Chapter 16

"How's this for a headline? 'French Fries.'"

-James French, already in prison for life for killing a motorist who had picked him up from hitchhiking in 1958, afraid to commit suicide, murdered his cellmate, apparently to compel the state to execute him. He was executed by electric chair on August 10th, 1966. His last words are seen above.

*Warning, graphic content ahead*

Chapter 16

"Are you even allowed to take me to them without any guards?" Vans spoke up from behind me as we weaved our way out of the Cafeteria. I bit the inside of my cheek in angst; I hadn't thought about that.

"No." I said, continuing to press through the crowd of occupied tables and chairs.

"Then how is this going to work?"

"Have a little faith, Vans. I know what I'm doing." I said, trying to reassure myself.

He stayed silent for the rest of the time we spent finding our way out of the hall. When we reached the doors, the guards stationed on either side of the doors straightened, still wanting to prove their worth. I gave them my best smile, wide and toothy, and did my best to seem in control of the situation.

"I require the two guards to accompany myself and this prisoner to the Welshes office. I have important business to discuss with them regarding this prisoner. Would you do me the honor of being those two guards?" I asked sweetly, giving the impression that this job was of the utmost importance.

"Of course, Miss Silverman." One man said, the thick Russian accent catching my attention.

I snapped my eyes up to his face and visually imprinted his appearance into my brain. With his thick black beard and bald head, he would be easy to remember, especially because my determination was involved. Gazing into his blue eyes, I realized who he was. He was Alexi Mikhailov, the man who was number one on my guard suspect list. I remembered his appearance from his file, blue eyes and a bald, round head. It was the new beard that had thrown me off my game, the black mess hiding half of his facial features.

I gestured for them to lead the way with a smile, making sure Vans and I were at a safe talking distance away from them. We were silent for a while; watching the guards in front of us stalk forwards with determination and pride in their stride, hands curled into fists at their sides, butts eating their pants.

"That was clever." Vans whispered, brushing his arm against mind.

Butterflies bloomed in my stomach, delicately fluttering their wings against my interior, awakened by a light breeze of affection. I stared at the ground to hide my reddening cheeks, afraid he would see the liking I had taken to him.

"They can't follow us all the way to the door, Vans. I think one of them was the other guard on the recording." He stiffened beside me, unsettled by my contemplations.

"I can start something with someone who is inside one of these cells. Would that help?" He whispered, gesturing to the cells we passed.

Unease filled me. The cells we were walking through held only the most dangerous of the inmates, the ones who had to eat their lunch inside their cells, and the ones who were isolated from everybody else.

"Maybe," I said, licking my lips, "we have to try."

He nodded stiffly and drifted from my side towards one of the cells. The guards continued walking, not realising what was about to happen, as Vans tapped his fingers against the metal bars of the cell.

"Hey faggot, how's the life of isolation treating you? Have you started imaging things yet? Have you created an imaginary best friend? Can I meet him? I know it must be a man because you seem to like things up the ass—"

"What did you just say?" A voice roared to life from the inside of the cell. Before Vans could react, a thick arm shot out from the bars and grabbed him by the collar, wrenching him forwards. His cheek hit the bars in a deafening crack, turning purple within seconds.

"Guards! Help!" I screamed, my concern genuine.

They turned swiftly on their heel upon hearing my scream, eyes widening as they saw the scene from afar. As they began sprinting down the hall, I took a step backwards, not wanting to witness the brutality they were sure to inflict upon the man. Alexi grabbed Vans' t-shirt from behind and wrenched him backwards. He struggled to find his footing and I ran towards him to keep him from falling. I steadied him from behind, pushing my hands against his back to keep him upright.

As the guards struggled to calm the man behind the bars, Vans turned towards me, blue eyes shining through the darkness of the hallway. I gave him a small smile and peered over his shoulder, curious to how our plan was playing out.

"We will deal with this, Miss. If you still want to see the Welshes, we will be right behind you." Alexi yelled through gritted teeth, attempting to restrain the man who was continuing to attempt to claw through the bars.

"Thank you, Alexi." I said, not realising that I wasn't supposed to know his name.

If he noticed, he didn't care, or was too preoccupied, because he continued to wrestle with the man behind bars. I grabbed Vans' hand and pulled him behind me, wanting to get as far away from the guards as possible. We had to speak to the Welshes quickly, before Alexi caught up and overheard the conversation.

As I pulled Vans through the hallways, tears of uncertainty began to fill my eyes. I didn't know if the Welshes would agree to let me see George, but I needed to try. Not knowing whether or not he was okay was an insufferable agony that left me feeling hollow inside. He was more of a father figure than my Dad ever was, and he taught me so much about life and love.

Always follow your heart, Emily.

The memory of his voice range through my mind, opening the fresh wound I had tried so hard to heal. He taught me to love everything under the sky, for the world is nothing without genuine appreciation. My father, on the other hand, taught me only about work and the value of ambiguity. Sometimes, I thought that he didn't believe in love and second chances and wondered how my parent's marriage had stayed afloat.

"Emily?" Vans said softly.

We had reached the office door of the Welshes. I lifted my hand up to knock, but my fist was caught inside Vans' palm before I could make contact with the wood.

"Emily, you're crying." He said softly, reaching out to wipe away the stray tears I didn't know had fallen.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled, angrily swiping away the rest of the salty water.

"What's bothering you?" He took a step forwards, closing the distance between us. His skin was mere inches away from mine, making me itch for its warmth.

"Nothing, its just—" I cut myself off, not knowing what to say. My emotions were all over the place; sometimes it just got too hard to control them. "Its just, I'm so close to getting George out of this mess and I'm worried that they wont let me see him. I just need to know that he is okay and that he is not suffering, you know?"

"I understand, I do." He inched forwards and the distance between us was consumed by the touching of our skin. "When you care about someone, all you need to know is that they are okay, and then you will be okay."

He reached towards my face and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. My heart began to thud loudly in my chest, the butterflies at full bloom, flying erratically around my insides. I looked up into his eyes and smiled softly. The mark on his cheek was turning into a deep purple, swelling the skin around his cheek. I reached upwards and placed my hand upon his cheek, running a gentle finger near the site of the swelling.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

"Don't be," he breathed, "it was worth it."

I sucked in a breath of insecurity and anxiety as his face tilted towards mine. His face was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth of his breath upon my cheek and the smell all the sweetness of fairy bread. My eyes fluttered close, my lips trembled in anticipation, and my toes curled in girlish curiosity.

And, just as his soft lips were beginning to graze my own, a click of the doorknob tore us apart. I wrenched myself backwards as the door swung inwards on its hinges, creaking loudly in the silence of the hallways.

"I thought I heard someone out here." Chris greeted us at the doorway, eyeing us with a look of dirty suspicion.

I straightened my blouse and took a step forwards, trying to remain strong as I faced off the man who had threatened me.

"I have come to ask for permission to visit George Oles."

"Excuse me?" Chris coughed, a laugh on his lips. Irritation bristled in my stomach.

"You said that if I wanted to see him, I had to ask your permission, so I am asking for that to be granted." I said, a plea beginning to fill my voice.

"And what makes you think that I will grant you permission to see him?" He laughed, closing the door behind him and stepping out into the hallway.

"Maybe we should go inside to discuss what I have to say—"

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say out here." He said, too quickly. He was hiding something.

I narrowed my eyes at him and took another step forwards.

"I'm sure your father would also like to hear about the information I have found regarding the death of Even Parker." I pressed, eager to go inside.

"Death? He's not dead, Emily, he's missing." His voice rose, irritation clearly evident in his voice.

"I have reason, and proof, to believe that he is already dead, and we should begin looking for the body."

"These are some serious accusations you are making, Emily." He took a threatening step forwards.

"I have proof." I pressed, not scared by him.

"Where? Where is your proof?" He yelled, taking everything very personally. My suspicion grew.

Why is he reacting like I am targeting him?

"What is the meaning of this?" A voice boomed from behind the closed door. It flew inwards, as a great forced wrenched it open, and Richard Welsh appeared in all his glory, his gigantic figure casting a shadow over me.

Behind the door, I saw movement, and had to squint to figure out who was hiding within the room. My eyes were only allowed to focus for a split second before the door was slammed shut again, both Welshes standing before Vans and I. Shock began to settle into my blood as the face within their walls began to register in my mind. Before the door was shut, the eyes of Gary Ridgeway met my own, and a sinister smile, one that stretched from ear to ear, grew upon his lips.

What is the River Killer doing, unguarded, inside their office?

Before I could answer Richard Welsh, something wet dripped onto my forehead and slowly dripped down my face. I looked to Vans in confusion, hoping he would tell me what was falling off my chin and onto the stone cold floor. The horrified expression that greeted me stopped me heart from beating momentarily. I placed a finger upon the wetness on my forehead and held it in front of my eyes. Their was only one answer for the sickening red; blood.

I swallowed hard, turning slowly, and looked up.

Hanging from a wire tied around his neck, Even Parker's face was almost unrecognizable amongst the green and black swelling that covered his body. Chunks of skin were slashed off his body, hanging by threads of skin, and only bloody sockets remained where eyes should have been. His clothes, which were shredded by stab markings, were blackened with blood. Worst of all, his crotch was soaked with piss, bile, and old blood, his tool of manliness cut from between his legs and placed between his clenched teeth.

This wasn't just a murder; this was a threat and a display of power.

Vans was the one to break the deafening silence.

"Well, I think we found the body."

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Exciting?????????

Please comment your thoughts!! I love hearing them!

Did you guys think he was dead? Or did you think they were going to find him alive?

Most importantly, who'd you think killed him?

Xx Charli

Ps- I updated early cause you guys deserve it ;)