The Prisoner Project

FOURTY THREE

"There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed- and my brain screamed out for revenge."

— VC Andrews

FOURTY THREE

I HAD COME TO REALISE that everything that had happened to me was done on purpose. From the Kauffman release on the day I asked for a sign, to the way Nicholas had known my name on the very first day. It was all an articulate plan to break me down into hysteria. I didn't want to admit it to myself but it was truth that it had all worked perfectly.

Mirabel was a true mastermind. The psychopath I hadn't taken time to consider. She had had me and every other person under her spell, and watched as we played along like pawns on a chessboard.

After I had said goodbye to Nicholas, Hank pulled me out of the room. He had been a little dismayed that Banshee hadn't turned me into a broken and bruised. He handcuffed me and walked me in the direction of the prison cells.

I immediately noticed that I was being led in through the back doors, presumably to avoid any of the security cameras in the main halls. After all, nothing that was going on was legal.

"Where am I going?" I asked, wincing at the way the metal cuffs dug into my wrists. I knew it was going to leave marks on my skin. A constant reminder of the hopeless predicament I was in.

Hank didn't respond and just shoved me a little farther into a dark hallway. Much like the hallway to the interview room, it was dingy and unclean. The smell of mould hit my nostrils the moment I went through the hall.

It took me a moment to realise that I was in a section of the prison that had been abandoned by the State, but specially curated by Mirabel for me. This was my very own Hell.

We reached a dark corner that led to a room which resembled a basement. A lonely prison cell sat still at the end of the hall. It felt grimy, dingy and depressing. The lights in the hall were so dim that my eyes strained to see what lay beyond the cell doors.

"Home sweet home." Hank muttered, humour lacing his words.

At that, realisation hit me hard and I gasped in horror that I was going to spend however long locked in this place alone. I jerked back, stopping in my tracks and bumping into Hank. My heart thudded against my chest so loudly that it ached in my ears.

I spun to face him. "Please, don't do this."

If Hank heard me, he didn't acknowledge. He didn't even look at me. He didn't stop. He walked ahead, confident that I was not going to escape.

The tears in my eyes pricked against my eyelids. My voice was barely above a whisper because terror would not allow me to vocalise properly. "Please, Hank. Don't make me go in there."

Hank stopped.

If I had thought he was going easy on me before, I had been oh so wrong. At my obvious distress, his lips pulled apart into a garish smile.

"Now, why would I do that?" He said, matching my tone.

His pleasure was like a slap in the face. I knew begging was futile but I still couldn't help the son that escaped me.

"I did nothing wron..." There was something hopeless and empty in the way Hank looked at me that my words died on my lips. The hate he had for me was palpable.

He took my falter as defeat and reached for my arm to keep me moving. No! No! No! Panic bursts like a blood vessel in my brain. I wanted to screech.  Like a vice, I grasped onto the hand that tried to shove me. "NO! Please!" I all but screamed.