38: Conspiracy To Flee

You return to sleep. You still need it, or perhaps you're resorting to it instead of thinking about your situation any further.

On your first day of complete freedom, you make your bed, you clean up all the crap left on the floor, and you wait politely for your food to arrive.

"Well!" Kenny comes in, jubilant and proud. "About time he let you out! Come on out, missy. I've got food for you in the shop."

"Out?" You cling to that suggestion, your eyes wide with hope. "You're letting me out?"

"Just into the shop. I said I would give you more space, didn't I?" He holds the door for you, beckoning you out.

You cross underneath him, leaving that cage for the first time in ages. You see the rear door of the shop, the portal to the outdoors, but Kenny takes a hold of your arm before you can consider it further and pulls you towards the shop.

You're behind the glass counter now, recognizing the cramped shelves beyond them from your recent past. You see the rows of golden rings, the cash register, the disabled radio. It's all the same, just from a different perspective.

"Hey." Caven comes in the front door, peeling her gloves off. She carries a plastic bag in the crook of her arm—another purchased meal for you. "Is Levi here yet?"

"Not yet." Kenny guides you onto a high stool, his aura alone telling you that this'll be your new post for the time being. "Never mind him. I picked up another job—there's a den on the edge of the city. They'll pay well if we wreck it."

"That's fine. I can take care of it, if you want to send me the details."

"And leave me out of it?" Kenny chuckles as he brings out your food and opens it like a father tending to a toddler. "Nah, I'll come with. We'll get it done tonight."

"What about her?" Caven nods to the hunched prisoner that accepts lukewarm oatmeal and a plastic spoon. "Who's watching over her?"

"Call a babysitter," you mutter sardonically.

Kenny shrugs. "We'll just lock her room tonight. Got it, missy? You'd better arrange your getaway car and prep your lockpicks—you'll be on your own tonight."

"Don't toy with me." It's enraging to hear him uproot all the hopeful thoughts you've instantly begun brewing. "You're not seriously going to leave me alone, are you? That seems really reckless."

"I might." He watches your reaction, carefully navigating through this mind game. "Or I'll come check on you before we go. Or after we come back. Or any time tonight. Who knows?"

"Is that supposed to scare me?" You glare as you spit out the question, even though his vagueness does scare you.

"Only if you want it to, missy." He whips out a packet of cigarettes and snaps one out. "Take the car, Caven, and get our usual shit for torching. I'm not doing last-minute shopping before we head out tonight."

"Will do." She leaves, going through the rear of the shop.

You pointlessly dig a well in your oatmeal bowl. "Torching?" you wonder. "Are you burning something down?"

"Once we ransack it, absolutely." In no rush to go anywhere, Kenny leans on the counter and clicks open the cashier drawer, searching through his bills. "We're usually just tasked with taking a place down, but I know there's some substances in there that'll sell well."

Arson and dealing of probably illegal substances. You start a mental list of the crimes Kenny is admitting to.

"Is...the place abandoned?" You have to ask this next, testing the limits of Kenny's depravity.

"Doubt it."

"Are you going to clear the building of people first?"

Kenny snickers. "I think the flames will do that for us."

"The hell? People could die."

"Missy, plenty of folks have died because of me. I don't think I'll be shedding any tears over dumbasses that're too slow to get out of a building on fire."

"Fuck," you mutter. "Is this all your life is? Just committing crime after crime like it's your nine to five?"

"Pretty much."

Disgusted, and also quite nervous to be next to someone so effortlessly evil, you hold yourself tightly and glare at your food. "Sounds miserable. I'm really sorry you couldn't amount to anything else."

Kenny laughs, a nearly genuine laugh like he's listening to an old friend. He seems to appreciate what you say, even if it is meant to be a stab at his character.

"You know, my grandfather was an arms dealer his whole life. He died during a bad trade. My dad, a little more discrete: worked as a loan shark. Made enough to support his wife and his fifty other girlfriends." He sucks in a serving of smoke, relishing how it claws at his lungs. "So, for your information, it's in my blood to do this shit. The Ackermans are fucked—I'm nothing new here. Nor was Kuchel. Being screwed up is just what we're meant to do."

You feel sick from the description of his lineage and from how he views his own sister. Plus, the way he suggests he just can't help his inclinations strips him of responsibility, which is patently untrue.

"Are you saying Levi's the same?" you dare, putting your mentor up beside the mental portraits of his heritage. "A fucked up Ackerman?"

"You tell me."

"He's not as bad as you."

"Hmm." He flicks ash into a nearby tray. "He kept you locked up, didn't he? Caven told me about it."

"That's hardly equivalent to rampant arson and murder," you grumble. "He still sucks, but he's not you."

"To each their own." Bored of the topic, Kenny kicks a sad cardboard box shoved in the corner. "When you're done eating, look through this shit and find somewhere in the shop for it to go."

You cringe at the delegation of chores, a reminder of what you used to do for this man purely to probe his mind. "That again?"

"That again, missy. Unless you'd rather stay locked in the back—"

"No." Abandoning your food, you cross to the box of traded goods. "I'll organize this stuff."

"Atta girl." Kenny's not going anywhere, staying posted behind the counter while messaging contacts on his phone.

You get to step into the jungle of shelves with the box in your hands. It's set on a splintery piano bench before you plunge a hand in and search for something to sort—if you can call putting objects on random shelves with no system sorting.

It's a wristwatch. Old, with a rusted frame, but its mechanisms keep ticking. A timekeeping device would actually be a good foundation for some sanity in here—you've had to rely on the passing sun and your nebulous visitation hours as a measurement of hours passing.

You pocket it.

Next is a porcelain doll. It's in amazing condition, even with a darling yellow dress that complements its bright green eyes. It's set atop the piano.

Then a pair of reading glasses. They're pretty boring and thus given an obscured home behind some snow globes.

A toy race car comes next. It gets to join the doll.

Item after item is inspected and put away. Admittedly, it's a little fun to pass the time looking through these random trinkets. A childish part of your mind enjoys the unboxing of gifts that aren't really yours, and you end up making up small stories to go with each as you find a suitable spot for them.

The adult in your head reminds you to not enjoy this, to avoid falling for the complacency that Levi is already a victim of. It tells you to look at Kenny every now and then and remember your plight. Never enjoy yourself here, you sternly instruct yourself.

Indeed, that determination is stoked when you peel open a leather pouch found in the box and see a glistening arsenal of tiny tools. Wrenches, pliers, and screwdrivers. A plethora of jailbreaking tools.

Those wrenches could undo the bolts between your chair and the floor. There's a good chance your hopper window is made up with hinges with common screws—any typical screwdriver could loosen them.

The pouch itself is too cumbersome to steal so you opt to take just one tiny wrench and one screwdriver. Behind a crowded coat stand, you slip both into your pocket.

The evening comes, though Levi doesn't. Kenny quite sadistically tells you that he denied his nephew the right to visit today; he can't risk you conspiring with an outside party on the one night you're by yourself. Struck with the neglect of Levi's absence, you're tossed back into your room and left alone for the night.

You waste an hour griping over your isolation before getting to work. In a dead quiet pawn shop, you squint at your tools in the dark and wonder what to use first.

The wrench is brought to the bolts pinning your chair down. If you want to reach the hopper window, you'll need an easy stepping stool.

One by one, you unscrew nuts and slip out bolts, freeing the chair's legs from the ground. It's loose eventually, left as the freestanding piece of furniture it's meant to be. You drag it to the wall and, once testing its stability, climb onto its seat and lift yourself to the hopper window.

Cranking the pane open, you let a gust of chilly wind slap your face while you evaluate the frame. As expected, hinges hold the panel in place with screws securing them to the window frame. Your screwdriver will fit.

You loosen them but do not free them. The pane now barely clings to the frame, one jostle away from slipping off, but you try to work the handle's latch back into place and leave the window alone for now. It'll come free when you want it to; it's too soon to attempt escape right now. Especially without a getaway car, especially without Levi's consent. He'll be your primary rescuer and guardian once you're free and you can't make any moves until you know he'll be there for you.

You set the chair back in its position and return its pinning bolts to the ground, though the nuts you screw on are left quite slack. It just needs to stay in place and avoid suspicion, and the less effort you need to put into mobilizing it, the better.

Your tools are wrapped in newspaper and shoved under your mattress before you go to bed. Gears are being set into motion; the machine will activate soon. Your exodus will be underway, now no longer a dream.

Early the next morning, you hear three voices in the backroom. The mentor and the prison guards.

Silently, you slip out of bed and hover near the door, pricking your ears to hear their conversation. It's a rather expected dialogue, Kenny scolding Levi for his hastiness to see you before briefing him on a new task he'd like to accomplish this evening. Another mission for the rampant criminal—you only wonder who from his crew he intends to delegate.

Finally, Levi is permitted into your room. He enters cautiously, remembering his transgressions and the consequences of them, and he presents two boxes in a meek peace offering.

You wait in the chair, legs crossed and arms hugged. You're locking yourself up with a key he does not own.

"Food," he announces of the first one, shouldering the door closed. "I made some servings of quiche this morning. I thought you might like some."

He cooked for you. That's moderately better than the fast food you've been living off of, but it also suggests he's so carefree about this situation, he's decided to spruce it up with some domestic cooking. It's hard to take the gesture as thoughtful or considerate.

Nevertheless, you take your meal for the morning. Homemade or not, it's all you have.

"And some clothes. I liked what you wore at the tea shop, so I tried to buy something similar."

Taking your first outfit change in days, you sigh. New clothes are extremely necessary right now, but his priority of making you cute is odd to place above making you hygienic.

Levi stations himself on the bed, keeping a polite distance. "You need a jacket, too. It's pretty cold in this room."

"I wouldn't need any of this if I was out by now." You hear how vicious your grievance is, but it doesn't feel wrong to express it. You are right, even if you are angry.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I'll work on finding a way—"

"No need. I know what to do."

He pauses, his brow lifted. "You do?"

"Yeah." Giving him a look riddled with caution, you mentally warn him against lying to you. "Can I trust you with what I have in mind?"

Like a timid child, he nods, eager to be part of the action. "Yes. If I think it's a good chance, I'll help you."

"Good." It's not a flawless vow of truth, but it's the best you'll get. "I got the window loose, Levi, and the chair. I can easily slip out of the window frame whenever I want." You talk just above a whisper, cautious of Kenny and Caven outside. "The sooner I can go, the better. I just need you to be available to get me away from the shop."

He listens, showing not a hint of hesitancy. If he's scared, he's hiding it.

"Their patterns change every day though. I won't know who will be where, and when. They were both gone last night, for example—I wish I could've taken my chance then."

"Tonight, instead." Joining you in strategy, Levi hunches forward with elbows on knees and eyes peering at you through his black locks. "I know where we'll be tonight."

It's beautiful to see him on your side. Hope glistens. "You do?"

"Yes. Kenny wants me to come along for a trade deal—Caven's staying behind at the shop."

"Oh." Not a flawless set-up. "Then Caven will be here to monitor me."

"She will. Does she check on you?"

"Not ever. Not until the morning." Which, to be fair, bodes well in your favor. "I don't know what she does here in the middle of the night, but she never bothers me."

"It might be our best shot." Levi's feeding you more and more, perhaps pleased to see you so determined and hopeful. At least you're not glaring daggers at him right now; he'd give anything to keep the positive reactions going. "I'll be with Kenny, but that just means I can keep track of him. I'll stall him for as long as possible—all night, if I have to. As long as you don't catch Caven's attention, you'll be okay."

Caven is a significantly more tolerable guard than Kenny. She's sympathetic to a certain degree, and she's not as rigid about your security as her partner. She gets the bare minimum done when it comes to you, and nothing more.

"But you won't be here," you point out. "I need some way to get away from the shop."

"That's fine. I'll leave my car here." He gets to his feet, once again trying to see how close he can get to the tetchy cat. "I'll put my keys in the glove compartment and leave it unlocked. Just slip inside quietly and take off before Caven can catch up."

"That—that could work." You imagine yourself skirting the shop and sneaking to his car. The windows of the pawn shop are blocked out, fortunately. Caven couldn't witness you from inside the shop.

"You need to stay sharp, though." He puts a hand on your shoulder, a tiny test of what he's allowed to do. "Go to my apartment, but take random paths. Four right turns, the backroads, whatever it takes. Don't let anyone follow you."

Eyeing his hand, you shrug your captured shoulder. "I ought to tell you to get off me," you warn.

He merely waits. "Are you going to?"

Contemplating, you feel the hateful snake in your mind drown under the excitement of upcoming escape. He'll be a better person once you're both away from Kenny—maybe.

"You've earned that." Relaxing your posture, you make sure he's not going to experiment with other forms of touch. "Don't push it."

"Thank you," is all he gives in response, and it's quite touching. This alone, despite knowing the feeling of much more, is still enough to spur gratitude from him. Any form of your consent is precious to him now.

"Sure." Flicking open your box of food, you take up the provided fork and scoop into his homemade meal for you. "I'll stay wary on the streets. Will you be okay with Kenny? What'll he do when you come back to an empty shop?"

"I'll escape him before then. Don't worry about me." Deeming himself worthy of consoling you, he squeezes your shoulder and rubs a thumb against your bone. "You just need to get to my place. Wait there until I show up. Take care of yourself. Shower, food, whatever you need. Just stay inside until you're safe."

Another cage, albeit a benevolent one. Despite the connotation, it'll be better than where you are now.

"Can you do that?"

He's taken the reins. You listen to the part of you that has been magnetized to him from the start and decide to let his words pass without scrutiny.

"I can, Levi."

"Good. Just a bit longer, and we'll be free."