Epilogue
Eleven Years Later
The bars clanged as the gates to all the cells in Block ‘C’ opened. It was time for breakfast. A small window at the top of the thirty-foot wall showed the sun rising, the sky a luminescent grayish blue. It was early morning, but Erik Campo hadn't even slept yet.
Last night was bad. One of the worst nights he’d had in a while.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that face.
Those eyes. And then came the sound of her small, soft voice that lived in his head like a broken record.
Thank you. Thank you for saving my life, Echo.
I’m sorry I couldn’t stop all the bullets for you.
I’ll do better next time. His body tensed just thinking about her.
His hands clenched into automatic fists and he had to forcibly release his fingers before his nails left moon-shaped cuts in his palms.
He’d been done. He’d been ready to go. To end it all.
That bastard never would’ve let him live.
Never let him out of his lifelong contract.
It’s something her aunt never understood.
He’d tried to warn her. Tried to shield her from the worst of it.
But in the end, he’d been their ultimate downfall. Or so he’d thought.
Then his eyes locked with hers. Sweet. Kind.
Determined. He’d never met a soul with more strength, more grace, more kindness than in that little six-year-old.
That bastard had many kids. And he used all of them until they were either good enough to sell or useless enough to kill.
But that little girl. She’d amazed him with her ability.
Floored him with her resilience. And in the end, she’d been willing to die.
For them. For him. That was when he decided he was done.
He ran out into that courtyard, no protection, no armor, nothing but the clothes on his back.
It was what he deserved after forcing her to go through everything she’d been through.
It hadn’t been him forcing her, but it had been him doing the forcing, all the same.
He was just as guilty. Just as evil as his boss, if not more so.
But if he was going out of this world, he’d use his last breaths to do something right.
Maybe the only right thing he’d ever have the chance to do in his life.
Because if he died protecting an asset, Charlie would be safe.
But if he tried to run, or helped her in any way outside of the strict parameters that had been set forth in front of him when he was first brought on to do that job, he’d be killed and Charlie would be thrown into a state facility where he’d likely be overlooked, forgotten about, and possibly even abused.
As part of his plea deal, the prosecution agreed to let Charlie stay where he was safe and happy.
That was all that mattered. He probably didn’t even remember who his dad was anymore.
It’s not like that job came with vacation time.
He was lucky if he got a day off a month.
But he didn’t dare complain. Hell no. Because if he got a day off, it didn’t mean those kids did.
It didn’t mean that she did. And he wanted to be there for them. For her.
“Hey, Campo,” one of the guards called out to him. “You’re going to miss out on all the grub.”
He nodded and stood. His body was stiff and ached in various places.
He had a slight limp in his right leg where the bullet had hit his femur, and his neck was always bothering him after a night on that cold, hard cot the prison called a bed.
But it had been a long time since he thought about life outside this place.
He had his first parole hearing in a couple of years, but that felt like a lifetime away.
He sat at his usual table with the same guys he always ate with.
But unlike them, he didn’t say much. He ate whatever was put in front of him.
He’d long since stopped trying to figure out what it was.
Food was just that. Sustenance. Something to keep him breathing and moving.
There were days like today, after a night like last night, when he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep existing in this world, but prison wasn’t really about what someone wanted.
After breakfast, he was heading out to the yard for some fresh air before starting his shift in the kitchen, when one of the guards called to him. “Hey, Campo, you’ve got a visitor.”
He could swear he heard the guard wrong. In the eleven years he’d been here, he hadn’t had a single visitor. Ever. Not even a phone call. “Me?” he asked, making sure the guard was talking to the right guy.
“Yeah, come on. She’s cute, too. Finally getting a conjugal visit?” The guard teased with a smirk, or maybe it was a sneer. Not that it mattered. This had to be a mistake. He didn’t know anyone who fit that description, and anyone he knew in his past wouldn’t be caught dead visiting him in prison.
He followed the guard to the visiting area and took a seat.
While waiting for whoever it was that he was supposed to be waiting for, he still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t some big mistake or misunderstanding.
Surely whoever this was, wasn’t actually here to see him.
And then a woman with long dark hair came into the room and sat across from him.
She kept her head lowered as she set a bag down beside her chair, and he still had no idea who she was. Then she finally raised her gaze to meet his, and it was like his heart stopped. His breathing halted. Hell, the earth itself stopped spinning.
“Dad said I couldn’t come see you until I was eighteen. My birthday was last week.”
He stared at her. Shock, confusion, and so much pride that he had no right to feel. She was beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.
“Hi, Echo,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
No one had called him that in over eleven years, and it took him right back to his days of working at DynaTech.
The small weight of her in his arms as he carried her to that locked room where grown men were paid to attack her.
He’d tried to refuse. Many times. But Ned Dynam was an evil man and he knew exactly what to say to keep him in line.
When it came down to it, he always had to choose between the kids Ned tortured and his own son.
Of course, he chose his son. Now here was one of those kids, smiling at him as if he wasn’t a leading character in her childhood trauma.
“What are you doing here, Violet?” He practically barked.
This was no place for a young woman like her.
And now that he knew who that guard was talking about, he wanted to gouge his eyes out for looking at her like that and cut his tongue out for talking about her that way.
To him, she’d always be that cute six-year-old.
The little girl he’d have gladly given his life for.
The same one who’d thanked him for saving her, after he’d led the people that she loved into an ambush that had very nearly killed them, and her.
“I brought you something,” she said. Her voice was soft and sweet. Like music. A melody he once knew all too well but could hardly remember with the passing of time. That was the one thing his dreams never got quite right - the exact pitch and tone of her voice.
She reached into bag and pulled out a folded sheet of construction paper.
The kind kids draw on at school. She unfolded it and slid it across the table to him, but he wasn’t allowed to touch it.
He just stared at the drawing of what looked like a man, him it seemed, and some other man he didn’t recognize.
When he brought his gaze back to her she was smiling like she was expecting him to like it or understand it. “What is this?” He barked again. He really didn’t like her being here and bringing up even more feelings about his past than he was already inundated with on a daily and nightly basis.
“It’s from Charlie,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I told him I was finally going to be able to come see you this week, and he wanted to make something special for you. He’s been really loving this new art class they have going on there.
And the teacher, Miss Zoey, is really nice.
She’s not supposed to play favorites, but between you and me, I think Charlie is her favorite. ”
His chest grew tight and his throat felt like it was closing.
He hadn’t talked to his son in years. Because of his disability, it was hard to get him on the phone, and the few times he’d called to ask about him, the staff knew he was calling from prison and just brushed him off or simply hung up on him.
“You know Charlie?” It was all he could find the words to say.
She nodded. “After you and my dad got shot, we were all waiting at the hospital for my dad to get out of surgery. When I asked who was going to see you when you woke up, we found out that you only had Charlie, and he couldn’t come see you.
So, I came to see you instead.” She shook her head. “You probably don’t remember.”
“I remember.” The words came out hoarse like he’d swallowed a frog.
But damn, he remembered. Her words played over and over in his head every night like a broken record.
Some nights they were comforting. Others they were haunting, and he’d shoot out of bed covered in a cold sweat.
“I remember,” he repeated, rubbing the knuckles on the hand her fingers had so gently touched that day.