More than that, there was David’s father, Lenny. Lenny and Adam’s own father — what was the saying?
The sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons.
He should have been visiting his old friend all along. So why hadn’t he? At first, David refused any visitors. Yeah, okay, but Adam could have tried harder. He just gave up. He didn’t have the strength. That was what he told himself. The man incarcerated in this hellhole wasn’t his best friend. His best friend was gone. He had been bludgeoned to death and left for dead with his son.
Adam was about to shift his legs when he heard the door to his father’s office swing open.
A gruff voice said, “What the hell is going on?”
Oh shit.
Adam grabbed the ropes and began to wind them around his legs. He lifted the handkerchief up to his mouth so that it would appear to be a gag. The plan was simple. If anyone found him before his father got back, Adam was supposed to make it look like he was in the midst of escaping.
Another voice said, “I told you. He’s gone.”
Gruff Voice: “How the hell can he be gone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s the inmate?”
“You mean he didn’t return him before he left?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I work in that wing. I think I’d know if the inmate who tried to murder me was back in his cell.”
Adam stayed very still.
“Maybe another guy escorted Burroughs back.”
“No, that would be my job.”
“But you just said you were on break, right? Maybe the warden was in a rush, you know? Maybe he got one of the other guys to do it.”
“Maybe.” But Gruff Voice sounded dubious.
“I’ll call and check. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”
“I just saw him with somebody. The warden, I mean. In the parking lot.”
“That was probably his kid.”
“His kid?”
“Yeah, he’s a cop.”
“He brought his kid today?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“I don’t get it. The warden gets a call one of his correctional officers was nearly killed by a prisoner — and he decides it’s Bring Your Son to Work Day?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Gruff Voice says, “Think we should sound the alarm?”
“For what? We don’t even know if Burroughs is missing. Let’s call your cell block and solitary. See if he’s there first.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then we sound the alarm.”
There was a short pause. Then Gruff Voice said, “Yeah, all right. Let’s make the call.”
“We can use my phone. It’s next door.”
Adam heard the two men leave. He stood. The closet was suddenly stifling. Adam felt trapped, claustrophobic. He tried the knob. Locked. Of course. His father had locked him in to make it all look good.
Christ, so now what?
Things were unraveling fast. It wouldn’t be long now. They’d make the call. They’d find out there was no David. The alarm would sound. Damn. He tried the knob again, turning it harder. No go.
No choice now.
He had to break down the door. The shoulder wouldn’t work as well. Trying to break a door down with your shoulder only leads to dislocation. With his back pressed against the back of the closet, Adam lifted his foot. He checked to see which way the hinges were facing. If the door opens toward you, there is little chance for success. But that wasn’t the case here. Very few closets open to the inside. Not enough space. Second thing, you always kick to the side where the lock is mounted. That’s the weakest part. Using the back of the closet as leverage, Adam drove his heel hard into the area just below the knob. It took three tries, but eventually the door gave way. Adam blinked into the light and stumbled toward his father’s desk.
He picked up the landline. It took him a few seconds to remember his father’s number — like most people, Adam hadn’t seen a need to memorize it — but it came to him.
Adam dialed and heard the phone ring.
When Philip’s car glides to a stop behind a large white truck, a guard comes toward us with a handheld device.
“Just keep your brim down,” Philip says.
The guard circles the car, staring at the device in his hand. He pauses by the trunk before continuing his sweep.
“What is that?” I ask.
“A heartbeat monitor,” Philip replies. “It can actually sense a beating heart through walls.”
“So if anybody is hiding in the back or in the trunk...”
Philip nods. “We find them.”
“Thorough,” I say.
“There hasn’t been an escape at Briggs since I’ve been warden.”
I keep my face turned away until the guard is back in his booth. He nods at Philip. Philip gives him a friendly wave. I wait for the electronic gates to slide open. It seems to be taking an inordinately long time, but I imagine that’s more in my head than reality. I stare out at the twelve-foot-high fence of chain-link, topped with coiling circles of barbed wire. The grass along the perimeter is surprisingly lush and green, like something you might see on a golf course. On the other side of the grass, not far past the fence, the landscape becomes thick with trees.
I start breathing faster. I’m not sure why. I feel as though I’m hyperventilating and maybe I am.
I have to get out of here.
“Steady,” Philip says.
Then the phone rings.
It’s hooked up to the car, so the sound is jarringly loud. I look at the screen and it reads NO CALLER ID. I turn to Philip. His face registers confusion. He takes the phone off the cradle and puts it to his ear.
“Hello?”
Sounds like Adam. I can’t make out his words, but I hear panic in his tone. I close my eyes and will myself to stay calm. The gates start to slide open with a grunt, as though reluctant to move. The white truck is still in front of us.
“Damn,” Philip says to the person on the phone.
“What?” I ask.
Philip ignores me. “How much time do we have before—?”
The prison’s escape siren shatters the still air.
The siren is deafening. I look at Philip. His expression is understandably grim. The gate, which had been almost fully open, stops and reverses course. I can see the tower guard on the phone. He drops the receiver and picks up a rifle.
“Philip?”
“Point the gun at me, David.”
I don’t ask for clarification. I do as he says. Philip hits the accelerator. He swerves to the right and then speeds in front of the white truck. He is headed toward the closing gate. He tries to drive through the opening. No go. The gate is no longer open enough for us to get through. Philip noses the car in. He stomps the accelerator to the floor. Our tires spin. He doesn’t let up on the gas pedal. The gate gives way, just a little. Not enough.
The guard with the rifle bursts out of the tower.
“Keep the gun on me!” Philip shouts.
I do.
The guard with the rifle suddenly stops and points the weapon at the car.
Philip shifts the car into reverse. He backs up, the gates scraping the sides of his car. He puts it back in drive and rams the gates again. They budge, but not by much. Two more guards are rushing at us now, both armed with handguns. I watch them close in. The gun feels heavy in my hand.