Dedicated to my sister jazza82 who without I would sound like a blabbering idiot.
Make sure you have read the prologue before beginning.
Monster
ˈmɒnstə/
1.
A large, ugly, and frightening imaginary creature.
"A monster with the head of a hyena and hindquarters of a wolf"
synonyms: fabulous creature, mythical creature
Chapter 1
My heels clinked against the hard stone floor as I made my way through the hallways of Connecticut's Northern Correctional Institution. A distant scream echoed through the halls somewhere in the west wing. The sound ricocheted off my heart, sharing no empathy for his tortured soul. A home of monsters is after-all a home of death, horror and guilt. I straightened my blouse and turned a sharp corner but my feet slipped on a slippery substance and I almost lost my balance. My ankle buckled beneath me, making a sharp pain shoot up my leg. It felt like fire and ice were having a dance party in my calf, kicking and spinning slowly towards my ankle. I gasped and clutched my foot, cursing for wearing heels on my already worn out feet. I wouldn't be able to dance tonight, mother was going to kill me.
I reached into my skirt pocket and clicked down on the record button for the first time this afternoon. I looked down at my watch.
"4:45pm, Tuesday, March 24th. There is another blood pool on the floor. From the looks of it, no one has even bothered to try clean it up yet. The blood is probably a few hours old." I sighed and looked down the hallways. "The second hallway in the east wing is currently unoccupied by both inmates or guards. Security is lacking, I believe more guards are in need of accurate placing..." I looked down at my blood coated heel and grunted. "And a few more cleaners." I ended the recording with another click of my fingers and continued on my way.
At least twice a day, everyday, I would record the events or strange happenings that went on in the prison. I got paid, handsomely, to report back to my father about the things that go unnoticed or disappear. Sometimes I would find the strangest things, like a cat in a prison cell or fingernail clippings hidden in a hole in the wall. It was quite sad, seeing the security fail so miserably around the prison, and I couldn't imagine what trouble I get some of the guards into.
On the rare occasion I would get assigned something more difficult, like to help find a missing object or, sometimes, even a missing staff member. I knew the prison like the back of my hand but still I found passages and hidden hallways that I never knew existed on these strange missions.
Two months before today, an inmate went missing and since then the staff had been in a panic. My father said that they knew he hadn't left the building as there was no facial recognition of him, or any inmate, leaving the prison in the past few months. He was hiding somewhere within the prison, and it was amazing that no one had found him yet, they usually get caught within a week. The media didn't know yet and we were trying to keep it that way unless we knew for certain he had escaped. The state would go into panic seeing as our prison only harboured the most notorious criminals. Each and every inmate in the prison was on the execution list or awaiting trail to get off it.
I sighed and straightened myself, continuing down the hall. As I hurried through the building I couldn't help but notice the lack of vibrancy, the walls were a dull grey colour, there were absolutely no paintings, and to top it off all the windows were barred with five inch steel poles and the glass was so thick that the sun light barely escaped through the rims. I understood the security necessities but there was no place in the ratchet building that spotted one source of true natural light. No part of the building was really catered to the visitors or even humans for that matter.
It was yet another five minutes before I reached the cafeteria, better known as the prison most chaotic area. Food fights were common, waffles were mostly always stolen, and the occasional rat was placed in peoples chicken soup. Although the place wasn't always sunshine and rainbows, it was one of the only comfortable areas I could talk to some of the prisoners without being endangered. At least seven people guarded the area at any given time.
Uncle George was waiting for me at the far back table, away from prying eyes, casually slurping on a yellow soup. I smiled as I approached him and his head jerked up, already prison guarding his food. His arms relaxed around his food as he recognised me, realising his food was in no harm. I lowered myself into the seat opposite him and my ankle sighed in relief. The room was already bursting with prisoners, hungry for their afternoon snack.
"Right on time I see," George said as he placed his bowl down onto the small rectangular table. His lips quirked up at the sides, he never showed his teeth when he smiled. His front teeth were chipped and he was missing both fangs from being beaten by both prisoners and the guards. "What are we up to today?" He asked, a knowing twinkle in his dark brown eyes.
"The real question is; what am I not up to today?" I replied with a laugh.
"Answers a question with a question, typical, Emily." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Shifting in his seat, he let out a small chuckle, his shirt matched the grey of the walls.
"What can I say? You know me too well." I said with a shrug. "How are you? Have you spoken to Lila yet?" I asked. His face crumpled and he shook his head.
"No," His voice cracked. "They won't let me till my behaviour 'improves'" His eyes saddened and he looked at the ground. Lila is his daughter, aged 25, and she refused to talk to him since she was old enough to understand what happened to her mother. George was in prison because of the charges held against him claiming he murdered his ex wife and her husband. Those two murder charges left him in prison until his life is taken in execution.
"Oh... are they still holding you responsible for that beating a few months ago?"
"The bruises on my knuckles and my bleeding lip gave them every reason to think so, so yes." He said and slumped into his chair. There had been a beating of a guard a few months back and fingers were pointed at George so unfortunately they had to penalise him. They gave him a beating and no outside communication as a punishment. For a moment, I was angered that my father hadn't done anything -- there was no proof that George did it, yet still they had to blame someone. That same day George had beaten a man who tried to rape him and I assumed that the same man who attempted his rape framed him for the beating.
"So what have you got for me today?" I said, hoping to change the subject. He smiled, probably grateful to talk about something else. He glanced around, looking for prying eyes, before slipping his hand up his sleeve. Out came a piece of paper, scrawled with letters, black ink all over it. It was a page from a book, most likely Shakespeare, but if you looked close enough you could just see the tiny words written between the lines. I didn't read it, but tucked it into the waistband of my skirt.
Once it was out of site I picked the conversation back up.
"Anything that can't go on paper?" I asked. There were certain things we agreed to never put on paper, like names or cell numbers, in case it was ever found or stolen. The words that were written were always coded and to anyone else it would look like gibberish. It was the only way we could really communicate things to each other that we didn't want others to hear. I was currently working gather evidence that would allow him to see his daughter, and I guessed that something on that paper would help me achieve that.
George and I worked together on most things.
He picked up his bowl of soup, took a long slurp, and didn't remove it from his lips. "Evan Parker, cell 94. I heard him talking to some of the other prisoners in theyard. He looked tense and was speaking in a hushed tone. Like he was hidingsomething, you know?" He whispered, only loud enough for myself to hear. He lowered the bowl slowly and smiled, 'nothing suspicious going on here' it said.
The new information would definitely come to good use. I was currently trying to look into the disappearance of the inmate who went missing for some extra brownie points with my Dad. I hadn't found anything as the man had quite literally vanished from the prison, but I was trying to make do with any leads that George could give me.
Movement flickered out of the corner of my eye. Something big, bad and bulky. Something with a face of the devil, and a heart of stone. Something called the prison rapist and the man who didn't get away with murder. I knew who he was as soon as he stepped up behind me and slithered a hand into my shoulder. Gary Ridge, aged 66, also known as the River Killer. He killed at least 49 people, mostly prostitutes, who he would rape and strangle to death. The first five of his victims were found at a River, floating down stream like corks- bobbing along helplessly until some unlucky person happened across them. From the looks he was giving George, he wanted to add another murder to that list. It wouldn't be long before he got the needle.
I looked to Uncle George, his face was of stone. His jaw was clenched, the muscle popped and a crinkle formed under his left eye, and I knew his hands were in fists under the table. It then clicked inside my head, this was the man who has tried to rape him in the showers, the man who is stopping him from speaking to his only child. My heart thudded in my chest, I couldn't let Uncle George do anything reckless or he wouldn't ever be able to speak to his daughter again.
I cleared my throat.
"Mr Ridge, apologies for the poor timing but I believe I must accompany George back to his cell. Since he's on high alert with the guards and all." I turned and said with a smile. His hand didn't move from my shoulder and his gaze didn't move from where George sat anxiously, waiting for Gary to make his move. Lucky for him I was his get out of jail free card.
"By all means Miss. I just need a few words with old George over here and then I'll be on my merry way." He said, his grip tightening on my shoulder. I grimaced but bared the pain, passing a fleeting look over my shoulder to a near by guard. If he had any brains he'd get the memo by the look on my face.
"Sure." I said with a tight smile. I dropped my shoulder and inched away from him in hopes of escaping his grip. Wrong choice. He just tightened his hand even further.
He slid into the vacant seat next to me and smiled wide, like the world was his. Uncle George stiffened further in his seat. His eyes on the hand on my shoulder.
"George, how good to see you again." Gary started with a smile. George didn't return it. "I overheard some guards talking... They say you still aren't owning up to that beating. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" George nodded stiffly, eyes flicking to me then back to Gary, concern and anger interchanging across his features.
"What do you want, Gary." George almost pleaded. The throbbing in my shoulder was becoming unbearable and a grunt of pain left my throat. This only encouraged him more.
"I want you to fess up!" He said, sweeping his free hand outwards and slapping the table. I jumped at the sound but refrained myself from saying anything.
Don't you say nothing Emily. Chances are they will just use it against you, you hear me? Be calm, patient. Nothing scares a monster more than the quiet ones, the ones that can control themselves. You just wait it out ok? Them guards will be right at your sides. And I'll be just round the corner.
Be patient Emily. Be patient.
My fathers words ringed in my head. My eyes focused on the guards ahead of me that seemed to be spreading out, creating a circle in the room. I think they had finally caught on.
"The guards are whispering George. They're starting to think maybe someone else is to blame. And they're pointing fingers at me for that idiot kids disappearance. But we all know it's you that they should be targeting, huh? They're saying he might even be dead. See how this won't work for me?" What the hell was he talking about?
"I didn't do anything." George growled, becoming impatient, he two must have noticed the guards slow behaviour today. "Your the one who tried to ra-"
"Yes you did!" Gary roared, and the noise was finally enough to make the munching inmates fall silent around us. A silence fell upon the room. No one clicked a heel, no one said a word, and no one raised a gun (much to my dismay).
"If you don't start owning up things are going to get a whole lot worse around here." Gary whispered, only loud enough for us to hear. "For you," he said jabbing a finger at George. "And for her." He growled, digging his finger nails into my shoulder. I let out a cry and threw my other hand up to my shoulder. He caught it before it reached its mark and pulled my face closer to his. "This is my prison Miss, don't you let your little uncle ruin that for me... Or there will be consequences." I gulped back a squeak of fear and kept my mouth screwed shut.
"And let's not pretend like you had that coming in the showers, faggot." Gary spat, turning to George.
My arm was on fire, Gary's nails now drawing blood. Then, in a split second, the pain stopped. I looked up just in time to see Gary beaten over the head with the butt of a gun, several guards surrounding us. He slumped to the floor like a bag of bricks, his arms flung outwards and his cheek smacked on the floor. The guards looked pleased with themselves.
"Emily!"
I spun at the sound of Uncle George's voice and let out a strangled cry as I processed what was happening. He was writhing in the grip of two armed guards as they pushed him face down onto the table. Hand cuffs were swiftly clicked around his wrists. He looked up at me, desperation in his eyes. That was when I was finally able to move.
"What are you doing?!" I screamed, stumbling over to the other side of the table. "He didn't do anything!"
"Pro cautions, Miss. New rule came in today. You should ask your daddy." He said mockingly. He held George with one hand and swept away his mop of hair with the other. Another guard stepped up beside him, halting me in my path. I knew they wouldn't let me get closer to him.
"But he didn't do anything!" I yelled, throwing my hands up, my anger brewing.
"So beatin' a man senseless is nothing now? How bout murder? Looks to us like now he's stooping even lower by tryin' to bribe the guards and other inmates." He said drawing out the s. He looked to the other guard, who smirked and nodded, they just wanted a new punching bag for today.
"You know he didn't bribe no guards, sir." I spat trying to hide my confusion. Who could be bribing the guards? Why does everyone keep talking about murder?
My hands were in fists, the pain was returning to my shoulder. By then we had the attention of the entire room of inmates, the most action they'd seen in days.
"That's not what we hear. And what about that beatin' huh? Got nothing to say about that?" My teeth grinded, but I knew I couldn't make a song and dance about the beating. He was already on probation for it, I didn't want to push it.
"He's been punished enough. The judge has already delivered her verdict. No further punishment is in place for him." I tried to keep my voice steady, inching closer to George.
"Not in our books." He said with a sneer. His hand swished past my face before it found its mark on Uncle George's cheek, leaving a welting bruise that probably wouldn't go away for a few days.
"No!" I screamed as George cried out in agony. I ran forward, attempting to push the guards aside. But luck was not on my side and I never got close enough to help him. He groaned and slumped further into the table, his face smooshed against the wood.
Angry yells erupted from the nearby prisoners, some who must have known George. A second later, chaos erupted. Someone punched a guard, then another and another. Soon, everyone was either fighting or pulling someone away. More guards surged into the room, being struck down in a matter of seconds. I frantically looked around for a way to get out, away from the danger, but there was nothing. All paths were covered with swarms of inmates, some unconscious or bleeding, and the others still throwing around their arms like helicopters, aiming to land a punch.
Arms wrapped around me from behind and I was lifted up, away from Uncle George. I screamed.
"No! Let me go! Let me go!" I screamed, kicking my legs out behind me. I lashed my hands out, attempting to hit my assailant from behind, but found no mark. Smart guard. Weak girl.
The guards in front of me did nothing as I was pulled away from the mass. They made no attempt of hiding the hunger for blood in their eyes.
"Let me go please! I need to to help him!" I begged the strong arms that held me. I received no reply, the hands only gripping tighter around me. As I was pulled further and further away I saw flashes of arms and fists being raised, all coming crashing down on the innocent man I called an uncle, and a single tear left my eye. Not because it was sad, these things happen in a prison. But because there was nothing I could do.
They had all made sure that in this place the only power I held was in my tape recorder, which had been on since the moment the River Killer sat down. That, at least, was something.
The doors swung shut in front of me and the noise dimmed until I could barely hear the commotion inside. I was left in the darkness, alone with a stranger. The arms around me loosened as my access to the cafeteria was shut off. I took the opportunity and jabbed my elbows backwards, finding solid muscle, and spun around quickly bringing my arms up. I had only ever taken one boxing class in my life when I was twelve, but I still remembered the basics; arms up, weight centred, and don't ever give them your back. I smirked when I saw my assailant clutching his side, head hung low, cursing like their was no tomorrow. It was a man, young at that, with a dark mop of hair and tattoos creeping up his neck.
But then I realised the most important thing of all; he wasn't a guard, he was a prisoner. The uniforms absence I had clearly missed. At least he didn't have a gun. I took a few steps back.
"That wasn't very nice of you." He wheezed, finally swinging his head up to look at me. I froze as I took in his appearance. Not because he was attractive but because I had never seen him before in my life. He had dark eyes in the shadows and I couldn't tell what colour they were. I only knew that they were dark.
"Not nice of me?" I said in disbelief. "It wasn't very nice of you to drag me out here, prisoner." He smirked when I spoke and straightened like I had never hit his outer oblique at all.
"FYI princess, a guard asked me to take you out here. Said he needed someone with a bit more muscle to get you out of there." He took a step towards me, smiling like a cat stalking its prey. My mouth hung in disbelief. A guard never asks a prisoner for help with anything, there is always a price to pay and they will always want something in return.
"What did he promise you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. My mind still reeling from what happened moments before. Confusion got the best of me, I had no time to focus on some inmate and his bribing methods. What I really wanted to know was what was happening to George, why my father was no where to be seen and why everyone was shouting bloody murder. Literally.
"Oh nothing much really," he sighed and stretched his arms out in front of him. "Just to clear my name on this whole murder thing going round. Not like I did it anyway, I might be getting a re-trail soon." I took a step back and dropped my hands, wondering if I heard him correctly.
"What murder?"
"Oh, do you really not know?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. I shook my head and took another step back towards the door. He smirked. "The mysterious Emily Silverman, whose own father is too busy to tell her about the most important information in town!" He laughed and covered his mouth with his fingertips. "Such a scandal."
How did he know my name when I didn't know his?
"Look I don't know who you think you are but my friend is in their getting beaten to a pulp for some stupid beating he was accused of months ago and your out here wasting my time when I could be in their helping him. So why don't you just tell me what the hell you're going on about or I'm walking back through those doors." I spat angrily. My fists were clenched at my sides, all I could think about was ripping his large intestine out and strangling him with it, I needed to get back to George.
The man just smirked. The gleam in his eye told me he was having fun irritating me. I growled out an inhuman noise and turned on my heel, back to the cafeteria doors. Just as my hand touched the handle it was ripped away and I found myself back into the grip of the aggravating prisoner. I tried to snatch my arm away, but with no luck.
"Hey! let me g-"
"I'm afraid you cant go back in there Emily." He wasn't smirking anymore. With his face so close to mine, I realised his eyes were the deepest shade of blue. His gaze sent chills though my body and I subconsciously shivered. He might have been handsome if I wasn't so angry and scared.
"Why. Not." I spat, finally ripping my arm from his grip. I think he let me.
"Because." He said, sighing and taking a step back. "Your 'friend' isn't being punished for a beating, Emily. He is the prime suspect for the murder of Harley James, the kid who went missing a few mouths ago. They found him dead about half an hour ago, a knife stuck in his back, in your mate George's cell."
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I finally finished !
Hope you all enjoyed :)
Please comment and vote if you liked it and I'd really appreciate some feedback if anybody has any.
Thank You so much for reading!
Ps. This is only the beginning of the plot, and it won't all be set in the prison.
Pps. Picture of Emily is above.