After the disturbing confession that Farlow and Demitri made to their juniors, it was decided that both guards would head back to the North Wing and confirm if the warden was truly dead. Despite the assurance, both men gave the new guards that the warden was indeed dead, the guards insisted on an actual body to believe their claim.

Farlow and Demitri were aware of the sinister mind Matador possessed. There was no way Protacio would have survived such a cruel person. Even if they knew the warden to be good with his words, the Matador was not one to listen to reason.

When the two guards left the office, Mark went back to Melinda's side. They managed to lessen her bleeding, but her safety was still in question. The bullet, after all, remained embedded in her shoulder. Mark sighed, he ran a finger over Melinda's cheek and silently thanked her for what she had done.

As he sat musing on the cold floor, his eyes caught sight of the letters scattered on the floor. He picked up one and the words of 247 suddenly flooded his head. Maybe the old man had something to say about pacifying guilt, Mark thought to himself.

He brought the paper close to his face and began to read.
***

Dear Maria,

How are you? I'm beginning to feel non-existent inside this prison, but that's probably a good thing, isn't it?

Do you know why I said so? I saw a few guards wandering the library the other day, they were staring at me as if it was the first time my image appeared before their eyes. They were frowning, and I saw the confusion painted on their faces. One of them walked up to me and asked, "Are you new?" I gazed up at him and answered, "I have been here since the beginning." That guard looked at me like I'd grown two heads; he then shook his own and walked away.

Yes, I have been here for a very long time Maria. So long that I barely have the strength to join the other inmate with their daily routine or engage in any conversation with anyone.

I have spent my days inside this library, praying and dreaming.

It is not something new, for I have done it before. The years when I was away from you, the times when I laid in bed, hoping to find the strength to keep you out of my head are reminiscent of this feeling I currently have.

Since I have nothing to tell you about my life here in prison, how about I recount my days back on the ranch?

Rancho Buenaventura was such a huge place. It was owned by a politician. It mainly housed horses and sheep. The occasional farm animals were present too, but their number was far from the horses.

The ranch covered about 300 acres of land. It had multiple buildings amidst its compound. What truly caught my attention was the building called the Master's Quarter. It was a three-story house, mainly constructed of wood, beautified with windows in the shape of a half-moon. Its front lawn was covered with well-trimmed grass and plants that were artistically shaped in the image of man and animals. We couldn't trudge near it though, because the building was surrounded by a tall fence, much like a picket fence, but taller.

There were about 25 other edifices positioned in every corner of the ranch Maria, some of which housed horses, sheep, and other animals.

To the north of the ranch, that's where my quarter stood. I mentioned it before, right? I was given a place of my own, much like my cell here in San Fernando. But the one I got inside that ranch served as a house to keep me safe, unlike the one I have now, which is to keep others safe.

I'm sorry if I'm not too enthusiastic about writing today love, I feel a bit off.

Hi Maria, it is the month of April. I believe it is Sheldon's month of birth. How is he? I hope he's growing into a fine man. I pray he is not giving you too much of a headache.

Let me continue with my previous story.

Adjusting to life in Rancho Buenaventura was a bit hard for me. Not only did I fear the revelation of who I was, and how I truly got there, but because everyone was full of happiness. I didn't condemn their happiness Maria, only that, it made me feel more alone. Every laughter from my co-workers reminded me of you. Every wound they happened to suffer from, made me worry about you. Whenever one of them got a letter from their loved ones, it made me think of how you were living your life. Were you happy? Were you safe?

Every waking moment was a chore. It's not that I wished to die, but I truly felt like I had nothing to live for. I faded into the corners of that ranch. The others barely knew of my existence. I would start the day cleaning whichever place I was assigned to, and after, I would silently return to my dwelling.

The newspapers were probably the only thing that kept me going. I would read one page after another, then repeat the cycle until my eyes felt so tired that I would immediately fall asleep.

Everything around me was a faded image, blurry, and barely held importance. I walked, I talked, I worked. That's how it was, and before I knew it, A year had passed. I wasn't even aware of the calendar days. I only knew it was December when the head of the workers announced that the owners would arrive to spend Christmas on the ranch.

Christmas there was amazing. There were fireworks everywhere. The food was endless and the people seemed happier and chipper than normal. Everyone got a present from the owners. I received a shaving kit. I guess they found the need to give me one because I let my beard grow thicker and longer than the rest.

Some of the other men even teased that I was probably hiding my handsome face to prevent breaking the hearts of the ladies on the ranch.

What they didn't know was, that I didn't care. Even if the face I had was enough to turn a few heads. The one head I wanted to turn, was claimed by someone else.

Please don't pity me. I'm writing these down because I can't keep them inside me any longer. I know I can never talk to you about them, not in person that is. All I have, Maria, is a cell, a pen, and paper. So please, allow me to write them down.

Hi love, how are you? It's August now, and Christmas is fast approaching. I keep wondering why the people around me feel that time is moving so fast when I can barely feel the coming days. Is there something wrong with me? Am I too different from the rest? Is that why I was never allowed to be with you? Was I only meant to stand behind you? In the shadows of your footsteps, in the corners of your eyes?

Maria? It's Christmas! Are you happy? I hope you are. Am I happy? I don't think I even know what that word means anymore. To me, happiness can only be associated with you. So be happy Maria, take whatever happiness that should have been mine and keep it with you. Everything Maria, take it with you.

Love Forever.

Your Silent Knight
***

Mark brought the letter down and whispered, "Great."

He wanted to feel at ease and maybe find some words that could soothe the gnawing guilt inside of him, but reading 247's letter made him feel worse.

He bent his head and thought about Jasmine. How lucky he was to have married her. How could he have ever cheated on her? If 247 ever had the opportunity to live with his Maria, maybe that man would shame every husband that ever walked the earth.

He glanced down at Melinda. Her breathing was still shallow and the cloth on her shoulder was fully soaked with blood. Would she even make it? Mark mused.

He stood from the floor and walked towards the water dispenser, drank a cup, and headed back to Melinda's side. Sitting beside her was probably the only thing he could offer because his heart was not one which he could.

His sight trailed back to the other letters on the floor, and before long, he took another one and began to read.