“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.”
― Jim Morrison
Let's start with a list, shall we?
This is what we know so far. The days are twenty-four hours long. One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes. Each and every one of those minutes are valuable.
If we can figure out how to spend each of those minutes we're going to get out of here.
Ten of those minutes should be used writing down everything you can remember about Senator Gideon Friar.
And five of those minutes should be spent remembering where you hid your gun.
There are three guards who rotate on schedule outside the door.
Michael, Alan and Carl.
Carl will be the easiest. He calls you potato because he thinks you're a vegetable. He goes on long bathroom breaks and flirts with the nurse on night duty. He's gone for no shorter than forty minutes.
Forty of the one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes.
On occasion he's been known to leave his jacket in the chair. He's about your height so you should have no problem fitting into it.
Add this to the list as well.
Seven Emery Circle.
That's where you're heading when you get out of here.
That is where you'll find your revenge.
Oh and John? Remember, the secret of a really good list is as simple as remembering where to put it so you can find it again.
John heard the buzzing from behind his eyelids. He opened them slowly and looked down at his desk where his phone was humming away across the surface.
On the third ring he answered.
"Raide."
No one replied right away, but he could hear them breathing. In the background there was the rushing sound of cars passing by.
"Is this John?"
"Yes, who is this?"
There was a pause again and the rushing of traffic in the background had calmed.
"It's Veronica," the voice said. "Veronica Brecht."
John shifted in his chair and went for a sip of coffee, but it was cold.
"What can I do for you, Miss Brecht?"
"I ... I want to help."
"Why the sudden change of heart?"
"I don't know ... I just -- I need to do this, 'kay?"
"Was it you who tried calling me a couple days ago?"
The traffic in the background had resumed. He figured she must have been standing on a street corner using a pay phone. There weren't too many of those left that still worked.
"Yes," she answered. "I'm sorry, but please understand this from my side. You just showed up out of the blue at my apartment and -- well, it's a lot to deal with."
"I understand. I think we should meet. Public place of course."
"I agree. Can you meet me at the Coat of Arms in twenty minutes?"
"I'll leave shortly."
He hung up and set the phone back down on his desk.
John stood and walked over to the other side of the room where a giant whiteboard had been. Every square inch was filled with the photos and the case reports of all the missing girls who had wound up like Caitlin Donaher. He’d stare at it for hours hoping a pattern would be revealed, but it never showed itself.
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