*Long ass chapter coming your way*

"I'm Jesus Christ, whether you want to accept it or not, I don't care."

-Charles Manson, "Helter Skelter", is an American criminal and former cult leader who led what became known as the Manson Family. Manson's followers committed a series of nine murders. He was found guilty of conspiracy to commit the murders of seven people – most notably of the actress Sharon Tate – all of which were carried out by members of the group at his instruction. He is currently serving nine concurrent life sentences at Corcoran State Prison in Corcoran, California.

Chapter 26

                 
Hastily shoving the paper, my keys and an old recorder, one that was gifted to me when I turned thirteen, into a small bag, I hurried to ready myself, knowing that I only had a few more hours of daylight before the prison was closed off to everyone but the few unlucky guards on their night shift. I changed out of my tracksuits and into my work clothes, rubbing the remanets of tears from my eyes on the leg of the pants before throwing it into the washing basket. As my gaze passed to my mirror, I realised that no item of clothing could cover up the foul emotions that had been brewing inside of me like a witches cauldron, just waiting for a moment to explode and obliterate everything in its path. My eyes were sunken as if someone had pushed them into my skull, blackened with lack of sleep and rotten tears, and my hair was slicked back with oil and sweat. I grumbled and pulled it into a tight ponytail, clumsily slapping my oily face with a layer of foundation.

Once I was satisfied that my inner demons were back to being hidden beneath my flesh, I shuffled into the hallway. As if a motion sensor was triggered, my mother came rushing out of the kitchen, limbs and hair flying about in all directions.

"E-Emily! I'm so glad you're up! Can I get you anything? Make you a tea? Oh! I'll make you a tea, yes, you're favourite tea." The words tumbled out of her mouth as she rushed towards me and enveloped me in a body-squashing hug.

When she pulled back and began to caress my face with her hands, I gave her a small smile and shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Mum, but I can't. I need to go into work." I said softly. Her face fell; she looked like someone had cracked an egg over her head.

"Work? But honey, your father doesn't want you working for him anymore. There is nothing for you to do." She said sternly.

She sounded hurt, angry even, that I had mentioned it and took a large step back from me. Upon hearing his name, my stomach turned, and I suddenly had the urge to vomit out all the hate and rage I felt all over my mother, but she didn't deserve that.

"I know, Mum. I'm not going in for anything official, I just..." I paused and licked my teeth, searching for a lie, "I just need to finalise a few documents which will remove my name from their register and all. You know, they need to take me off their payroll."

"Can't your father do that, honey?" She said, sounding slightly suspicious.

Of course, she had every right to be. I wasn't going in for the papers, which I'm sure had already been dealt with; I was going in to find that Russian guard, Alexi, and accuse him of being in the brotherhood.

"He can. But I would like to do it. I need some fresh air, you know?" I fidgeted with my bag and tried to sound as honest as possible. Everything I said was true, I was just withholding some details... some very important details.

"Okay," She said, keeping one sceptical eye trained on my face, "but I expect you to be home by dinner. I want us to talk."

She leaned forwards and kissed my cheek lightly, as if I was a piece of glass, waiting to shatter.

"Thanks, Mum. I'll be home."

The bus ride was unpleasant as always, but it gave me some time to think about my approach. I couldn't simply walk up to Alexi and say, "I know you destroyed my fathers car, now who is the leader of the Brotherhood?" I had to be tactical, smart. I needed leverage. I could have threatened his job, lied and said I had told my father and the police were coming to arrest him, or made up some outrageous story about finding his fingerprints on the body. None of which I could do; I do not believe a threat would work well on the 7 foot man, I could not face my father, let alone speak to him, and there was no evidence of fingerprints on any of the bodies. But he didn't know that...

I could have lied, bluffed my way to the top, but I needed a better plan, or at least a back up plan if my lies failed.

The bus churned to a halt, a loud screeching noise filled my ears, and I smacked my forehead against the handle bar. I groaned and rubbed my forehead as a burning pain exploded above my left eye. I prayed it wouldn't bruise or swell too badly; it wouldn't look professional if I attempted to interrogate someone with a huge ugly bruise on my forehead.

Grunting out a pained 'thanks', I held my forehead until I was inside the prison, hoping the cold weather was enough to keep the swelling at bay. I slung my bag over my shoulder and dragged myself up to the gates. After being allowed inside, I steered clear of the front desk and the back rooms, not wanting to be seen by anyone of higher importance, who would no doubt report my appearance to my father. Never before had I hated a word so much. It made me feel sick.

I headed to the only place within the dark halls that made me feel safe, the cafeteria. But without George there I feared the onset of emotions that would engulf my senses as soon as I walked through the large doors, when memories bubbled to the surface.

With my mind occupied, I didn't see the man approaching me, but when his presence was near, I felt his familiar heat and smelt the accompanying fragrance of fresh bread.

"Emily!" Vans rushed to greet me and swept me into a powerful hug.

So instead of being flooded by painful memories of George, I was overwhelmed with his scent and the feeling of his warm, muscular chest upon my face. My arms responded almost immediately and wrapped around his waist. He tensed as my arms squeezed his sides, but I didn't care. Something about it just felt right, we fit perfectly in each other's arms.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to George, Emily. I'm so sorry..." His hand reached up and began stroking the back of my head.

"It wasn't your fault." I said, snuggling into his chest, savouring the moment I knew could be ruined in a split second. My eyes snapped open, as I realised the one thing that was wrong. There were no guards around us, none at all. "Wait, why aren't there any guards with you?"

He was silent for a moment, and then swore under his breath. He withdrew from my arms quickly and stood a casual distance away. His face was half hidden in the shadows of the hallway, but his bright eyes still glinted with flashes of colour.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think about what it would happen to you if a guard walked in on...that." He said quickly, nervously looking down at his feet, as if he was a schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. If it wasn't so dark, I could have swore I saw him blush, but the moment was gone and he was back to his usual blank face.

He cleared his throat and spoke in such a way almost brought a tear to my eye, "There has been another... incident... most of the guards are on the other side of the prison. They've got the rest of us in the cafeteria, but there is so little of them that they didn't notice me slipping out." He paused and let out a huge breath as I absorbed the news. Another murder? When is it going to stop? "I can't believe I'm going to ask this of you, Emily, with everything that has happened to you... but I have no one else to protect me in here and you promised you'd protect me."

His voice cracked and suddenly my worry was focused on a man, whom I thought was affecting by nothing. I took a step closer and reached for his hand.

"Vans, of course I'll protect—"

The light changed and I saw a detail I had missed before. Above his right eye was a blackening bruise, swollen to the size of a tennis ball, which looked to be about two or three days old. Although tattoos covered the rest of his body, I knew that there would be more. I had seen too many bruises and busted lips in the prison that I had begun to realise the pattern of the daily beatings. First, they would be punched in the temple, knocked down to their knees as they clutched their head. Then, their ribs would kicked so they buckled over onto the floor, leaving their back vulnerable. The back would be next; two people would stand on opposite sides of the body and take turns kicking the back and then the stomach, the back and then the stomach. The result was horrific, leaving some with broken ribs and some dead.

"Vans! What happened?" I reached out to his face and touched the delicate skin around the bruise, careful to avoid any places of pain.

He grimaced and leaned into palm, letting my fingers run through his thick hair. His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head, slowly breaking away from my touch.

"No, I change my mind. You can't get into this, Emily. You don't know what they'll do to—"

"It's the Brotherhood, isn't it?" I cut in, taking another step towards him.

His shoulders tensed and his head whipped up, surprise washing over his face.

"How did you know?"

Vans watched as I reached into my bag and pulled out the note from George. I didn't show him what it said, as I felt like it was the one thing I had left of George, and I wanted to keep that small piece of him to myself. But I held its blank side up to show Vans what it was.

"George wrote me a note before..." I trailed off and then cleared my throat, unsure of how to approach the situation without having another mental breakdown, "And explained this whole 'Brotherhood' thing to me. I want you to tell me everything you know about them and I promise I'll protect you from whoever did this to you." I placed the note carefully back into my bag and gazed back up at Vans, awaiting his response.

"That's just the thing, Emily... It's the Brotherhood who did this to me." He gestured to his face and winced as if simply saying the words out loud would inflict another bout of physical beating.

"Why? What did you do to them?" The words fell from my mouth before I could filter them to sound more considerate and caring. If Vans noticed, he didn't make a show of it; his face unreadable as his eyes stared at the space behind me.

I had almost given up on the thought of getting an answer when he finally opened his mouth to speak, but he spoke so low that it was nearly impossible to make out what he was saying.

"There have been rumours... but no real clarification of what the Brotherhood wants. The prisoners all seem to think that the guards are responsible, and are slowly killing off the people who don't give over the names and details of their accounts. But I think it's much bigger than just a bunch of guards out for money. Whoever is in charge is bribing specific prisoners with something, a retrial, money for their family, something for their loyalty and is getting them to do their dirty work around the prison. I'm telling you, Emily, they're sending the biggest guys in here around the showers, demanding that they give up their money, their family's money, or die an early sentence."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner? If I had known earlier, I might have been able to stop people from dying!" I snapped angrily, clenching and unclenching my fists.

His face softened as he reached out to touch me. I pulled away and crossed my arms, confused, hurt, and angry that I had been left out of the loop for so long.

"I didn't want you to get hurt." My lips parted and I looked up from the cement ground, unsure if I had heard him correctly. I didn't get the chance to ask him to repeat, because before I could he continued to explain, probably in the hopes that I would come to understand.

"And I didn't really know until now that its the Brotherhood who are killing people, not some deranged inmate. I mean, I had my suspicions about what was really happening, and I knew the guards were involved, but I never knew that things could get this fucked up. I just wanted to help you catch one of the bastards in the act without getting killed before I started pointing fingers... I don't know what these guys are going to use the money they are stealing for, or why they are being so public about their displays, but whoever they are, they're wiping this place clean of all wealth. It can't be run by prisoners, there is no way we could ever do something so organised and mass scale without being caught. And it cant just be a group of guards, because what would they want with a bunch of dirty money? It has to be someone higher up, someone who would actually do something with the money, and with the power to make promises that people would believe."

"What are you saying...?" I asked, not knowing how to process all the information without spontaneously combusting.

He stepped closer to me and ran his hands down my arms, stopping when he held both of my hands in his.

"I think it's got something to do with your father, Emily." He sighed and looked down, seemingly ashamed of admitting his true feelings.

"Vans, it's okay. I'm not going to hate you for thinking that." I said truthfully, fists clenching at even the mention of my father. I would have trusted anyone over him after what he had done to George. "This is just so much to take in... I knew the prison was corrupt but killing people for money? Where is this even coming from? Whoever is really in charge of this must have some serious money issues or something!" I whispered harshly, "I thought I knew what was going on but now I have no clue where to even begin looking for answers." I laughed nervously, and a wave of nausea suddenly passed through my stomach. This was too much to take in at once.

"I don't either, Emily! But I know what they are capable of and... I'm afraid, Emily. I refused to give them anything, and they beat me for it and left me passed out on the floor of the showers!" He raked his hands through his hair and pulled at its roots. He looked so overcome with panic and uncertainty, and sweat had begun to collect at his temples. "When I woke up this morning there was a bloody note in my room—a bloody fricken note!—and you know what it said? YOU'RE NEXT." He reached into his pocket and shoved the paper in my direction. He began pacing, his voice got louder, and he fed his own panic.

I unfolded the sheet and turned my lips at the sight. The words were written in real blood. Someone had died for this small show of power.

"When I was called for breakfast, another body was found. Emily, I do not want to be hanging from the roof by my neck tomorrow! But I can't give them money, I don't have any! And I am not giving them my mother's; she doesn't deserve that after what I did. I don't know what to do! I don't want to be a dead man, I want to be alive. I want to be—"

As his voice rose, the air around me cleared and stilled, revealing the answer that would bottle all of our worries and our doubts for a sweet moment of clarity; a kiss. I pulled his face down to mine and gently brushed my lips upon his. It was a feather of a touch, a sweet thing, that left us both frozen with only a splinter of air between us.

I kept my hands on his face and opened my eyes to his face. He was still, eyes closed and steadily breathing until he met my lips once again with a crash of energy that left us both breathless. It was no longer a sweet thing; it was something much darker, filled with lust and deep-rooted fear of loneliness that only the other could cure.

Only when I lost my breath did I pull back, a small smile sneaking onto my lips.

"You shouldn't have done that." He whispered huskily, resting his forehead against my own.

"Why not?" I smirked, running my hands up his chest with a newfound confidence. 

"Because now I know what its like to have you. And I don't like letting go of things that are mine."

"I'm not yours." I grumbled, but the smile had not left my lips and instead stretched wider. He ignored me response and reached up to brush a stray hair behind my ear.

"What's this?" He chuckled and ran a finger over the growing lump on my forehead, red with swelling.

I laughed and took a step backwards. I had forgotten it was there, in fact, I had forgotten about everything in those few moments I shared his breath.

"I hit it on a pole." A smile cracked his stone features, eyes crinkling and mouth creasing.

"Now we match." He gestured to his own forehead and we both fell into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing off of the walls of the prison, brightening even the darkest corners of its cells.

When the last giggle settled into a sigh, he pulled me close once again and rested his forehead upon mine. When he spoke, the words were quiet and delicate, as if they could break in the air between us like dry twigs, ready to be burned in a fire.

"You've got to get me out of here, Emily... You've got to help me escape."

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Sooooooo, :3 comment your thoughts?

This chapter has been a long time in the coming and I still don't even know if I'm happy with the way the build up to this point happened, but it is what it is, and I hope you enjoyed.

This is basically the turning point in the book, so from here on out its going to be pretty crazy in Emily's life.

I really hope you'll stick around to find out what happens to Emily and the paths she choses to take.

THIS BOOK IS OFFICIALLY 50000 WORDS! I honestly can't believe it. I know people write this much in a month for some competitions, but I am so happy I finished this much in a year of writing while still trying to live my life normally through school.

THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT.

I seriously can't thank you guys enough or explain how much it means to me that you've come along for the journey.

Its been a long haul, but I'm hoping to finish the first draft of this book by June, before my major exams start.

I can't promise you fully edited chapters (this one probably has many typos) but I will promise to do everything I can to finish this book by June in the quality I hope to achieve.

So I love you all, and I hope this chapter was everything you guys wanted it to be.

xx Charli

(Ps. Sorry it's such a long chapter- let me know if I should split it in two)