Chapter 63: Sparks before the storm

Chapter 63: Sparks Before the Storm

Jake (Prison)

The news came in a whisper through the bars, passed from one mouth to another until it reached him like a dagger tucked inside a breath.

" Dr Martin is getting out?"

Jake sat on the lower bunk, his palms open on his knees, staring straight ahead at nothing; the words didn't make sense at first; his cellmate was rambling about legal loopholes, a spineless judge, a transfer to a cozy psychiatric wing, Jake barely heard him.

But then the guards confirmed it, and Jake stopped breathing.

He stood slowly, the motion stiff and deliberate, like each joint was trying to hold him back, His fingers curled around the cold iron bars as he looked down the corridor, trying to process the rising heat in his chest.

" He is not supposed to walk", Jake said, his voice barely above a whisper. " Not after what he did " , his voice cracked.

His cellmate glanced at him, uneasy. " Word is, he got a judge by the throat, Not literally, Blackmail, maybe, who knows?" he said.

Jake shut his eyes, pressing his forehead to the bars, Valerie's voice echoed in his mind,...shaky, tearful, the night he got arrested in front of her and his daughter Audrey.

" He said, My Dad was killed and buried in front of my own eyes, and Dr Martin called the police, and I was arrested along with Ryan as an accomplice for a murder I did not commit.

" Audrey,".... Jake called out; his voice was low but firm.

His child was in a world where Dr Martin was free.

He spun, fist colliding with the wall so hard that the pain shot up his arms. " How the hell is this happening?" He roared, " He should be locked away!" for good.

The guard banged on the cell door. “Jake! Cool it!”

But Jake was shaking now, fury and helplessness battling in his veins, " He will go after Valerie, He will go after them, That's is what he does, He doesn't stop", until you are ruined.

The cellmate stood slowly, eyes wary. “Hey, man, don’t do anything stupid. They’ll toss you in the hole.”

Jake laughed, bitter and breathless. “What hole’s worse than this? Knowing he’s out there and I can’t do a damn thing?”

He collapsed onto the bunk, elbows on his knees, hands clawing through his hair.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Eventually, he lifted his head and turned toward the tiny metal desk in the corner. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the pencil stub and a scrap of paper tucked underneath.

He began to write—messy, urgent strokes.

Valerie,

He’s getting out. Dr Martin. Protect our daughter. Whatever you do, don’t try to fight him alone. He’ll come for you, for Audrey. I’m still trapped here—but I swear to you, if there’s a way out, I’ll find it. And when I do… I’ll burn the world to keep her safe.

He folded the note, his jaw clenched tight.

The walls of the prison were thick.

But not thicker than a father’s will.

—

A few days later,

The letter didn’t help.

Writing it had steadied his hands for a while, but the storm inside Jake hadn’t passed—it had just settled under the surface, waiting for a crack.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

Every creak of the prison pipes sounded like footsteps. Every flicker of fluorescent light cast long, twisted shadows on the wall. In the silence of his cell, Jake’s breath felt too loud, too sharp—like he didn’t belong to the stillness anymore.

He lay on the bunk, staring at the ceiling, lips moving silently:

"Audrey. Valerie. Audrey. Valerie."

He couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes—that look she gave him in the hospital hallway all those years ago. The day she was born.

He thought he'd done the noble thing. Marry. Protect the family name. Keep Valerie out of the fire.

Instead, he’d become the match.

Now Martin was free, and Jake was shackled. And somewhere out there, Valerie was alone with their child.

Jake sat up suddenly as if pulled by invisible wires. He climbed down from the bunk and stood in the center of the cell, breathing hard, fists clenched.

He couldn’t just wait.

He needed to do something.

The next morning, he asked for the law library.

The guard raised a brow. “Since when are you the academic type?”

Jake didn’t flinch. “Since now.”

The library was cold and smelled like dust and ink. Jake took a seat and started flipping through legal volumes, filing paperwork for visitation rights, requesting updates on Martin’s transfer, and even reviewing his case files.

It was all a maze—dense and deliberate. Designed to waste time. But Jake read. Every page. Every footnote.

There has to be a weakness, he thought. Something they missed. Something I can use to get out faster.

After hours of reading, his eyes burned, but his hands were steadier than they had been in days.

Later that evening, a guard slipped an envelope under his door.

Jake stared at it like it might explode.

He picked it up. No return address. Just one word on the front, written in sleek, mechanical handwriting.

“Father.”

His heart sank.

He tore it open.

Inside, a single photo.

Audrey

She was laughing—head thrown back, curls wild, clutching a teddy bear almost as big as her. Valerie must have taken it recently. The background was blurred, but Jake thought he recognized a park bench he used to take Valerie to when they were kids.

On the back of the photo, scribbled in blue ink:

You said she was mine.

I believe you now.

But believing isn’t enough.

Bring me my daughter.

—M.

Jake dropped the photo.

His knees nearly gave.

Dr. Martin had found her.

Or at least, he was getting closer.

Jake staggered backward, slamming into the wall of his cell, breath ragged, fury building like a wave.

He wasn’t just locked up. He was being played.

And now the serpent had set his sights on the flame Jake helped ignite.

Jake pressed his hands flat against the concrete wall, face inches away, whispering like a vow.

“I will get out. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll find you, Martin.”

He closed his eyes.

“And I’ll end you.”

Jake didn’t sleep that night.

He couldn’t.

He stared at that photo until the image of Audrey burned behind his eyelids every time he blinked. Her smile—innocent, unknowing—felt like a knife twisting in his gut. And Martin’s message? A noose tightening around his sanity.

Bring me your wife…

Jake could still hear Valerie’s scream in the courtroom when he was sentenced. The betrayal she felt. The heartbreak. The hate.

He had lost her.

But she was still his to protect.

The next morning, Jake paced his cell like a caged wolf. A plan was forming—half-mad, maybe—but plans born in desperation always were.

He scribbled names on toilet paper scraps. Names of guards. Inmates. Lawyers. People with leverage. He watched. Listened. Waited.

And then something strange happened.

Around noon, a new guard appeared. Young. Clean-shaven. Too polished for a place like this. He barely spoke, just scanned the block with cold, curious eyes before slipping something—barely noticeable—through the bars of Jake’s cell.

A tiny folded note.

Jake’s eyes snapped to it.

He waited until the guard disappeared before unfolding it beneath his blanket.

"He wants to speak to you. Midnight. Chapel."

That was it.

No signature.

Jake’s pulse quickened.

Dr Martin.

He was inside?

Or someone working for him was.

Either way, Jake was about to walk into the lion’s mouth.

Midnight came slowly.

The chapel was dark and abandoned, dust swirling in the weak shaft of moonlight spilling through the stained glass.

Jake slipped in through the side door, heart pounding, eyes scanning the shadows.

And then—movement.

A figure stepped out from behind the altar, silhouetted by the colored light.

Not Dr Martin.

But familiar.

Too familiar.

Jake froze.

“You?” he whispered, disbelief cutting through the tension like a blade. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The figure smiled faintly, eyes gleaming.

“You think Dr Martin’s the only one playing a long game?”

Befor

e Jake could move, the door behind him slammed shut.

Locked.

From the outside.

And the figure stepped closer—calm, methodical—holding something in their hand.

A phone.

Already recording.

Already broadcasting.