The End

Chapter 4: Bhryn

   If I hadn't been nervous when I arrived at the castle, I am now as we leave. Jacob is mostly silent as we walk, ignoring my questions.

   "You'll find out when we get there," is his only reply. I glare at him.

   "At least tell me how far away it is."

   "Not too far."

   I roll my eyes. Why did I expect a straightforward answer?

   But after another fifteen minutes of brisk, silent walking, I see the answer ahead of me.

   Based on what I gathered from Steve and Jacob's discussion, the building in front of me is unmistakably our destination; the walls are tall and solidly built of dark grey stone; what few windows there are are barred with rusty, thick iron, and the entire structure—including the yard of very short grass all around it—is surrounded by a ten-foot high fence made of even thicker (but not so rusty) iron bars. Metal spikes and three layers of coiling barbed wire line the top of the fence like freakish decorations.

   "This is Bhryn." Jacob's voice is carefully controlled. "Just like Teira is one of the biggest cities in this country, well, Bhryn is the biggest prison you'll find within the next 800 miles."

My throat feels dry suddenly as all my suspicions are confirmed.

A few armored men are guarding the ornate black gates, but they open the gates without a single question; maybe it's because Jacob is the Captain of the Guard. We walk to the front door of the building, and I'm surprised to see that it is just a simple pair of thick oak doors; but somehow, I feel more nervous looking at this unimpressive entrance than anything else. It's almost as if the doors are a symbol of what ominous things lie ahead of me.

Jacob leads me inside the building and I stare around, lightheaded. The stone walls, lined with bright torch sconces, form a large, windowless square lobby that breaks off into several long hallways. There are a few serious-faced people moving here and there, making the wood floors creak with their footsteps.

"Come this way." Jacob murmurs, guiding me to a large office at the other end of the room. He knocks on the frame of the open doors. "Bonnie!"

A woman with a pleasant, lined face glances up from her writing. "Oh, hello, Jacob." She beams. "What can I help you with?"

"I just need to know where Dameon is," he replies.

She tucks a strand of long silver hair behind her ear. "I think he's on the lower floor right now. He's...working."

"Thanks, Bonnie." As we leave, I notice a flicker of concern on the older woman's face when she looks at me.

   We walk down a flight of steep old stairs until we reach the bottom—a long hallway with rows of prison cells on each side.  The ones closest to me are empty,  but I can hear murmurs echoing from cells farther away.  From what I can hear, a few of them aren't entirely sane.

   "Wait right here."  Jacob stops me before slipping through a large oak door near the stairway.

   I'm alone now.  That is, if I don't count the crazy mumbling prisoners as company.  I wrap my arms around myself like a hug.  The hallway, like the rest of the building, is lit by torches; the end of the hall is obscured by shadows.  A gentle waft of cool air touches my arms, bringing an earthy, musty smell with it, and I shiver.

   An eternity seems to pass before the door creaks open again; as Jacob and another man step out, I catch a glimpse of an empty-looking room, with a huddled figure crouched against the wall.

   As soon as he closes the door, Jacob starts to hurry away. Even though he glances at me almost apologetically before he leaves, I still feel a prickle of irritation that he just left me alone.
   "Welcome." I whip my head around at the sound of Dameon's voice, surprisingly low and soft. It's almost soothing. His appearance casts a stark contrast with his voice, however; an old, dark grey suit hangs off his long, skinny frame, and he has an oily head of hair to match.  "Won't you step into my office?"
   Though all my instincts scream in protest, I follow the man into the musty room.  It's not as empty as it first appeared; a metal table and a matching locked chest rest near the far wall.  The worn iron chains hanging off the table make my skin crawl, but I would rather look at that than the man who is still crouched in the  corner, muttering dementedly. 
   Dameon gestures at the table. "Sit down."
   I obey wordlessly, eyeing him with growing panic as he extracts a syringe and a vial of amber liquid from the chest.  As he turns toward me with those sinister-looking instruments, I swallow, terrified, in an attempt to clear my dry throat. "What...what are you going to do?"
   The corner of his mouth turns sideways with a mildly amused smirk. "Well, since you asked...this potion is a type of truth serum.  Once I inject it into your blood, it will cause a painful, blistering sensation every time it detects a lie.  I'll ask you as many questions as I feel necessary to prove your innocence."  His dark eyes gleam like those of some cunning wild animal.  "If I am unsatisfied with your interrogation, I'll begin the next step--using a careful mix of truth serum, hypnosis, and infliction of pain, I'll force you to relive your memories and all your darkest secrets for my inspection. That method is efficient but..." He glances toward the hunched figure in the corner. "It doesn't always end well.  It's best for you if you cooperate with the first interrogation, although the second option is more interesting for me." With a small grin of sadistic pleasure Dameon continues.

    "However, if you do choose to answer all the questions fully and honestly, you'll spend seven days alone in your own cell as I present your confession to Steve; he'll be the one who'll decide your fate."

   As he moves closer, preparing the syringe, I open my mouth one more time. "But--"

   "No more questions will be tolerated," he said briskly, not bothering to look at me.  I fall silent, my heart pounding as I watch him press the long, thin needle into my arm and slowly inject that terrifying amber-colored serum.