Chapter 12

"I was literally singing to myself on my way home, after the killing. The tension, the desire to kill a woman had built up in such explosive proportions that when I finally pulled the trigger, all the pressures, all the tensions, all the hatred, had just vanished, dissipated, but only for a short time."

- David Richard Berkowitz, known also as the Son of Sam and the .44 Caliber Killer, is an American serial killer was convicted of a series of shooting attacks in New York City. He killed six victims and wounded seven others by July 1977. He confessed to all of them, and claimed to have been obeying the orders of a demon, manifested in the form of a dog "Harvey" who belonged to his neighbour.

He also said;

"A 'possessed' dog in the neighbourhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood." and "The demons wanted my penis."

Chapter 12

"So now you finally get it." Vans said to be in triumph, throwing his hands up in the air and nearly tipping his chair over. He didn't squeal when it wobbled on one foot, instead he resigned to laughing, enjoying the moment of adrenaline before he moved his weight forwards, bringing the chair back to stand-still.

"Hold up." I said, holding a hand up for emphasis. "How exactly do you know that it was a guard?"

"Come on!" He laughed. "As if it isn't obvious!" I raised an unimpressed eyebrow and sunk back into my seat. He sighed and leaned his sculpted arms on the table. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but if you haven't found anything on any inmate, don't you think that its because none of us have done anything wrong?"

I thought long and hard, going over my answer in my head before I opened my mouth to speak it. The way he said 'us' catapulted me back to reality; he was a prisoner and I was just a girl. I would never be included in the family of thieves and that meant that I would always—always be in danger of them. This fact didn't surprise me, but it didn't fail to send a shiver of discomfort down my spine.

Sensing my hesitation, he continued to speak.

"Haven't you ever seen the corruption in this place? Don't you ever wonder why so many things go wrong?" He asked, staring me straight in the eyes. I would be lying if I said no, or that everything in this place was forward and done correctly, because it wasn't. I had seen first hand what double-dealing and wagers could do to a place of such loneliness and greed. I knew that it had also had a hand in what had happened to George and why he was locked in another cell, awaiting judgment.

"Just because a place is corrupt does not mean those in charge are responsible." I said, carefully wording my answers.

"That is where you are wrong, Emily. You are tunnelling your vision because you do not want to admit that your whole life is being poisoned by corruption."

"My life is not poisoned." I spat, anger beginning to seep into my voice.

"Oh but it is! Corruption works in many ways, but it will always sneak into a persons life before they realise it is even there. It is slow at first, and like the snowball effect, it picks up speed until it is a raging force to be reckoned with! You will never see it coming. Not before it is too late. It's what happened to all of us who are trapped inside of this hellhole, its what happened to the people in charge, and its what will happen to you." Upon hearing his words, my anger turned into rage.

"How dare you say such a thing! That will never happen to me!" My breathing quickened as my hands curled into fists, my nails making moons on my palms.

"It's already begun, Emily. The more you try to deny it, the worst it will become."

"Stop saying that." I hissed. "I will never be corrupted. I am true to my work and I will always strive to prove innocence and guilt."

"Do you now? Is that why you're avoiding the investigation of key suspects in your case just to save your pride?"

I stood up in a rush, my chair smacking to the ground behind me. A guard saw my sudden movement and pulled out his walkie-talkie. I shook my head at him, signalling that I was not in any danger.

"Do not test me, Vans. I have more power in this place than you know. Just one word to my father and your sentence can be moved up. You are young. Don't put what little time you have left at risk."

His smirk faltered as he realised the seriousness of my threats. As much as I couldn't deny the small attraction I felt towards his charisma, I was not going to let a criminal get in the way of proving George's innocence and finding the killer. I turned sharply on my heel, preparing to walk away from the devil with blue eyes, but stopped myself when I realised I hadn't finished.

"Oh and Vans?" He looked up from the table, glaring up at me. "Next time we meet, I expect you to be compliant and have more information. Otherwise, the deal is off, and I will make sure there will always be someone waiting for you in the showers." I smiled sweetly and stalked out of the hall, confident that I had created my own snowball effect. I hoped that my words were enough to convince him to be more open about his secrets, which would get me one step closer to finding my top three suspects.

My rage burned out of my system with each step I took closer to the doors. If anything, I felt more defeated as I entered the hallways, for I knew everything he said was right.

The prison was more corrupt than I knew, and there was no way that I could neglect to look at the guards any longer. I needed the files on every single worker in the prison, but with my father still hospitalised, I needed to see the replacements.

"Emily!" A voice shouted from my left. Conveniently, I turned to meet the face of the younger Welsh, Chris. His straight black hair was slicked back atop his head, enlarging the appearance of his brown eyes.

"Yes?" I said, my voice as sweet as Cadbury chocolate.

"We need to talk."

I frowned, hoping the conversation wouldn't take an unexpected turn for the worst. Just my luck, it did.

"My father and I have come to the conclusion that there is bias included in your views of the prime suspect of the murder or Harley James, George. And from this moment forwards, you are not permitted to see or attempt to contact him without direct permission from myself or my father until the case is solved."

"Excuse me!" I yelled, my anger boomeranging. "You cannot tell me what I can and can't do. Only my father has that kind of authority over me, so find someone else to destroy to satisfy your ego." I stalked away from him, not wanting to hear the answer I knew I would get.

He ran after me, his heavy footing making slapping noises against the harsh tiles. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, nearly ripping my arm out of its socket. I cried out in agony as the fire of pain burned inside my socket.

"You listen to me and you listen carefully." He spat, saliva flicking onto my face. I attempted to rip my arm out of his grip, but his hand tightened around my skin, bruising the surface. "I hold the power in this prison now, not the guards, not you and not your precious little daddy." I flinched at his words and opened my mouth to retaliate. He silenced me by squeezing my already bruised arm, forcing a small whimper to leave my lips. "You answer to me now. What I say, you do. Is that clear?"

"Cristal." I said between my teeth, feeling his hot breath on my face.

He released me suddenly, making me fall to the ground, jarring my wrist upon impact with the tiles. His eyes burned with hate as he stared down at my weak form. I glared back up at him, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. For a moment, I thought he might kick me while I was down, as his leg drew backwards in anticipation. I closed my eyes, waiting for it's impact, but was instead greeted with nothingness as he stalked back down the hall, clenching and unclenching his fists.

I seethed with quiet resentment, wishing for his death to be painful and filled with suffering.

It was then that I remembered Vans words about corruption. Never before had someone been so right about this prison; there was no escaping the corruption that filled its walls. Whether it was inside the prisoners or inside the guards, it was destroying my chance at a true understanding of this case.

Dread filled me as I realised that there was no way that they would give me access to the files I so desperately needed. I lifted my chin as I dragged myself to my feet, a new determination filling my veins. If the Welsh's wouldn't give me what I wanted, I would just have to ask my father. Then I would show them who really has the power.

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So who do you trust? Vans, the Welsh's, or the guards?

Comment to let me know!

And as always, thank you for reading.

Feel free to give me some feedback and let me know hoe you are feeling about this story. Let me know if anything confuses you, or has gone unmentioned in a while.

Or, if you think nothings wrong, let me know too ;)

xx Charli