Have you ever been through an image of you're being in an apocalyptic travel with some zombies and this kinda think of and did you have an imagination or a dream that you're fighting your way through to find a cure out of it and make your own story...
My first instinct is to snap at his fingers on my arm, as no one, besides Griffin, has ever touched me. I don't do this, however much as I want to, but cast him a quick glance up and down instead. He's wearing a uniform that's bright green – a dye no one here has access to - Dictator Region's color. I don't speak, but wait for him first instead. He doesn't make a move. I wonder if he thinks I've done something wrong. Well, I mean, I have, technically, but that's not what I'm talking about. "Can I help you?" This seems like something pointless to ask, as he's the one who stopped me but nonetheless he's the one saying it. I still don't speak but I continue to stare him up and down when finally I say, to my surprise, "You're not from around here, are you?" "I'm imported." I find this mildly amusing, his reference to himself seems almost inhuman, but I know what he means. "What are you hear from the dictators region for?" I'm hoping to sound annoying and slightly supercilious with these question in hopes that he'll let me go, but I am mildly curious. Okay, really curious. He starts to speak, but stops short and after a moment continues, "Extra officers were needed after your little riot here." Uh huh, little riot, alright. Still, he doesn't really look like anyone from the dictator's region, except for the outfit...not that I've met anyone from there, just what I've seen on television. Everyone from that region, well, they're fat – I don't know why - but this guy he's...well, slender, but not skinny like us here in Ash. Then I'm really looking at him and I notice his skin is darker than any I've ever seen anywhere. It seems kissed by a sun I barely remember seeing once, long ago. Not dark as the traders who come from the continents across the sea, but bronzed to the point of a god. Whoa, waaay too much staring, Adler. "So, can I go now?" I hesitate because I kind of still want to look at him. He seems so strange and foreign like there's more to him than first meets the eye. I snort to myself. Boy that was so cliché. "Oh...uh, of course." He finally drops my arm and I rub it uncomfortably. "But, I was wondering...how'd you get so much dirt on you?" This is definitely the last thing I expect him to ask and I know it shows on my face. I realize I haven't washed my clothes from the break in four days ago and curse my stupidity for not burning them, more so wearing them! I quickly swallow any noises that are bubbling up in my throat and try to answer. Last minute lies are so not my forte. "Uh...I was riding my horse, and fell off over a jump. If you can't tell this place is pretty dirty. Dirt is somewhat inevitable." I try to sound condescending, but I think it still pretty much sounds like a blatant lie. I watch him slowly smile and silently laugh. I didn't mean for it to be funny and it's having the opposite effect I wanted. He finally looks back at me and I'm stricken by how young he looks. Even I know you have to be at least twenty-three for a job in the Guards, but I guess he just looks young. Putting out his hand he says, "My name's w – Reese. Reese Ivan." "And I have to go," I say to myself. Becoming intimate with someone in the Dictator's Region, especially the Guards, is not a splendid idea. Your life is public, poof! just like that. I realize I can't just walk away, but have to say something so my best bet is, "Nice to meet you, Reese." As I'm saying his name, the feel of it is so odd, I stumble over each letter. No one here has a name with the feel of his in my mouth. I watch him waiting, hands folded respectively behind his back and know he's waiting for me to introduce myself. This is of course impossible, as once they know your name, the Guards will look up your life and the poof! thing happens. I know I have to lie, think of a name quickly and go with it. That's what Ofelia would do. That's what Griffin would do. So that's what I'll do. "My name's Adler." He smiles. "Pleased to meet you, Adler." He holds out his hand again, and I feel myself reaching forward to shake it, but this is wrong...all wrong. I can't stay a moment longer. I'll break. *
Stupid! I can't believe I told him my name! I grab my hair, my nervous twitch you've no doubt discovered, and plop down on the side of the road on my way back to the house. I watch a few people stroll by on the street and none of them pay so much as a second glance at me. I'm sure this is a daily sight: tormented citizens cringing on the sidewalk in fear of their lives. Yep, pretty ordinary. I think this could be a problem, as I haven't any idea what could've possibly made me use my real name. I couldn't think of anything fast enough! That's why and I think perhaps maybe he'll guess it's not my real name and try to pry it out of my later, and then I'll use a fake name in hopes he'll think it's my real name and then I'm off the hook. Or it could actually be as bad as it probably is. I sit there a moment longer and think perhaps I should find something to eat, as I'm hungry, and that's when I see that I've led myself directly across the street from the prison. I know I should, but I don't want to. Please no, say, not now. Conscience, please stay out of this. I can decide for myself what I need to do. I stand up. Look away. Nope. It's seems that the keeper of the universe has decided I've got someone to visit, thus I take two tentative steps across the street. Another. Two more. I'm at the door. It's not working. Denial will only confirm my self-doubt and utter incapability of accepting the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to say to him. No matter. It's just the fate of not only his life but his mother's and mine and I guess you could throw in Ofelia's - and even the imaginary horse - with what I do right now... ...I open the door. The sound of clicking immediately reaches my ears, but only for a moment before every head in the room pops up and all eye stare at me as I enter. They remain planted on my person until the clicking starts promptly again and I glance at the man on my right who doesn't even look up from his translucent computer screen while telling me to take a seat and asks my business for being here. "I'm here to visit one of the..." what do I call him? Griffin's not a criminal. I feel bitter all of a sudden and know exactly what I'm going to say. "I've come to visit one of the unjustly accused that you have held here." This has the desired effect, unlike my conversation with Reese, and I watch with satisfaction the look presented to me on the officer's face. "Name?" he asks diligently. "Griffin Wells." "Ah, petty larceny. He yours?" My face flushes red. "No!" This comes out sharper than intended and the officer merely snorts and continues typing. I plop back down on the chair I had recently inhabited. As an after thought, I'm even more embarrassed I knew what he meant by 'yours'. I feel like a traitor for even stepping into this place. I glance around to see if Maycroft is present, but I don't spot him. I sigh quietly with relief. I'm not sure I'd like him to start questioning me about Ofelia, or why I've come here. That's also troublesome, I suppose. After more than thirty minutes of waiting, almost lulled to sleep from the sound of insistent clicking, a young woman steps up to me and ushers our way down a hall that goes from grey carpet and paint to steel walls. I immediately feel cold and wonder where all this metal came from. We reach the end where an elevator takes us not up, but down; down into the crevices of the earth. I never knew this was here. "What is this place?" I ask. "Compound 9517" Thanks, creepy officer lady. That really helped. "Is this where you keep prisoners?" "Only in special cases," she tells me. "But Griffin's case, I mean, Mr. Wells, his is just petty larceny. That's everyday." She doesn't reply. The elevator stops and we step out into another steel hallway, this one with a single door at the end. It's so cold down here I'm shivering even through my layers of sweater, jacket, gloves and scarf. I watch as she takes not a key from her pocket but places her face against a sheet of glass on the wall. A bright blue light illuminates her face and a loud click echoes through the empty corridor. "You have ten minutes with the prisoner," her cold voice, colder than the room, informs me. I step in the dark space and the metal door shuts behind me. The room is so void of light that I can't even see my hand in front of my face. "You can just leave...I'm not going to tell you any more." I hear his voice; shaky and out of breath. "I don't know anything else. Please." He sounds desperate. I've never heard him speak this way before. Suddenly, a tiny blue light flickers to life at the top of the ceiling and I see him crouched in the corner, his back to where I stand. "Griffin." He flinches, the recognition of my voice, and spins around, fumbling to stand before striding over to me. I let myself be folded into his arms and try not to cry. "I'm sorry," I plead to him, trying to show I really am sorry. "I feel horrible. No that's not enough...I feel-" But I can't express how humiliated I am for what's been done. "What's happened to you?" I glance at him quickly, only for a moment because I have to turn away for fear of losing control. He still has his clothes on from the break in and his once perfectly kept leather jacket looks shredded and faded in every possible place. His hair is unkempt and unfastened to his shoulders, blonde waves hidden beneath a layer of dirt and something darkly crusty. "Is that...blood?" Placing a tentative hand in his hair I remove it, watching several particles float to the floor. "They did this to you?" I want to touch the scabs and scars that crisscross his face but don't. "They want to know...things I can't tell them." "Can't or won't?" He doesn't say but I can see the answer in his eyes. I understand that we're most likely being recorded. "So they did this to you because they want to know...?" "Things I can't tell them!" Griffin spits at me. I know his anger isn't directed at myself but rather at whoever has been tormenting him. I let my eyes drop to the floor and allow a moment of thought; a moment I don't really have but now that I'm here no words seem to be present. "They think we're consorting with the runaways. Helping them escape. That's a huge crime if they charge us with it!" "But we were going to turn them in," I state. "They aren't going to believe that." I tremble slightly. I know he's right. Still, I can't help but hope... "Are you alright?" Griffin asks me. "They haven't done anything to you?" "No. I...I've tried to finish what," I'm careful with my words, "tried to finish what you wanted." "You should stop." "Why?" He's silent. "I went to visit your mother." "You shouldn't have." "She is worried about you." Silence. Now's my chance. "I saw the pills," I say, his face washes over with a look of terror on it. "Not your mother's," I assure him. I knew about those. I mean yours." "We won't talk about that now. There's more to it than you know." "Of course there is! You're sick and you didn't tell me." "Those pills aren't your concern." "Yes they are! If you're dying and your mother's dying, what will happen if one of you dies first? Who will look out for you? Why does your mother need so many and why is she sick only sometimes and not others. Where did you get them? How do you get the money?" "Shut up, Adler. You know nothing." "You're wrong! I know more than you think or want to believe I know!" That's when I hear the door bolt shut and realize I've said the wrong thing. "Well, I never would have thought you would come to this, Adler." Maycroft. I glance at Griffin to see if recognition crosses his face, but he has no reason for it like I do. "I always thought you were different," he goes on. "Even thought you'd have a good influence on your Leesham, but it seems to me that she's gone and done the contrary for you. Now I have good reason to find you a new one." I never put up with anyone talking bad about Ofelia, especially not a fuzz. I'm tempted, so tempted to snap, but I understand I'm in a sticky situation where my release is not going to come from upsetting someone like Maycroft. He continues, "I always guessed Griffin would end up this way eventually, without any proper father figure, but you; never. You're an odd pair, I must say." "We're not a pair," I find myself quipping for the second time in the last hour. "Oh, look who's blushing," Maycroft laughs in that chagrin way of his. "I meant 'partners in crime', deary." I rest my case. "Now, tell me. What were you two thinking? Trying to run away like that? Going here and there, palming and boosting the place up, hm? I'd so like to know." I cast another curious glance at Griffin who shrugs his shoulders and cast his face down. "Griffin didn't steal anything...and neither did I," I add for good measure. "I don't think so, Maycroft glides a step farther into the cell. "No, I have witnesses, and naturally, missing objects. Of course, if you still wish to deny the claim, I can easily order for a search of both your premises to..." "Go ahead!" Watching Griffin take a step beside me, he gently laces his fingers with mine behind his back. "We've nothing to hide." "Your choice." "Yes," I add – removing my fingers from his in case Maycroft notices, "and if you find nothing, will you let us both go?" "Wouldn't dream of keeping anyone innocent locked up here, my dear," his smile seems too pleasant and assured, but mine is even stronger. It's vengeful.
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