by Victoria Sue
He watched as someone stood up in the cell/room/whatever nearest the second set of stairs to the left, and he paused, only to be jerked from behind.
“Keep walking,” the guard behind him grunted.
Vance did—he had no choice—but he had a second to see the face of the boy who was gazing at him. And the age. Vance swallowed in disgust. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen at the most, and seemed scared to death. Vance shot him what he hoped was an encouraging smile before he started trying to climb the stairs, nearly impossible with the length of chain he had to play with. He reached the top laboriously and looked with interest at the two cells he walked past, but they were empty. He stopped when the guard in front of him unlocked a door on the third and entered. Vance didn’t need the prod on the back to follow. The guard behind him stood facing away from the door and aimed the pistol at him. The second guard quickly undid the cuffs and chains.
“There’s a meal due in thirty minutes. You have to stay in here tonight, but if you don’t give us any trouble, you can exercise tomorrow. The doc will be around first thing, and lights out at nine.”
Vance started suddenly, realizing he had given no thought to what time it was or how long he’d been out. There had been no clocks in what he assumed was the clinic. “What time is it?”
The guard arched an eyebrow and didn’t answer.
Vance had to stop himself rolling his eyes. “What time is it, sir?”
The guard looked at his watch. “It’s nearly four thirty.”
He’d been out for hours.
But the guard didn’t say anything else, and they both stepped outside and locked the door behind them.
Vance turned to look at the cell… box he was expected to live in. It was about the size of the bathroom at home he and his brothers had always shared. A bed, a sink, a toilet, two shelves, and a cupboard.
Fantastic.
Then he remembered why he was here. Vance Connelly, FB fucking I and undercover. Okay, he said that was like he was five, but he was in.
“Edwards, stop sniveling,” he heard the male guard who had led him through say to, he assumed, the prisoner in the cell after his own that he hadn’t seen.
“It hurts, sir” came a small voice to the side of him.
“And it’ll hurt even more if I taser you,” the guard replied gruffly before he passed back in front of Vance’s cell, jogged down the steps, and walked to the platform to join the other guards. He swapped with one already there, and that one disappeared out the door that Vance had entered through.
Vance heard another sniff, and then without warning, he jumped at the sound of a huge television coming on in the corner of the room downstairs. He hadn’t even noticed it as he passed. Then a buzzer sounded, and he heard gates clanging. Vance walked to his own, even knowing it wouldn’t open, so he could get a good look as people went past.
Two teenagers walked past his door, very obviously keeping their heads down, which Vance thought was odd. If it were him, he’d be dying to see who had just come in. Vance stood and watched as more teenagers walked out of the cells below his. At a glance, he would have put the oldest at maybe twenty, but they were all very careful not to look up at him. He saw the young one he had noticed in the cell next to the stairs walk out, and he was joined by another boy he would guess to be about fifteen, sixteen maybe. They all went to the benches and took seats in front of the television.
Vance couldn’t help shaking his head as an old Western came on. Two guards appeared with a cart from the doorway, and two boys immediately stood to help. The guard from earlier carried a tray up and stopped at his door. “Stand back to the far wall.”
Vance obliged, and the door slid open. The guard placed the tray on the floor as he walked in and then immediately stepped out without saying a word, and the door closed. He looked to his left and frowned. “Edwards, you have one minute to get your lazy ass down there or you don’t eat.”
“I’m not hungry, sir” came the reply.
The guard shrugged and clomped down the stairs.
Vance walked forward and picked up the tray, suddenly starving and hoping whatever they had given him was half-decent. He took the tray over to the small table and sat down.
Looked like spaghetti and meatballs. Didn’t taste awful, and he ate it all. When the guard returned for his tray, he didn’t need reminding to stand back to the wall. After a while the boys broke up into smaller groups. Some read, some watched TV, some played cards. The guards seemed more relaxed and talked among themselves. Vance decided to take a huge risk and sat down on the end of his bed nearest the door.
“You okay in there?” he asked quietly, confident the guards downstairs wouldn’t be able to hear him. There was no reply, so he tried again. “My name’s Vance.”
“Jamie,” his neighbor whispered after a few more seconds.
“Hi, Jamie,” Vance replied. “Are you okay? I heard you say something hurt.”
Vance didn’t think after a longer silence Jamie was going to reply, but then he heard, “Yeah. I was in the clinic today.”
Vance thought quickly. “Yeah? They had me in there as well.”
“Did—” He stopped. “Did you get put in here because you did something wrong?”
Just then another buzzer sounded, and Vance didn’t get to answer. All the boys simultaneously started clearing their things away, and the TV immediately turned off. One by one they all trooped back to their cells, including the two who were near him, both studiously not looking at him.
It’s like Stepford Wives or some shit. Thirty minutes later with no warning, the cells were plunged into semidarkness. The podium guards changed again, and a female guard walked past each of the cells, making a few quiet comments, which seemed respectful. Asking if the boys were warm enough. A couple of them joked about the bad film they’d watched. He heard the footsteps stop when she got to Jamie’s door. “Jamie, Officer Dean said you hadn’t eaten. That’s not a good idea when you’ve had blood taken. Let me get you some milk at least, mmm?”
Blood? Vance stilled and heard Jamie’s reply. Alarm crept up his spine, digging in with vicious little nails.
“Okay,” Jamie answered. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Vance looked up as she walked past his door. He would have guessed she was about forty years—kind of reminded him of one of the social workers his mom knew. Real nice lady.
“Ma’am,” he said respectfully and stood up.
She paused, taking him in. “Providing we have no issues with your behavior, you will join everyone for breakfast tomorrow. Any problems tonight, there is an intercom in your room to speak to me or Officer Smith.”
Vance nodded politely. She didn’t speak to him again when she returned with a glass of milk for Jamie.
Vance glanced at the clock on the wall above the TV downstairs, large enough to be visible from where he was—9:05 p.m. He climbed into bed, which was too short for him—big surprise—and prepared to spend a long, boring night.
Chapter Fourteen
VANCE WAS awake before the lights came on in the morning, and not simply because the bed and the mattress hadn’t been made with someone of his size in mind. He hadn’t tried talking to Jamie again, even though he desperately wanted to, because the boy needed his sleep. He hated feeling so helpless. Despite the fact the female officer had been to check on Jamie a couple of times in the night, Vance still didn’t like it.
He was also regretting running from Sam, and while his mind possibly should be on the fact for all intents and purposes he was a prison inmate, he’d spent some of the night wishing he was back in Sam’s bed and remembering what it had been like the night before he left. Sam’s hands. Sam’s lips. Even Sam’s smell… all drove him insane. And there had been something. A connection. Vance wasn’t so dumb he was under any illusion Sam felt the same way that he did, but he didn’t believe Sam was unaffected.
Vance lay and stared at the ceiling. Sam was scared. There was something he
wasn’t saying. He didn’t know what the hell it was, and it burned that Sam didn’t trust him.
“Connelly?”
Vance sat up quickly to see a new guard, a man, standing by his door, which was now open. “You get one chance. I understand you will be with us while you are sentenced.”
Vance cut off the word tried. The guard spoke like he expected Vance to be guilty.
“So you may be with us a matter of weeks… or longer, and we can either do this the pleasant way or the harder one.” He paused and waited for his words to sink in to Vance. “Are you going to give me any trouble?”
“No, sir.” Vance stood straighter, and the man nodded. “I know your family by reputation, and my brother works with Sergeant Eric Connelly.”
Vance stood silently and absorbed the unspoken criticism, the inference that Vance had let his family down. Even though it wasn’t true, it still rankled. “Yes, sir,” Vance murmured.
“Good,” he said. “Now, follow me. You are wanted in the clinic before you eat or drink anything other than water.”
Vance followed the guard—he hadn’t offered a name—out of his cell and down the stairs. He caught sight of the teenager in the first cell and smiled as he walked past. The boy looked startled when Vance made eye contact, and even the second he had seen him, Vance was glad he had made a connection of sorts. Jamie had been silent this morning, and Vance hoped he’d gotten some sleep. He saw three other teenagers as he passed their cells. The others were still in bed.
“They seem so young,” Vance said, frustration coloring his voice.
The guard paused at the door Vance had come through yesterday. “Yes” was all he said. They went through the three locked doors in turn and down the same corridor and then into another clinic room, somewhat smaller than the one he had woken up in. He immediately spied the enhanced tech he had seen briefly, getting some IV equipment out.
“Hello,” Vance said, feeling like he should say something.
“This is Dr. Benson’s medical assistant, Mr. Miller. I’m afraid he’s mute, so don’t expect a conversation. Just lie on the bed.” Then the guard went to stand in the corner by the door.
Benson? Of course. He’d been slow, although he’d been pretty much out of it earlier. Vance killed his triumphant smile as the middle-aged man finally turned around, but he didn’t bother speaking out loud. He knew it wasn’t necessary. “Hello, Christopher. Talon told me about you.”
The man didn’t look Vance in the eye, just gathered his equipment and approached the bed. For a second, Vance thought he’d made a mistake and this wasn’t the enhanced who Talon had met in the clinic all those months ago, but then he heard the deep voice in his head.
“Hello, Vance. Should I be happy to meet you or disappointed it is in here?”
For a giddy moment, Vance was ready to tell him everything, and then he sobered. They didn’t really know him. Yes, he’d helped Talon twice, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy, and there was too much at stake. Then he froze. Could Christopher read his mind?
“I felt your anxiety levels shoot through the roof then. You don’t have to tell me anything. None of us are perfect. People make mistakes.”
Vance took a relieved breath. So, no. He remembered Talon saying he heard Christopher in his head when he had been trying to duplicate Sawyer’s ability, but he was too tense. And he relaxed him when they first met also. Vance’s eyes narrowed as Christopher coolly inserted a needle into his vein.
“They just need to take some blood, nothing major,” the guard suddenly piped up, and Vance jumped because he was so busy concentrating on the needle.
“Relax.”
The order filtered through his mind, and Vance wondered if that was an ability. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I am Dr. Benson’s assistant, and he started working here three months ago when the new warden started.”
“And they don’t object to you?”
Christopher placed a gauze pad under the needle. “I’m invisible to them. They are surprised when they first see me, but then they eventually stop noticing. Besides, the warden has a strange sense of political correctness.”
Vance was careful not to smile. He glanced at the guard, but he simply looked disinterested.
“So they still don’t know you can do this?”
Christopher hooked some tubing up to the cannula in Vance’s arm. “No, so for my sake, I hope you are here officially.”
Vance watched as Christopher took a small bag full of blood from him. It seemed quite a lot, even for him. He wished he dared trust Christopher, but the simple fact was it was too risky.
He had another thought. “Do any of the boys know you can do this?”
Christopher turned away and adjusted the flow of the blood. “No, and they can’t.”
“But—”
“I can be a source of comfort to them in what for everything else is a pretty miserable existence. I have a calming effect on people without speaking. If the warden knew I can communicate, he would remove me immediately.” Christopher walked away to the fridge and tidied things, keeping his back to the guard, and Vance understood he was giving himself a minute to mask the bitterness Vance heard to make sure it didn’t show on his face.
Another few minutes and Christopher took the needle out and taped a gauze pad on his hand. He looked up and nodded. “I’m not asking because I know you can’t tell me, but I don’t think for one minute you would harm the children here. Stay safe.”
It was only when Vance left, he realized he should have asked if Christopher could contact Talon, but there was that whole trust thing, so he had better not. He followed his guard back toward the cells, and when he got to where the cells were, everyone seemed to be sitting around the tables, eating cereal and fruit stacked on a large cart. It looked like you just helped yourself. The guard waved him to the benches, but Vance could already smell the coffee.
Vance helped himself to some food and sat at a bench with three boys. He listened to a couple of comments regarding some lessons they had later that morning and quickly recognized the youngest one as Jamie, who he’d spoken to last night. He was pleased to see he was eating, even though all three had looked at Vance in alarm as he sat down.
But that was okay. He was used to that.
He smiled at Jamie. “You feeling better?” he asked before he shoved a spoonful of shredded wheat into his mouth.
Jamie smiled briefly and nodded. Vance carried on eating and observing. Jamie was fourteen at the most, but he’d put the other two around sixteen. He’d be interested to know their abilities.
The skin on his neck prickled a little, and without trying to make it obvious, he turned around after a few seconds and looked at the rest of the small space. The two guards on the podium were new, and he didn’t recognize either from yesterday. All fourteen cells were standing with the doors open and, from what he could see, were all empty. He glanced around and did a quick mental count. Two empty cells when he arrived, which immediately reduced the maximum to twelve, but there was the chance he might have missed another. Counting himself and the three boys with him took it down to eight, but there were only another two older teenagers sitting at the other bench. The boy he had seen in the cell nearest the stairs wasn’t there.
“Is this everyone?” Vance asked casually.
Jamie glanced around, and then at the other two. He hesitated, and Vance realized his mistake. He put down his spoon and put out his hand. “Vance.” The two other boys looked stunned, but then the oldest put his hand out. “Lawrence.”
Vance shook it, and then the third boy seemed to find some confidence and offered his. “Kit.”
“How long have you all been here?”
They seemed to relax and chatted casually. Lawrence was sixteen and seemed to be here for no other reason than his friends had stolen a car and had gone joy riding. He fully admitted to knowing his friend had broken in, but in court his two friends had gotten a slap on the wrist and communit
y service, Lawrence had gotten sent here. “When did that happen?”
Lawrence shrugged. “I was thirteen.”
Vance stilled. “You have been here for three years for stealing a car?” Lawrence nodded. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Was it your first offense?”
Another nod.
“All that makes no difference with some judges,” Kit pronounced. “All they see is the scar. I was caught shoplifting six months ago.”
“We were both in homes,” Lawrence added. “I was already there when I transformed. Kit got ditched.”
It was all the more heartbreaking because Lawrence spoke so matter-of-factly. Like it was no big deal. And Vance had heard worse. He knew all that and had experienced some, but he was still floored. He looked at Jamie questioningly.
Jamie didn’t reply, and the other two fell silent. Vance was sorry he’d asked. He wanted to tell Jamie it didn’t matter, but it kind of did. He needed to know as much as possible, and then when he got out of here, he would make sure the whole world knew what was going on. He couldn’t believe this had been happening under the team’s noses for nearly two years. Had Jamie even done anything wrong at all?
“I killed my gran.”
Vance’s lips parted, and he hurriedly took a gulp of coffee. Fuck. He caught Lawrence shaking his head in warning, but Jamie took no notice. “It doesn’t matter. Graves will tell him anyway.”
“Graves?” Vance asked.
Jamie glanced over at the podium, and Vance understood.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he whispered, the regret obvious in his voice.
“What happened?” He met Jamie’s gaze kindly because he’d been there. Was still there every time he got behind the wheel of a car.