Behind the Walls. NOVEL By Claire Darcy.

15. Cell Z.

Z.

That was the cell number. And it wasn't even a number. It was a letter.

The cell wasn't like any of the others in detention. It wasn't one of the fifty rooms on the first floor, and it wasn't any of those on the second floor of building 31. Instead, it was in building 1- deep below the Enigma Council President's building.

There were no windows to the cell. Just a single door, barred and locked. The cell was consumed in darkness; over-sized cell for what it was holding - especially since its prisoner was chained in the corner of the back wall, furthest away from the door. The room was ice cold, kept at freezing temperature from the inside. Nobody entered or exited. Nobody even dared go down the treacherous staircase that wound the way down there.

If they had done, they would have taken with them a torch, to light the dark tunnel, and they would have descended the cold concrete stairs until they came across one huge metal door at the bottom. If they shone their torch at the edges of the door, they would see bits of glistening frost, reaching icy fingers out of the cell.

And if they tried to open that door, they would find it locked with many locks, and enforced with iron bars and a high-tech material known as Merlonium. Of course, if they were able to unlock that door, they would find it jammed shut with the hinges frozen solid from the frigid air.

And if they opened the door, and didn't die in an instant, it would be quite a sight to see.

For there, in the pitch-black darkness, they would peer into the freezing cell, to find a slumped, unmoving prisoner. Of course, there would be no light in the cell, because the single light that had once hung from the ceiling had long since been destroyed.

Now, if that person who dared venture down there, took a few steps further into that icy hell, they would finally see the prisoner for the first time, their torchlight blinding to the inhabitant.

It was a boy in that cell, crouched suffering in the corner, one of his wrists cuffed and chained tightly to a post that stuck from the ground. One leg was raised, keeping him balanced, and the other lay pointed at the door. His skin was bare aside from tattered grey shorts, and was as pale as ever, only worsened by the lack of sunlight. His hair was as white as his skin, barely passing as a platinum blonde.

And his eyes... his eyes. They were a pale yet fluorescent blue, and they glowed. His eyes illuminated the cell. Those glistening cobalt irises shone like two stars, icy blue beams of light penetrating through the darkness.

And if one was able to look past those hypnotic blue eyes, they might see the heart-wrenching emotion that poured from the boy.

If one looked close enough, they would see the look of utter pain and despair, etched into the boy's features. They would see the suffering and scars that trapped his body and mind.

And if one looked close enough, they might very well end up dead.

That was why he was in there; that suffering, dying prisoner. That was why that icy figure was locked in Cell Z, deep beneath the earth's surface, where nobody would risk finding him. He was too dangerous to be let out.

That was why it was so unusual that the door suddenly opened.