The Prisoner: A Novel Novels & Stories

I opened the cell door and walked inside, I saw fear in the prisoners eyes. “She has made me smarter. That’s how I saw straight through you. You just confirmed everything I suspected. So I have no use for you.” I lowered the prisoner down and he fell flat on the floor. I waited for him to stand, “what are you doing?” he asked. “You wanted me, well here I am” I said with my hands open to the side “come get me.” The prisoner charged at me and I grabbed him by the throat. He started hitting me against my ribs, but I didn’t budge.

Our names often overlap, and we tend to add physical features to distinguish one another. I step into the basement and switch on the single light. The bulb dangling from the ceiling casts a dim glow over the man tied to the chair. He’s bloody, covered in bruises and cuts, his clothes dirty and torn. Hair filthy, skin covered in filth. He’s been sitting in his own piss and shit for five days. Keeping a prisoner this long is risky. With each passing day, they get another chance to escape, to be discovered. We were lucky. “I hear they call you Vinnie the Nose,” I say as I lazily unbutton my jacket. “Walked around the city bragging about killing some kids. Is that right?”

Somewhere in Iraq: The prisoner drew a transverse line on the wall, this line crossed another six marking another week of his confinement. Six months, according to his calculations, he had been locked up in this horrible place, surviving by force of will and thanks to the memory of happier days. Will he ever be free? Will he ever see the sunlight again and if he wins his freedom will he be welcomed back by the woman he loves? Now that things have changed so drastically, the prisoner finally begins fearing tomorrow. "Help I lost myself again but I remember you... "

I filled my glass with cold water and gulped it down, letting the coolness soothe my blazing throat. I returned to my seat, reading whatever he said he had read again just to be sure he didn't miss anything. It was difficult to concentrate when all I could think of was the anger in Vyn's eyes before he left. The hurt that swam in his eyes when I asked Slade for help instead of him. "What did the doctor say killed the prisoner?" I inquired, closing the files when I couldn't get any more reading or signing done. "A kind of poison that isn't found in the dungeon," Slade answered, his head still buried in the file he was reading.

Samantha I felt like living in a scripted manner. I felt like a robot. I am living with the pain, and it's killing me every single day. It has only been two weeks. A week ago, Dylan was proven guilty of frustrated murder, illegal detention and many more that I couldn't even remember. He was sentenced to be in prison until his death. I should be happy now that I'm free, but I couldn't even grasp the freedom I've been dreaming of.

When the door finally creaked open, a wave of decay and blood hit them in the face. Ragnar froze in place. The Alpha, who had been shouting about exposing my 'tricks', now stood with a pale face. He was nearly unable to keep his balance. The warden held up a torch and shook his head. “I’ve been running this prison for years. I’ve never seen a werewolf corpse rot like this. Who knows how long she's been locked up in here? “This cell should never have been in use! It shouldn’t have started leaking poisonous gas either. If I had known someone was in here, I would’ve arranged patrols and meals. At the very least, I would've made sure she didn’t rot to death without anyone knowing.”

Actually, I found out the truth on my birthday when I saw you all celebrating Dylan's birthday at the villa with my own eyes. "Was I just some kind of joke to you? I worked until I only slept three to four hours a night to help you buy back what you claimed was a mortgaged villa. I often didn't even have time to eat, and basically gave myself brain cancer. "But the money I earned with my life ended up becoming Dylan's birthday present, a set of luxury car keys. "Are you curious how I got into the Bennett residence that day? Because I really believed I'd killed Mom and Dad, and before I could buy the house back, I wanted to see what the home they'd once lived in looked like.

" The day I was sentenced, Zoey publicly announced her support for Ronald as the heir to the Goldman family. From that moment on, I had nothing left. For three years in prison, I slept beside the toilets. They shoved my head into toilet water and forced me to drink it. The inmates beat me, humiliated me, treated me worse than an animal. To survive, I fought my way through with my fists. The only thing keeping me alive was the hope that one day I could leave prison and buy back my parents' old mansion. The day I got out, I hid myself in an underground fighting ring like a rat crawling out of the gutter, living numbingly from match to match. That one million dollars would have brought me one s

I look at the fruit, at the missing knife, at the patient woman with her tablet, and I understand that this is how cages evolve. The warm room offers me tea I do not drink and a chair I do not trust. Comfort, down here, has too many hinges. First bars. Then locks. Then rooms where the prisoner is thanked for cooperating with the door. Progress, they would call it.

"Why would I be satisfied when the bastard Duke is still alive?" He strikes his hand on the wall beside Amerie's head, causing her to flinch and turn away. "And guess who freed that man from my cell?" She was deafeningly quiet, cold sweat dripping down her back as she noticed something near her neck, mirroring her face in the darkness. She swallowed the hard lump forming on her throat as her heartbeat became erratic. "Want to guess who it is, my songbird?" Amerie kept her mouth closed. This ticks off Keres as he grabbed Amerie's jaw and forcefully made her look at him.