Chapter 606 - 202 Into the Den

Chapter 606: Chapter 202 Into the Den

Claire’s POV

How far I have fallen! After spending decades clawing my way to the top of the Sullivan family empire, look at me now—trapped in this revolting cell, forced to wear this hideous orange uniform and these disgusting plastic sandals. I absolutely despise cheap footwear! My once perfectly styled auburn hair now shows several inches of gray roots, and my previously immaculate manicured nails are chipped and broken. What a complete disaster!

"Prisoner, face the wall and put your hands through the slot behind you." A heavyset woman in a guard uniform appeared at my cell door. Whoever claimed that dark colors are slimming clearly never saw this woman—she looked like an overstuffed cushion wrapped in that black uniform.

"Why? Do I have a visitor?" I asked, keeping my chin raised. I never bowed to anyone, not even in this hellhole.

I had been expecting Justin to visit. It had been some time since my ungrateful son seized control of my legal affairs and vanished without a trace, never bothering to inform me whether he had liquidated the estate. That incompetent public defender came with some ridiculous story about Justin selling my mansion and luxury vehicles before fleeing the city, but I refused to believe such nonsense.

Justin would never betray me like that.

"This ain’t a hotel, lady! Today isn’t visiting hours. You’re being transferred to general population," the guard said with a cruel smirk.

"What population? What are you talking about?" These people spoke in some crude dialect I could barely comprehend.

"You’re going to bunk with three other inmates. Now do what I ordered, and make it snappy."

"Share quarters with others? Dear God, things just keep deteriorating! It’s not sufficient that I’ve been trapped in this filthy cage, now you want to throw me in with three complete strangers? Absolutely unacceptable!"

The guard released a harsh cackle that only aggravated me further.

"Lady, the cell is what we call a ’house’ around here. That’s prison terminology."

"Lord preserve me, what crude language you people employ."

"Well, you better start learning it fast. Everything has a different title in here. Now turn around—I’ve wasted enough time on your royal highness already."

"Why do I need to—" The guard interrupted me mid-sentence.

"TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT! I’M NOT YOUR PERSONAL ASSISTANT!" She bellowed so forcefully I decided to comply. I didn’t understand the hierarchy here yet. I had only arrived at this correctional facility recently when they shoved me into that disgusting solitary cell. Better to observe and determine how to manipulate the system later.

The guard dragged me from the cell and shoved me down the corridor. Two additional guards trailed behind us, examining me from head to toe before beginning their vulgar commentary.

"This one thinks she’s aristocracy—look at that disgusted expression while she inspects everything," one guard remarked.

"Wait until she gives that attitude to the Slasher. She’ll get her face rearranged real quick!" the other responded. They erupted in laughter, leaving me wondering who this "Slasher" character might be.

After navigating through multiple corridors and entering another wing, I observed rows of cells. The guard transferred me to another officer who escorted me to a small chamber and commanded me to disrobe.

"What kind of asylum is this?" I protested immediately. I wasn’t about to strip naked before this stranger.

"Don’t test me, princess. Remove the uniform now. I need to conduct a full body search," she barked while pulling on a latex glove.

Reluctantly, I removed my clothing and endured the most humiliating ordeal of my existence. It was more degrading than any medical examination I had ever experienced.

Afterward, the woman instructed me to redress and pushed me out the door.

"She’s all yours. Cell twelve," she informed two waiting guards.

They marched me to a cell at the end of a hallway and thrust me inside, securing the bars before removing my restraints.

"There you go! The princess will be calling this house home for quite some time. Your cellmates will return soon—they’re at yard time, but you’re staying inside today," one guard explained.

"Yard time? Is there recreational facilities here? Do we sunbathe?" I asked, horrified at the thought. My complexion would be destroyed without proper sun protection.

"This one’s completely clueless. Listen, princess, yard time is your brief time outside the cell each day. A pathetic amount of time in the courtyard to mingle," the guard replied, adding a warning before departing. "Take whichever bunk is available, and don’t touch anyone else’s property unless you want serious trouble. The Slasher is your cellmate, and she’s dangerous news."

"Dangerous news? What does that mean?" I shouted, but the guard had already departed.

I remained alone, leaning against the concrete wall. The bed had a paper-thin mattress without linens. When I had arrived, besides this uniform and sandals, they had provided me one roll of toilet paper, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and toothpaste—all terrible quality. The toilet paper felt like sandpaper against delicate skin. I needed to contact Justin; he was my only salvation.

Examining this cramped space designed for four people, I noticed the concrete bunks arranged like two sets on opposite walls. At the rear of the cell was an opening in the floor. No, it couldn’t be what I suspected. I noticed a pipe extending from the wall and only a partial barrier separating these fixtures from the rest of the cell.

What was this place?

Suddenly the cell door opened. Three women entered, and to my shock, I recognized one of them. Finally, something favorable—surely she would assist me.

"Well, look who’s checking into our luxury resort, ladies!" Aria displayed a smile.

"Aria! Thank heavens—someone I know. I need your assistance," I said, stepping toward her.

"Funny thing, Claire. I needed assistance too, and what did you do? You disappeared! The attorney said you never paid him and vanished." Aria’s expression hardened. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so accommodating after all.

"Slasher, is this the woman who left you hanging?" one of the others inquired.

"Slasher? That’s your nickname? And what’s this about abandoning you?" I asked, bewildered.

"God help me, this one’s going to be problematic!" Aria pressed her palms against her face in frustration. "Pay attention to how we communicate in here. ’Leaving someone hanging’ means making promises and disappearing—exactly what you did to me. And yes, I’m the Slasher. Earned that name because of what I accomplished outside and because I’m always cutting someone down in here."

"Cutting someone down?" I began to worry that being near Aria might be perilous.

"If someone disrespects me or crosses me, Claire, I leave their pretty face looking like a shredded puzzle. Comprehend?" Aria stepped closer, intimidating me with her glare. "Let me introduce my companions. This is Mocha—poisoned her spouse with contaminated chocolate milk. He was victim number six. And this is Guts-ripper. I don’t think I need to explain her specialty."

I examined Guts-ripper with her bulging eyes and nearly toothless grin, the few remaining teeth ranging from yellow to black.

"They call me Guts-ripper ’cause I like openin’ up stomachs and pullin’ out what’s inside... got nine while I was free... heh heh heh..." The terrifying woman cackled, her speech as broken as her dental work.

"Mocha, show our new roommate around the estate," Aria commanded, clearly the leader of this bizarre group. Mocha was an enormous woman with disproportionately large chest and surprisingly narrow hips, resembling a top-heavy bowling pin.

"Here, Madam, is your sleeping quarters, with this lovely view of the cell across the corridor." She indicated the bottom bunk. "The top one belongs to Slasher. On the other side, the top is mine and the bottom is Guts-ripper’s. Here is our spa—a shower with three temperature options: cold, freezing, and no water whatsoever." She pointed to the pipe on the wall.

"No water?" I asked, and she laughed.

"When the plumbing breaks down, Madam! And here’s the throne." She pointed to the opening in the floor.

"Throne? What throne? I don’t see any furniture. It’s just a hole. What is that for? And please tell me where the restroom is—I desperately need to use it. In my previous cell, there was no restroom, and at the police station, an officer would escort me when necessary."

"Well then, Madam, make yourself comfortable. See the throne?" I stared blankly, and she chuckled while shaking her head. "That hole in the floor. That’s our beautiful toilet. No seat, just squat and do your business, Madam. That’s all we have."

She walked away as I stood frozen, staring at the opening and wondering how I would use such a primitive facility.

Actually, how was I going to survive in this nightmarish place at all?