"Sex is one of my downfalls. I get sex any way I can get it. If I have to force somebody to do it, I do...I rape them; I've done that. I've killed animals to have sex with them, and I've had sex while they're alive."

-Henry Lee Lucas, a victim of bad parenting, was a confessed American serial killer. Lucas was arrested in Texas and, on the basis of his confessions, hundreds of unsolved murders attributed to him were officially classified as cleared. Lucas was convicted of murdering 157 people and condemned to death for a single case with an unidentified victim.

Chapter 25

The days passed quickly, like a hurricane ripping its way through a city; destroying more homes and more lives with each passing second. The rain had been falling heavily, big fat drops making endless pattering noises on my windowpane, keeping me from the nightmares that lurked in my sleep.

Each day new rain would come and wash away the old, the drain making long sucking sounds as the water filtered down into the pipes, only to be spat back out into the dirtied ocean and evaporated into the gloomy sky. That's what the pain of loosing George felt like, an endless cycle of new and old pain, ebbing and flowing like the waves of the ocean, but never stopping completely.

Sometimes my door would open and the smell of freshly cooked vegetables would fill the air. Then there would be a clatter, the plate placed on the floor, and the door would shut once again. I knew that nothing that had happened was my mother's fault, but I couldn't bear showing her the extent of what I was feeling out of fear of reliving the experience.

I delved into my background searches on all of the guards and shut my father out completely. He didn't seemed to mind and threw himself into his own work, certain that with the death of George there would be no more ghastly murders at the prison.

He couldn't have been more wrong. Because I knew that George wasn't the killer, I knew that whoever was causing terror among the inmates was still thriving in the chaos they had created.

It wasn't until a week had passed that I found exactly what I was looking for to back up my theory on the Russian guard, Alexi Mikhailov. Before he was a guard, he was a car mechanic.

As insignificant as that may sound, I knew my father's accident had been of no coincidence, and something had been done to his vehicle prior to his accident. If I was right, and someone had organized his near fatal slip off the side of the road, then the murderer was not only someone who worked with my father, but someone who was close and had the skills to get in and out of a situation unnoticed.

But before I accused him of anything, I needed to know for certain that he was the one who tampered with my father's car.

I scrolled through his history within the mechanic shop and came across the exact point I needed. He specialized in fixing the exact model of car my father owned, particularly with the engineering. He could have slipped in and out completely un-noticed and made one small change to the wiring or brakes to ensure my father would have a most unfortunate car accident.

Whoever did it knew that if he was seriously injured he wouldn't be able to return to work and investigate the case, leaving them to do whatever they wished within the prison and be virtually undetected. It was a reach, but maybe my father had seen or known something he wasn't supposed to, like the real killer of Harvey James, and they wanted to take him out before he told anyone else.

The only thing that didn't add up was that even though someone obviously meddled with the car, something would have happened to make him swerve off the side of the road. The police found no other skid marks or animal blood anywhere near the scene, and my fathers memory loss of the afternoon meant that no one would ever really know what made him lose control over the car.

If it even worth me saying anything? And what difference does it make if there is no clear motive to anyone but myself?

"Argh!" I slammed my hands down on my desk, as a surge of anger momentary possessed my body.

A stack of papers tumbled off of the side of the desk and onto the floor, scattering around the floor like a broken vase. As I looked at all the pages, I realized that they were just like me, just like my thoughts; shattered and distant from one another, unable to come together on their own.

I signed, sinking to my knees, and began collecting the files and random pieces of paper. I hurried to put them all back into a neat pile so I would have time to ponder and decide what I would do with my newly gained knowledge of Alexi. My movements were almost systematic, it was clear I was used to picking up the pieces.

Far too occupied with the files, I didn't notice the stray piece of paper that slipped from behind the last pile and cut the skin between my fingers. I hissed as pain surged into my hand and a drop of blood sprouted from the small wound.

I shoved my finger into my mouth and mentally swore at myself for being distracted. Although small, paper cuts were one of the most painful things I had ever experienced, and imagining the small shards of paper particles stuck under my skin made me want to bite the affected chunk of skin off.

I snatched up the piece of paper and began to crush it in my good hand. Then I realized what it was. My heart sank deep in my chest, it felt like a weight was holding it down, and the paper cut was forgotten. No physical pain could challenge the dread and complete loneliness that consumed me upon seeing the ripped out Shakespeare page.

It was the page George had given me on the day Harvey James was found dead in his cell, the same day of the prison riot, and the same day my father had his 'accident'. All the memories came rushing back and hit me like surging waves, breaking my core, forcing me to feel everything I wanted to push away and never think about again.

The page looked innocent from afar, but on close inspection, words were written between the lines. They were so small, so fragile on the thin paper, and yet held such a heavy importance.

With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, I began to read.

Emily, I don't have much time. I wish I could tell you this in person, but we both know the reality within this hellhole is that words are best left unsaid. But a man is dead in my cell and I think I had something to do with it. For about a week, I've felt like I've been followed, watched. There have been whisperers around the prison of some kind of 'brotherhood' and I think they are planning something big, and they don't want anyone to get in their way. Everyone in here knows I will do anything, anything, to see my daughter again, and this 'brotherhood' believes I know something I shouldn't... Something that would be fatal to their plan.

I knew it! He was innocent! He was about to tell me that it was all just a mistake, a misunderstanding, and that he knew who really killed Harvey James. All this time, there was something bigger going on inside the prison, something I had no awareness of, and George had tried to warn me. Why hadn't I read the note sooner? What was I thinking?

If I had known just a little sooner, I could have told my father that something was going on, bigger than we could have ever imagined, within the prisons walls. I didn't know what, and I didn't think George knew either, but at least I knew then that I wasn't insane for thinking that something very twisted was going on.

I'm telling you this now because I know that there will be a big case around Harvey's death, and I want you to know that there is more to this than meets the eye. You know I get angry and I lose control sometimes, but I don't remember doing anything to him, I swear. I hate that I black out, I hate that I lose time, but even if I was the one who killed him, there has to be a reason I did it. I have a bruise on my stomach that wasn't there last night and a cut on my shoulder. I know this sounds crazy but I think it was self-defense, I think he was sent to kill me by the 'brotherhood'. And when they find his body, no matter what the evidence is, they are going to say I murdered him. I had to write this to you because I think I'm losing time again, and all this will be forgotten. Please read this Emily and know that no matter what happens to me I care deeply for you. You need to find a way to stop their plans before it is too late or more people will end up dead.

A tear escaped and slid down my cheek, falling delicately onto the page, and before I could wipe it away, smudged the last few words of ink on the page. It's funny how something so small, so delicate, so innocent, can wreck a path of destruction larger than Hades.

"No no no no!"

I dabbed the page with my shirt, trying desperately to absorb some of the water, but it was too late.

Nearly indistinguishable, the last line now read; The leader of the brotherhood is     a         c      p  . Don't trust him. Don't trust anyone but yourself.

The page slipped soundlessly from my hand and fell like a drifting feather onto the floor. Along with the few letters, the answers were gone and could never be found again.

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Hey guys!

Thoughtsssss????????? What do you think of the Brotherhood?

Sorry for the late update, got exams right now and actually wrote this when I shouldda been studying but I love you guys too much so heres a short chappy that hopefully keeps you on your toes.

Your comments and thoughts make my day ;)

(((I started a blog and I'd love if you could support me at https://charliluca.wordpress.com)))

Stick around for the next chapter! Things between Vans and Emily get a little saucy.

xxx Charli