(North wing) San Fernando Correctional.

The slow turning of a screwdriver barely made a sound, despite the creaking it elicited from the rusty screw that it laboriously tried to dislodge embedded in the old toilet sink. Even the occasional slip it made against the ceramic bowl can barely be heard. The man grinned and thanked whichever god decided to bless him with such luck. The howling wind and sudden ferocious descent of rain pellets over and against the prison building managed to hide the evil intent permeating his cell. The man left his task for a minute, glanced beyond the metal bars, and checked the giant wall clock, positioned just across his cell, hanging high against the prison wall. His grin turned malicious, knowing, and excited.

***

(West Wing)

Mark tried to give his wife a call but received no luck. The signal seemed disrupted by the sudden downpour. "Leave it, lad, I'm sure she knows the situation," Harold uttered after he saw the panicked movement of the young officer's eyes.

Mark raised his face and gazed at the two veterans before him. He felt worried, because he did promise Jasmine to arrive home after his shift, and that so-called shift has ended an hour ago. It is now past six, yet he barely succeeded to get a faint signal to send a text message.

"I'm worried," he replied before shoving his phone inside his pocket.

"It's okay lad, we've all been there," the warden assured him.

Mark bobbed his head in agreement with them, brought the fifth Letter near his face, and began to read.

***

Dear Maria,

How are you? I hope you celebrated the new year with a smile. What kind of fireworks did you see? I bet you gazed at the ebony sky with your kids cradled in your arms, just as you always did.

As for me, we celebrated with the guards. Some of them are unmarried with families who lived in other states. The others were with us, because their loved ones, as they quote-abandoned them.

They gave us some ham and a few cans of light beer. Yes Maria, beer. Well, we are the well-behaved prisoners after all. Bet it never crossed their minds that we are still criminals and might do something when influenced by liquor. But don't worry, nothing happened. The well-behaved remained well-behaved.

Dear, it's our fifth anniversary. I've lived behind these high walls for almost five years now. Currently, I'm laying on a bed in the prison's infirmary. Luckily, they allowed me to hold a pen. It's not usually permitted, but I think the doctor deemed me safe to be around, even with a potential weapon clutched in my hand.

Why am I here?

Well, do you remember the chest pains I spoke about? It attacked quite strongly yesterday. I woke up in the middle of the night with an uncomfortable feeling in my chest again. It's an ache, not a real pain. But it's making things difficult for me. I wish I could pinpoint which part of my chest it radiated from, so I can rip it out and breathe freely again.

The doctor and nurse here informed me that there was nothing wrong with my chest. None, even in my heart or lungs. They theorized that it's probably caused by mental stress. According to the doctor, I'm having a huge amount of strain on my mind, and I'm practically manifesting it through my body.

Is that even possible Maria? Have you heard of something like that?

Had my mind truly regressed so much that my body is dwindling along with it? Maybe five years of longing finally took its toll on me, but if I would be given a chance, an opportunity to do things differently, I would probably take the same path, because it was my ultimate act of devotion to you.

Hey Maria? An inmate died today. It was gruesome. I watched how life slowly faded from his eyes. I have never watched a man die while staring them in the eye. But this time I did. As he lay dying in front of me, his iris Maria, they started to fade until I saw none at all. After that, his pupils fully dilated. But there was more, I think I get it now-why they deemed the eye to be the window of a human's soul. His eyes, I remember them to emit a weird luminescent light when he was alive, and when I took his life, It just went away.

Yes, I took another man's life. But this time, I didn't have to admit to it. It was rage. I was so angry. He took my letters for you and planned to use them as toilet paper. When I confronted him, he simply said, they are mere paper with words. His indifference began to burn my skin, seeping through my veins which slowly sent a throbbing pain in my heart, and eventually sent my hands to completely move on their own. I began to strangle him. I could hear the gurgling sound coming from his mouth. He tried to claw at my hands, willing them to let go, but they simply didn't.

***

Mark suddenly stopped reading and took a deep breath. After, he stood from his chair, walked towards the water dispenser, drank a cup, and headed straight back to his chair.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harold asked him worriedly.

Mark didn't give a reply. His mind was not with them. His thoughts were constantly raising back home. He may not have been sweet or expressive about his feelings toward his wife, but that's not to say he doesn't love her. He broke one promise after another, yet to come home in time was something he swore to uphold, for his children and his marriage.

Harold walked toward the young guard, patted him on the shoulder, and tried to get his attention by calling out his name.

But Mark had more things in his mind at that moment. He couldn't help but think about 247 too, the old man's words and the purpose of his letters, what could it mean?

A sin, it's a word that had plagued him for months. Yes, Mark was tempted to cheat and acted upon it on one occasion, but it was on a man's impulse, one that seems to be ebbed on a male's DNA. He knew how wrong it was to cheat on Jasmine. Many a time he wanted to confess, but he feared her reaction.

247 and his letters sent a throbbing feeling of guilt inside Mark. Was it possible to silently admit and atone for sin?

Harold deduced that the young guard was too occupied in his thoughts to acknowledge his worried questions. So, the middle-aged man took the letter from his junior's hand and began to read the rest of it.

***

(Letter Continuation)

When he finally stopped moving and his breath dwindled from gasps to silence, I managed to let go.

His body Maria, I left it inside the cell. His death was what gained me a footing inside the prison walls, accumulating friends which I never wanted to gain. A gang of inmates, known as Blood Brothers, pushed an innocent prisoner to admit the crime and in return, his eighteen-year sentence was extended to life imprisonment.

After that, I started to forget the dreams, my heart, and my head, and for once, I felt free. Free from you. Merry Christmas Maria. I'm too occupied to say anything right now. I wish you and the kids good health and life.

Love forever
Your Silent Knight.