Chapter Thirteen
A labaster Penitentiary.
That’s where I am. Where I’ve been locked away, naked , in a cold, dank room with no light—a ten-by-ten box of concrete that smells like dried blood and stale ocean water—for at least a full day.
I think. There’s no way of knowing how long I’ve truly been here, because there are no windows, clocks, or any indication that anyone is ever coming to get me.
I must say, this is much worse than I expected. I assumed I’d get, at the very least, a cot, some food scraps… A jumpsuit.
On the contrary. I arrived and was immediately stripped naked, cavity-searched to the point of being excessive, then thrown into this room to rot. The officers who brought me in weren’t being dramatic.
This is no correctional facility.
The discomfort of being naked on a freezing cold, filthy concrete floor, paired with the way my bones are already aching beneath my violent shakes, isn’t all that’s preventing me from getting rest, though. I’m also stewing in a wrath so potent, I can smell it like sulfur and ash.
I saw Dr. Love. In fact, he was the first person I saw upon my arrival at Alabaster Penitentiary.
When the two officers who’d driven me here yanked the bag off of my head and pulled me out of the SUV, there he was.
Standing just a few feet away, dressed in his usual tailored clothes, the sleeves of his dark-blue dress shirt rolled up his muscular forearms. Still and emotionless. Watching me, as if nothing had changed.
As if we weren’t on an island in the middle of bloody nowhere , outside of the foreboding monstrosity he left me for. As if he hadn’t chosen to sacrifice me to this place for his own selfish purposes based on a few measly murders.
Bloody robot man.
He looks exactly the same. And yet somehow… different.
I can’t place my finger on it, but when I came face-to-face with the man who’d been my doctor—my rock —for three years, the person responsible for getting me out of Riverwoods and convincing me that I, Trevel Fenwick, could lead a normal life…
I sensed a change in him. His aura felt renewed; enlivened .
Naturally, it made me sick with rage.
What about working in this devastating place has made him seem more fulfilled than he ever was in his sleek, modern office in downtown Atlanta?
What could possibly be here that’s making him happier than he was back in civilization??
We exchanged words, though I was seething so hard I can barely remember what I said to him.
Still, the look on his face is burned into my brain.
The way he stood there, beside three guards—two men and a woman, all of whom were watching me with distinct distrust on their faces—giving me nothing more than his typical brand of impassive, holier-than-thou attitude.
There was no remorse for bringing me here.
Why would there be?? He’s never given a single shred of a fuck about what happens to me, and that’s clear now more than ever.
He didn’t deny that he sent Sven to find me and bring me here as some token of his appreciation for The Warden — whom I still haven’t met, by the way.
If anything, he was gaslighting me into thinking he somehow did this for my benefit.
“I’m glad to have you here, though. I think this could be good for you.”
My teeth are set, grinding away as I growl into the pitch blackness of this tomb.
This is good for me, is it, Doctor?? Dying a slow, humiliating death with my bangers out… Locked away like a worthless bloody animal?!
I’m a volcano of contempt, ready to erupt. And what’s worse, I haven’t seen Leo since I got here. I’m completely alone . Not even an imaginary friend to keep me company anymore.
I swear, if I ever get out of here, I will make it my life’s mission to destroy Dr. Love. I don’t care if it kills me in the process. Revenge is the one thing I’m good at.
Lemuel Love will pay for what he’s done to me.
Footsteps steal my attention, and I sit up.
There’s a lot of noise in this place. Even when you’re separated from everything else by thick walls of concrete, you can still hear things banging and clanging from somewhere in the distance.
Although, this is the first time the stomping and jingling of keys have come this close…
Someone has stopped outside my door. And before I can even prepare myself, it flings open, and I’m being blinded by fluorescent light.
I can’t see fuck-all. I’m just cowering, with my hands over my face.
Whoever is there tosses something at me that feels like fabric. “Put those on.”
“ God? Is that You?” I mouth off, because I can’t help myself, blinking over and over.
“Pretty much,” the male voice rumbles. “Get fucking dressed, 102. Now. ”
My eyes are slowly adjusting to the light, just enough to make out some clothes on the floor by my feet.
Dull gray jumpsuit pants, a white t-shirt, and some basic gray slippers that look like they’ll barely fit.
I wriggle into everything quickly, attempting to stand, though it takes me a moment. I’m very wobbly.
“Good job,” the man growls with patronizing sarcasm.
The more my eyes adjust, the more I begin to really see him. He’s quite large, and attractive, with dark hair tied back into a tiny man-bun.
Wait a minute… I recognize him. He was one of the blokes standing beside Dr. Love when I arrived.
I blink as he pulls handcuffs off of his holster. “Up against the wall, palms flat. You move, I break your jaw.”
Quite the sterling personality on this one.
Doing as he says, I rest my front on the wall, and he immediately stomps up behind me, grabbing my arms and forcefully cuffing them behind my back while I grunt in displeasure. Then he bends and attaches shackles to my ankles. And not that I should be fixating on this, but he smells delicious.
Chalk it up to me smelling nothing but mildew and despair for the last however long.
Spinning me around, he yanks me roughly until I stumble. “Try to keep up, inmate.”
Walking in shackles is difficult. I’m trying not to trip, since it seems like the sort of thing that will get me scolded, but I also can’t stop myself from ogling the man.
Yes , he’s rather good-looking, in a dark and devious sort of way.
Almost the same height as me, which says a lot, being that I’m six-five.
Tanned complexion, studs in his eyebrow and nose, and tattoos on nearly every visible plane of flesh that isn’t covered by his uniform—an ensemble he wears shockingly well, by the way.
Not exactly my type , but still… I can appreciate a Muscle Daddy who could probably snap me in half with his bare hands.
Sneaking a peek at his name tag, I mumble, “Chevelle…”
His eyes dart to mine, a deep blue that holds my gaze. “That’s Officer Chevelle , if you know what’s good for you.”
“Oh, I don’t,” I reply, teasing, but not really. “Otherwise, I’m sure I would have strangled the bloke who brought me here and left him in the airport bathroom.”
Officer Chevelle gives me a look, cocking his pierced eyebrow.
But he says nothing, simply continues on, dragging me through long corridors that all look exactly the same.
I’m momentarily bewildered by how he clearly knows his way around, despite no signs or distinguishing marks.
As if he could be blindfolded and still maneuver himself through these halls effortlessly and just as fast.
Must mean he’s been here a while…
He certainly carries himself like someone with a high level of authority, though that could be said of all the guards I’ve encountered so far.
They all behave the way you’d expect of prison guards, especially the type who work in a place like this.
Morality doesn’t appear to be a requirement of Alabaster Penitentiary.
Still, Officer Chevelle has a different vibe. Naturally, I’m intrigued.
Our trek through the long hallways goes on for minutes, until we finally stop in front of a door.
The noise is much louder here; booming voices of inmates and guards alike echoing from somewhere nearby.
I’m no stranger to such sounds, though it’s been a while.
But this already feels monumentally different from any prison or institution I’ve been in.
For starters, it feels like this place was built centuries ago.
What is Alabaster Penitentiary? Where did it come from, and why is it here?
Officer Chevelle raps his knuckles on the door twice. And we wait until a voice from inside calls, “Come in.”
I’m ushered into a new room, and from one look around, I can see that it has an obviously unique setup. Half of the floor is tiled, with a few drains, as if there were showers at one time. But I don’t believe showering is what happens in here now…
There’s a very distinct smell of bleach invading my senses, and while it’s apparent that some cleaning has happened, the grout in between the tiles is permanently stained black; I’m guessing a healthy combination of mold and caked blood.
In the middle of the room are two chairs, facing each other. One of them is empty. And in the other sits a man.
He glances up and simply nods at Officer Chevelle, who’s already tugging me closer and shoving me down into the empty seat, across from the stranger. And then he leaves.
My head whips to the door as it’s slamming shut. Call it my own naivety, but I was sort of hoping the giant tattooed beast would stay with me. For protection.
I gulp as my gaze slowly creeps back to the man sitting barely three feet from me. We’re so close, our knees are practically touching.
“Hello, Trevel…” He greets me by name on a bit of a sigh.
There’s a familiarity in his tone, as if he’s known of me for a while and is finally seeing me face to face. Which is confusing because I don’t know this man.
I think I’d remember meeting him…