Kenneth didn’t need to be told twice.

He turned and ran down the corridor, disappearing into the red-tinted shadows.

Charles took my father’s left arm.

“Can you walk, Arthur?” Charles asked.

My father nodded slowly, though his knees were visibly shaking.

“I can walk,” my father said.

I took his other arm, supporting his weight.

We walked out of the cell and into the freezing corridor.

The siren continued to wail, a relentless, deafening shriek.

Every flash of the red lights cast long, distorted shadows on the walls.

We hurried down the hallway, our footsteps echoing loudly.

My father gripped my hand tightly as we walked.

“The manager,” my father whispered suddenly.

“What about him, Dad?” I asked.

“The man who brought me here,” my father said, his voice trembling.

“He had a deep scar on his left wrist.”

“He told me if I ever tried to escape, he would find you and make you pay.”

My blood ran cold.

The image of Trevor’s wrist flashed in my mind.

I had seen that exact scar every time he handed me my work schedules at the Crystal Oak.