Burnington Gaol

F O R T Y - E I G H T | Frank

Ed held Frank's bound wrists, shoved him forward along the path to the watchtower.

"Why should I believe you?" Ed asked as they approached the looming structure.

"Because I'm telling the truth," Frank replied. "Are you sure they're here?"

"If this is some trick to get close my children again, I swear I'll execute you myself."

Ed pulled his keys from his belt and unlocked the door, careful to keep a firm hold on the inmate. The old door swung open. They were met with silence.

"Billy?" Ed called. "Ad? Are you here?"

No response.

Frank felt a shot of fear run through his veins – the first sense of fear he'd felt in years.

"Adeline!" He bellowed, his sharp voice echoing up the tower. It made no difference. "Oh, God," he said. "We're too late."

Ed, with wide eyes, looked from the tower to Frank.

"Where did you last see them?" He asked, trying to keep a hold of himself.

"The Visitor's Centre, less than an hour ago."

Ed grabbed Frank by the wrists and dragged him down the walkway towards the Turning Circle. In the centre of the crescent-moon-shaped cluster of doors, the Visitor's Centre stood tall. Frank pressed himself against the window, peering inside, but the place was still. Empty. Lifeless.

Frank turned to look at Ed, who took a step backwards, his face shimmering with sweat. He released his grip on Frank and raked his hands through his hair.

"What... where... where are they?" Ed pleaded, talking to himself.

Frank felt the anxiety welling up in him, the fear and the horror resonating. Ed reached for his walkie-talkie and the crack his belt made when he grabbed it snapped Frank to attention. As he muttered frantically into the walkie-talkie, Frank turned and studied the surrounding area. He knew a crime scene when he saw one – after all, he'd made hundreds of them – and he knew that nothing this rushed could be perfect. Then, a few metres up, he spotted a dark blotch of claret. He jogged the few steps and sunk to his knees, gently brushing his fingertip along the ground. The blood smeared against the concrete, and Frank rocked back on his knees.

"What is it?"

Frank held up his finger, the wet blood shining in the sunlight.

"It's fresh," he said. "He must've ambushed them, caught them off guard."

"Oh God," Ed cried, squeezing his head with his hands. "Oh, God..."

Frank looked up at Ed with a solemn face.

"He's already taken them."

© A.G. Travers 2018