Chapter 4

"It wasn't as dark and scary as it sounds. I had a lot of fun... Killing somebody's a funny experience."

-Alberto De Salvo (Aka- The Boston Strangler), confessed to murdering 13 females.

Chapter 4

My mother had been pacing across the waiting room for about an hour before it finally began to irritate me. She had eventually gotten me to confess about the blood on my blouse while we were waiting for news on Dad. She had a complete fit and in her current emotional state it was twice as worse as usual.

"You're NEVER going back there, you here me?" She had yelled.

"Mum... I kinda have to... I work there..."

"Well then quit!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

"YES YOU WILL. YOU'RE MY FUCKING CHILD, YOU WILL DO AS I SAY." Then everyone started staring so she stopped yelling. After that, she glared at me and began pacing, sometimes stopping mid stride to give me the evil eye. I knew that she wouldn't actually make me quit work; at least, Dad wouldn't let her make me.

If he's still alive to do so... I shook my head and pushed my subconscious aside. He was ok. He was going to be ok.

So, now an hour had passed and all we knew was that Dad was in surgery, but we had no idea how exactly the accident had occurred. No one was telling us anything.

The cushion beside me sunk inwards as my mother sat down next to me.

"I'm sorry..." She said quietly.

"Its ok." I said, because it was. I had forgiven the moment she said it, as I knew that if the circumstances were different then she wouldn't have sworn. Maybe she wouldn't have even yelled.

"Its just..." She raked her hands through her long hair and stood up again. "Uhh!"

"I know Mum. It sucks." I gestured to the sickly room we were stuck in, but we both knew I was talking about Dad.

"Missesess?" A quiet voice spoke up from behind us. I swiveled around on the couch, slightly amused at the appearance of the young male doctor that stood before us. His lanky figure fit awkwardly into his blue scrubs, his height out of proportion to his weight. He was all arms and legs and he held a clipboard in his spindly fingers. I was afraid that his arms would break if anyone made him pick up a supplies box. "Silverman?"

"Yes, that's us." My mother piped up. She too, looked bemused at his boyish appearance.

"Mrs., your husband is going to be fine," My mother let out a sigh of relief. Thank god. "Follow me." He turned around and was off, my mother following quickly behind him.

I scrambled up from my seat, following behind the two adults. The doctors hair bounced as he lead us through the hallways of the hospital, occasionally ducking his head into other hospital rooms to check on his patients. It brightened my spirits as he spoke to the patients, as I knew my father's condition couldn't possible be that bad if he was taking his time to lead us to him.

At one point my mother leaded over and whispered into my ear as he checked another room.

"He has a nice behind." I couldn't contain the giggle that bubbled up inside of me. I was glad that she was brightening up about the situation.

We finally came to a stop at room 212 as the doctor turned to face us.

"Now, while he's in a stable condition, he is still pretty bloody and bruised. You might not like what you see in there, but I ask that you remain calm for your husband's sake. No use in him thinking its any worse that it actually is, okay?"

I nodded, but Mum was already pushing the door open, eager to see her battered love. I thanked the doctor and slipped through the door, he followed behind us.

I couldn't hold in my gasp as I took in the sight of my father. His eyes, usually grey, were swollen shut by black bruise, contrasting the paleness of the rest of his face. Cause: Air Bag and loss of blood. His left arm was fixed in a bent position by a white cast; his right was stuck with an IV tube. Cause; significant trauma probably caused by the flipping of the car. The rest of his injuries were concealed by the checkered hospital gown, but we were told they included; a broken rib, several lacerations and internal bleeding. His hair stuck to his gaunt face with sweat, but that didn't stop him from smiling like an idiot when he heard us enter.

"My girls!" He laughed, but then the laugh turned into a cough, and the cough turned into hacking. The doctor rushed to his side with a cloth as bile sprayed out of his mouth. I took a step back, frowning. Mum covered her agape mouth with the back of her hand.

When he stopped coughing, Mum rushed to embrace him, kissing his cheeks and his lips. She was wary not to bump any of his needles or injuries. Taking the dirty cloth from the doctor, she wiped the saliva from his chin.

Whispers were passed between them, ones I didn't care to hear, so I waited until they were done before I approached.

"Emi... Come here girl." My father called, using the old nickname he gave me when I was little. I looked to the lanky doctor and he smiled reassuringly. It's okay.

It only took a few steps for me to reach the bed, but by the time I got there my legs felt like that had walked a mile. I guess I kinda had, mentally at least.

"Hey Dad, how are you feeling?" I said softly. I reached out to grab his hand, but tubes flowed out of the back of it like vines, so I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and I listened as he took a deep breath in, held it for a split second, and wheeze as he breathed out. I felt a sudden rush of despair and anger rushing over me—all at once, as I surveyed his injuries. Time and time again he had looked death in the face, flipped him the bird, and turned back around. But, he always managed to smile at his experiences. I admired him for that.

"Like shit." He said. We both laughed softly and I gently squeezed his shoulder. He turned to my mother, who was on the other side of the bed, and beckoned her closer with a head gesture. "Could you give us a moment alone?" I heard him ask. Concern and curiosity swept through me. Why would he want to talk alone? Is this about the riot? Is this about George?

Leaning over to kiss his forehead, she whispered 'okay' and left a moment later with the doctor in tow. As she left, I hoped she would find out what exactly had caused the accident and why it took them so long to find him.

"Emily..." I turned back to my father with an eager heart, leaning closer to him so he didn't have to strain his voice. "You smell like shit."

I laughed, lifting my armpit to my nose.

"Well, that's your fault, Dad." I said softly. He laughed breathily.

"I need you to do... something... for me...Emily..." He said between breaths, voice turning serious. My curiosity heightened and I nodded, but then I realised he couldn't see me and I eagerly replied;

"Of course, Dad. Anything."

He took a deep breath in before he continued; he struggled to swallow his saliva.

"I need you to be my eyes on the inside for a few weeks... okay? I already know... they won't let me work... until I recover... completely." He paused as he swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. "When you get home... go into the second draw in my office... you'll find all my files... on Harley James... I know that you think George didn't do it... But all arrows are pointing to him... Emily... Do you understand?"

"Yeah." I crocked out, my heart constricting.

"But... I know you trust him... and if it's really not him... who killed that boy...then bring me the criminal who is." My breath hitched. Is he really asking me to do this? Does he realise how much this means?

Of course, he didn't know. He didn't know that by giving me permission to investigate something as big as this, he was allowing me to go behind the closed doors I had never dared to venture before. He had given me what I had always wanted; a case. A case that could save a life and a case that could end one.

"Are you sure you want me to do this? You could have Christian do it, or one of the other guards." But, I was only saying it halfheartedly, and Dad knew that.

"Emily... Its time for you to step it up. I know you've always wanted a case... Now you can prove to me that George is who you say he is... but, understand... if he's not... he will move foreword on the list." Translation: If he's guilty—he'll die.

"I understand." I said, rising from the bed. "I wont let you down, Dad." I turned to go bring Mum back inside, a spring in my stride, but he halted me before I could take another step.

"Emily... You can't trust them..." I frowned.

"Can't trust who?" He paused for a moment, as if deciding weather or not he should say what he wanted.

"Everyone. You can't trust them... Not even your Mother..." I sucked in a breath and let it out as I took it all it. I knew what he meant. A prison is no place for friends. People will stab you in the back in that prison as soon as you turn around. That's why you always have to be watching, because someone is always listening.

But why couldn't I tell Mum? Yes, she wouldn't want me to do the job, but she could help me figure out some things. Surly she wouldn't tell anyone. But, Dad knew what he was doing, so I agreed to not say a word.

"It's a very corrupt world out there now, Emily. You've got to be careful."

"I will." I said confidently.

I was going to solve this case and I was going to prove him wrong, for I knew that George didn't do it.

It was time for those who were guilty to suffer—to die.

But in a prison filled with guilt, proving innocence was tough. You have to pick the right battles if you want to win the war.

And win the war I shall.

-

-

-

-

-

Yas! Plot development-finally.

Just in case your wondering- the reason Emily doesn't freak out that much is because a.she knows he is ok and b.its happened before. Her dad is the head of security in a prison- he would get hurt a lot.

thanks for reading! xxx

Charli.