Chapter 76 - The Reservoir Outpost
The reservoir barracks had been constructed in the late 1940s as a municipal control station, but county politics and Donald’s quiet interventions had turned it into an off-the-books holding center for regional disputes long before the modern state prison was built. It stood perched on the edge of the limestone bluff, overlooking a black expanse of deep, freezing water.
Julian parked the truck in a hollow behind an overgrown cluster of sumac bushes. He retrieved a heavy pair of wire cutters from the truck’s utility bed, motioning for me to remain behind the hood.
"The gate is locked with county padlocks," Julian whispered, returning a moment later. "There is only one patrol car parked near the main office. Vance hasn't sent a full security detail here yet. He thinks Tyler is completely isolated."
"He thinks Tyler is broken," I corrected him, stepping into the snow. "He believes a boy who grew up in country clubs cannot survive twelve hours in an unheated concrete holding cell. He underestimates what Tyler inherited from Donald."
We crossed the frozen mud of the yard, staying low beneath the glare of the perimeter lamps. Julian used the master key he had carried from his years as Donald's chief steward to unlock the heavy security door at the rear of the administrative wing. The corridor inside was stark, unpainted cinder block, illuminated only by a single red emergency exit light.
The air in the hallway smelled of damp concrete and old iron. As we moved toward the holding cells at the end of the corridor, the faint sound of rhythmic tapping reached my ears. Someone was striking the steel bars of a cell with the heel of a boot, slow, deliberate, and entirely calm.
We reached the central cellblock. Inside the middle enclosure, sitting on a bare wooden bench with his knees drawn up to his chest, was Tyler.
His designer jacket was torn and stained with soot from the crypt fire hours earlier, his face smeared with grease, but his eyes were wide, alert, and devoid of fear. When the beam of Julian’s flashlight struck his face, he didn't flinch.
May you like
He looked at me through the rusted bars, a slow, grim smile spreading across his bruised lips. "You took your time, Grandmother," he rasped, his voice raw from the cold. "I was beginning to think I blew up that cake for nothing."
***
