"I'm here, to help you escape."

There was a pause in the uneven breathing of the prisoner, as the concept of that hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him speechless. Freedom. He'd forgotten what that was. But it couldn't be true; things like this didn't happen to guys like him. He had no contacts in the underworld, nobody who would care about him even the tiniest bit to go to such extents to break him out. He just didn't understand, and he didn't like not understanding.

"So if I say yes, what's the catch?" he finally found his voice, even though it broke a little at the end.

"Well I'm not just freeing you, I'm hiring you," the priest, who Tate had deduced wasn't actually a real priest replied, and the inmate scoffed.

"Last night a man and a woman died in a car accident. They were foster parents to a little girl named Bo," the man continued.


"This is never 'gonna work..." A woman was sat in the back of a surveillance van parked a short distance from the prison, hand steadying the headphones atop her head.

She and a couple of others were listening to the conversation between Milton and the inmate through a bug in the prayer beads the priest held. Janice Channing, as she was known had expressed her dislike of their plan to break the inmate out from the minute it had been suggested, and had stuck with that viewpoint. She just couldn't understand why out of all the people they could choose to protect Bo, Milton Winter had chosen a death row prisoner responsible for two murders. It didn't make sense. But Channing trusted Milton and knew he had his reasons for everything. If he said it would work, it would work.

She only realised she had zoned out when she was disturbed by a sharp static noise coming over the headphones.

"Winter, careful with the beads," she spoke into the microphone, connected to a wireless earpiece Milton wore on the inside.


The fake priest shifted the beads in his hand. "But this wasn't an accident. It was a failed attempt to kidnap this little girl. And now she's at St. Ann's hospital and we need to get there before the other's do."

"Yeah well guess what, I'm not a kidnapper," Tate replied instantly, his face a picture of disbelief at the whole concept. He was still convinced it was a setup, he had no idea why they needed him - he'd never even met the man before today. He knew nothing about any kid named Bo and he had less than five minutes before he was being executed, and he was spending those precious minutes discussing ridiculous fairytales with a bogus priest. He realised he was still shaking.

"I'm not asking you to kidnap her, I'm asking you to save her."

Tate still shook his head, looking back down at his feet. It was all lies, lies, lies and he couldn't take any more of them. He'd spent the last seven years of his life and most of his twenties in a cell because of one big lie.

"This little girl is very important, and you have-" the man paused to check his watch. "Four minutes and fifty four seconds to decide."

Tate suddenly kicked the dinner tray across the room. He couldn't take it anymore. "The hell you talking about? Huh?" he stood up, walking towards the priest, fuelled by his anger of being forgotten about, being left to die here without anyone giving a damn. Seeing the priest smile nervously only frustrated him further.

"Oh you think this is funny?" he remarked, now stood towering over the hunched man.

"Are you thick or just stubborn, I am offering you a way out!" the priest whispered forcefully, not looking the least bit afraid of the prisoner but more impatient. The yells from approaching guards warning the prisoner to stay back echoed around the small room as they quickly unlocked the door.

"Four minutes and thirty eight seconds!"

"Why would I trust you? Huh? You know what happens when you believe in people? Your so called friends?" Tate was tackled by the two guards and forced up against the wall as he struggled.

"Enough!" a guard shouted.

"Why do you think I'm here? Huh?" Tate yelled, but stopped the fighting once he realised it was a futile attempt.

Once he had stilled, the guards released their grip, only to wrench his hands together and cuff them. "Let's go," one of them said, leading Tate out of the cell, the priest following behind. That was it, his time was up.

They walked down a long, narrow corridor, which seemed to be just as gloomy as the rest of the prison. It was a corridor he had never been down but knew exactly what awaited him at the end.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil..." the priest began quoting Psalm 23:4 from the Bible, still deep in character, even though Tate thought it was a little bit overdone, and a more than a bit cliché. "You have fifty seconds," he paused to update Tate on his countdown.

"Look, it wasn't me, they said it was just a smash and grab. They framed me!" Tate knew another innocent plea would do him no justice, but it felt good to say it. Even as the lethal injection went in he would know he was innocent even if nobody else did.

"I don't care," the man muttered under his breath. "Forty seconds."

Tate rolled his eyes, a numb, detached sensation reaching new parts of his body the closer he got to the end of the corridor. By this point he had lost most of the feeling in his limbs and felt dizzy and nauseous and unable to breath, like a tight band was wrapped around his chest and threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Though there wouldn't be any need, he was heading that was anyway.

Something moved in the corner of his eye and he turned to see a blue butterfly fluttering down the hallway. He turned to see if anyone else had noticed but they apparently hadn't. Tate frowned; it was hard to believe something so beautiful could find its way into a place of horror like this. It didn't belong here, confined and in danger. It belonged outside where it could be free and alive. Tate laughed miserably, but it sounded more like a choked sob. The butterfly was a damn representation of his life and chose this precise moment to fly by. Something about that butterfly made him reconsider the offer.

"20 seconds."

Tate wanted to punch him.

"Why me?" Tate needed to know that if he was going to accept this man's help. He needed to know how he was connected to all this.

"Because I believe in you," the priest gave him a sidelong glance, and his expression appeared genuine.

"Ok," Tate said finally, and with that word it felt like a huge weight was lifted from his chest, even though the prison break was not guaranteed to work, and he still had little clue of what he was getting himself into.

There was a couple of seconds first, but a smile flashed across the fake priests face and there was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He lifted the prayer beads to his mouth and whispered:

"Hallelujah."

At that moment all power connected to the prison was terminated, and the hallway was plunged into darkness. A few muffled grunts and a lit torch later, and Tate could see the unconscious form of one of the guards on the floor. The guard who had originally poked fun at him was opening a hatch in the floor that lead down to the sewers, and Tate realised he must have been in on it too.

Winter grabbed his hands, working a key into his handcuffs until they clicked open. Adrenaline was surging through him, this was all real and it was happening right now. The shackles on his ankles were unlocked next.

"Now, hit him," the priest was ordering while indicating to the guard, and Tate frowned in confusion.

"Come on hit me!" the guard yelled. They needed this to look like Tate's idea alone, nobody could be found connected to the escape.

Tate drew his fist back, allowing all his anger, confusion and adrenaline to pour into a single punch to the guards face, perhaps a little harder than he should of. There was a loud thwack as fist hit flesh and the guard stumbled back.

"Urghh, son of a bitch!" the guard muttered under his breath, turning away from him to nurse most likely a broken nose, knowing it had to be done but not liking it all the same..

Milton guided Tate towards the hatch as he began to climb down it before falling several feet into cold, dirty sewer water. He broke the surface of the water with a gasp, looking up to see the harsh beam of light from the torch illuminating his face. Milton dropped the torch down and Tate caught it deftly.

"Go to your left! Go left, go left!" he yelled down, before the hatch was shut and all he had left to rely on was the flickering dull beam of the torch in his hand.


Above the hatch, Milton climbed to his feet as the guard who Tate had hit got into position on the floor, closing his eyes. Milton unlocked a door next to the him as guards came running down the corridor. He stood beside it, pretending to be shaken up as he pointed with a trembling hand through the open door, clutching his prayer beads.

"He went that way," Milton repeated over and over, with a convincing portrayal of a frightened bystander as the guards followed his directions. Once they were far enough down the corridor, he whispered the codeword 'peace be with you' to signal his people at the other end to get ready to receive their inmate. He knew unless there was someone there to stop him, Tate wouldn't stick around.


Tate pushed down the rounded brick tunnel, its walls small enough to allow him to walk through the water with a hand against the ceiling supporting him. He was panting with the effort, a million emotions all fighting a bloody war in his head to try and come out on top. He just didn't know how he felt, but now wasn't the time to work that out. He reached the end, and gave a cry as he was literally spat out by the torrent of water onto the muddy ground beside a banking outside the prison.

He only had seconds to look up to see three figures approaching before a hood was yanked over his head and everything went dark.