The Prisoner Project

THIRTY TWO

I genuinely thought I had the time to update on Friday but that was results day and so...you know how that went. Fuck uni.

"I'm not a monster, I'm just sick."
— Ariel Castro

THIRTY TWO

FRANK HAD PASSED his hand through his hair so many times that his light waves stood up at weird angles. I had been avoiding the judgemental looks he had been throwing me ever since we left his apartment that morning. I had a mission, and I felt within me that I needed to go through with it to keep sane.

Curiosity doesn't sit well with SSCD — was a quote that had bitten me a number of times. Every time I felt curious, my actions would cause consequences that I wasn't prepared to face. This time would probably be no different.

I knew I was the one holding the gun to my head and the bullet was what would break me. Yet, I had become an empty vessel. Like Nicholas, I was beginning to comprehend that I too, had nothing to lose.

"I'm fucking losing my job." Frank announced.

I glanced at the clock. It read 4:59am. We were stood in the small white office just outside the interview room, and it was so quiet. I had no idea what strings Frank had to pull to pull this off but I was so grateful that I accepted all his glances and cusses like they were gifts.

Frank paced the room. "I can't believe I'm letting you do this. I'm an idiot." He shot me another glare. "Wait, did you drug me or something? Because there's no way I'm thinking straight—"

"I'm really grateful, Frank." I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself.

I was wearing my favourite orange jumper but that was the only colour in the room. We were all pale, on the inside and out, and the clinical white walls acted as a proxy for our emotions. A grotesque metaphor.

"Don't thank me. Just fucking go in."

5am. I took the deepest breath of my life, grabbed the door handle and pushed into the empty room.

I took leisurely steps to the table and sat on the metal chair before it. There were no glass walls. Nothing was to separate us, and there was barely any security around. Yet, it was exactly what I wanted.

"He's coming in." — I heard Frank from the bluetooth speaker in my ears and jumped slightly. I pressed a button that allowed Frank to hear me, and muttered. "I'm okay."

"Let's hope you will be."

Just then, the buzz that signalled Banshees entrance rang out loud. I might have been slightly sentimental but it sounded strangely apocalyptic. It was fitting since I felt like this moment was the one that would make or break me. I would either rise above the flames or Banshee would seduce me into letting him drag me to Hell.

I placed my palms flat on the table and watched them tremble.

Frank had promised me earlier on that if our conversations had been recorded, he had no idea of it. It relaxed me to know but at the same time, I knew that there was something twisted going on and nothing really should relax me.

I felt ill and was unable to remove my eyes from the metal doors that slid open painfully slowly. It slid open to reveal the one person that I trusted the most in SSCD.

But Banshee didn't walk in. He didn't walk into the interview room. He didn't glare at me with his fantastic eyes, he didn't smile smugly, he didn't have anything in his eyes. His head was bowed, his unruly hair fell across his features, his arms were handcuffed. It took a minute to recognise him because there was something terribly wrong with him.