"I haven't blocked out the past. I wouldn't trade the person I am, or what I've done-or the people I've known-for anything. So I do think about it. And at times it's a rather mellow trip to lay back and remember." 

- Ted Bundy was an American serial killer, kidnapper, rapist, burglar, and necrophile who assaulted and murdered numerous young women and girls during the 1970s, and possibly earlier. Bundy was regarded by many of his young female victims as handsome and charismatic, traits that he exploited to win their trust. He decapitated  at least 12 of his victims, and kept some of the severed heads in his apartment for a period of time as mementos. He died from the electric chair in 1989.

Chapter 34

"You see, there's one more thing I have to do... and unfortunately, it doesn't involve you." Vans sneered and crouched in front of me.

The gun was cold on my forehead, burning a circle into my skin. My heart beat so wildly, I thought it would punch out of my chest and land in a bloody mess on the ground. What was I supposed to feel? I knew I was confused, but I couldn't identify the cause for the sudden burn in my chest, like my heart was set alight.

"W-what do you mean?" I stumbled, fidgeting with the handcuff on my wrists. "Vans, this is ridiculous, put the gun down."

I moved my head away from the gun, pressing myself against the bench. But, just as I did so, Vans pounced upon me and pressed the metal hard against my cheek, a wild animal at heart.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" He cackled, throwing his head back in a fit of laughter, smiling at me once again. He cocked his head to the side, as if awaiting my answer, eager to know what I would respond.

Tongue-tied, my words caught in my throat. I blinked, and the gun was gone. My breast heaved in a sigh, releasing a breath I didn't know I was holding. Like a cloud pulled from the sun, Vans' presence was lifted from my being. The space allowed me to breathe.

Vans paced in front of me, but he was not agitated. Quite the opposite, in fact, he pranced.

"In all seriousness, Emily, what did you think was going to happen?" He crouched again, keeping his distance from me. "Did you think we were going to escape, run away, and then live happily ever after in a cottage in some remote country where the police couldn't find us?"

He paused for a considerable amount of time. He waited for my answer. I waited for my answer.

But I could not give one.

I wanted to say yes, that it would work. We could have travelled from place to place, away from the police and away from my father until we found somewhere we liked. We could have settled down, maybe even started a family. We could have lived until we got old and died. We could have done all of this in my mind, but we could have never done it in reality.

It was the paradise I had imagined into existence.

My head dropped, realisation dawned upon me like the rising sun, and the breath left my lips.

"You never intended to take me with you, did you?" I whispered, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling together like snowflakes. I already knew the answer. He may have planned to escape, but he never planned to escape with me.

"Of course not, sweetie." He said, almost affectionately. He gripped my face in his hand and ran a finger down my cheek, collecting the tear I didn't know I had shed. I shivered. "We never planned to take you with us."

"We?"

"Yes; my brothers, they all wanted to escape too." He sighed, letting his hand drop from my cheek. "I don't know if they made it out, but hopefully they all did."

"You're the Brotherhood." I didn't know if I had spoken the words allowed, or if I had simply uttered them in my mind, my body and mind frozen with shock, but Vans answered nonetheless.

"You know of us? Oh good, that means you understand." He smiled toothily, scratching his head with the barrel of the gun. "Those keys you used to help me escape? I dropped them next to one of the boys cell on the way out. They've most likely caused a wonderful catastrophe by now."

"I don't understand any of this!" The tears cascaded down my cheeks. It was all too much; I couldn't comprehend any of it.

Vans sighed and put the gun back into his waistband. Leaning forwards, he gripped my knees and placed his head upon my legs. Looking up at me, he said,

"Would you like me to explain?"

I guess I nodded, because the very next second Vans leapt upon the bench like an excited child and began to relay his story to me as if it was his favourite bedtime story.

"To tell a story we must first set the stage; it began when I was a child. I killed a man when I was ten years old, and I enjoyed watching him die. Over the years, I began to enjoy watching other people die. It was an exhilarating experience, I must say. But, fate uncovered my bloody footsteps and I found myself in prison soon enough. I was quite comfortable for a while; the food was good, I slept soundly, and enjoyed the company of like-minded people. But I missed the feeling of death, as did many of my prison mates, and wanted to go home. I tried getting a retrial. I tried to be good. I tried to bribe the guards. None of it worked... that was until one greedy guard said yes. My brothers and I soon figured out how we would get out; through the corruption of those around us. You see, Emily, even the sweetest, most pure hearted people can be corrupted. Look at yourself, you, like a strawberry, sweet to taste and to touch, rotted when you were paid no mind. I can't imagine that you would have always seen yourself running away with a prisoner. No... that thought only came to your mind after you believed you had nothing else to live for.

"I'm afraid that is indeed my fault, dear Emily. Our plan was running smoothly until your father came along. The guards were accepting our money, we made progress towards making duplicates of all the keys, a storm was approaching, which we were to blame for a 'technical breakdown' which would have unlocked the doors on our side of the prison; we were so close to freedom we could taste it. But your father started making people squeal about our plans. He offered them a better deal than the chance to escape; he offered them a retrial, a chance to walk as a free man, instead of a fugitive, in exchange for knowledge on the prison gangs. He knew something was happening. And like you, he was just too nosey.

"I had one of the guards mess with his car. We hoped he would run himself off the road and die, but he was only hospitalised. It need not matter, he would not be returning to the prison any time soon."

"You were the one who tried to kill my father?" I screamed, pulling against my cuffs in a fit of fury. Idiotic anger made me want to reach out and strangle him. But I was not the one with the gun. He was.

He laughed and shifted out of my reach, tapping on the gun in his waistband. "Tsk, Tsk, Emily. Don't we know not to interrupt someone when they are speaking?" I closed my mouth, my heart clenched, and he continued his story.

"As I was saying, Dane Silverman was now out of the picture. But that didn't stop the rats from talking. So we had the rats killed."

"You killed all those people didn't you?" I whispered, forgetting to keep quiet in the shock that overcame me. All those people were dead because of him, because they wanted a chance at freedom, a chance to see their families again. "It was you... you set George up to be killed."

Empty. There was nothing else to feel.

"Not quite. Harvey, you see, was supposed to kill him. But the bugger was strong and he had a knife hidden under his pillow. I think he knew we were coming. He knew what to expect. I must say it came as a surprise that your father wanted him dead so quickly. If he had let him off, I reckon he would have told him anything he wanted."

"George didn't deserve that." My words were weak, eyes staring through the ground.

"Emily, he killed his ex wife and her new husband. Everyone in that prison deserves to die, even me. Honey, we are all murderers! Everyone in that prison was on death row. You think we earned that from steeling flowers from our local flora shop?" He laughed bitterly.

"Where do I come into all this?" I struggled to speak, but I wanted my answers more than anything. I hardly cared if he took the gun and shot me right there and then; I just wanted to know why.

"That's quite a funny story actually. You see, the boys and I had already planned another escape after your father ruined our chance at our first one. After he started nosing around, the guards stopped accepting our money; we gave them details to our accounts so they could use the money as they pleased, but they refused to accept any new information. We stopped recruiting members from the prison. It was just the men in my hallway who were really dedicated to getting out. At that point, we would have tried anything to get out. And then you came along. As soon as I talked to you, I knew it would be easy to get you on our side. You're too empathetic. But I was cautious; I didn't tell you about the Brotherhood because I knew you would go running to your Daddy and get George set free. So I took my time, got to know you a little. At first, I was just keeping you close to see how you would progress on the case, and kept sending you on different directions so you wouldn't discover us. Then you got that recording of two of my guys, and I knew had to up my game.

"It must have worked a charm because you're sitting here now. I was planning to find my own way into the control room, but I knew I had to try out your loyalty. After George was fried I knew it would be easy. I must say it was a pleasant surprise when you so willingly gave up your life just to help me escape. Sweet, and so clique. The plan was working perfectly; you would turn the locking system off and get the keys to my hallway. Before we left, I took the keys from your pocket and threw them down the hallway. No doubt the boys figured it out quickly, unlocked themselves from the hallway and escaped just as we did, moments after we left.

"And that leads us to... now. To be completely honest with you, Emily, I didn't quite know what to do with you. I debated killing you, but that would be too boring, too cliché. I think it would be kind of ironic if instead, now you went to Gail while I roam free. You do realise that you are now an accessory to murder, multiple murders? You can't even plead insanity or self defence; the security footage says it all. I'd say you might get twenty years, maybe even life if they really wanted to. And the best thing about it; your Daddy wont be able to do anything to help you. Quite the opposite, in fact. He will definitely be fired, will most likely developed a drinking problem, hell, its possible he might even drink himself to death in shame."

Vans sat up from his seat and turned to face me. It had only just begun to sink in. I was going to meet a fate worse than death. A fate I had always empathised with. A fate I had always been fascinated with. It was ironic, to say the least.

"So here we are, Emily. The end of the line." Vans stretched his arms above his head and sighed, like he had just awoken from a deep sleep. "It's been a pleasure. I would be lying if I said I wouldn't miss you." He winked; a bitter taste filled my mouth.

I could not move, and yet my body was shaking. He placed his foul and dark lips upon mine; I shrivelled like a rotten flower and waited for the peace of death. But fate was not kind. My tongue tasted of foul fish, my blood curdled, my skin shrivelled. It was just as Vans said. Even the prettiest flowers rot.

"Goodbye, Emily." And he was gone.

Vans left me there, the sirens growing closer in the distance, as my façade of strength caved like an avalanche; crumbling slowly, until finally, it fell all at once. What was left was a mess of skin and bones, organs twisted by betrayal. The girl who walked the halls of the prison was gone. I was but a shell, hollowed out by the scraping fingers of erosion, waiting to be picked up by the greedy hands of a child and thrown into a jar filled with other, more twisted, shells. 

-

-

-

-

-

Hello everyone... 

This marks the final chapter of Monster Minds 

Wow, just wow. This experience has been incredible. I never thought I would finish the first draft of this book without giving up or just quitting all together.

I'm so grateful for all the support and while there is an epilogue next chapter, I know many don't read the prologues and epilogues so I wanted to say thank you to all those who have made it this far. 

You mean so much to me! 

XX Charli 

Ps. This chapter is unedited, sorry for the typos.