TW : self harm & suicide - feel free to skip to the next chapter as the investigation results can be recapitulated there :)
Dreary spider-web-covered stairs. Dilapidated floor. No appropriate reception.
The Farewell House was not your go-to rehabilitation house or criminal redressment camp, nor the regular prison you'd find buried somewhere in the wild suburbs. This place was another level of spooky.
Stairs with more stains than material, blood, humidity and piss marks all over the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Billions of guys and gals locked up behind rusty and dusty bars. Some of them crying, sobbing, weeping and missing out on the joy of being outside and being apologetic about oneself's issues. Near their shabby, torn sleeping mats, a great deal of , bloody tissues and crumpled paper sheets. Some of them already passed out by slipping on thick layers of dust and filth, some others were wide awake and screaming because they lost their minds - or the motivation to mind anything else know than their sorrow. Food plates and dishware that have never been fetched back to the kitchen. Stink that came from things no one would love to hear about, some prisoners unblessing us with harsh smell of their blood while they are ripping their skin apart on live. The show was almost too disturbing. This was the place where all the people considered belligerent by top-secret units and organizations were thrown, to keep a lid on their problems and shut spying down. The staff was way too poorly educated on taking care of censored communities, and people were either starving or taking their own lives without any further outer authority. Even though our energy organization was powerful, the lack in resources, budgeting, humane awareness and ethic was more than noticeable. Mitch's presence on the field was more than sufficient proof. But that, that torture that these people are enduring, was definitely far from being the right way to balance the justice scale : it only made it drown in the opposite direction.
We had to look for Evan amidst all those people, and that didn't seem to be an easy task.
We ran in the stairs, trying to capture every single possiblity inside this place, but among the bunches of unknown faces that didn't mean anything to me, nothing seemed to hint at my brother. Nothing. Basta. Nada. Not his grin, or his eyes, nothing. Then I realized : chances are, he'd been hiding. Chances are, there are closed doors we didn't open. We had to do this. Dad had to stop the killings and I had to keep Bry safe. I had to figure out what my father was trying to tell me, and how it could be so important that he'd carelessly drop souls to naught just to get my attention.
If I were Evan, a greedy, materialistic, inhumane, rough, and easily bribed young man, where would I be? Somewhere wealthier, somewhere I wouldn't starve.
I'd escape.
"Bry, I think it's worthless looking in here. He might've escaped somewhere?"
"Don't act too fast. Let me check if there's any door he might've gotten in."
I realize he's leading us on. He could be anywhere. Definitely anywhere. Maybe with those guys he helped out when we wanted to get in the way of that robbery. But did we really know? The more Mitch's face shows frequently in the midst of my chaotic thoughts, the more my confusion around the Anticipation curse grows bigger and more infuriating.
"Hey, come see! Cece!"
I see how they're trying to call me Cece after Ora's death. How they're trying to cheer me up after my own dad messed me up. And it's working. Aurora doesn't have to be dead forever, and she has a whole suite in my heart. With this nickname, they're reviving her, as long as making me understand the people I love and who love me are not all dead, love for me is not done forever.
I run, go see if he's found anything relevant. He is grasping my brother from the collar, tieing his hands with a rotten wood bracelet.
"Things are where you expect them the least to be. - Suzy Amelia Black."
"You did well on this one. Let's set him to a cell."
"On this one?"
"Well, on everything. Satisfied? Can we move on now?"
"Yes. Test passed."
I rolled my eyes and he smirked. He yanked Evan to a cell that he cracked with a blood-stained wood club. God knows whose blood that was, what they felt and if they were still breathing to this exact moment.
Then Bryan asked straightforward:
"Where's your father?"
"I don't know, I'm not his favorite person, in case you haven't noticed yet. And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Understood?"
"Don't try to intimidate us. You're the one in a cage, as far as I'm concerned."
"So what? If I answer, you're getting me out?"
He had a point.
"No. But if you don't, we might as well tell our people that you tend to unlock your cell, that you could leak yourself anywhere, right? Not just in that damned house basement, ain't it, BROTHER?"
"Nice play, sis. Mitch is waiting for you where you met. I hope you're wondering if he's reckless enough to do it."
Oh, reckless, he is. He could be anywhere, even under the nose of those who wanted to catch him once and for good.
"I'm gonna have to pay attention, then."
Brian double-locked him in the cell, took my hand and we soon were out of that damned place. The wind in my hair had never felt so mellow. The way I almost felt safe even though I was an ideal target to too many, made me want to quit the overthinking and lean my head on Bry's shoulder, but he was just as tired : as soon as we got on our feet again, he fell asleep.