Break Out (Supernatural Prison Trilogy Book 3)

by Aella Black

  I hadn’t had a chance to catch up with my father since being reunited. Now we had time together, and I was grateful for every minute.

  Too bad our time always ended in my death. But such was my life...

  At first, our discussions centered largely around the scientific process he was using to try to recreate powers. My dad had always been a brilliant scientist. One of the best, actually. No doubt that was why Mr. Fletcher chose him for this important job.

  That, and he had me as leverage.

  Two guards were stationed in my father’s lab at all times. If we started speaking too softly, they threatened him. If Dad stopped working, they notified Mr. Fletcher. Still, we were able to have some normal conversations. Normal for us, anyway.

  He wanted to know about things he’d missed while he was here and I was there—there meaning where we lived before the SCC disrupted both of our lives.

  “You didn’t report my disappearance to the police?” he asked me for the fifth time.

  “Dad, please. It was stupid, I know. I didn’t know what was going on, and I didn’t want to get thrown into foster care. At my age, you know I would have ended up in one of those awful group homes.” The irony of that statement struck me. I’d feared those places, and then I ended up somewhere far worse.

  My father shook his head while simultaneously clicking through data on his computer. Or rather, the SCC’s computer. It wasn’t connected to the internet, and if he needed to research something, another scientist would print out any relevant documents.

  “How on earth did you keep up with the bills?” he asked, pulling my attention back to our conversation.

  “I got a job at the diner.” I spun in circles in the swivel chair that he’d brought in for me.

  If I ignored that I was in a prison jumpsuit and a pair of guards were staring at me, I could almost pretend this was normal. Here I was, visiting Dad at his new office, watching while he worked on an exciting new project. We’d leave together after he wrapped up for the day, and then I’d cook up some dinner before doing my homework.

  If only.

  “You supported yourself on waitress pay?” He was looking at me now, his expression incredulous.

  “And I babysat for the Fletchers every Friday,” I told him. “Had I known—”

  “No, I should have known. Griff is just like your mother. Too ambitious for their own good. And despite what he says, for everyone’s good. Those two and their hero complexes,” he muttered.

  I cocked my head. “Mom had a hero complex?”

  “Sure. Maybe not as flashy as Griff’s, but she was driven by the whole ‘greater good’ nonsense too. She truly believed she was saving the world, honey.” His eyes beseeched me to understand, and I realized he was talking about himself too. “This whole thing… it didn’t start out as a prison program.”

  “You told me. When I first found you,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, but I didn’t have time to tell you the rest of it.” He glanced at the guards, one of which was glowering at us. Quickly, Dad re-focused his attention on the data and then kept talking. “Fletcher and your mom got it into their heads it would be too risky entrusting a bunch of kids with powers. Plus, they wanted more control than that. They feared what you were capable of, and of course there was money to be made. Soon it wasn’t about protecting you. It was about controlling you.”

  While he spoke, I spun slowly in the chair, my eyes on the ceiling. The lighting in this lab was low, and it made me sleepy. When he stopped talking, I stopped too.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “You were married to Mom, and we barbecued and went to block parties with the Fletchers. You and Mr. Fletcher were friends. How could you have not seen how terrible they were?”

  Dad stared intently at the computer, but I knew he wasn’t looking at the numbers. Then he sighed. “You never really know a person, Phoebe,” he finally said. “And no one is all good or all bad. I blame myself every day for what we did to you.” I could see on his face how deeply he regretted it. “Then the program began taking turns for the worse. What started off as a boarding school kind of idea became… well, this.”

  “I get it, Dad. We all make mistakes.” I hoped one day soon to live free again and make lots of them myself.

  He nodded, but I knew he was a long way from letting himself off the hook—if ever.

  But that wasn’t what was on my mind. “One thing I don’t get. Other scientists could do this. If Mr. Fletcher is your friend, why not just let you go?”

  “Besides me running to the authorities and getting this place shut down?” he asked.

  “Yeah, besides that,” I said with a small smirk. Just the thought of that happening made me feel good inside.

  He glanced over at the guards and then lowered his voice a little. “I’ve got some blackmail on Griff that the SCC won’t be happy about.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I sat up a little straighter, waiting to hear what it could be. But he didn’t say anything.

  Then I saw what he had typed.

  The twins are genetically altered too.

  He deleted it and then typed a new sentence.

  He doesn’t want his kids here when they get their powers.

  Anger boiled my blood. Not that I ever in a million years would have wanted Zoe and Zane in this hellhole, but what a freaking hypocrite. Sure, lock up other people’s kids.

  I watched as Dad deleted and typed again.

  Griff erased all records of them in the system. Lied to top officials. Only I know. And now, so do you.

  We locked eyes and—

  “Hey!” One of the guards approached us. Dad quickly deleted the message. The guard narrowed his eyes. “Get back to work.”

  “Sure thing,” Dad mumbled. Then, before I could dwell any more on it, he switched to a topic about as different from the previous one as good and evil. “So, you and Alexander Aldrich, huh?” He didn’t have to look my way for me to see the smirk on his face. “Haven’t you had a crush on him since middle school?”

  Heat rushed to my face. “What? No!” Elementary school.

  “Oh, but I’m sure of it. I distinctly remember finding a notebook with his name and hearts all over it—”

  “Dad!” I smacked him on the arm, and he chuckled.

  I sat silently while he continued to work. I would have stayed silent, but our time was running short. If I’d learned anything over the years, it was that you weren’t guaranteed tomorrow with someone.

  “Why do you think Mom left me to fend for myself after she rescued you?”

  Dad shook his head, the skin of his forehead tightening in a scowl. “I have no clue what that woman was thinking. I suppose she could have tasked Griff with keeping an eye on you. Even still…” He paused and looked me in the eye. “She wasn’t the woman I married, Phoebe.”

  I certainly hope not.

  Dad’s theory sounded about right. Mr. Fletcher had often asked how I was doing, how my dad was, etcetera, even though he knew all along where he was. It was infuriating, the amount of lies he told me. “Man of my word,” my foot.

  “Now I have a question for you,” Dad said. His expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it. “I didn’t want to, but I have to know. Where did you think I was all that time?”

  “Honestly? I thought you’d needed a break. Work was stressing you out, and me, without Mom, and—”

  “Phoebe, no. Please don’t tell me that.”

  “But you asked,” I reminded him.

  “No, sweetheart. What I mean to say is, I hate you ever thought such a thing. No matter how stressed I am, no matter how crazy work might be, leaving you is something I’d never voluntarily do on my own.”

  “Well, I know that now,” I mumbled.

  “I hate that you didn’t know it then,” he said sadly.

  I tried making him feel better. “Deep down, I think I knew. That was probably another reason I didn’t say anything to anyone. I really thought you would come back. And you did… jus
t not the way I expected,” I said with a soft smile.

  He didn’t smile back, but I could tell he appreciated the effort. Then he pulled at his hair, saying, “I hate it, but I need to get this done, Phoebe. I can’t bear to watch him shoot you again.”

  “Trust me, being shot is the least painful way to go. Just bang, and it’s over.”

  He flinched as if I’d hit him. Then, reluctantly, he focused on his data.

  It was the same routine for days. I woke up, ate breakfast in my room, and then tried not to lose my mind until lunch. After that, guards took me to my dad, and he and I would spend an hour talking while he worked. Occasionally, he’d make a big show about giving me a blood test or extracting tears to keep up the ruse that he needed me. All the while, he worked feverishly to give Mr. Fletcher what he wanted so he didn’t have to watch me die again.

  Inevitably, Mr. Fletcher would arrive at the designated hour, receive his report from my dad, and then shoot me dead when he discovered no synthetic tears had been made. I’d revive in time for dinner, go to bed, and then do it all again the next day.

  Strangely enough, my nightmares had stopped. One morning, I woke up after having a good dream. When was the last time I had one of those?

  I sat up stick-straight in bed. Lucy had been causing my nightmares. She’d preyed on my worst fears and haunted me with them, night after horrible night. How had I not seen it before? Of course she was behind the unreasonably realistic dreams. Maybe even the disorientation I’d experienced during the day. She’d made me believe I was losing my mind.

  When I saw my dad after lunch, I noticed the shadows under his eyes had darkened considerably. As soon as I entered the lab, he stood and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly. “I’ll kill him,” he growled in my ear. “If we ever get out of this, I swear I will.”

  I pulled away. “Whoa, Dad. What’s going on?”

  “I will not watch you die one more time,” he stated. “I won’t mop up your blood after they carry your lifeless body out of here. I won’t do it.”

  “He makes you mop up?” I asked, horrified.

  “It’s too much, Phoebe. Too much…” He pulled me close again, and I let him hold me.

  Obviously, he needed the comfort of knowing I was alive right now. He’d feel better afterward. I hoped he would, anyway.

  After a few minutes, he released me and headed to his desk. I hadn’t missed that his eyes shone with unshed tears. I also noticed his hands trembling as he began typing on the keyboard. He was really shaken up today.

  I glanced at the guards and saw they were talking to one another. Leaning in closer to my Dad, I lowered my voice. “Is something going on?”

  “No, of course not,” he answered quickly. Too quickly.

  Something was definitely going on.

  Suddenly, the door burst open and Mr. Fletcher marched inside. I could practically see the aggression rolling off him in waves. Without a word otherwise, he walked straight up to my dad, who’d stood from his seat, and punched him squarely in the face.

  I screamed as Dad stumbled back into his chair. “What are you doing?” I cried.

  Mr. Fletcher ignored me. “There are government officials coming here in an hour, Marcus. Why the hell would they take the time to see a prison that we reported is perfectly under control?” Spit flew from his mouth, and his face was flushed pink.

  I was taken aback by his anger. Mr. Fletcher was always the picture of calm, which meant this recent development must have been really bad news—for him. All I heard was a potential path to freedom.

  Dad massaged his jaw. “I suspect it’s a routine check-in.”

  “No. We don’t have those, and you know it. Not from these guys.” I didn’t know who ‘these guys’ were, but it appeared they did.

  Mr. Fletcher grabbed my dad by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Stop!” I shouted.

  “Phoebe, stay back!” Dad warned.

  “Someone tipped them off,” Mr. Fletcher hissed. “Why else would they come all the way to Kansas City to see what we’re up to? Someone here had to have gotten a message to them, and that had to have been you!” He pushed Dad backward, but my father didn’t stumble this time.

  I watched while he straightened his shirt, fury in his eyes. “There’s no way I could have done it. I’ve been locked in here this whole time, and your crappy computers have no internet. I can’t even do my own research!”

  That was the truth, and Mr. Fletcher knew it. I looked at him to see his response.

  “It had to be you,” he seethed. “No one else could have made contact with someone outside these walls.”

  “Griff, believe me. I haven’t done anything. You’re just looking for someone to blame.” Dad sounded confident—and even appeared it—but I heard the tremor in his voice.

  Was he lying? He was pretty out of sorts today, which the guards could probably attest to. But if help was on the way, he should feel better, not worse.

  It didn’t matter if he was or not. Mr. Fletcher heard the quiver in his voice, too.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Marcus.”

  In one instant, he pulled out his gun, aimed it at my leg, and fired. Pain seared my thigh, and I screamed, crumbling to the floor.

  Dad swore. “Leave her alone! She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Fletcher snapped his fingers. “Warrick, get in here.”

  Dad’s face paled, and my heartbeat quickened.

  Not Warrick.

  I applied pressure to my wound while watching Warrick saunter into the room. It struck me how young he was. A year or two ago, he was probably a prisoner just like the rest of us.

  I thought about what Xander told me about Wolf—that he felt as trapped as the rest of us. Did Warrick feel the same way, or did he enjoy his job of torturing kids on a daily basis?

  My money was on the latter.

  Mr. Fletcher’s snarl yanked my attention his way. “Have you been sneaking information outside these walls?” Fletcher growled at my dad. Warrick now hovered over me. Waiting.

  Dad inhaled and then spoke on the exhale. “Griff, look—”

  “Warrick.”

  Pain ripped through my body so intense the gunshot wound didn’t even register anymore. All I could feel was the fire that rippled under my skin, making my muscles seize up. I could have been screaming, but I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t hear or see or feel anything beyond the pain.

  What could have been minutes or hours later, it stopped. I lay curled in a ball, my face wet with tears, blood and sweat slick under my hands. The surrounding room slowly came back into focus.

  “Yes, okay? Yes!” I heard my dad shout. “I sent some handwritten notes out.”

  No, Dad. No.

  “Who did you send them to?” Mr. Fletcher demanded.

  “Who do you think?”

  “Will.” The disgust in Mr. Fletcher’s voice was clear for whoever—wait. Warden Will?

  “How did the message get through?” Mr. Fletcher barked. He was like a dog with a bone. “It’s not like you stuck a stamp on an envelope and someone mailed them for you.”

  Dad sounded defeated as he whispered, “I gave them to a guard.”

  “Which guard?”

  Dad didn’t answer. Oh, no—

  The pain returned, and this time I was sure my head would explode. I could hardly draw a breath as the agony consumed me. After what seemed like an eternity, it receded once again.

  “I’m going to ask one more time,” Fletcher said slowly, his voice shaking with rage. “Who. Delivered. The. Messages?”

  “Please.” The devastation in that one word was breathtaking. My father wasn’t experiencing the same torture as me, but it was still agonizing. “Do whatever you want to me, but please stop hurting her.”

  I groaned, though it wasn’t from pain this time. Not that I wanted him hurt, but Dad just reinforced Mr. Fletcher’s knowledge that hurting me was the best means of getting what he wanted.


  True to form, the sadistic man said, “Only if you answer my question.”

  “Griff, I can’t. He’s just a kid.”

  “And so is your daughter.”

  The pain returned with a vengeance, and this time, I couldn’t help it. I begged for it to stop. Through the agony, I heard my Dad speak to me from somewhere in the vicinity of my ear. “Forgive me, Phoebe.”

  A bottle shattered, and I realized what he was doing as he was doing it—and why.

  My father cut his own daughter’s throat to spare me further pain.

  18

  Xander

  I couldn’t sit still. Pacing didn’t help either, so I dropped to the concrete floor in my cell and did some push-ups. That didn’t help either, but at least I could focus on something other than how screwed we were.

  Fletcher had backed us into a corner. He’d threatened to kill thirteen inmates if we disobeyed orders. Not fight, not torture, but kill. That could include Cooper, Cathy, Cal, Rocky… Birdie. Was it worth risking their lives to try to save others?

  I shivered. That sounded a little too close to Mr. Fletcher’s “greater good” philosophy for my liking.

  We still had no idea if the officials coming were on our side or not. The way Mr. Fletcher was acting this morning, my bet was that they were. Or they could be. But these were the lives of kids on the line, and I wasn’t exactly a gambling man.

  “He who would live must fight.”

  Fletcher had quoted those words before the first of his gladiator-inspired matches began. Right before he commissioned Fang to kill Phoebe in front of all of us. He didn’t want the officials to see what was going on here, because he knew it was wrong. Maybe we didn’t fight with fists and powers like we had in the riot, but we had to do something. It was up to us to show these people how inhumane it was here. But how could we do that without tipping off Fletcher?

  The intercom crackled overhead. “Boys and girls, our guests have arrived and would like to meet you. Please proceed to the great hall in an orderly fashion. Thank you.”

  I climbed up from the floor and inhaled a deep breath. Then I let it back out.