Chapter one

 

It was yet another day behind the bars.

The prison of Skovorodino was located in the outskirts of the city, ideally isolated from the heart of the town. Prisoners from all over the world were imprisoned here and every single one of them was extremely dangerous. They had all committed unthinkable, outrageous crimes and they deserved to go to hell. That was exactly where they went.

Skovorodino was an insignificant city near the borders of Russia. Its isolation from other countries along with its considerably small population made it the best place for such a massive prison. The criminals that ended up here were punished brutally, mercy not being a trait possessed by the people who worked there. There were prisoners of every sort, from mere pickpocketers to ruthless assassins. And they were all treated the same.

The security system followed there was extremely sophisticated to say the least. They knew what their prisoners were capable of and they weren’t taking any risks. Guards could be seen working along the clock and only the very best were hired. The entire compound was surrounded by a ten metre electric fence. Even if the prisoners managed to get past all of these, they still had to face the border guards who were on constant patrol, ready to kill anyone who strayed in their path. The entire system was flawless, a personification of perfection.

The latest additions to this hell of a place were John and Abraham, both in their mid-twenties. They had been directly involved in some sort of terrorist attack and they had certainly paid the price. John was African-American and had come to Russia in search of a permanent job (or so it had been told). Abraham, on the other hand, was Russian, though he had been brought up in America. Both John and Abraham had made the journey to Russia together. And they had ended up here.

It was an ordinary day inside the prison’s premises. The prisoners milled around, bored out of their minds. They had a day full of work ahead of them and life was as miserable as it could be. In a couple of minutes they would be ushered to the banquet hall where a breakfast of stale bread and murky soup would be served. They would then be forced to do whatever they were told to and those who refused were dealt with harshly.  Life was hell and the prisoners were ready to do almost anything to find a way out of this wretched place. The only problem was�"there wasn't.

 Most of the prisoners had started to accept their fates as if life in prison was nothing out of the ordinary. But John and Abraham were different. From the day they had come here, they had decided that they would escape, no matter what it took. They had their entire lives ahead of them and they weren't going to spend it rotting in this filthy place.

Before they had been caught, they had caused mayhem all over Russia and had emerged as two of most successful assassins in the world. They had worked together as a team and had accomplished unthinkable feats, their activities spurred on by anger and the thirst for revenge. Russia had treated them very badly and it had to pay.

 And pay it did.

 John had been brought up in an orphanage, a little building in the heart of the city. The entire orphanage had been run by Russians who had vowed that they cared only for the poor children and that profit had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Little did they know that it was this lie that would eventually lead to all their deaths.

 John had watched silently as all his friends were adopted one by one. But not a single person had spared him a second glance. John had been suffering from a horrid skin condition which had distorted his otherwise handsome complexion. All the people who had visited the orphanage had looked at him with apparent disgust, their disapproval clearly etched in their faces. They had ignored him, ignored the fact that he was a kid like any other, a kid who was yearning for the care and love that he had never been shown. The people in the orphanage, too, hated him and were constantly criticizing his every action. He was punished cruelly for every mistake that he made and at times they would even torture him, indifferent to his moans of pain and agony. All they cared about was for themselves and they didn't give a damn about the poor, homeless children. They would come, do their work and leave, ruining the lives of hundreds of kids along the way. Many children, feeling that even death would be relief from this misery, had attempted suicide, throwing away a life in which they could have accomplished so much.

One day it had all become too much and John had decided to leave, though he knew that it would be difficult for him to survive on his own. This was when he had met Abraham.

It had been a scorching day, the heat bearing down on his tanned skin. John had been wandering around as he usually did, looking for ways to get his hands on some cash. By that time, John had committed many a petty crime, thievery being the most common. Each time he stole, his conscience would prick him but he had quickly learnt to ignore it. If he wanted to live, he had to steal and there had been no alternative. Or so he told himself.

He had started out with small things and had worked it up slowly, his greed slowly taking control of his better side. And it was this greed that had lead him to one of the richest households in Russia- the Kingston Manor. He had known it would be near suicide to try and attempt a break-in but at the same time he knew that he had to try. Because this time it was not just for money. It was all about revenge.

For it had been Mr. Kingston, the multimillionaire owner of the manor, who had run the orphanage in which he had been subjected to such cruel treatment. John had decided to take an eye for an eye and he meant it quite literally. The ***** was going to pay.

He had planned everything carefully, quite aware of the fact that the smallest of mistakes could mean the difference between life and death. But in the end, it had all been so simple.

He had surveyed the place keenly, knowing that even the smallest detail could help him. To his surprise, there weren't any guards or even a watchman. Only the huge metal gate stood between him and his long sought retaliation.

 Did the fool think that being surrounded by money meant safety? If he had, he had certainly been wrong. John had wanted to break in as soon as possible but he forced himself to be patient, knowing that timing was crucial in this field of work. When he had finally decided that he was ready, he had made his way to were the manor lay, walking swiftly and silently over the withered autumn leaves. Making sure that there was no one around, John had proceeded further, his heart hammering against his rib-cage. The silence had unnerved him; he hadn't expected it all to be so easy. The gate had been locked as he knew it would. Using a piece of metal that he had found earlier, John had picked the lock within a matter of seconds. He had then entered cautiously, on the lookout for any signs of movement. There had been none.

He had trudged on slowly, afraid that he would be noticed by some passerby. As he neared the base of the gleaming oak door, he thought that he heard someone behind him.  A quick glance had told him that there was no one anywhere close. He must have had imagined it. Crouching down next to the door, he examined the lock. It was an antique lock with a sturdy build though its mechanism was quite the contrary. A single look told him that it would be impossible to pick. He had to find another way in. He walked around to the posterior part of the manor, panicking slightly. There was no back door.  That left him with only one option- the windows. All the windows were positioned at a height of at least ten meters from ground level. He looked around for some sort of foothold which could help him up. He couldn't find any.

He looked around for another possible way in, his heart beating frantically. This was when he saw it. The manor had a chimney, a wooden structure wide enough for a fairly skinny human to fit through. It would be a tight squeeze and a definite risk, but John knew that it was the only way. Reaching it was the only problem. Though it was at a level lower than that of the windows, it would still be difficult to reach. He looked around, searching for something that could help him. It had started to drizzle and this did nothing to elevate his spirit. The entire thing had been hopeless from the beginning; nothing had gone according to plan.

 This was when he realized that everything he needed was right in front of him. All he had to do was put them together. In a matter of minutes, he had climbed up on the chimney, satisfied with his work. All it had taken was some rope, which he had taken from the clothesline, along with some sturdy pieces of log. He had created a makeshift ladder which, though wobbly and unsteady, had served the purpose. He was now scaling the chimney, reluctant to make the journey down. The very thought of getting stuck in the middle made him tremble. But it had to be done.

He pushed himself inside the chimney, feet first. The sides of the chimney were blackened with soot, making it difficult to grip. He inched his way downwards, one step at the time. His shoulder rubbed against the rough chimney wall, sending pain coursing through his limp body. He was starting to feel claustrophobic, a feeling that he had never experienced before. The darkness was absolute and his line of vision was very limited. It was all he could do to push himself further in. He felt tears cascade down his face, the situation being too much for him to handle. He knew that he had to get a grip on himself. He hadn't come all this way to die.

Finally, after minutes of groping in the darkness, he could see light. He had neared the end of the tunnel; he was going to make it after all! He slid down the remaining length and into the floor below. Relief was the only emotion he felt.

And it didn't last for a second.

A young boy, about the same age as John, stood in front on him, armed with a low velocity pistol. He had obviously heard him shuffling down the chimney.

“Who are you?” the stranger questioned, pointing his gun at John in a way that told John that he had never used a gun in his life.

 John quickly took in his surroundings, looking for a way out of this terrible mess. He was presumably in the boy’s room and he had never before seen a room quite like it. It was huge, filled with everything a boy of John’s age could possibly want.

“Answer me!” the boy demanded, prodding John with the butt of the gun.

“I’m John,” he answered shortly, seeing no point in lying.

“What do you want?” the boy asked, looking at John with those brilliant blue eyes of his.

This confirmed John’s initial doubt. The boy was crazy. He had just broken into his house and the stupid boy was asking him what he wanted. Well, it would do no harm to play along with him.

“Mr. Kingston’s...” John started, but the boy interrupted.

“My father! What for?” the boy began but stopped himself after hearing the rest of John’s sentence;

“...life.” for John had finished, sure that the boy was about to fire at him.

The pampered boy looked at John with something quite like amusement. He paced the length of the room, looking back at John every so often. John was absolutely flabbergasted by the boy’s unexpected reaction. He had just told him that he wanted his father dead; surely that would invoke some sort of emotion in him! The boy, however, seemed indifferent to what John had said. He hadn't even asked John why he wanted to kill his father.

“Are you going to kill me?” asked John, knowing that it was a stupid question.

The boy looked at John, as though pondering for an answer.

“Not at all, I’m going to help you…” the kid replied, grinning at the shocked look on John’s face.

By now, John was sure that he was hallucinating. This absurd turn of events was too much for John to handle. Exhaustion and fatigue engulfed him and John slowly slipped into unconsciousness, unaware that his entire life was about to change.

Author's Note

please review. it matters a lot to me!

Reviews

[M.A.Rathore]

I think this is already read and revied by me. Though I can fill my strong favour to this piece saying that it is a superb story with vivid expression of so vibrant plot construction that let me follow the tradition of Serlock Homes by Aurther Canon Dyle' s story writing. I really like your prose to my heart. I would like to read you more and more...

[Surya pradha]

thanks a lot. really appreciate you reading my writing!

[M.A.Rathore]

Yes. Of course Surya

[Skai Rain]

So I would love to review this... but sadly my eyesight sucks. Would you be willing to make the font a little bigger so that it is easier for the reader?

[Surya pradha]

yeah sure, i'll do it soon...