I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 12.1 - Brandon

"Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves."      - Henry David Thoreau

Prison was musty, damp, and cold. Spiders lingered in the corners, and there was more dirt in the air than oxygen. The windows were so stained that looking through them was basically like looking at a wall, and the floor had remnants of someone's vomit. Or maybe it was blood. All I knew was that there were muddy blotches scattered along the ground so disturbing I cautiously stepped over them. Somewhere, I heard the steady sound of dripping water.

Even from the moment I stepped into the building, I was struck by the smell of rotten flesh so strong I could almost taste it, and the air was so moist I could almost feel it. My arms prickled with goosebumps. As of the moment, they were free, unrestrained and unhandcuffed. But not for much longer. Each step I took towards the officer behind his desk, who studied my lifeless expression warily, brought me closer to my uncertain fate.

"Can I help you?" the officer asked as I approached him. His words sent a shiver down my spine.

"I'm here to turn myself in," I responded. "I broke into my principal's home, along with my four friends. You have two of them in custody already, I think." I raised my wrists to be handcuffed.

The officer glanced at them, and smirked. "Handcuffs, aren't necessary, boy. What's your name?"

"Brandon Koster."

He nodded. "Alright. And those two friends you said we have in custody - their names are Ryan Alders and Christiaan Van de Berg, correct?"

"Yes, sir," I confirmed.

"Alright," he said again. "Do you have any idea where your other friend is? Stefan Everard?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I drove him here in the car, but he decided to make a last minute run for it."

"Okay," the officer replied. "Then he can't be far." He called two nearby officers. "Dennis, Johan. Take this boy to a cell. One next to his friends."

The officers each grabbed one of my arms. "This way," one said.

Our footsteps echoed along the passageways, and the sound of dripping water grew louder. Distant mumbling silenced within each cell we walked by, and it just suddenly occurred to me that I was walking in the same building as criminals, whether they be murderers, robbers, or rapists.

"Do you know what's going to happen to me?" I asked the officers, my voice quiet.

One scoffed. "That should've been something you asked before you broke into your principal's, boy."

All the cells were identical, surrounded by stone walls and prison bars for a door. They passed by us in a blur until we stopped by a certain one - my cell. The officers opened the door and left me inside. "Your parents should be here soon enough," they told me, before leaving me behind in darkness. I heard the thuds of their feet disappear as they left.

"Brandon?" a voice whispered.

I walked towards it, resting my hand upon the frozen stone of the wall between us. "Rye?"

Rye sniffled. "I'm sorry, Brandon."

"No, it's okay," I said. "What happened? How's Isaak?"

"He's dead."

The words were like a sword, piercing through my heart. Isaak - dead. At first, I couldn't bring myself to believe it, but soon enough, the reality of the words came crashing down, and the thought that I would never see Isaak again haunted me. I grew wary of whether or not his presence was in the cell with me, stalking me and the boys as we lived the aftereffects of his death, or if his soul still lingered with his body, wherever it was. His blood was probably still on my windshield, dry and crimson.

I finally got a hold of my voice. "Where's Christiaan?" I asked. "How's he?"

"Tormented. He's in the cell next to me."

I hated how I couldn't see Rye nor Christiaan. I could only listen.

All of a sudden, I heard a door swing open with a loud bang in the distance. The air was filled with the sound of men fighting, grumbling as they struggled to regain composure in a fluid way. Then I saw Stefan. He passed by my cell in just a flash of movement, held tight by four muscular guards, but I could prominently see the fresh bruises along his cheekbones and jawline, as well as the scratches bleeding heavily onto the floor behind him as he limped to the fast pace of the officers. His entire left eye was black and closed. His fists were red and bloody. His nose was almost broken. And the guards themselves had received a share of his strength.

The cell door next to mine opened, and Stefan was thrown inside.

"Stefan?" I called to him. "Why did you do that?"

He spat, and I could imagine clotted blood flying from his mouth. "Do what?"

"Fight the police."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "You shouldn't have."

"And yet I did." He spoke flippantly, and my anger rose at how he was behaving the exact opposite to how I was feeling. "And what's it to you?" he asked. "You've never told anyone to do anything in your life. That's Isaak's job."

The sword within me twisted. "Isaak's dead, Stefan." My mind went through every syllable just before I allowed myself to say them.

There was a moment of silence. "What?"

"He's-,"

"No," growled Stefan. "I heard."

And then suddenly, the entire prison erupted with his screams and sobs. I bet residents on the other side of Amsterdam could've heard him. He roared like a wounded lion. He cried like a burdensome waterfall. And I could hear the cracking of his knuckles as they collided heavily with the hard stone floor. "Mother-fucking-idiots!" he yelled with each force of impact. I winced at the possible pain he could be enduring, but Stefan himself didn't seem to even care. He just screamed and then punched and then screamed and then punched. I wondered when the guards would come to tell him to stop, but they never did. Stefan was probably the norm in prison, so why would they?

It was probably an hour until he had calmed down, and the entire prison grew silent.

Hoping I wouldn't start another fit of rage, I dared to call into the darkness, "Stefan?"

For a moment, there was no answer.

But then I heard his voice mumble, quiet but clear, "I loved him, you know."

My eyes widened in surprise, but now that I thought about it, there was no need to be surprised - it was obvious.

"And now, he'll never know. You never understand how much you love someone until you lose them, until you part with them and realize just how much you miss them."