2The Escort looked around the dark, damp room she was currently in. She was sat on a moulded, wooden stool that had uneven legs and therefore wobbled upon the slightest movement, and was surrounded by four black walls. Murky water dripped from the leaky roof, landing in a bucket that was gradually filling. There was a small square window at the back, with three iron prongs securely inside the shaft, preventing escape during interrogation. The Escort shivered. Somehow, even though it was summer, inside the jail cell it felt freezing cold. A person had been executed in here...the man who she had heard being interrogated just the night before had been shot by the Jailor, who didn't believe his plead for innocence. It turned out he was the Serial Killer. Now it was her turn.
All she had to do was lie successfully and the Jailor would let her go. One of her greatest talents, and one of the main reasons she joined the mafia in the first place was because of her ability to manipulate and deceive. Sure, she had a pretty face, but behind the good looks and beautiful eyes lay a clever mind, trained in trickery. She tried to stay calm. She stared at the Jailor as he placed a bullet in his gun, sliding the latch open and putting it in, ready to shoot having heard the slightest whiff of a lie. It would be even harder for her to claim Escort than it originally would be too, as the true Escort had died only two days before.
The day had ended just a few hours before, with no lynchings taking place but a lot of accusations, including many on her. It wasn't enough to get her up to the pedestal to plead her case, but definitely enough to make people suspicious, which was likely why the Jailor had captured her. She had been walking towards the mafia hideout when out of nowhere he gripped her wrist and practically dragged her to the cell; there was absolutely nothing she could do. Now, here she waited, ready for him to ask his first question.
"So," he paused to take a drink of water from a glass before gently placing it on a wooden shelf, leaving a ring of water on the surface. "You claim to be the Escort, correct?"
"Yes." The Consort replied, with no sense of worry or fear in her voice. She stared straight ahead, right into the Jailor's eyes, unmoving. Despite her exterior showing no signs of intimidation, inside her mind was whirring. She did NOT want to be killed tonight. She would NOT be killed tonight.
"I have a hard time believing that, and I think you probably know why. The Escort was lynched two days ago, and I really doubt that you could also be one. The pile of evidence stacking against you is getting higher and higher, and I'm not sure if I should allow you to walk free..." The Jailor said. The Consort noticed immediately that he was in complete disbelief of what to do based on his speech and body movement. She had to take advantage of that.
"Are you kidding me? Why are you so untrusting of people? First the poor Escort, and now me!? What's wrong with you? If you kill me, everyone in the town will be against you. You'll have helped kill two INNOCENT people. People with lives; hopes and ambitions once they get out of this mess! You still have time. Let me go. Trust me. I'm the Escort." The Consort's mouth ran at the speed of a rushing waterfall, crashing onto the sharp rocks below. While she spoke she glared fiercely at the Jailor, her eyes burning into his brain, mentally attacking him. The Jailor listened to her words, and for a moment looked like he was going to unlock the cell door and allow the Consort to walk free, but then he remembered who the prisoner was and his eyes narrowed.
"You've given me no proof to make me think you're innocent! All you've done is yell at me! You're trying to mess with my mind, you mafia scum! You...you're the Consort!" The Jailor growled angrily, putting his face right up close to the bars, nothing but rage on his face. His hand was planted firmly on the gun, inching further towards the trigger. The Consort's eyes widened slightly, and fear suddenly whipped around her body as if she were being attacked with a belt. Her hope was starting to falter. He had literally just named the exact personshe was, and seemed completely certain of his choice to execute her. What could she do!? She didn't have much time left!
"L-listen to me! You're making a rash decision! You may not have any proof that guarantees my innocence, but what evidence do you have that proves I'm guilty!? The people accusing me could be members of the mafia themselves! This is a dumb idea! I'm the Escort!" The Consort cried, standing up from her stool and hearing it clatter to the ground. The Jailor's fingers snaked towards the trigger. She gritted her teeth. "Please...I don't want to be killed! I don't want to die!"
The Jailor stopped. His fingers let go of the trigger. He watched as the Consort started crying immensely; the tears ran down her face, streaking her eyeliner, and she seemed completely hopeless and in despair. She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her gloved hand. She lay on the wet ground, seemingly waiting for her execution to commence. Suddenly, the Jailor felt incredibly guilty. Was he making the right decision doing this? If she truly was the Consort, then it would aid the town heavily...but what if she wasn't? What if she was innocent, really was the Escort? He scratched at his head, extremely conflicted.
The Consort also had another talent. The ability to fake emotions. It didn't take her long to start bawling her eyes out, appear pathetic, desperately wanting to survive. She knew the Jailor was still thinking, and she was ecstatic. It was tough to pull off, but she really thought she was going to survive. She continued to cry, hearing nothing but her constant, seemingly endless sobs and sniffles. The Jailor stared at his gun for a moment before slamming it on the shelf.
"Okay, okay! I believe you! Don't think the suspection is even close to being away from you, however. The mafia is still at large, and I'm going to do everything in my power to stop them." The Jailor muttered, rustling his hand around in his pocket for his ring of keys before proceeding to pull them out and walk slowly towards the cell door. He stood in front of it, searching for the right key, while the Consort waited.
All of a sudden, the jail door opened extremely slowly and quietly, enveloping the room in the light of the approaching morning. The Jailor did not hear as the keys constantly slamming against each other took up his entire hearing space. The Consort gasped slightly to see the Godfather quietly walk in, clutching a knife in his left hand. Upon seeing the Consort, he rose a finger to his lips and she didn't respond; she didn't want the Jailor knowing who was behind him under any circumstances. Her body started shaking and her breathing quickened slightly. The Godfather crept closer and closer to the unsuspecting townie, who had finally found the key and rose it to the lock. The Godfather stood behind the Jailor, slowly lifting up the knife, his eyes focused on the back of his target, his pupils completely unmoving. He was totally silent, and the Consort respected this attribute of him.
The Jailor stuck the key in the lock, and as he turned it and the cell door opened the Godfather thrust the knife into his back, penetrating through the thin flesh, the blade going almost completely inside the poor man's body. His eyes widened but he didn't speak, he only coughed. As he did this, a small spot of blood came out of his mouth as if it were saliva, landing on the Consort's clothes. She wiped the blood off with her hand, then stared solemnly at the Jailor, no expression or sense of remorse on her face. The Godfather, with a slight groan of effort, yanked the knife out of his back and pushed the Jailor to the floor. As he fell, the man looked at the Consort and the only thing she could see in his eyes was betrayal before he hit the floor, completely motionless. Blood poured out of the wound on his back. The Consort and Godfather looked into each other's eyes.
"We have to get back." The man said, wiping his knife on the Jailor's clothes and slipping it back into his pocket before turning swiftly and leaving the jail. The Consort gingerly stepped over the corpse, ignoring the feeling of nausea growing in her stomach, and focused on escaping with nobody seeing her. This was her life now, and she had to accept it. The life of crime. The life of lies. The life...of the mafia.
