A/N: You all reserve the right to chase me with pitchforks and torches. Be warned, it's short, I wrote it in an hour so I could give you all something to nibble on. I will write a proper, full-length chapter after I update my other stories. You are all so amazing for being patient.
Battle Born
Chapter 5:
Paint the World Black
"What was that?"
Her thoughts shattered into shards of glass, forever puncturing the bubble she had cooped herself into. She brought her gaze from her blank computer screen up to the dark cerulean eyes staring intensely at her.
"Sorry, what?" She rubbed her eyes, fingertips grazing the dark circles beneath. Sleep had been her enemy ever since her hands gripped the manila envelope. Speaking of.
Her eyes darted over to the menacing folder, containing the source of her nightmares and endless nights spent tossing and turning. Her heart bellowed for her to burn it, quit the firm and spend the rest of her life waitressing in her hometown.
But the face hovering above reminded her that this is where she needed to be.
His voice was strained, tie askew around his neck, lips cracked. Was all of..this finally breaking the infamous Mikaelson bad boy?
"What happened yesterday," He shifted feet, breaking his gaze before straightening his back and regaining it, "after I left?"
She rolled back in her chair, folding her hands on her lap as she fixed her attention on the suddenly interesting fan. "Nothing. I just informed him of our next appointment."
His eyes darkened, if that was even remotely possible seeing as how their natural state is frighteningly dark. Doing a quick glance to either side of him, he stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of her, "Elena," The hair on the back of her neck stood to attention at the sheer frigidness in his voice, "I told my father that I would aid you in any way possible with this nutter's case-" He stopped, mouth slightly agape. Deep blue searched the murky brown before him.
A sudden sense of uncomfort shook her body, snapping her out of the trance he had placed upon her mind. She immediately brought her hand up to push against his chest, lightly but firm enough to tell him to back away.
Getting the message, he raised his hands up and backed away. Flustered, she stood to her feet, fixed her ruffled skirt and began to walk towards the break room. She had not walked two steps when she heard the distinct sound of laughter behind her.
Her feet stopped mid step, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Something's not right with him. He," She got her breathing under control, "He has somehow found a way to continue his actions outside the prison."
The sound of footsteps coming up behind her before he spoke in a tone dripping with indifference, "He's messing with your pretty little head, Elena." He tapped her gently on the back of her head.
With a shake of her head she continued to the break room. Glancing behind, Klaus was silently making his way into his office when she called over her shoulder, "And that's Miss Gilbert to you, Mikaelson."
The sound of bitter laughter was cut by the shutting of two separate doors.
Sat around a table, the three guards watched as the fourth shuffled the deck of cards and passed one to each. Their gray sleeves rolled up, tattoos on display, flashing their toothy grins as they try to decipher each other's poker faces.
One with dark features glanced up at the clock on the wall, "Shit," He slapped one of his cards onto the table and shoved the rest into his pocket, "Who checked on the whackjob last?"
The one seated to his immediate left raised an eyebrow, "He was sleeping last I checked."
"Lemme go check on the bastard...Probably fucking beating off...Nothing but a bunch of..." He stood up and continued his rant on the lowlives residing within the walls, as he walked down the dimly lit corridor, flashlight in hand.
He pursed his lips and began whistling nonsense, trying his best to beat down the beckoning fear that still lingered deep in his gut. The last of the solitary confinement chambers happened to be in the darkest part of the prison due to the low budget not being able to fix the lighting.
Bringing the flashlight up to the small window, he shone the light inside, illuminating a small section of the cell. He shifted to the left and shone it on his bed, expecting to find him there sleeping.
And sure enough, he spotted a lump of a human lying underneath the blanket on the bunk.
Elena found herself once again staring a blank computer screen. Her toes squished around in her socks, swimming pool shoes long since discarded underneath her desk. The clouds had opened up as she was stepping out of her car and dumped buckets of rain.
Her entire outfit, hair included was completely soaked.
The Salvatore case being her only one at the time, seeing how everyone in the office turned down her offer for helping in their cases, gave her time to do something like this. Stare at nothing.
It had become a favorite pastime of hers recently ever since the ambulance chasing had seen a dramatic decrease in opportunities. Hospitals were beginning to catch on and started to deny any non-family members from entering the rooms. So, here she sat. Without any viable work nor any form of entertainment.
She had found herself at one point pondering the idea of looking at the crime scene photos for "fun". But she realized that would be both unprofessional and creepily morbid.
So she was beginning to wonder if the Salvatore case would put a big blotch on her career if it turned belly-up in court and the rampant thoughts of just who Katherine Petrova was were running through her mind when her work phone began to ring. With a sad sigh, she answered, "Elena Gilbert."
"Elena!" She immediately recognized the voice and the utter panic in it.
"Matt, what's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" She rapid fired questions, hoping he heard at least one of them.
"Thank God you're alright. You are alright, correct?" He danced around the questions.
"Fine, Donovan. What's wrong?" She wrapped the cord around her finger, the worst case scenarios seeping the crevices of her mind.
"He's out. I don't have enough information to figure out how just yet, but he's out. He escaped."
Her eyes scanned the room, soaking in everything surrounding her. The walls were splattered with cryptic messages, most of which were either in Latin or Russian. Egg white paper covered the entirety of the floor, the same paper distributed for letters home. The guards swore up and down that he had only received one paper in his entire stay in the cell, and they had not sent any letters out addressed from him.
Lying on the bed still unconscious was a guard from the first group who watched over his cell during the late daylight hours.
"How many groups of guards watch over this cell?" She asked the warden, a man in his late fifties with gray hair styled into a crewcut and a towering height.
He rubbed the stubble on his chin before shoving his one hand into his vest pocket, "I'd say around four, on occasion, five."
"And he's from the..." She pointed towards the guard.
"He's part of the set that is in-between the daylight and midnight groups. It is possible that the inmate took advantage of the dark."
Elena walked over to the wall and laid her hand on one of his drawings. A burst of warmth rushed through her at contact, both surprising and disgusting her. She pulled her hand away and turned back to the warden, "He's been planning this for awhile," She pointed towards the messages, "We'll need these translated of course. I need to find my client as soon as possible."
The warden nodded solemnly, lips set into a thin frown.
The car ride home consisted of soft indie rock reverberating off the interior. The need to shut her eyes and sleep became overwhelming as she drove further and further from the prison.
How did he do it?
The moment of deja vu overtook her, thinking back to that day in the visitors' room.
She shook her head. Worry about getting home without falling asleep, then you can worry over the psychotic bastard.
Gripping the wheel tighter, her heartbeat calmed to dull thuds instead of thunderous stomps. The melodic beats soothed her brain, allowing her to forget about her worries. Her shoulders felt extremely relaxed.
It was not until the radio host began talking that she realized there were fingers gripping her shoulders. Her eyes widened, mouth agape.
"Hello, little bird."