Prison Break |LJ x Jeff|

Cement Cells

"I'm thinking of a number between one and one hundred."
  "Is it ninety nine?"
  "Haha, you got it again!"
  "It's always ninety nine."
  Jeff stared up at the bottom of LJ's bunk, bored out of his mind. They had been stuck in the small little cell for three months now, not once seeing even a ray of sunlight.
  "When do ya think Slenderman will come for us?" LJ asked, squirming on his bunk.
  Jeff kicked his foot up against the hard, practically wooden mat the prison used as a mattress for them. "Stay still, damn it."
  "You never answered the question."
  "Probably never, obviously. We've been here for fucking years."
  "Its been three months, Jeff. Stop being so dramatic."
  The two boys have had far too much time together, both of them getting more than annoyed with their presence. As Jeff thought more about it, though, that's probably what the prison guards wanted. The two of them to get so annoyed with each other that they end up killing each other.
  "I wonder if EJ is holding up," LJ said, crossing his arms behind his head. "Probably just fine."
  "Everybody's probably just fine. We've had plenty 'pastas get caught and never return," Jeff said blandly.
  "Yeah, but we're Jeff and LJ. It's a little different from the other small timers."
  Jeff continued to stay silent, muttering a few profanities before turning on his side. "I'm going to sleep."
  LJ stared up at the chipped cement ceiling, his face scrunched into a scowl. He hated prison, though who didn't? Jeff had gotten himself into some cloud of doom, not even considering the art of escaping. And if he had, he never spoke of it. He sighed, closing his eyes to drift off into unconsciousness, as he did several times a day.

"LJ."
"LJ."
"LJ!"
LJ's eyes flew open as he quickly sat up, smacking his had against the ceilings. "What the fuck do you want, Jeff?"
  "The guy in the cell below us escaped."
  "Good for him, really," LJ replied sarcastically. "Maybe he'll come back for us."
  Jeff rolled off his bed, looking up at LJ. "Why don't we escape?"
  LJ rose his brow, sitting up. "I was just thinking about that."
  "Would you? Well I mean of course you would, but do you think we'd do it?"
  LJ thought for a moment. How would they do that? This wasn't Shawshank Redemption, they didn't have that long. He slid down to the ground, kneeling next to Jeff. "How would we do it?"
  "I don't know...not yet."
  The boys stayed silent, thinking of many different plans, though none of them would have worked.
  "We can get in a fight."
  "What?"
  "They'd have to break it up, right? As soon as they come to give us our meal, we start fighting. Then, when they come in to break us apart, we attack, and then we run like hell."
  "They have guns, we have hands."
  Jeff smirked, his permanent smile widening even more, which LJ thought not possible. "It wouldn't be the first time I tore somebody apart with my bare hands."
  The atmosphere turned dark, as they both began to think of their many murderous crimes. They were filled with bloodlust and determination. They could do it, they both knew they could. They were pros, champs, when it came to murder. Of course they were, or they wouldn't be locked down in the most secured, dangerous prison in all of the United States.
  "Could we do it?"
  "Yes."
  "Will we do it?"
  "Yes."
  "When?"
  "First thing tomorrow morning."
  LJ erupted into a dark laughter, which echoed down the hall, reaching a certain prison guard by the name of Brett.
  Brett was perched up in a chair, on watch duty of the two sick bastards. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, sending cold shivers down his spine. He had never encountered them; it wasn't his job to bring them any of their supplies. It was his job to make sure they were behaving, and not breaking down the door which locked them up.
  Brett had a family; a wife and two little girls, Rebecca and Rachel. He couldn't afford dying on their behalf. He was stuck with this job after being fired from the NYPD, three years before. For some odd reason, they decided to stick him with the most frightening job he had ever had.
  "Tch, creepypasta? Couldn't that twisted lamp post come up with anything better to call his minions?"
  He popped a potato chip into his mouth, clicking on the television. He spent ninety nine percent of his day bored out of his mind, and the other one percent taking a piss.
  "Hey, Brett. It's your lunch break, wanna go down to the vending machines with me?" Asked Shane, a fellow prison guard.
  "Yeah, let me just get Lenore to take over my post."
  Shane stood in the doorway as Brett picked up his desk phone, dialing Lenore's number.
  "Hey, Lenore, it's Brett. Do you mind taking my post for a few minutes?"
  "Sure! I'll be right up!" He hung up, before getting up, accompanying Shane to the vending machines.

  "Gah, Shannon has been on my ass for the past two weeks! How am I supposed to sleep at night when she makes me sleep on the couch?"
  "She'll come around, she's just upset that you forgot your anniversary," Brett replied blandly, taking a bite of his packaged pie.
  "I've been so busy lately, surely you understand?" Shane asked.
  Brett snorted, raising a brow at the male. "Me? Busy? Those freaks don't do anything but play stupid guessing games. The most action I get is one of 'em banging on the door for toilet paper."
  Shane gave him a small smile, before getting up. "We'd best get back to work."
  A few minutes later, Brett was descending the stairs to his corridor, which was oddly quiet. He had a bad feeling, a bad feeling indeed.
  "Lenore?" He called out to his coworker. "Hey, Lenore?"
  There was no response. He paused at his desk, finding a half eaten granola bar. He scratched the back of his neck, not being able to shake the negative feeling.
  Another small bubble of laughter echoed down the hall. It was different from all the other laughs from the crazy clown. It was...pure evil. Pure bloodlust. His hands shook as he grabbed for his gun, and the keys to the cell. Had Lenore went in there out of curiosity? Had they already gotten to her?
  His shoes clicked against the cement, his breath hitched in his throat. He didn't want to open that door. He didn't want to look those killers in the eye. He had no choice.
  The keys were already in the lock, turning. His hand was reaching for the handle, just about to pull.
  "Brett? Brett, what are you doing?!"
  "Shit!" He jumped back, his head snapping to the side, only to meet eyes with Lenore. "Where were you?" He snapped, quickly locking the cell door.
  "I, I had to use the bathroom!"
  He let out a long sigh, resting his back against the wall. He was thankful Lenore was okay, and thankful he didn't have to face the two. But he couldn't shake the evil feeling he had felt coming from that room.
  "Well, I'll be on my way, now..."
  He waved goodbye to her, his back still pressed against the wall. It was oddly quiet again. The unnatural quiet.
  "Hey, Brett? Wanna play a game?"