16 August 1692, Tuesday
I saw Lizzie today. Father bribed the jailkeep, I know not for how much, and the jailkeep’s wife looked away as I headed downstairs into the dungeon. The first thing to hit me was the stench—urine, feces, and unwashed, sweltering bodies. The place is a living nightmare. I stopped at the foot of the stairs since all I saw was blackness. Twas so dark inside, and so bright outside, that I could not see my own hand before my face.
Then I heard her, my Angel with clipped wings.
“James? Jamie? Tis you?”
Finally, I saw her. Lizzie sat against the wall, her ankles bleeding where the heavy shackles cut into her skin. I meant to stay strong but I could not stifle my sobs. I pulled my Angel into my arms and wept.
“Oh, Lizzie,” was all I could say. “Oh, Lizzie…Oh, Lizzie…”
