Page 10 of Into Hell: Prelude (Holding Cell: Return to the Island)

T his is wrong—so wrong—on so many levels , Evon reflected, gently shaking his head and letting out an exhausted sigh that seemed to echo across the deserted park.

Why did you do that, Garen? I understand why you wanted to play the hero—your cause is truly noble— but you should have spoken with Hayrik first , the thoughts swirling in his mind like a restless wind.

The park across from the school was deserted at that time of day, a huge stretch of silence broken only by the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

With all the children in class, the swings hung still, and the merry-go-round was motionless, casting long shadows on the ground.

Not a single adult was in sight, making the area feel eerily quiet.

The boy walked over to one of the worn wooden benches, the autumn leaves crunching under his feet, and sat down heavily, his head hanging low, face buried in his hands as if trying to hide from the world.

With another sigh, more resigned than the last, he began to mentally revisit the series of events that had brought him to this solitary spot, far from the comfort of his home and the familiar surroundings he once took for granted.

It began months earlier with a heartfelt conversation between his older brother, Garen—home from college in Chicago, where he was studying to be a social worker—and their father, who praised his eldest son’s academic achievements and career choice.

Encouraged by their father’s support, Garen shared his passion to be more than a social worker and hoped to join the fight against child sex traffickers, specifically mentioning Ardan MacNamara, the visionary behind The Base, a group committed to dismantling human trafficking rings.

Expressing disapproval, their father vetoed the idea, fearing for Garen’s safety, and noting that Garen, being his eldest, was in line to take over his organization and the work for which he had dedicated his life.

To soften the blow, their father suggested that Garen’s goal remained achievable once his status within the organization was established.

At the right time, his social services experience would be invaluable.

Although Garen had listened attentively, Evon—who knew his brother well—suspected he was placating their father to convince him the matter was settled, while privately devising his own plans.

Evon was right; that very night, Garen entered Evon’s room and revealed his dicey plan to go undercover in a trafficking ring, posing as a trafficked victim.

Garen believed the victims would be moved to an undisclosed location within the city, where they would be sorted and auctioned off.

A few months earlier, Garen persuaded his father's security officer to give him one of the three unique, nearly indestructible phones he had designed, which had a month-long battery life and maintained signals nearly everywhere except in areas with high water content.

The officer agreed, seeing it as an opportunity to test the device's capabilities before presenting it to his boss.

Garen suspected the holding place for trafficked individuals was probably a warehouse or similar facility, so he was confident he could contact his father when needed. However, if the phone was lost or broken, he had a backup plan.

Evon would tell their father, who was traveling abroad, that he couldn't reach Garen. The father would then conduct a search using their Chicago network, confident it wouldn't take long to find Garen and the trafficked individuals.

Evon wondered what he'd gotten into, slowly shaking his head as he got up from the weathered bench and trudged down the dim alley. His head hung low, shoulders drooping with burdens. As if it wasn’t enough keeping his brother’s plan a secret, he wished to play his own superhero game. He shook his head in dismay.

A low rumble from his stomach resonated in the silent alley, signaling he hadn't eaten for more than twenty-four hours. That last meal was before he secretly boarded the private jet with Ardan MacNamara to return to New York City, following the gangster conference his father also attended.

Evon decided, 'Let the game begin,' as he approached the cluster of buildings housing the dining halls and kitchens. Although he despised the cheesy theatrics he was about to perform, he understood it was the only way to attract attention, earn trust, and persuade someone to lead him to The Base’s enigmatic leader.

Instead of entering, he paused by a dirty dumpster, pretending to be interested in the leftover trash, hoping his act would draw the right kind of attention.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the young man approaching, head bowed and shoulders slightly slumped, clearly lost in thought.

Just what I need, Evon thought, taking a deep breath and intentionally bumping into the oblivious pedestrian.

Sorry, man, but I couldn't think of a better way to get to your boss, he mentally apologized beforehand.

“I-I’m so sorry… I didn’t see you.” The blond, fragile boy clasped his hands, nervously interlocking his fingers, cowering as if the older boy might strike him.

“Hey, easy. It’s okay, no harm done. I’m Cian. What's your name?” Cian's voice was gentle and reassuring. He reached out cautiously, rubbing the boy's back in a soothing motion, disheartened at the boy’s thin frame, his ribs faintly visible beneath his shirt.

“I'm... Evon,” His words trembled out in a hushed voice. “Bob and Tim say my name is stupid,” he whispered. “They only say it to mock or humiliate me.” His lips, almost ghostly pale like his skin, moved minimally when he spoke, “I'm… worthless.” His chin trembled. “I-I shouldn’t be here… I’m… I’m sorry. ” He started to retreat.

“Whoa. Hey. Wait up. You’re welcome to stay.

” Cian's voice was calm and comforting, filled with empathy. “And don’t call yourself worthless. No one is worthless.” He tentatively rubbed Evon’s back.

“So, um, where were you headed when you nearly bowled me over?” His tone was gentle, hinting at humor as he tried to lighten the moment.

Evon flinched away from Cian's touch, curling his arms around himself as if to protect his delicate frame. “There…” He pointed a shaky finger toward the dumpsters. “I-I thought maybe… maybe there was some food… thrown out from breakfast… or something.”

“Why would you rummage through trash when the kitchen is open all day? There's plenty of fresh food for you to eat.” Cian's eyes narrowed as he studied the thin, blond boy, before a glimmer of understanding lightened his face. “Where you came from… were you punished if you asked for food?”

Evon nodded slowly, his head hanging like a wilting flower. His voice quivered with memories. “It's...those scary-looking men are tall and big, tattooed all over like Bob, and they wear those belts. I-I didn’t want to get hit. I can’t… take any more pain. Last time was...I wanted to die.”

“Hey, now. Listen. The guards are there to protect the kids inside The Base, not harm them. I know they look scary, but they’re just big teddy bears, I swear,” Cian reassured him with an amused smile.

“Okay…” Evon mumbled, raising his voice only slightly. “I mean, one of the guards I met last night… a tall one with long hair… he… he was nice.”

“That was Uncle Leon,” Cian said, his turquoise eyes lighting up with affection. “He’s the biggest teddy bear of them all, with a soft spot for all the kids here.”

“Is he here now?” Evon asked, catching Cian’s enthusiasm and speaking more energetically.

“No, he’ll be here a bit later to tour The Base and check on what needs fixing. He’s kind of our Mr. Fix-it around here.” Cian sighed and shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. You must be starving. Let’s go to the kitchen and get you something to eat.”

Evon nodded and followed the older boy into the vast dining hall, where grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the long mahogany table.

Cian gestured towards a seat, and Evon settled into the plush, high-backed chair while the other boy disappeared into the kitchen to fetch breakfast.

As he waited, Evon meticulously reviewed Garen's plan in his mind, revisiting each detail repeatedly. Everything was progressing smoothly, and he exhaled in relief. However, a twinge of guilt lingered because of his deceit in pretending to be a child abuse victim.

Evon attempted to rationalize his actions.

It wasn't a complete fabrication, he reasoned.

Those two incompetent guards who ought to protect him instead pilfered his food and hurled insults whenever Hairyk was absent, which had become a frequent occurrence.

Evon couldn't help but grin at the thought of Hairyk reprimanding them sternly for failing to keep track of him.

Cian returned, balancing a large plate stacked with a fluffy omelet, crispy roast sausages, a selection of shiny cutlery, creamy cheese, and golden-brown toast. He set it in front of Evon, who stared in disbelief at the generous spread.

With a warm smile and a friendly wave, Cian encouraged Evon to enjoy the meal.

After a moment of hesitation, Evon, delicate and cautious, began to eat, glancing nervously around the room as he savored each bite.

Poor soul, Cian thought as his heart went out to the younger boy.

Evon seemed like a desperate, hungry animal, terrified that a larger, stronger predator might suddenly appear to snatch away his hard-won meal.

Cian's jaw knotted a bit at the thought of the men who had caused Evon to devolve into such a precarious state.

Cian went still suddenly as a sudden realization struck him: the boy sitting before him was the son of the notorious Chicago gangster, Arman Bedrossian, whom his father had mentioned at dinner the night before.

His father had even shown them Evon's photograph. But in the rush of calming the boy, Cian hadn’t made that connection.

He studied the teenager, whose voracious appetite had him devouring the food like a starving wolf.

Cian's mind raced, searching for a way to persuade the boy to speak with Ardan.

Although Evon seemed more at ease, the tension in his shoulders betrayed a lingering sense of distrust and unease.

Cian, however, was confident that all hesitation would vanish in the comforting presence of his father.

Evon finally emptied the plate, his body relaxing into the chair, a small yet genuine smile of gratitude lighting up his weary eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered with gratitude. He swallowed hard a few times before continuing, “The last time I ate was over a day ago.”

“Shit,” Cian murmured, surprised. “Well, I mean, you won’t go hungry here, I can promise you that.”

Evon fidgeted. “You’ll let me… stay?”

Chuckling softly, Cian nodded. “My father runs this place. But he’ll want to talk to you personally, maybe hear your story… only if you’re ready to talk about it. He won’t force you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Who’s your dad?” Evon asked quietly.

“Ardan MacNamara.”

Evon smiled small, “I-I'd like to meet him.”