Chapter 14

"We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow [...] I don't think anybody doubts whether I've done some bad things. The question is: what, of course, and how and, maybe even most importantly, why?"

-Ted Bundy, American serial killer, kidnapper, rapist, burglar, and necrophile who assaulted and murdered numerous young women and girls during the 1970s. He confessed to 30 homicides.

Chapter 14

The night had passed quickly and quietly, the sun setting before I could say goodbye. The black sky had come and gone, turning yellow in the morning sunlight. My mother refused to speak to me, slamming the door behind her when she returned from the hospital about an hour after I did.

With my father's words still fresh in my memory, I had a new fever in my veins to find something that would give me access to the files I needed. That meant I had to spend another painstaking day inside the prison walls with the man I wasn't supposed to like. I was beginning to feel like I was spending more time in those walls than in my own at home.

A soft buzz from my pocket vibrated my phone against my thigh, awakening me from my thoughts. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, surprised to see a message from Nicola.

Nic- Party tomorrow night at my place, wanna come?

Sure. I'll be there at six?

Nic- Sounds good. See you then. Send my wishes to your Dad.

I smiled, pleasantly surprised that I had something to look forward to, other than work. I hurried to pack my things, childish excitement already affecting my motivation and mood. Making an effort to look slightly presentable, I applied some makeup on my eyes and lips, in an attempt to make my blue eyes pop.

The sun shined down unnecessarily bright as I took the first stepped out onto the porch; the yellow glare paining my sensitive eyes into a soft squint. I slung my small bag over my shoulder and began a slow jog to the bus stop. It contained an apple, some files and my phone, while my recorder and a vial of lipgloss were tucked snugly into my jean pocket. The gentle thud of my feet against the pavement steadied my breathing and calmed my growing nerves.

I didn't know where I was going to find the information I needed to gain access to the guard files, but I needed it desperately. Avoiding the Welshes would also prove a challenge, as they seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere. Just thinking about them sent a wave of unpleasant shivers down my spine, almost making me lose my footing on the sidewalk.

The bus smelt like fish sticks and wet dog fur. By the end of the trip, I had never been more thankful for the fresh air that I consumed as I took my first few steps towards the prison. Its huge walls and barbed wire fences looked as they usually did; rusted and run down, crumbling at the edges, holes in the wire. I ran my tongue over my teeth, annoyed that my endless complaints about the state of the walls hadn't been acted upon. Someday, someone would break out and they would all be sorry for not listening to me.

Once I signed in and the office ladies gave me their usual glare, I strolled down the hallways, not quite sure of what I was going to do with my day. I swung my arms, annoyed that there was nothing I could really do, and unknowingly made my way towards Van's cell.

Harsh murmurs froze my legs mid-stride. A small smile found it's way onto my lips as my boredom evaporated, replaced with sublime curiosity. I slipped my hand into my pocket and turned my tap recorder on, making sure I captured everything. I quietly bent down and untied my shoes, holding them secure in my hands when I was done.  I crept closer to the sounds of angst, silent socks sweeping across the floor as I pressed myself up against the wall.

"It's got to be any time now. Sooner or later, somebody's got to find the next body." A rustic, familiar voice whispered. My breath hitched, curiosity turning into deadly suspicion.

"Keep your voice down, you idiot!" A deep, Russian voice spoke. "You'll be the next dead body if you don't shut your trap."

"It's not my fault you got us involved in this crap. If you just kept your fucking nose out of it we wouldn't have to keep meeting like this."

"Oh so this is all my fault now, is it?"

"Of course it is, you shit! I never would have been involved if you didn't spill your bloody guts to me. I didn't ask for this!"

"Screw you man!"

"Screw you!"

"Just shut up man! We can't fix it now. You're bloody stuck with me. If this goes bad, you're coming to hell with me."

"Why'd you have to say that? You know that crap gives me anxiety."

"Fück your anxiety. We're here to make sure they don't get caught. If they do, we will get locked up too."

"I know! Bloody hell, man. I know..."

My chest rose and fell at a pace that was unknown to the human kind. I held my free hand over my mouth, catching the sounds of despair that wanted to escape. As much as I knew the guards might have been responsible for the disappearance of the inmate, it didn't make it any less hard to accept. The people I worked with, grew up with, and trusted had betrayed me. It stung like a knife in the back, the deep treachery prying a small tear from the corner of my eye.

Vans was right.

The thought sparked another onset of tears to rush into my eyes, spilling over onto the floor in the silence. I released a hand from my mouth to wipe the water off of my cheeks, allowing just enough time for a dangerous sob to escape my throat. I froze, slapping my hand to my mouth once again, knowing all too well what I had done.

"What was that?" The Russian voice snapped at his partner.

I slowly took a step backwards, heart thudding wildly in my chest, clutching my shoes to my stomach. But, as my heel made contact with the floor, my tears betrayed me once again; the wet floor, the salty tears, caused a socked foot to slip and eventually come crashing down hard onto the floor.

My hands, still holding my converse, released upon impact, dropping the shoes in the process of my fall. The cry that formed on my lips was cut short as my teeth clamped down onto my tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I desperately tried to scramble to my feet.

"Over here!" A voice shouted, dangerously close.

Panic filled me as I scrambled to pick up my fallen shoes, dislodging the vial of lip-gloss in the process. It fell to the ground in an unforgettable clatter, the glass shattering on the hard tiles. Eyes widening and heart clenching, I tore my eyes from its broken contents and sprinted down the hallway, adrenalin pumping my legs faster.

As I passed a window and saw my fear-stricken face, I paused, allowing a slither of intelligence to sink into my brain. I quickly slid on my shoes, tucking the laces into my socks, and brushed my hair down with my fingers. Continuing down the hall at a pace slightly faster than normal, I hoped the office ladies would not notice my panicked heart, or worse, one of the guards. I slowed my pace to a normal stroll, plastering a smile on my face as if nothing was wrong, as if I didn't just overhear a life-threatening conversation.

Just as I expected, a second later, a guard ran passed me, armpits heavy with sweat, gun out at the ready. He stumbled to a halt beside me and grabbed my arm with his free hand. The face that greeted me brought my racing heart to a stand still, the familiarity of the voice i overheard finally making sense. It was Christian.

"Emily, did you see anyone run down this hallway?" He rushed, hand tightening around my arm.

"Let go of me, Christian, you're hurting me." I pushed at his arm, which he looked down at in shock and released quickly. He grimaced as he observed the red mark he left, but I was numb to any pain. The betrayal hurt more than any bruise.

"I'm sorry, Emily. I shouldn't have—"

"I didn't see anyone, Christian." I interrupted; hoping my gaze of authority was hiding the pain behind my eyes. "Is there a problem I should be aware of? Was someone let out of their cell? Was there another riot?" I glanced down at the gun in his hands.

"N-no, Emily. Never mind." He frowned and took a shaky step backwards, tucking his gun back into his belt. If I wasn't so hurt, I would have felt proud for being such a great lier. "Christian, if there is something wrong, you need to tell me." I pressed, hoping to get a confession out of him.

He cleared his throat and proceeded to take several steps back to the way he came from. He gave me a small smile, and I caught a flicker of fear pass over his eyes before turned his head away. As if my heart wasn't aching enough, my chest gave out its final wave of warmth towards the man that had helped me recover from the riots, a flood of sympathy filling my blood.

"There is nothing wrong. I just thought I saw something." Scratching his head, he turned on his heel. "Send your Dad my best wishes." He said quietly before disappearing down the hallway, his shadow joining with those of the walls.

I slumped onto the stonewall, my head thumping against the hard surface. A shaky breath left my lips, tears beginning to bristle in my eyes. I rubbed my eyelids in an attempt to stem the flow of salt water.

There's no use crying about it, Emily. You've got what you came for. You're one step closer to saving George.

Breathing deep, I pushed myself back off the wall, flicked my blonde hair over my shoulder, and tilted my chin upwards. I had escaped a danger that would have been the end of me. All I had to do was get the tape recorder to my father, gather the files, and find a way to pin this all on Christian, for the sake of George.

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Do you think the guards are responsible now?

Or, do you still believe it is someone else. If so, who? And why?

Comment to let me know ;)

Thank you for reading

love you guys

Charli xx