Page 10 of Caretaker

Chapter Four

It took fifteen minutes to get to Byrd Island.

With Shane on one side and Alejandro on the other, I stood on the dock, clutched my pass, and waited for the shuttle that would take us to the prison.

The island was beautiful. A tiny piece of sunny, peaceful, isolated land upon which had been built barracks for employees and guests who needed to stay over, the warden’s small cottage—though, from what I’d heard he stayed only on the weekends, preferring the comfort of his city home. There was a helipad, a chapel, and a dining hall for anyone who wasn’t an imprisoned supernatural.

The contrast of the ugly, hulking horror of a prison was startling and extreme, like a rotting, putrid face on the body of a gorgeous woman.

And it was just as scary. At least to me. The cheerful brightness couldn’t conceal the ominous malice of the prison island.

It was surprisingly busy. Three uniformed workers clad in white overalls stood smoking and laughing, and a uniformed security guard strolled by, giving us a cursory glance and a quick nod as he passed us. Two skinny dogs had a quick scuffle and then raced away, barking.

And every single bit of it felt…wrong.

“Are you all right?” Al asked me.

“She’s fine,” Shane said.

I just nodded.

The shuttle rumbled toward us and after we climbed on and took our seats, I took a few deep breaths, forced my body to relax, and tried to calm down.

I was about to see Angus. I was about to give him some hope.

He was getting out of there. Not today, but soon.

Very soon.

I should have been ecstatic, but I didn’t half believe it myself. And I was just afraid.

When we came to the gates that surrounded the prison, everything changed. There was no lush green brightness inside those gates. The area surrounding the prison had been planned with grimness and starkness in mind—perhaps they hadn’t wanted the prisoners to partake of the beauty that belonged to the island.

“Like night and day.” Al pulled at the neck of his shirt and cleared his throat, and I knew I wasn’t the only one to feel the wickedness.

“Hard to breathe here, isn’t it?” I murmured.

“Going to be worse inside those walls.” Shane pointed his chin at the looming building. “Prepare yourselves.”

“That’s an impossible request.” I tried for a smile and failed miserably.

“Have a good day,” our driver said as we left the vehicle. “I’ll return in one hour.”

“An hour,” I said. “That’s not enough time.”

He looked surprised. “Visitors are allowed an hour.” He pursed his lips. “Not that the inmates get many visitors. I’ll be back in an hour, either way. If you’re late, you can always walk back to the docks.”

I took a deep breath, but the air in the shaded courtyard was damp and musty and old, somehow, and the sun didn’t touch us.

The bus lumbered off, leaving the three of us staring at the huge, silver-plated portcullis that stood between us and the interior of the prison. A metal sign, rusty and dented, decorated the green-tinged façade.

Visitor’s Entrance.

Ring bell for admittance.

I strode forward and pressed the large, dirty red button on the side of the wall. I expected someone to call out, to demand to see our identifications or passes, but after a brief pause, the portcullis began to slide up.

We walked into the prison, and I kept my mind on one thing. Angus. Angus was inside, and I was about to see him.