5. June

Chapter five

June

T he walls are closing in.

I can feel it against my skin, as if the very air in this sterile hellhole is trying to suffocate me. My fingers twitch, itching for a cigarette, a drink, anything to take the edge off. But there's nothing here. Nothing but white walls, antiseptic smells, and the constant, maddening tick of the clock on the wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Each second that passes is another moment stolen from me. Another moment away from Cara, from our child growing inside her. The thought sends a fresh wave of desperation coursing through me, hot and bitter as bile.

I pace my cell like a caged tiger, each step a silent rebellion against the forces that seek to tame me. The air is thick with the stench of despair and industrial-grade disinfectant, a noxious cocktail that turns my stomach.

Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps back. The monotony is maddening, but it's the only thing keeping me sane. That, and thoughts of Cara.

Cara. Her name is a prayer forever on the tip of my tongue.

I close my eyes and she's there, a vision of beauty and strength. The swell of her belly, ripe with our child, haunts my dreams. It's not enough. It'll never be enough.

A knock at the door interrupts my restless circuit. I freeze, muscles tensing instinctively. Is it time for another session with Dr. Faulkner? Another round of probing questions and patronizing smiles?

But when the door opens, it's not the doctor who enters. It's her - the night nurse with the kind eyes and gentle touch. Sarah, I think her name is. She's different from the others, less clinical, more... human.

"Good evening, Mr. Deveaux," she says, her voice soft and melodious. "How are you feeling tonight?"

I study her face, searching for any sign of the usual judgment or fear I see in the other staff. But there's nothing there but genuine concern.

"I'm fine," I lie, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Just another day in paradise."

Sarah's lips quirk in a small, sad smile. "I can imagine it must be difficult, being away from your loved ones."

The comment catches me off guard. It's not the usual scripted sympathy I've come to expect. For a moment, I let my mask slip, revealing a glimpse of the raw anguish beneath.

"You have no idea," I murmur, my voice rough with emotion.

She takes a step closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Actually, Mr. Deveaux... I think I might."

I tense, eyeing her warily. Is this some kind of trap? A new tactic to get me to open up, to spill my darkest secrets?

But then I see it - a flicker of something in her eyes. Understanding. Compassion. And beneath that... a hint of rebellion.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, hardly daring to hope.

Sarah glances over her shoulder, checking that the hallway is clear. Then she turns back to me, her expression intense.

"I've seen your file, Mr. Deveaux. I know why you're here. And I... I don't think it's right."

My heart rate picks up, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through me. "Go on," I urge, taking a step closer.

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "I've worked here for years, and I've seen a lot of patients come and go. But you... you're different. You don't belong here."

The words are like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. I grasp onto them, desperate for any shred of hope.

"You're right," I say, my voice low and urgent. "I don't belong here. I need to get out. I need to get back to her."

Sarah nods, a look of determination settling over her features. "I want to help you, Mr. Deveaux. But it won't be easy. The security here is tight, and Dr. Faulkner... he's not someone you want to cross."

I feel a feral grin spread across my face, a glimpse of the predator lurking beneath the surface. "I'm not afraid of Faulkner. Or anyone else who stands in my way."

For a moment, Sarah looks taken aback by the intensity in my eyes. But then she nods, a hint of admiration in her gaze.

"Alright then. Let's talk strategy."

Over the next hour, as Sarah goes about her rounds, we whisper back and forth, piecing together a plan. It's risky, fraught with potential pitfalls. But it's the best shot I've got.

As she prepares to leave, Sarah pauses at the door. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Deveaux? Once we set this in motion, there's no going back."

I think of Cara, of the life growing inside her. Of the future we should be building together.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I say, my voice hard with conviction.

She nods, a mix of respect and concern in her eyes. "Alright then. We'll start tomorrow night. Be ready."

As the door clicks shut behind her, I smile and for the first time since I've been locked in this godforsaken place, I feel truly alive.

I close my eyes, conjuring Cara's image in my mind. The soft curve of her cheek, the storm-grey of her eyes, the way her lips part on a gasp when I touch her just right.

"I'm coming, baby," I whisper into the darkness. "Hold on just a little longer."

The next twenty-four hours pass in a blur of anticipation and carefully concealed preparations. I go through the motions of my daily routine – therapy sessions, meals, supervised recreation time – all the while acutely aware of the ticking clock, counting down to our moment of truth.

When night falls, I'm coiled tight as a spring, every nerve ending alive with electric anticipation. I've memorized the guard rotations, the blind spots in the security cameras. I know exactly how long it takes for the night staff to respond to an emergency call.

At precisely 2:37 AM, right in the middle of the graveyard shift when alertness is at its lowest, Sarah appears at my door.

"It's time," she whispers, her face pale but determined.

I nod, adrenaline surging through my veins. This is it. Do or die.

Sarah pulls out a syringe, her hands steady as she prepares to inject me with a carefully measured dose of medication. Just enough to mimic the symptoms of a severe allergic reaction, but not enough to cause any lasting damage.

As the needle pierces my skin, I close my eyes, thinking of Cara. Of her smile, her laugh, the way she fits so perfectly in my arms. The memory of her is a talisman, a shield against the fear and doubt that threaten to overwhelm me.

The effects hit fast. My throat tightens, my breathing becoming labored. Hives erupt across my skin, angry and red. It's uncomfortable as hell, but it's nothing compared to the agony of being separated from Cara.

Sarah hits the emergency call button, her voice pitched high with convincing panic. "Code Blue in Room 237! Patient in anaphylactic shock!"

The response is immediate. Alarms blare, footsteps thunder down the hallway. In the chaos that ensues, no one notices Sarah slipping me a small key, pressed into my palm with a whispered, "Godspeed."

I wait, every muscle coiled tight, ready to spring. The moment the security guard turns his back, distracted by the flurry of medical activity, I make my move.

The world narrows to a series of fragmented, adrenaline-sharpened moments. The cool metal of the key in my hand. The soft click of the lock disengaging. The rush of cool air as I slip out the window, muscles straining as I lower myself to the ground.

And then I'm running, my bare feet pounding against the dew-damp grass. The fence looms before me, a final obstacle between captivity and freedom. I scale it with desperate strength, ignoring the bite of metal against my palms.

As I drop to the other side, the reality of what I've done hits me like a freight train. I'm out. I'm free.

But I'm not safe. Not yet.

I force my aching legs to keep moving, pushing deeper into the wooded area surrounding the facility. The night air is crisp against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. It's intoxicating after months of recycled air and antiseptic.

I don't know how long I run, driven by pure instinct and the burning need to put as much distance between myself and that place as possible. But eventually, my body betrays me. My lungs scream for air, my muscles trembling with exertion.

I collapse against the trunk of a massive oak, my chest heaving as I gulp in oxygen. For a moment, I allow myself to feel the full weight of what I've done. The enormity of the task still ahead of me.

But then I think of Cara. Of our baby. And I know that no matter what happens, no matter what obstacles still lie in my path, I'll face them all. I'll move heaven and earth to get back to her.

As the first hints of dawn begin to lighten the eastern sky, I push myself to my feet. I'm exhausted, filthy, dressed only in the thin pajamas provided by the facility. But I'm free. And I'm one step closer to Cara.

I take a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill my lungs. Then I start walking, each step taking me further from my past and closer to my future.

"I'm coming, Cara," I whisper, the words a promise and a prayer. "Wait for me, baby. I'm coming home."

The world stretches out before me, vast and unknown. But for the first time in months, I feel a surge of hope. Because no matter what lies ahead, no matter what challenges I must face, I know one thing with absolute certainty.

Nothing will keep me from Cara. Nothing will stop me from claiming what's mine.

Let them try to stand in my way. Let Elaine, let Faulkner, let the whole fucking world try to keep us apart.

They have no idea what I'm capable of. What I'll do to get back to the woman I love.

I am coming, Cara. And heaven help anyone who tries to stop me.

As I make my way through the dense underbrush, my mind races with plans and contingencies. I need clothes, money, a way to contact Cara without alerting my mother or her cronies.

The rising sun paints the sky in shades of pink and gold, a beauty I haven't witnessed in far too long. But I can't afford to stop and admire it. Every second I'm out in the open is a risk.

I stick to the shadows, avoiding main roads and open areas. My bare feet are cut and bruised from the rough terrain, but I barely feel the pain. It's nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the desperate need to see Cara, to hold her in my arms again.

As I crest a small hill, I spot a house in the distance. It's modest, set back from the road, with a pickup truck parked in the driveway. Perfect.

I approach cautiously, every sense on high alert. The house seems quiet, no signs of movement inside. Probably the owners are still asleep, or maybe they've already left for work.

Either way, it's my best chance at getting what I need.

I circle around to the back, relief flooding through me when I spot a clothesline laden with freshly washed garments. I grab a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, pulling them on quickly. They're a bit large, but it's better than the hospital pajamas.

Next, I turn my attention to the truck. It's older, probably not equipped with an alarm system. I say a silent prayer of thanks to my misspent youth as I jimmy the lock, the skill coming back to me as if it were yesterday.

The engine rumbles to life, and for a moment I'm frozen, half expecting lights to flick on in the house, for someone to come running out. But there's nothing. Just the quiet of the early morning, broken only by the purr of the engine.

I pull out of the driveway, my heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and fear. I'm really doing this. I'm really free.

As I merge onto the highway, heading towards the city - towards Cara - I allow myself a moment to breathe. To feel the full weight of my newfound freedom.

But with that freedom comes a crushing realization. I have no idea where Cara is, no way to contact her without potentially exposing myself. For all I know, my mother could have her under surveillance, waiting for me to make exactly this kind of move.

The thought sends a chill down my spine. What if I'm walking into a trap? What if, in my desperation to get back to Cara, I'm actually putting her in danger?

No. I can't think like that. I have to trust in Cara, in the bond we share. She's smart, resourceful. She'll have found a way to protect herself, to stay one step ahead of my mother's machinations.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. I'll find her. No matter what it takes, I'll find her.

As the miles fly by, I let my mind wander to thoughts of Cara. Of the life growing inside her, a perfect blend of her and me. A surge of protective fury wells up inside me at the thought of anyone - my mother, Faulkner, anyone - trying to keep me from them.

I imagine holding Cara in my arms again, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. I picture her swollen with our child, glowing and beautiful. The image is so vivid, so real, that for a moment it's like she's right there beside me.

"Soon, baby," I murmur, the words carried away by the rush of wind through the open window. "We'll be together soon."

As the sun climbs higher in the sky, I know I need to ditch the truck. It's too risky to keep driving something that's surely been reported stolen by now.

I pull off at a rest stop, abandoning the vehicle in the far corner of the parking lot. From here, I'll have to continue on foot, at least until I can find another means of transportation.

As I walk along the side of the road, thumb out in the universal sign of a hitchhiker, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of my situation. Juniper Deveaux, heir to a vast fortune, reduced to thumbing rides like a common drifter.

But I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. I'd crawl through hell on my hands and knees if it meant getting back to Cara.

A semi-truck pulls over, the driver eyeing me warily. "Where you headed, son?"

I hesitate for a moment, weighing my options. Then I think of Cara, of the baby, and I know there's only one possible answer.

"Home," I say, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm going home."

As I climb into the cab, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. I'm on my way, one step closer to Cara with every mile that passes.

Watch out, world. Juniper Deveaux is coming home. And nothing will stand in my way.