Page 51 of Imprisoned

I need to get word to her and warn her. But first, I have to figure out who’s trying to destroy me and my reputation in this prison. And when I do...

The monster beneath my skin stretches, yearning for release.

23

WILLOW

My heels click against the cold linoleum as I enter security. With each step, the plug still nestled inside me sends tingles through my body, a constant reminder of Axel's control over me. I clutch my coffee cup tighter, trying to ground myself in its warmth.

Something feels off today. The usual morning quiet is broken by rapid footsteps and urgent whispers. Two guards rush past me, their faces grim.

"Morning, Dr. Matthews." Officer Thompson nods, but his usual friendly demeanor is replaced with tension.

"Is everything alright?"

He hesitates. "You might want to avoid Block C today. We've got a situation."

My heart rate spikes. Block C—Axel's block. "What kind of situation?"

Before Thompson can answer, more guards hurry past, their radios crackling with static and fragments of conversation.

"...two bodies found..."

"...cell block C..."

"...forensics team..."

My hands aren't steady, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I press my thighs together, the plug's presence now transforming from a thrilling secret to a condemning weight. What felt like an intimate connection to Axel minutes ago now feels like evidence of my complicity as I watch medical personnel wheel out a covered stretcher.

I slip into my office and log into the system. The preliminary report loads, and my coffee sits forgotten as I scan the details.

Two bodies. Inmates Roberts and Chen. My stomach lurches at the crime scene photos—the precise, almost surgical cuts forming intricate patterns across their torsos. The same signature mutilation I've studied in Axel's case files.

The estimated time of death for both is between three and five p.m. But that's impossible. Axel was with me yesterday during those hours, pressed against me in this office, his hands...

I narrow my eyes, forcing myself to focus. The bodies were positioned face-up, arms crossed over their chests—exactly like Axel's previous victims. Every detail matches his MO perfectly. Too perfectly.

I pull up Axel's current status in the system:

Solitary confinement—pending investigation.

My heart skitters. They think he did it—of course, they do because the signatures match perfectly.

Then the realization hits me like a bucket of ice water: they'll check the security footage to verify his whereabouts during the estimated time of death. Our session. They'll want to see the video monitoring and review the audio recordings. Every forbidden touch, every spoken word between us would be exposed.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, checking the time stamps. The murders occurred during our extended "therapy" session—the one where Martinez was paid to give us privacy, the one where Axel bent me over my desk and?—

Oh god. We're both finished if they pull that footage or listen to those recordings. They'd have evidence of our relationship and my complicity in circumventing prison security protocols.

I dive deeper into the files, searching for anything that might help me understand this. The maintenance records catch my attention—there's something about the prison's infrastructure I've never seen before.

My cursor hovers over a folder marked "Historical Documentation." Inside, blueprints and reports detail a complex tunnel system underneath the facility. I lean closer to my screen, scanning the text. The tunnels were built during the Cold War as emergency evacuation routes and an extensive network connecting all blocks.

A maintenance report from 1983 makes me pause.

Due to budget constraints, Phase 3 of tunnel sealing operations is suspended indefinitely. Sections A through D remain partially accessible.

The text cuts off, but my mind races. Partially sealed tunnels. Access points. My eyes dart to the crime scene location markers. Both bodies were found in areas that would have connected to these underground passages.

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