The Worst In Me (Ending to the Fault Line Trilogy)

Chapter Ten

Nine years earlier . . .

Prison. Most people get lifetimes in there. Jail. A few days. But the FBI Headquarters? Just a day makes you feel weak in the knees. And not in a good way. But I haven't just been here for just a day. Nor two. Nor a week. Or either three weeks. No, I have been here for a year. A year exactly today. Lana Carter. Her first year anniversary at her new lifetime of servitude. I'm kidding. It's not a lifetime. It's thirty years. Hey, twenty-nine more to go!

Living a life of crime or at least a month's worth of crime is enough to get me locked away for the majority of my life. Cause the average rate of a Carter life is only about to your twenties given the circumstances of murder. But I guess I'll just have to endure.

So, what have I been up to this past year? Well, sleep, interrogation up the wazoo, and a lifetime of boredom. Also my beautiful blood mural. It's looking pretty nice now. The big, bold, capital letters spelling Lizzy still stay to this day. Then the inspiration came to write down a collection of words that describe how I feel about her. You could call it my therapeutic sessions. Just not a good one. Like a depressant and self harming. I can't help it but I have to do it.

I look down at my fingertips. Scarred. Bruised. Destroyed. All for what? The sake of my story? Yes. My story. The one that I probably won't live to tell the tale. The one that was twisted even from the beginning. A tale that I don't dare utter a single syllable until the time is right.

And that right there, ladies and gentlemen, is me being overly dramatic. Glad we had this chat.

I sit in silence, staring at my masterpiece. I wonder how many people have dreamed of creating what they imagined in their mind and they never could. And here I am, making their dreams look like child's play. I wonder why anyone wouldn't want to listen to their mind. It's there for a reason. To guide you through life and make the smart decision.

I hear the guard walk down the hall before even I notice the door lock clicks. I slowly turn my head towards the door. My time has come.

The guard grabs my arm as usual, everything has been routine since day one. We exit my cell, letting the door close behind us. As the door lock sounds, we pass by the door's corner. The beige colored hallways blur together as we walk down the hall to the interrogation rooms. I even my breathing, I need to stay calm for this. I glance up quickly at the guard, I notice that he's not my usual guard. Good, this makes it a whole lot more easier. I silently—and unknowingly to him—observe his belt, taking note of where everything is.

You can do this, Lana. Just breathe.

Taking one last even breath, I reach for the guard's taser. I thankfully catch him off guard, no, that pun was not intended, and pull the trigger on the electric gun. The metal tips collide with his uniform, the electrocution doesn't hit him. Once the electricity runs out, he pulls the tips out of his chest fabric, then running towards me. Thinking as fast as I can, I duck out of his grasp. He wheels around clutching my shirt's fabric from the back. I spin my upper half around as much as possible, bringing the gun into his chin. His head falls back, giving me space to unclasp his helmet and throw it to the ground. A sick and twisted plan forming in my head. With his helmet off, we fall to the ground, the taser gun thrown off somewhere across the hall. He lies on top of me, pinning me to the ground. In a desperate attempt, I crush on head on his. Pain shoots through my head as well as his. I never thought I could do that. Kicking his body and punching him where I can, I find this amount of strength coming from nowhere very exhilarating. With the newby guard taken care of, I grab the taser. I take both of the metal tips in both hands. Kneeling in front of the guard, I whisper, "I'm sorry."