A key twisted in the hole that unlocked with a loud click. The barred door swung open with an eerie squeal that echoed in the silence. The annoyance from that noise had reduced considerably. Time and circumstance caused the brunette to get accustomed to it, for it was the only tune to enter her ears during that uncertain, lengthy period.
She glared at the shroud of her closed lids and made no efforts to light up her vision. Until she felt a rough poke at her side, making her recoil away instinctively, with a hiss escaping her drab, chapped lips.
'Right,' she thought bitterly, 'awaken to enter an eternity of slumber.' A lopsided smile made her ghastly pale face appear maniacal.
Obediently, she fluttered her eyes open, obsidian orbs peering at the face above her. The metal bunk beneath her creaked as she sat up, placing her feet on the floor, and stood up.
She didn't register the cold of the floor and stared blankly at the jeering jailer who was here to fetch her. Similar to the grim reaper who ascends to collect the souls of the dying. Except without the robe, the hood, and no scythe.
"You ready, eh, scrawny?" questioned the plump lady, who was round as a teapot. Someone nicknamed the slim girl when she had first arrived at the penitentiary and it stuck with many as they adopted the unpleasant term.
It didn't help that she had reduced to the skinniness of an animated skeleton since then.
The warden lady riled up when she saw no expression in the gaunt face that was sober like a stone.
She didn't bother to hide her irk, when she roughly grabbed the young woman of about twenty-two, and clasped her wrists together using metal cuffs.
The female inmate transferred to her new cell in a different unit a few miles away from her previous detention center only this morning.
Her last meal was as delectable as she hoped, but the plain lasagna was fine enough to provide a change for her deprived taste buds.
During the thought provoking last shower she had scrubbed herself clean with renewed vigor that she lacked for the past few months.
After dressing in clean clothes, and brushing her long hair until their dullness shined through, she had laid on her new, increasingly uncomfortable, temporary bunk bed and succumbed to internal speculation.
It still felt like a frightful nightmare to her. All of it.
On the third day of her mother's funeral, in her difficult phase of accepting what she strongly desired to deny, she was accused of murder. Right after she learned a horrible truth, which significantly changed her view over many things. Something which made her question her limited knowledge and ambiguous memories.
Whoever said that ignorance was bliss could not have uttered truer words. However, it was unsettling to know that she could have remained lost in the illusion of a setting sun when it had never risen in the first place, had she not stumbled upon the reality by chance.
The prison guard tugged on her handcuffed hands in haste.
"Hurry," she scolded, malice dancing in her dark pupils. "I still have a lot to do, so let's get done with you. "She mercilessly sprinkled salt on her charge's open wounds, but she didn't know the soreness had already left her numb.
Each heavy step she took reminded her of the day she had found her step-father's unbreathing figure.
She had gone to him to confront him about the truth of her mother's death. To learn if he was really as angelic as he had always appeared to be, or if he was a sick monster like what Janet mentioned to her in her last message.
A room full of pictures of herself along with some of other unidentifiable beauties either younger or the same age as her, she had discovered. Behind the door, he always warned her never to venture inside. She was always curious, wondering about the mysteries it hid. But left it at that, for she was a docile girl who stuck to rules like gum under a desk.
Until her mother's last message implored her to act against her reservations and go inside that room. She did.
A jolt of 400 Kilovolts would have shied from the shock she received upon the disclosure of Benjamin Davis's deviant side, which he successfully obscured beneath a seraphic guise. Eight years he fooled them all with his phenomenal acting.
Goosebumps had littered her snowy skin, shivers racking her frame. In the dim, red light of the small, studio sized room, she saw things she could never explain the horrors of to anyone.
With a rapidly beating heart drumming violently against her chest that coiled tightly and choking with disbelief and terror, she sped out. Putting two and two together didn't take long for the astute girl to figure out most of the ugly untruths hiding under the rug of deception for all those years.
Fury boiled her blood. With her steady resolve, she marched to Ben's study room and barged in without knocking. It befuddled her when she found no one behind his sleek desk, though.
Suddenly her gaze fell on the trail of blood, which prompted her to move further and look behind the desk. Weight of despair and dread on her shoulders burdened her steps. When the lifeless corpse of her step-father entered her line of sight, her red-shot eyes widened and her jaw dropped for the second time in the same hour. A breathy gasp escaped her gaping mouth, but her terrified shrieks never penetrated the soundproof walls to alarm the servants in the house on the floor below.
His colorless face was abnormally pale, cheeks sunken and blue lips tainted red by the blood that leaked from the corners of his mouth. His nose seemed broken and there were two seep stab wounds- one in the stomach and the other in the chest.
Nausea swept over the poor, traumatized girl, who was unaware of the presence behind her.
Before she could make any moves, the light went out, drowning the room in blinding darkness. Elora got a blow to the head, falling unconscious.
The next thing is her waking up to a strange ringing in her ears and blankly observing the strangers in blue uniforms bursting through a broken door. Her dark brows furrowed as she felt a sharp knife in her hand and saw blood smeared on her clothes. Only when her eyes took in the sight of the lifeless corpse once again did her mind recall the previous happenings and register her surroundings.
Before she could justify her innocence, handcuffs shackled her, and she rode away in a beeping car.
Her eyes lay downcast as she walked behind her warden, reminiscing about the long months of tedious hearings. Answering the same monotonous questions, all the while vainly attempting to prove her guiltlessness.
All evidences tested against her, especially when the police somehow came upon clues that implicated Benjamin with murder of Jane Moore- her mother, who was previously thought to have died in an accident.
She had already suspected this. Benjamin was a famous business owner with connections in both high and lower underworld parts of the society. It would have been a simple matter of a single phone call for him to order a hit on her mother.
Though she didn't fully understand how the police could pin the accident as murder and find the real culprit. Now, this only provided to prove that she had a motive to kill her monster of a step-father.
The timing of this revelation was too coincidental. Who really killed the man? Why pin the blame on her? She could vouch for her past actions. She never made no enemies.
She had attempted to appeal for a re-investigation countless of times, but they denied each one.
Her continuous, desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. She was ruled guilty of murder and sentenced to a death penalty.
The two ladies turned a corner and came face to face with a man in an upgraded version of the blue uniform- the chief of police, also her biological father.
The sharp chin and straight-edged nose, uncannily similar to hers, and thin lips covered by greying horseshoe mustache. She felt sour as she worked hard to keep her features clear of the hate she had for this man. Over his receding hairline, he wore his police cap. His lips twisted gleefully at seeing the predicament of his daughter. He was enjoying it to the fullest; he had helped bring her down, after all.
She wanted nothing more at that moment to wipe the contemptible smirk off his vile face.
'Prick,' is the word she describes him within her mind.
This man is the one who first took advantage of her gullible mother, who was the only one who loved him more than anyone else, other than himself, that is.
Growing up with this selfish sperm-donor, she always felt it would be better if she didn't have a father at all. Seeing her peers enjoying happy moments with their fathers, however, made her wish he could be more like them as well.
Alas, that never happened and after many long years of misery and pain, her mother got a divorce from the egocentric, amoral man. It was a tremendous fight. The man didn't want a divorce, not because he regretted his mistakes or wanted to repent, but because he thought a divorce stains his reputation.
As if being a corrupt officer, easily bought by money, was not enough dirt already that he should care about this minor blemish setting him back. He had only married out of family pressure, otherwise a self-loving jerk like him was too narcissistic and parsimonious to spend on and take care of people other than himself.
"I have orders to take her from here." she didn't miss the mirth in his gloating that he didn't care to hide.
Her face darkened. 'Knowing him, he's giddy about the bribe he received for successfully framing me and destroying all evidence that could exonerate me.'
She had experienced hell in her short prison life, but it had also taught the previously naïve, unsuspecting, idealistic girl some hard truths about life.
'Wealth and power are the top dogs in every area of life, whatever form they may have.'
The lazy warden was happy to hand him her responsibility and bolted out of there with such speed that could race against bullet trains.
Without a word, he led the captive down the hall and inside a room behind a metal door. It looked as if it was white-washed with milk, the walls and the floor, even the minimal furniture was white. It almost blinded the girl who had only seen dismal modern dungeons in the past six months.
It was only after her vision got used to the bright light in the room that she noticed the suited figure across her, with his back to her.
The person turned around, and she bit her lower lip to hold in the gasp that threatened to break out.
'Jason-?'
Her stepbrother.
The blond with his visuals as appealing as ever had flawless, pallid skin, thin red lips, and bright blue eyes. His arrogant nose-bridge that he inherited from his father suited him a lot.
His gray flannel was attractively tight on him, allowing glimpses of his toned arms and torso. She knew he was a player with women attracted to him like moths to a flame.
She was never close to this half-brother who seldom visited home. Even when he did, the number of their total conversations was a handful.
She didn't speak, but he did.
"Hello, sister," the word sounded insulting on his tongue, "How has prison life treated you? You look good." He smiled, his thin lips spreading wide, and stepped closer.
He pointed to a chair beside them. "Take a seat. I presume you have to stand for long before you get to rest, is that right?"
She didn't respond or move, only stared at him plainly. His attitude stumped her. 'Why would he be so welcoming to his father's killer?'
Heaving out a sigh, he caught her elbow and forced her to act according to him.
"Now that you're settled," he began animatedly, "You must wonder why I am here. Well, it's very simple- to provide you the closure you need. I know you didn't kill my father."
That got her attention, and she rose an eyebrow in question. His cheerful tone sounded off. His current personality was miles apart from the unapproachable, cold persona that he used to project.
Jason crouched down before her and grabbed her shoulders. Phony concern etched in his features.
"Did I hit your head too hard? It must have hurt. " Her confusion must have shown on her face because next he said-
"I am the killer." He pronounced every word so slowly, clearly, as if talking to a child.
Light shown in her mind and her eyes widened. Her body froze from the shock, aghast face resounding her feelings.
As if he read her mind, he answered her unasked questions.
"As you have discovered, my dad was a perverted psychopath. Hence, I won't waste time elaborating on that much. Well, that man murdered my mother during one of his 'sessions' with her. With no victim left for him to muse himself, he turned to me- his own flesh and blood. Subjected me to horrors that I can describe. But your stomach won't hold." There was a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled his childhood.
"The torments were excruciating. He cut me, skinned me, touched me, broke me. I was his son, he would say, as if I didn't already know and regret the fact. He wanted me to become like he was, and I did. Just better."
The crazy look returned when he turned back to her with the grin.
He came nearer and made her breath ragged with his touch. His forefinger slid from her temple, down the bridge of her nose and chin, which he lifted. She flinched.
"You know I pitied you. When he chose you as his next plaything. I did question if it would last long, his infatuation. " He jerked her face away and shoved his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit.
And then he laughed. "But he raised you like a pig for slaughter. Bewitched your mother to fall in love with him to get closer to you. He let me loose, and I moved away, planning my revenge the whole time. You know his company, the one he stole from my mother, was failing? I did that. Further, I gradually poisoned him while he planned to take your mother out of the picture. Alas, that old bastard just wouldn't die soon enough. So, I served the final blow as I looked at his flabbergasted, ugly face. The satisfaction from seeing his frightened simper as I used the same knife as him, was too extreme."
"Now, don't feel bad. I had nothing against you. You just happened to conveniently storm inside and served yourself as a sacrificial goat to me. Consider it a small payment in return for getting rid of him. I know you wanted to kill him. Better you than me, anyway. I have a life ahead of me, unlike you. You're welcome. " He cajoled her, acting like a benefactor who performed a great favor for her.
She felt the powerful urge to punch his disgusting face.
"You are better than your father. "
"I know-"
"At being sick."
"Runs in the family. Don't give me that scary look, darling. You can do nothing. " He jeered.
After a condescending pat on her head, he pranced out of the room.
Before she knew it, her father came inside and got her feet moving. In no time at all, they got to the small glass cubicle, where he shoved her inside with her shackled hands and remained standing outside.
A scary silence hung in the atmosphere.
She was still in a daze from all that she learnt in the past few minutes. It just strengthened her resolve for revenge.
A person in a lab coat prepared the lethal injection, and forcefully she was made to sit on the lone chair at the center.
'I will get out of here, and when I do, they'll suffer and lament. I'll deprecate them.' The words in her mind were a promise to herself.
An audience of all those who sneered and gloated at her misfortune spectated from outside the glass box.
"Elora Davis, convicted of murdering Benjamin Davis, the CEO of 'Evergreen Internationals' will take the needle under her death sentence passed by Judge Jameson Hadley. She may now speak her last words."
Her eye caught the one person's gesture who was here for her. She understood. It's time.
"Justice remains to be served. Soon."
The man with the needle, he approached.
The lights went out and sound of glass shattering reverberated.