Chapter 7

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"...the whole thing - the cries, the blood, the agony - gave me relaxation and a certain pleasure."

- Andrei Chikatilo was a cannibal who liked the taste of blood. He was a prolific killer who admitted to to 56 murders, mostly female, with victims of all ages. He said it gave him an 'animal satisfaction' to chew or swallow nipples or testicles.

Chapter 7

It was early morning, dawn had painted colours to the canvas of the sky, and for the first time in a few days, I was feeling good. My ankle was healed completely, I had showered, and most importantly, Mum was teaching a dance class in the next town over... and she wouldn't be back for at least twelve hours. My house arrest was still—apparently—in motion. Mum's trust in me was surely going to be her downfall. As soon as she locked the door behind her, all rules previously enforced meant nothing. I was free.

Nicola had reluctantly left late the night before, but not before we discussed everything wrong in her life and everything that was disastrous in mine. I tried to keep her sympathetic dial turned low, which proved quite difficult when she burst into tears upon learning the extent of Dad's injuries. Her crying created a parasite of guilt inside my stomach, which gnarred at my insides. I had barely shed a single tear since the night of the accident and those that I did let fall were not for him. They were for George. Does that make me a bad person?

I pushed aside the negative thoughts lingering in my mind and reminded myself that it was a good day. A very good day.

I threw on a white blouse and jeans, deciding that sneakers were probably the best option. My ankles sighed in relief when my feet slipped nicely into the black shoes; they had escaped a day of high-heeled torture. Tying my hair back into a bun, I searched through the now empty house for my phone, ID card, the spare set of keys and the recorder I shoved under my bed. Finding my confiscated necessities in the top draw in the shed, I hurriedly grabbed an apple and the bus timetable, making sure I locked every window and door before I left the house.

After a shiver inducing fifteen-minute walk to the bus stop and a cramped twenty-minute bus ride, I finally made it to the prison gates at eleven. I jabbed the intercom and patently waited for the robotic voice of the gate guard, or as I like to call him; the gate keeper, to fill my ears.

"Please state your name and purpose."

"Emily Silverman, here by instruction of Dane Silverman." I said smoothly, the words coming off my tongue on autopilot.

The buzz that signaled the opening of the gates sounded and I stood back as the gigantic barbed fence swung inwards. I waved at the watch guards, who sat with their snipers in the towers, as I walked up the wide graveled pavement that lead to the main building.

The three-story structure housed at least fifteen thousand of the world's most notorious serial killers. The first two levels was where all prisoner activity occurred; cells, cafeterias, gaming rooms and libraries. The top level was specifically for offices and guards, who had their own cafeterias and gaming rooms. But, the worst level of all was the one that everyone knew about but hardly anyone saw; the basement, the execution rooms. Except for the workers, every single man sent here was sent to die. Their deaths wasn't an if, it was a when. Even for George.

The only exceptions to this rule were the people lucky enough—rich enough—to secure themselves a re-trail to be transferred to a different prison.

The front desk ladies were shriveled and grumpy (as usual) and glared up at me as I approached the desk.

"Signing in sheet, please." I smiled sweetly at the moody old ladies, all dressed in the same white, straight falling, lady dress with matching rose broaches secured above their heart. The rose was a symbol of their level of work, any woman who wore a red rose had worked at the prison for over twenty years, usually in the same position.

The lady who was in front of me, Debby, slumped into her chair and grumbled something under her breath. She reached into a draw and pulled out a clipboard, her white bob of hair gelled solid. I quickly signed my name and muttered my thanks before she, or any of the other ladies, threw something at me in an attempt to make their lives more exciting.

I hurried through the dim-lit hallways, checking each cell number. It seemed that most of the prisoners were not in their cell, probably outside doing fitness activities before their lunch break. I hoped that Even was still in his cell as finding him in a group of angry prisoners would not be very... pleasant.

I wound around a corner—I knew I was close to the nineties section.

I stopped short as I saw a gathering of guards near the end of the hallway. I glanced at the cell number next to me, 84. Before I counted the numbers, I knew what cell they were searching. The dread in my stomach made it clear I was too late. Something bad, really bad, had happened. Gathering up my courage, I strode down the hall, a few guards noticing my approach. They stiffened and their quiet chatter ceased. I straightened my back and kept my gaze steadily ahead, showing strength in my poise. As I grew closer to the cell I noticed that it wasn't only guards that were crammed inside and around the cell. A strange man in a black suit and tie seemed to be the one leading the search, his face unrecognizable. He stopped speaking as the guards all quieted down and turned to face me.

For a moment I was struck by the beauty and the youth of the man in front of me, power seemingly oozing out of his pours. But, when his cool gaze steadily connected with mine and a cocky smirk grew upon his lips, I was disgusted. In his eyes I saw what he saw; a man who knew he had power.

I stopped a comfortable meter away from the strange man and the guards who had already become his lap dogs. My brows creased as another, older man, stepped out from the cell, dressed in the same black suit and tie as the other one. The similarities between their straight black hair and jaw line gave it away; they were father and son. And I was starting to get an idea of why they had come... They were the replacement of my father.

"What has happened to Even Parker?" I asked, speaking clearly to anyone who would answer. The suited men looked at looked at each other quizzically, as if asking whom I was. I passed my gaze over them and focused in on the guards, eyeing each and every one of them so they were reminded of whom exactly I was.

They knew all too well that I could get them fired with a bat of an eyelash, so it didn't surprise me when they all started speaking at once.

"We don't know—"

"He escaped last night—"

"He was taken!"

"Ms Emily!"

"He disappeared—"

"He'll show up dead if we don't—"

"QUIET!" was the shout that ceased the madness, only it wasn't from my own mouth. The younger, suited man's face had turned an amusing colour of red, obviously angry at the fact that they feared me more than his arrogant behind.

I kept my fave straight even though every cell in my body was screaming; WHAT?

How could another prisoner just vanish in thin air? Even more concerning; what if he ends up like the Harley James?

Unlike everyone else in the hellhole, I knew that George wasn't the culprit and if I played my cards right I could use this disappearance to my advantage. If I could prove that he had nothing to do with this one then it might free him of the suspicion of the other death... But it would have to be convincing.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the clearing of a throat. I focused my attention back on the men in front of me.

"Who do you think you are? You're not authorized to be asking questions about this!" The younger, very pissed off looking man shouted. His voice echoed down the hallway. Everyone was silent.

"Who do you think I am?" I spoke, just loud enough to be heard, and raised an eyebrow. He looked at his father, eyebrows knitted together, as if he knew the answer. His father sighed and took a step forwards, reaching a hand out for me to shake. I did so, firmly, in an attempt to make myself seem in control.

"My apologies Ms, my son doesn't appreciate..." A women more powerful than him? "Disrupted conversations." You don't say, "My name is Richard Welsh, this is my son Chris. We are here as the replacements of Dane Silverman. Obviously you have some sort of authority in this place, who gave you that power?" He spoke nicely, clearly, but I didn't appreciate his tone. It was heightened and slow, as if he was talking to a small child. My resentment for them both was beginning to grow. If he was telling the truth then I knew life around the prison was going to get difficult... They couldn't know what I was here to do; they would see it as unauthorized and pointless. No doubt my privileges would be taken away, and I couldn't let that happen. But, there was more harm in lying, so I told them what truths I could.

"My father," I said, locking my gaze with the man boy called Chris, "Dane Silverman." Surprise lifted the brows of both men, Richard cleared his throat in discomfort.

"My apologies Ms, we did not know."

"Clearly..." I muttered. I took a step forwards and they reluctantly stepped aside. Emily-1, Suitmen-0.

The cell was as empty and as untouched as I thought it would be. Two guards approached me, eyes casted downwards, and I recognized one of them as Frank. He was daft and sometimes stupid, but trustworthy none the less. "Where was he last seen?"

"Last night, in this cell." Frank replied, his eyes remained trained on the floor like it was his life mission to do so. I furrowed my brows, Even Parker couldn't have literally vanished...

I stepped further into the cell and searched every brick and tile for any sort of obstruction or clue.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I rubbed my temples in frustration. How could there not be a single clue to how he got out? The only way that seemed possible for him to escape was through the cell door, but when I asked about it Frank said he'd already searched the footage. And surprise surprise! They found nothing.

I lacked the ability to comprehend how the states best prison literally just let a prisoner vanish into thin air.

"Ms?" A steady voice asked, momentarily distracting me from my frustration. I looked back over my shoulder, realising that the number of guards had diminished to two and the suited men were waiting for my judgment. How long have I been searching?

"I don't get it." I stated simply, "How could someone just vanish?"

"We don't know. But that's what we are here to figure out... Maybe you should leave this to the men, sweetheart. We know what we are doing." The condescending voice belonged to Richard. Fury turned everything red. I wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of ripping his heart out.

I breathed deep, sucking in any positivity that lingered in the air.

I'd be lying if I said it worked.

But, in the moment of pure rage I remembered what my father had said to me.

"You can't trust them..."

And then I knew just exactly how right he was. If I was going to do this, I was going to have to do it alone. Swallowing my pride, I did what they wanted; I gave them the power of the control.

"Of course." I replied, trying my hardest to smile sweetly and dip my head down, a sign of submission that was subtle but clear.

The suited men smiled at each other like they had accomplished something—like they had won. I almost scoffed at their demeanor, so cocky and egotistical. They had barely met me, and yet they so quickly wanted to get rid of me... all because I had something they wanted; power.

In a hellish place like prison, every man wants more of it.

I walked out into the hallway, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I passed Chris, and flicking up my eyelashes. His cheeks reddened before he could hide them. I stifled a laugh of accomplishment. Frank shut the cell door behind him and the four men turned to face me. Richard nodded, Franks smiled, the other guard said nothing and Chris stared ahead, looking at anything but me.

"Don't worry, Ms. We will figure out what's going on. Send our best wishes to your father." It was Richard who spoke. I smiled sweetly and nodded, trying to make myself look as harmless as possible. Richard nodded again, obviously his nervous habit, and turned to go, the others following close behind. They went the opposite way to which I came in through. As they turned the corner, Chris looked back at me. I forced another smile and raised my hand to a wave, one that was not returned.

"Nice act." Terrors icy fingers dug into my heart as a voice spoke up from behind me. I whipped my head around, searching for the source, but no one was in sight.

"Turn to your left."

I may have given myself whiplash with the speed I used to turn. There, in the cell opposite to Even's, was the face of an angel in the body of a monster. His steel blue eyes stole my gaze, demanding attention. I didn't know his name, but I knew his face... It was the prisoner who dragged me from the brawl, the one who told me what my father couldn't.

"Miss me?"


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(i personally apologise if i have confused anyone with the whole changing of the length of the chapters, i hope you stick with me xx love you guys)


Thankyou so much for reading! 

Have a lovely day xxxx


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