The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

HANNAH

And the next day, Hannah got up and went into work. Just like normal, like a normal day. There was no way she was heeding Jack’s warning. If something was going to happen, there was no way she was going to let Jack face it alone.

In the car park, she saw Roper, standing there, nonchalantly. He was standing by a big, black van. She saw others, in black police riot gear.

Jack had been right then. Something was going to go down. She gulped, and hurried into the building.

She hadn’t been in the building for two minutes before the fire alarm sounded. She hadn’t finished checking in properly.

And suddenly it was chaos. The evacuation protocol came into effect. People everywhere. Loud noises, tension.

The Prison Governor literally walked right into her. “Hannah! What are you doing, your shift doesn’t start until later-”

“I was just-”

“Get yourself out, fire alarm-”

“Well, alright, I’ll find Jack and then-”

“There’s no time Hannah, you know protocol, evacuation plans mean don’t wait for anyone, let alone one of the inmates-”

“He’s not-”

“Anyway, Jack’s not in his bed.”

“What?”

“He’s missing. He wasn’t in his bed for the morning rounds. We searched but couldn’t find him, and now this alarm…” Her director let it hang in the air, thick with suspicion.

She felt the hairs on her neck rise. She felt a wave of fear. She was reminded of that little thought she had had about him at the very beginning. Dangerous. He was a strong, mysterious, dangerous man. The Doctor had said there might be mental changes, whether permanent or temporary, they said paranoia was likely at this stage, but knowing what she knew now about him… there was no doubt in her mind, Jack was dangerous.

She hurried back, the corridor was empty now, people had left, rushed out of the building. As she turned the corner, she went face first into a hard, familiar chest.

“Jack!” She breathed a sigh of relief. There he was, barefoot, wearing the checked blue pyjamas she’d got him. She looked up into Jack’s eyes. But it was not his eyes. Instead of the warmth of recognition, she saw anger, danger, a steely coldness.

Her breath became an anguished shriek.

He wasn’t that familiar after all. A hand came out and clamped around her mouth, stifling a scream. A hand so familiar and yet totally strange to her. Another hand came and held her close, too close, too tightly. He dragged her round the corner of the corridor roughly and spun her round, holding her too tight.

“Jack…” she breathed.

He looked down at her, such a foreign look. He loosened his tight grip, but kept holding on.

“Hannah.” His voice was deep, but silky smooth, the same and yet different. His eyes roved up and down her body, over her face. She felt naked.

They both stared at each other. Seeing him talk, move, blink even, was so strange. He was so like the Jack she had known, yet there were such subtle differences, this close. Extra tenseness in his jaw, slightly tighter lips.

She felt herself falling into icy air, howling, empty, whistling air. “You’ve remembered-”

“-everything.” He finished the sentence for her.

Before she knew what was happening, she felt a thud on the side of her head. Something had hit her, hard. Her ears rang, the world went grey. She passed out.

She awoke later, in a store cupboard. Jack was crouching in front of her, in those pyjamas still. The fire alarm had stopped. She came to quickly, realising and remembering. Her hands were tied behind her back. Taped up. Her mouth taped, too. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. She strained, sucking breath in through her nose.

“Keep quiet,” Jack’s voice barked at her. Cold and unfamiliar. He pulled off the tape on her mouth.

“You bastard-”

“I didn’t hit you, gas pipe exploded, you fell, if that’s what you mean-”

She tried to process it all. The air was thick with gas and smoke. The prison was on fire. The once familiar, safe corridors, the place she had grown to love, in a morbid, sombre kind of way. It was all up in flames.

He grabbed her arms, hard. “Are you with the Bratva?” he asked.

She almost laughed. “What?”

“Who do you work for?” he demanded.

“No one… Eastward Prison…” she stammered.

“Who do you work for?” he repeated. He lurched forward and she felt something sharp and cold on her throat.

“I won’t ask again, Hannah.”

She tried to swallow, but her throat trembled against the cold, sharp implement against her neck. “I’m not working for the Bratva, Jack.”

“You expect me to believe you? After you made up this whole story of a relationship with me? Let me believe-” he hissed, his face, angry. “All of that stuff you said to me, about how you feel… you expect me to believe all of that?”

“Yes!” She felt her throat breaking. Or was it her heart? “Everything I told you Jack, that was true. I mean, about how I felt about you… I’m sorry, Jack, I had to-”

His hard, uncompromising glare slacked with puzzlement slightly.

“I know you’re playing me, Hannah.”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Come on, I’m not stupid, I don’t trust you, but you are my ticket out of here, so you are coming with me,” he said.

He didn’t trust her. It felt like her universe shattered.

She pulled away to look at the cold thing he had to her throat. A surgical scalpel. She frowned. He must have taken it from the ward earlier. He had suspected, he had prepared, he hadn’t hesitated to threaten to use it.

“You wouldn’t have,” she said, flicking her gaze to the sharp, cold metal, but her voice completely lacked all sense of certainty. She didn’t know anything anymore.

“Don’t test me, Hannah,” he ground out.

But a coldness crept up her spine, like damp. She opened her mouth to apologise, to try to reason with him.

“Keep quiet,” he warned her before she had said anything.

“Untie me,” she said, trying to sound defiant, failing pathetically.

“No chance,” he replied flatly. “Come on.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door.

He manhandled her out of the store cupboard, dragging her by her arm. With her hands tied behind her back, it was pulled along at an awkward angle. The corridors were silent. Eerily so. Of course, everyone had evacuated the building.

He stalked along the corridors like a tiger, pausing to listen occasionally, looking.

“You set off the fire alarm?” She asked with a frown.

He scoffed. “You set that.”

She laughed. “Me? No I didn’t!”

“You work for the Bratva, you drugged me last night, you set the fire alarm, you were going to kill me,” he ground out. She yanked hard at this point, coming free from his grip, he whirled around to try to stop her.

“No, you’ve got this wrong, Jack. I honestly am who I say I am. Come on, it’s me, you said you trusted me.” She licked her lips, she realised she only had a few seconds to convince him.

“My name is Hannah, I’m a nurse here at Eastward Prison. I was being blackmailed, PC Roper, he was my ex… he said I had to smuggle drugs into the prison, or else my father…” she gulped, hot wetness on her face. “It’s true, and then when I found you later that day, all beaten up… yes I made up that I was your girlfriend, because you were a Reaper, so, knowing you by association would keep me safe…”

Jack looked away, hissing.

“-but I want you in my life, all of the things I said about how I felt, what we did… I want to be a part of this life… I can’t really put it into words but-”

“Good acting here sweetheart but you don't fool me.”

“Stop, honestly,” she scolded, bolder than she felt.

“I know, you’ve said it all before, I remember.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how... ridiculous it sounds?” He grabbed her again, marching her down the corridor.

“The Bratva turned up, they’ve infiltrated the prison pretending to be MI5,” he said, reluctantly. “You know this, this was the plan, you set the fire alarm off, the gas leak wasn’t accidental-”

“Not true.” She corrected him. Her mind raced. “Everyone else, are they safe?”

He shrugged. “Safe enough. Unlike me, unlike you, Hannah, because you’ve served your purpose now-”

“No, I’m not working with the Bratva, Jack, I-”

The intercom crackled then. It was used for announcements, for staff to attend particular blocks, a little bleep for the end of visiting hours. It crackled now, a sound so familiar and yet she felt the hairs on her arms rise.

He yanked her along the corridor again.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To them. I’m going to bargain with them, trade you for me. If I give them you, they let me go. Let me get far away from here and not have anything more to do with the Bratva again. Your life or mine, Hannah.”