Part 2 of ?
Triggers: abuse, major character death, death, guns, violence, blood
For future warning.
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There was disbelief in his voice. A small bit of hope, too. He gave a skeptical smile to this fresh bait he barely knew that wanted him to escape with them. "What, me? Out there? With you?"
A flash of hurt came across the freed person's face at the rejection. Yancy saw it. He just didn't think it could be true. Though some part of him, something in the back of his mind reminded him that maybe, just maybe, they wanted him to go.
He couldn't risk that, could he? It was insanity, he couldn't just leave. "I done a lot of bad things... And, well, this is home!" Did they believe that?
Did he?
"...for now, anyway." The two grew quiet for a moment. Yancy couldn't bear to look them in the eyes, though he desperately wanted to. He took a leap of faith. Under his breath, he muttered "Maybe when parole comes up I'll..."
The ex-prisoner's eyes gleamed with hope, anticipating a promise, a simple 'maybe'. Their name was Y/N, right? That's a nice name. "...maybe I'll give it a shot."
Y/N wasn't gonna show how disappointed they were, Yancy didn't need that. A 'maybe' was okay right now.
Yancy wanted to leave. Not leave them, but just...leave. The warden would be looking for him anyway, right? "Hey, I gotta get back to it.." He began to back away, leaving Y/N to stare at that stupid box he risked to get for them. The warden was probably looking for that box...
"Visitation, every third Sunday!" With that, he sprinted for the way back in, leaving the free person to search frantically, but to no avail. He was nowhere to be found, and rightly so.
He didn't know if they left. But he was gone. Slumped against a wall of the prison, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his sleeve and lit one up. Smoking wasn't something he usually did, especially with the Warden's rules against it, but it took the edge off. And right now, the edge was sharp enough to shank with.
"What were ya thinkin, Yance?" He thought to himself. "Youse don't even know the individual. There's no way theys comin' back. No way, no how."
He took a long drag from his cigarette and watched the puff of smoke drift off into the starry night. Tears formed in his blackened eyes, and not just from the smoke.
"They ain't."
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You'd already made up your mind. Yancy may have disappeared from your line of sight, but he was seared into your brain now. He gave you something, though: an opportunity. You were going to be here that Sunday, no matter what.
Wherever he went, you hoped he was okay at least. You stared at that stupid, stupid box of Mark's that he risked to get you. Why would he do that? Why should he care? The guards here weren't as friendly as they seemed, you knew this. What would they do to him if they realized that not only did Yancy help you escape, but that he stole back what got you there in the first place? You didn't want to think about it.
Opening the box, something slid out onto your hand. It was cold and smooth. It was a key with a note attached!
"This skeleton key can open ANY lock ever made."
It seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, and it gave you hope. "I'm getting him out," you thought, "when he wants to. I'll wait."
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Back inside, your worst fears were coming true. Yancy had successfully gotten back into his solitary cell, but maybe too late.
Ever so quietly, he slid into the scratchy thin sheets they so generously gave to the prisoners that made their way here and gave a breathy sigh. He made it back, but at what cost? What this stranger was doing to his brain!
He thought he was clear and began to doze off, but suddenly the stomp of boots came rolling up to the prison bars.
"Oh, Yancy! I see you're awake, son!"
Yancy shot up in his bed, afraid to move any further. A nervous smile seeped into his expression as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cell. "M-Mister Warden! It's real good to see youse, ya know?" A guard let the mountainous man into the cell. He only looked at the ground, a facetious grin plastered on his face. Tentatively, Yancy dared to ask: "I-Is solitary over?"
The Warden met the eye contact of his shaking prisoner and simpered. "Well, Yancy, that's what I'd like to speak to you about." He dragged a dirty metal chair from the corner of the cell and dusted it off before plopping down in it. "Son, you weren't outside this here cell any tonight, were you?"
Yancy shook his head vigorously. "N-No, Mister Warden, sirs. I was just in here, sleepin'! Youse know how comfy these pillows are!" He patted his thin pad of fabric behind him and smiled for the cameras. "This here? This is luxury!"
The warden chuckled to himself. "That's mighty good, Yancy. Mighty good. But you haven't seen that newcomer anywhere, have you? I'd like to find them and have a chat, good and proper!"
Caught between a sharp rock and a hard place. Yancy shook his head again and looked at his hands. "No, Mister Warden. I ain't seen 'em. Maybe theys hangin' with the boys?"
"Well, that's funny, the "boys" said they were with you, son!" He inched closer to the man, who desperately tried to back away, a fading smile still on his face. "Where are they, Yancy?"
"I's tellin' youse, I ain't got a clue! I's been in here, nowhere else!" He raised his arms in surrender and tensed for the worst. The warden only backed away and dusted himself off.
"Fine then. That's real fine. I hope you won't mind, say, a week in here? Seein' as the only friend you had in this forsaken place took off without you, maybe you should have taken them up on that offer."
The warden stomped out of the cell and let the guards lock it back tightly. "Yancy, you have a nice night, son."
