23. Willow
23
WILLOW
M y heels click against the cold linoleum as I enter security. With each step, the plug still nestled inside me sends tingles through my body, a constant reminder of Axel's control over me. I clutch my coffee cup tighter, trying to ground myself in its warmth.
Something feels off today. The usual morning quiet is broken by rapid footsteps and urgent whispers. Two guards rush past me, their faces grim.
"Morning, Dr. Matthews." Officer Thompson nods, but his usual friendly demeanor is replaced with tension.
"Is everything alright?"
He hesitates. "You might want to avoid Block C today. We've got a situation."
My heart rate spikes. Block C—Axel's block. "What kind of situation?"
Before Thompson can answer, more guards hurry past, their radios crackling with static and fragments of conversation.
"...two bodies found..."
"...cell block C..."
"...forensics team..."
My hands aren't steady, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I press my thighs together, the plug's presence now transforming from a thrilling secret to a condemning weight. What felt like an intimate connection to Axel minutes ago now feels like evidence of my complicity as I watch medical personnel wheel out a covered stretcher.
I slip into my office and log into the system. The preliminary report loads, and my coffee sits forgotten as I scan the details.
Two bodies. Inmates Roberts and Chen. My stomach lurches at the crime scene photos—the precise, almost surgical cuts forming intricate patterns across their torsos. The same signature mutilation I've studied in Axel's case files.
The estimated time of death for both is between three and five p.m. But that's impossible. Axel was with me yesterday during those hours, pressed against me in this office, his hands...
I narrow my eyes, forcing myself to focus. The bodies were positioned face-up, arms crossed over their chests—exactly like Axel's previous victims. Every detail matches his MO perfectly. Too perfectly.
I pull up Axel's current status in the system:
Solitary confinement—pending investigation.
My heart skitters. They think he did it—of course, they do because the signatures match perfectly.
Then the realization hits me like a bucket of ice water: they'll check the security footage to verify his whereabouts during the estimated time of death. Our session. They'll want to see the video monitoring and review the audio recordings. Every forbidden touch, every spoken word between us would be exposed.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, checking the time stamps. The murders occurred during our extended "therapy" session— the one where Martinez was paid to give us privacy, the one where Axel bent me over my desk and?—
Oh god. We're both finished if they pull that footage or listen to those recordings. They'd have evidence of our relationship and my complicity in circumventing prison security protocols.
I dive deeper into the files, searching for anything that might help me understand this. The maintenance records catch my attention—there's something about the prison's infrastructure I've never seen before.
My cursor hovers over a folder marked "Historical Documentation." Inside, blueprints and reports detail a complex tunnel system underneath the facility. I lean closer to my screen, scanning the text. The tunnels were built during the Cold War as emergency evacuation routes and an extensive network connecting all blocks.
A maintenance report from 1983 makes me pause.
Due to budget constraints, Phase 3 of tunnel sealing operations is suspended indefinitely. Sections A through D remain partially accessible.
The text cuts off, but my mind races. Partially sealed tunnels. Access points. My eyes dart to the crime scene location markers. Both bodies were found in areas that would have connected to these underground passages.
I check the timestamp on my last session with Axel again. The murders happened between three and five p.m. He was with me, but if these tunnels are still accessible...
Someone knocks at my door, and I quickly close the files, my heart in my throat.
"Willow?" Eleanor's voice makes me jump. I quickly minimize the browser window as she steps into my office. "Do you have a moment?"
Her usual warm smile is replaced with concern. "I noticed you've been keeping longer sessions with Morrison daily. Did you run over two hours yesterday?"
I straighten in my chair. "As I stated, he's making progress and opening up about his childhood trauma. I sense I'm on the cusp of a breakthrough."
"The guards found two bodies in Block C." Eleanor perches on the edge of my desk. "They match Axel's signature perfectly."
"That's impossible." The words burst out before I can stop them.
Eleanor's eyebrows raise. "Oh?"
I take a steadying breath. "I had a session with Axel yesterday between three and five. He couldn't have done it."
"Are you certain about the time?"
"Absolutely." I pull up my appointment calendar. "See? We started at five past three."
Eleanor frowns at the screen. "The guards will want to verify this. They're convinced it's him. They'll need your session recordings and the security footage."
My pulse quickens. The recordings. The footage would reveal everything.
"The recording system has been glitching," I say, keeping my voice professional. "I've been using my personal recorder as a backup." A lie, but I'm already formulating a plan—I can create a doctored audio file tonight, which sounds like a legitimate therapy session. "And Martinez was on duty. He can confirm Axel was with me the entire time."
Martinez. I'll need to find him immediately after this, offer him more money to corroborate my story and ask him to help me with the security footage. He's already compromised, but he'll help me again for the right price.
"Eleanor, what if someone's copying his method? Setting him up?" I keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. "These murders are too perfect, too exact. Like someone studied his case files."
She considers this, sitting and tapping her fingers on my desk. "You might have a point. But why would someone want to frame Axel?"
I think of the tunnel system, of escape routes and possibilities. "I don't know," I lie, "but he has an alibi with me. He couldn't have been in two places at once."
Eleanor's scrutiny makes my skin crawl. I shift in my chair, the plug a constant reminder of my compromised position.
"I'll need your session notes," she says. "The police will want to verify everything."
My throat tightens. The session notes. Where my notes are considerably briefer than the length of the session entails since half of it I spend with him deep inside me?—
"Of course." I pull open my drawer, rifling through files. "I'll have them ready by the end of the day."
"Now, Willow." Eleanor's tone is harder. "They need them now."
"I haven't finished typing them up." The lie tastes bitter. "They're still in shorthand."
"That's fine. Give me what you have."
My jaw clenches as I pull out my notebook. I'd written notes during the first fifteen minutes before everything spiraled into... something else. Would it be enough?
"You seem nervous," Eleanor observes.
"I just..." I swallow hard. "I want to make sure I'm thorough. These notes could clear him."
Eleanor stands. "The police will want this information to check the security footage and will be speaking with everyone who had contact with Morrison in the past twenty-four hours. They'll want to speak with you, too. I will go and let them know he was with you during the estimated time of the murders."
Ice spreads through my veins. An interview. Questions. How long will I be able to maintain this facade?
"When?"
"They'll be by when ready to speak with you." She pauses at my door. "Willow, is there anything you need to tell me? Anything at all?"
I meet her gaze, forcing myself to stay steady. "No. Nothing."
But as she leaves, I feel the weight of every lie and secret pressing down on me. And underneath it all, a nagging question burns: if Axel didn't commit these murders, who did? And why go to such lengths to frame him?