Burnington Gaol

T H R E E | Adeline

"What happened?" Billy mumbled.

I didn't look up at my brother as I sat motionless on my father's chair, the watchtower window behind me. I instead rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"There was an escape," I said.

His tired brown eyes looked down at me from under his oily, mahogany hair, confusion fixed in his features.

"Who?"

"I don't know," I said. "There were these two guys. One of them... I could've sworn one of them looked right at me."

Downstairs, I heard the key jimmy in the lock, and soon my father came in. I stood up from his chair and watched his exhausted figure wander past our living room and up the winding staircase.

"One got away," he said. "But we got the other one. He was hiding in the chapel."

"What are they going to do to him?" I asked nervously.

"Whip him back into shape, I suppose."

"And the other one?"

My father's lips tightened as he sat down in his chair.

"They'll put out an alert. Put up flyers. Have his face broadcasted over every news channel. Hopefully somebody will spot him."

"Hopefully?" Billy retorted.

"There isn't much else we can do," Dad snapped. "We searched the perimeter three times. We've done a full search of the prison, ensured every door is locked and bolted. All we can do is wait."

"Well perhaps if you hadn't fallen asleep at your post, then none of this would've happened." Billy spat, before storming downstairs.

I stood in the wake of their anger, looking between them.

"Not to worry, Adeline." My father said, taking my hand with a reassuring smile. "He's bound to surface, sooner or later."

I smiled uncertainly and looked up at him.

"Best go to bed. You have school tomorrow."

I nodded, pressed my lips together.

That night, as my family slept, I lied awake listening to the stillness. A murderer was free, wandering the streets, and I was here. If only I had looked sooner, reacted faster... I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, listening the distant, agonising scream of Frank Dawson, as his back was ribboned, and his blood painted the quiet walls of the Burnington Gaol.

© A.G. Travers 2018