small nose nudging him. "Socrates?" he whispered. Willard awakens. It was just a dream...
Is life worth it all? Willard sees a sharp piece of metal on the tiny bed. He edges closer. Willard places the palm of his hand over the rusty metal. He pulls his hand back quickly.
Red blood drips from the pale palm. Just then the door opens. Caught. "Hello Willard, ... Oh my god! What have you done!" Jim shouts after eyeing the blood stained sheets.
"Why Willard? Why?" Jim asks as he steps toward Willard. Jim tries to look at Willard's hand but to no use as the thin man jerks back. Jim runs out and calls some one to help.
A women steps in with a first aid kit. Her hair, greying with age is tied back in a bun. She grabs Willard's hand. "If you don't listen to me, the consenquences will be... painful,"
she threateneds. Willard gives up. The women takes out a towel and wipes his palm then she pours some achohol on his hand. Screams of pain escape his dry throught.
Sandy felt the thoughts trickle in. Se was drawn to Willard because of curiosity. His pale appreance and silent ways poked at Sandy to find was was underneath the sorowful exterior. She felt sorry for him, trying to think of ways to help. "Poor guy, I hope that there is some way that I can help him," she thought.
Willard thought of Cathryn, that girl reminded him of the women he used to know. She was one of the few who cared. His mother, well you could say she did in her own special way. Socrates cared.