A/N: Emily just sent this to me, so guys please be kind because she is updating multiple stories during her maternity leave. -Jocelyn

(Chapter finished: May 31, 2013)

Chapter 2:

Head Held High

"I trust that you met with prisoner #531142?" An inquisitive tone shocked her, sending her coffee from her hand and straight onto her white skirt. The voice hissed an apology as she barked out strings of curses. She cursed her damn coffee, her damn daydreaming, and that damn mysterious Salvatore man for being the reason for her dreamy state which led to this literal mess.

She grabbed the napkin next to her apple on the desk and began desperately trying to rid the skirt of the stain. With a sigh of defeat, she glanced up to the towering figure, seeing two steely-blue eyes, "Yes, Mr. Mikaelson."

He nodded, "You may head home, Ms. Gilbert, but I expect you to arrive back no later than three," She mumbled words of agreement, "Sorry 'bout the skirt," and walked back to his gloomy office.

The office seemed dead, everyone either researching for a case or doing some ambulance chasing. When you're a lawyer, those two options become your only way of making it to the top. She never favored ambulance chasing, found it despicable, but unfortunately realized that attorneys will do anything to climb the ladder to the clouds.

Her heart was still racing from the adrenaline rush she received from the shock, when she reached her car. She fumbled around her purse for her car keys, but quickly put two-and-two together. On the verge of a mental breakdown, she located her anxiety pills and gripped them. She never intended on swallowing those ghastly tablets.

Instead, Elena just gripped the bottle as if it were a reassurance to the growing anxiety stirring within her very being. Ever since visiting the fearsome prison and its eerie inhabitant, her paranoia grew to immeasurable lengths, even awaking her in the dead middle of night, a scream bursting from her lips.

Taking two steps at a time, she ventured back into the office, finding it even emptier than before. Her breathing calmed as she noticed Mr. Mikaelson's door shut. Walking up to her desk, she spotted the glint of her keys beneath the desk and squatted to reach them.

Ding!

She immediately straightened, keys in hand as she heard the unmistakable ding of her email. The chair let out a groan when she plopped down, fidgeting with the mouse until the computer screen went from pitch black to the screensaver. Moving the cursor towards the email box, she double-clicked, watching as the countless emails popped up, all listed from most recent to oldest.

At the very top was a highlighted email, recently sent to her from an unspecified user. Intrigued, she opened the email, finding a disturbing message:

Dear Little Bird,

I thoroughly relished your visit to my obscure world.

Maybe next time you'll bring your wits

because, my dear, that was quite a show you put on.

I can see right through your faux mask,

see the lost little girl within you.

I can't wait until I get to wrap my hands around

your throat and thoroughly dissect your brain.

I need to know what makes you tick, Little Bird.

Her hand fell limp at her side, keys colliding with the tiled floor.

"Hey, sicko!" The guard mocked, a tray in hand, "Eat up!" He tossed the tray into the cell, the food landing onto the bacteria-infested ground.

The man sat in the chair in the center of the cell, his head hung low, remained still. His eyes found the guard, lips curling up into a vicious smile. The guard, standing at 6 feet and five inches, shivered. The man had frightened every single guard who had duty in Holes Section A.

The raven-haired man had been the first to be committed to Section A, which meant the prisoners of this section were the most brutal according to their charges. From what he heard, the man before him had torn the throat of the victim and stuck her heart down a garbage disposal, grinding it to pieces before sitting calmly in a puddle of her blood, waiting for the police to arrive.

The warden had wanted to stick him in with a cellmate, but the prosecutor had warned against it, citing previous brutal cases of this degree. Damon had secretly snickered at the guards, loving their faces when he creeped the hell out of them.

The moment he arrived in this hell hole, he had closed his eyes and switched off every emotion he contained. And he had thought that he would remain that way, emotionless and stoic, that is until that…that woman…She had certainly worked a number on him.

Oh, the way her hair shimmered in the light- No, he mustn't think like that. She doesn't even believe in him.

"Sir!" Elena called out, stock-still, "Mr. Mikaelson!" Her body was slightly convulsing, the anxiety wracking her body.

The door to Mr. Mikaelson's office flung open, revealing a panic-stricken man with his tie undone and hanging loosing around his neck.

"What? What's wrong?" He rushed to her desk, kneeling by her side, ignoring the stabbing pain where he had been shot in the back in Vietnam. The way her face seemed to be twisted into an expression of fear had jolts of dread hitting him square in the heart.

When she remained unresponsive he gripped her shoulders, spinning her towards him. Shaking her lightly, he repeated, "What's wrong?"

Her mouth formed an 'o' before she finally broke out of her panic attack to breathily mutter, "Read." His eyes followed her pointed finger towards the computer screen.

With each sentence he read, his eyes burned with anger. He abruptly stood, "You're not working this case. It's too dangerous," He paced while heads started popping up from random corners of the office to catch a glimpse of the debacle, "I-I'll assign Carver to the case."

Elena shook her head, standing tall, "I already know too much, sir. It would be hazardous to involve someone as inexperienced as Carver," She stopped him from saying the name she knew he would suggest, "Or Steeland."

He ran his thumb over his top lip, a habit he does when he's agitated. With a sigh he said, "Fine. You stay on the case, but I'm requesting a police presence for you."

She sat, "May I request Sergeant Donovan? He was there for the Rosmester case."

He took a seat on the edge of her desk, keeping his eyes directed to the window, "Right, the Rosmester case," He let out a nervous chuckle, "You just can't escape trouble, can you?"

"What can I say? I'm a walking magnet for 'bad boys.'" She smiled sadly, reflecting inwardly on her past run-ins with convicts who took up a strange obsession for her. She shivered, watching as Mr. Mikaelson stood.

"Secure that email and send it to Donovan. I'll contact his captain."

"Whatever, little bird. You fly away now."

She bolted upright in bed, breaking out into a cold sweat. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, her head pounding. Her ears were ringing, her head hurt, her heart hurt.

"Ow." She cradled both sides of her head, stepped out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. The medicine cabinet seemed so far away. Ungh, so far…

"My little bird."

She spun around, already in a defense position, hands raised and feet locked onto the ground. The room was empty.

Am I losing it?

The pounding in her head grew. She rubbed her temples before turning back towards the open medicine cabinet. Ignoring the bottle that seemed to be calling out to her, she searched for the Advil. In frustration, she went to grip the bottle, winding up knocking it to the floor.

"Dammit!"

She crouched down, reaching to retrieve the bottle which had rolled between the wastebasket and the toilet.

"Little Bird!"

She abruptly snapped her head up, harshly making brutal contact with the sink. And just like that- complete darkness.

Before the blackness consumed her, she could've swore she saw a black-haired figure sitting on the edge of her bed, silently watching her.

A/N: A bit short, but a lot accomplished.

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