PRISONERS

Prologue

Prologue

Friday 13th November 2015

• Rosalia •

My ears were buzzing from all the defeaning noise around me, my eyes blankly, unseeingly staring ahead through the window, small droplets of rain decorating it. Lights looked like small bright dots to my unfocused eyes, the people moving around just plain shadows. It was cold in the car, my feet were numb and I rubbed my cuffed hands constantly to warm them up.

Despite the great pandemonium unraveling outside, I was completely calm. I knew everything outside is happening because of me, but I wasn't feeling responsible for anything wrong. I felt empty, slightly relieved now, and at peace.

When red lights appeared and the emergency siren sounded louder than any other noise, I snapped out of my daze. My eyes directed over to the wheeled stretcher the cops pushed towards the ambulance, a body lying on top of it, covered in white bloody sheets from head to toe, blocking everyone from seeing who is underneath it.

Then, is when it hit me.

He's dead.

An overwhelming, clenching feeling wrapped all over my bones, having me struggling for breath at the back of the police car. When the doctors pulled the patient's bed inside the ambulance, my stomach was torn into knots. Looking around me, I am slapped hard across the face as I realize it's been only half an hour I got arrested and the crime scene is full of cops, doctors, FBI agents and cameras, the journalists desperately trying to get a good glimpse of the victim.

I could give them the best article of the century, if the cops ever let me to. I wouldn't miss a detail, I would even tell them what was his last words before he blew his last breath, but I know I won't ever get the chance to.

Pretty only on the outsjde...you'll rot in hell for this.

I shook my head furiously, clenching my jaw tightly to the point my teeth hurt, my eyes glaring at the stunning diamond ring decorating my ring finger, blood stains at the tip. I rubbed it against my knee so the blood would come off. His words will forever stay written in the back of my mind.

Pretty pretty pretty -

No. Stop.

A loud smack against the window had me jumping in my seat. There he was, the head of the FBI, glaring judgingly down at me with his deep shielded eyes, his hand glued against the wet window, He opened the door and jumped in, anger radiating off of him. Following shotgun, another FBI cop, who looked hesitant at first, but sent me a glare nonetheless.

I sank into my seat, biting onto my lower lip. The blonde green eyed cop in the driver's seat twisted the key in the ignition and roared the car to life, his face showing a mix of emotions. When we drove off, the last thing I saw, was the ambulance driving away to a different direction, taking him further away from me.

I zoned out again throughout the whole drive to the police station. I stared outside the wet window, the droplets of rain rolling down in uneven lines against the surface. The streets were crowded, since it was still just 10pm, but as we got further outside the city and reached the police station, the streets grew quiet. One glance over the reaver view mirror informed me that the driver was glaring at me, sending flames all over my stomach.

I shrugged the feeling off and looked outside again, gulping slowly. Oddly, I wasn't concerned about what was going to happen to me. I'm undoubtedly going to be sent to a cell for the rest of my life, but the idea didn't scare me.

Now that he's dead, there is nothing that worries me.

Rough hands pulled me out of the car and shoved me down the path to the entrance of the police station. Bright lights blinded me as cameras flashed at me, taking pictures of me. Journalists kept asking questions, only for the cops to keep them away and block them from reaching me. The cop who held my arm had my head pushed down so I wouldn't dare say anything to anyone. Their questions were tempting though.