Caged Eagles: A Daring Adventure to Discover Individual Freedom

By Kayla Hunt

Trevor Wells is overpowered by the confining rules and regulations of his society. Unable to break free, he's imprisoned for a crime of self-defense. The people in his life also try to control him; Dr. Leslie Taylor, the counselor keeping him in rehab because she's in love with him. Brandi Lewis, his ex-lover, who will do anything to have him back, and the mysterious spy hired to follow him to Alaska and report his every move. Just when everything seems hopeless, Trevor meets Blaine Martin, a revolutionary leader. Blaine convinces Trevor real freedom can exist again and persuades him to become a leader in this campaign. Winning is slim, but one thing is for certain, Trevor can always find real freedom in the love he has for his soulmate-- Sarah. Will he ever break free of his cage and fly free?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publication Consultants
• Release date: Oct 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781594331749

Kayla Hunt

Kayla Hunt started writing at age eleven. She attended Montana State University where she received a Major in Music and minor in writing. Kayka lives in Alaska where she teaches private music lessons and writes.

Book preview

TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE

________________ • ________________

Wells, git up! You have an exciting day, said the fat old man who came to drop off food. His scruffy beard was peppered with various shades of gray. The wrinkled blue uniform had an oily stain over the name–Patterson. This was not surprising because not many people were well kept in their appearance.

Trevor Wells rolled over to face the wall. He desperately wished he were asleep and cursed the dirty old man for making him forget his dream. Trevor was certain she was in it, but he strained to remember for sure.

You heard me, boy, git up!

Trevor rolled over to look at Patterson. If it was food he brought, he wasn’t interested. Trevor saw that the man leaned against nothing but an old mop. No food tray was visible. This interested Trevor a little because it was out of the ordinary. Not often did something so exciting happen in his small world of a prison! Usually the fat old man brought his food, verbally harassed him, and then left. Trevor was also beginning to wake up, which slowly aggravated him more and more.

You deaf or just plain stupid? I always figured you for a stupid one. Patterson began the harassment. Trevor was now furious and knew he would never get his dream back. The young man sat up and stretched his strong body.

Did your mother always swing from trees and eat her own snot? Trevor retorted. The old man’s face flushed red and he cursed under his breath.

What’s up your butt? You mad that you’re never gunna get out of this place? You’ll die alone in here. Patterson’s lip curled. I also heard you’re gettin’ another counselor, will this be number three or four?

I guess dying in here knowing I have loved ones on the outside’s much better than your situation. How does it feel knowing no one cares about you? Oh, except for your girlfriend, a half-starved dog living in the trash outside your apartment.

Patterson’s eyes narrowed into slits. Someday you’re gunna get it, boy, he glanced around to make sure none of the staff had heard him.

Trevor kicked his legs over the side of the bed. What do you want, Patterson?

I want nothin’. You better make room in there; you’re gettin’ a roommate today. Patterson gave Trevor a dirty look because his fun had been ruined. He mumbled curses under his breath while walking off down the hall.

Trevor had been told repeatedly he was getting a roommate over the last few months but none had ever come. He decided it was probably another false alarm, stretched, and yawned. Sleep had been lost. Trevor walked around the three-foot privacy wall to use the toilet. He heard the TV built into the wall turn on. After finishing in the miniature bathroom area, he stood in the center of the room to begin his daily routine of push-ups and sit-ups. The cold floor felt good against his skin. He focused on the tension in his arms as he pushed himself up and down.

A sound resonated down the long corridor, the director’s voice. He was in charge of the inmates and staff of the prison. Trevor could hear footsteps on the cement floor. He didn’t have the interest to listen closely. The director was probably reciting the rules to a new prisoner. Trevor sat up, grabbed the T-shirt off his mattress, and pulled it over his head. The director appeared outside his door, a giant man in a blue lab coat, carrying a clipboard. One of the many Siamese clones, as Trevor called the managers, led a young man to his door.

Good morning, Mr. Wells, said the director in his strong bass voice. Trevor looked up at the massively tall man.

Morning, he climbed to his feet.

I’ve brought you a roommate. I thought you were tired of being alone. I hope Mr. Evans will be good company for you.

The director punched in the ID number to release the lock on the door. The manager, a frail man, led the new roommate in and unlocked his restraints. The director was the first to speak.

I see no one has been by with your breakfast or allowed you to shower and shave. His eyes scanned Trevor’s shaded jawline. Would you like to now?

The clone returned to the director’s side. He rested one hand on the manager’s shoulder. Trevor shook his head. No, I’ll be fine until breakfast comes.

Then have a pleasant morning.

The young men were left alone. Trevor looked his new roommate over. He was approximately his own age, give or take a year, lean frame, and jet-black hair. His eyes unnerved Trevor–they were so dark, almost like black holes in outer space. Never had he known a white man to have such dark eyes. This new roommate stood an inch or two taller than Trevor. He had a soft face and demeanor, which led Trevor to guess that he was standing in a room with an innocent man.

Trevor Wells, welcome to hell. Trevor held out a hand and smiled at his own humor.

Forrest Evans, his roommate faintly responded as his eyes scanned the room.

Trevor’s hand dropped to his side. I hope you aren’t always so quiet … you need to learn how to get along in here.

I shouldn’t even be here. Forrest met Trevor’s evergreen eyes. Trevor looked away to avoid Forrest’s ebony stare.

I thought you were an innocent one. I could tell the second you stepped over the grand threshold, Trevor gestured to the door before pointing behind Forrest. "That there is your bed … these wonderful hospitable people, Trevor raised his voice and turned toward the doorway again, won’t get rid of these old mats and give us real beds."

Does it matter? Forrest slumped onto the lumpy mattress with a cold, dead expression on his face.

Um … Trevor didn’t know what to say. He was beginning to wonder if he was in a room with a mass murderer. He was usually so good at characterizing people when he first saw them.

Listen, it’s not going to get any better.

Trevor walked over to the door and took the two breakfast trays from the clone. He handed one to Forrest and balanced the other on his knees. He continued, So what did you get blamed for that some other mentally defective idiot did? Or does that not matter either? A smirk crossed Trevor’s lips. Forrest looked up and smiled slightly.

You get into trouble here a lot, don’t you?

What, with this quick wit of mine? He tapped his temple with one finger. You would think so, but no, they treat me like a king. They treat everyone like royalty actually. They think because you are in here you have this massive personal dilemma and they hope to help you fix it. Trevor tore his bread in half and stacked a forkful of scrambled eggs on top of it.

How long are you in here for? Forrest poked at the food but ate nothing.

’Till they say I can go. What about you?

I’ve been told there’s no set time limit.

Yep, Trevor answered with a mouthful of eggs. That’s how it’s run around here. If you are a good boy and do everything they say then you get out earlier. I knew a guy who physically abused his wife. He victimized her in the worst ways a man can. Finally, he cut her into bite-sized chunks and fed her to the neighbor’s dogs. He got out of here within two years.

Forrest set his fork down and placed the tray on his mattress. How did he get out so quickly?

He had a good lawyer that knew how to manipulate the laws and regulations. The very things that were suppose to keep her safe.

Didn’t her family fight to keep him locked up?

Yeah, but …. Trevor didn’t have time to respond because one of the little mousy-faced clones appeared in the doorway.

It’s time for therapy, he squeaked out to Trevor. I guess we will have to finish later. Trevor stood up. I have to go meet with one of our fine therapists to discuss why I’m a bad person. The manager clipped on Trevor’s restraints and led him out of the small cell.

________________ • ________________

The entire prison was much larger than Trevor could ever figure out. He had tried to form some sort of idea of how many men were there, but couldn’t. Each prisoner remained in only one area of the building. He knew there were other wings with cells full of prisoners. He often lay in bed at night wondering what would happen if they all rebelled against the staff. This couldn’t happen. Half of the men were on medication, and most of them were addicted to it. He found it ironic that they were in a rehab center to fix what social problem caused them to be there, but then the staff allowed them to become addicted to their medications. The only reason this happened was to keep the men under better control. This was especially true with the aggressive. The rehab was overpopulated because the system put men in there whether they were guilty or not. It was easier to throw someone in rehab for a few months and then let them go. Trevor considered the system lazy. It was to hard to find out if a suspect really committed the crime.

The manager led Trevor down hallways and through doors until they reached the therapy area of the prison. He patiently stood as the Siamese clone hovered over the ID box to the door. He punched in the number as fast as possible. The door remained silent instead of clicking open.

This time maybe you should slow down and put the ID numbers in correctly, he said to the little man. The manager had two tries to get the code for the door right or it would set off alarms. This was a security measure to make sure prisoners weren’t trying to break in or out of a room. The Siamese clone looked frustrated.

"No." the little man squeaked defiantly.

I just want you to slow down so my x-ray vision can see through your body to get the code exactly right for when I plan to escape.

Trevor chuckled. The manager’s wrinkled face scowled at him and then turned, hovering over the box. One arm shielded the key pad as he slowly punched the numbers in. The latch inside the door clicked and he led Trevor through.

This hallway was much different from the one he had just come from. A soft blue paint covered the walls and posters hung off the advertisement boards. Several giant hybrid plants stood in the corners. Empty chairs were placed outside each office. When they turned the corner one patient sat waiting for his session. The two clones nodded to acknowledge each other. Trevor stared into each room, looking at other doctors and patients at work. Most of them were in the middle of their own therapy sessions. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. The clear doorway prevented sound from escaping. This was the same material the door in Trevor’s room was made of. The only difference was that the cell doors allowed the staff to talk to the inmates as if it wasn’t there.

The manager led Trevor down the hall, turned to the left and buzzed the button outside the very last door. A female’s gentle voice could be heard inside. She appeared at the door and punched in the ID code. Her light blue eyes welcomed both men into the office.

Good morning, Mr. Wells. Thank you for bringing him, Milo. She spoke kindly to the manager. He leered at her while nodding.

You should know he was trying to find out the code for main door number fourteen.

Thank you; I will discuss that with him. She held the door open for Trevor to enter.

Please have a seat, Mr. Wells. I’m Dr. Leslie Taylor and I will be taking over your therapy sessions. She sat down across from him and folded one slender leg over the other. Trevor watched as she reached out and grasped her clipboard and glasses. She placed the glasses on her nose. They made her look very attractive.

Some things don’t go out of fashion, do they?

What do you mean? Her pen hovered over the clipboard prepared to write down the next words from his mouth.

Glasses.

Excuse me?

All these years we’ve had the technology to repair damaged eyes and people still prefer to wear them.

Yes, I suppose you are correct, but I believe we have more important things to discuss than eye wear. I see here, you were admitted for stabbing ….

Incarcerated, Trevor corrected and continued with his first topic. Do you think people wear them as a fashion statement or because they actually need them?

Mr. Wells, you feel that you have been incarcerated here? Is there a particular reason you say this? Is someone causing you discomfort or is your room not accommodating?

He ignored her question. So do you need the glasses or do you wear them to look more attractive?

Mr. Wells, my job is to help you. This session will not become a comedy act. Please answer my questions.

This is a modern-day prison in my opinion.

Why do you feel ….

Is that camera on? Hi. Trevor waved to the security camera in the corner and smiled at his doctor. His whole goal during a therapy session was to see if he could aggravate the counselor so much that she wanted to scream. His last counselor would sneak shots of whiskey, hidden in her bottom desk, before Trevor arrived.

Mr. Wells, she peered over the rim of her glasses. Please, stick to the questions.

I’m sorry, you are right, please proceed. He leaned back against the chair.

I’ll change subjects to make you feel more comfortable. Why were you trying to get the code for one of the security doors?

Trevor stared into her ocean-blue eyes. He wanted to see if she would hold his gaze. She did.

Are you seriously asking me this, Leslie?

Yes, please answer the question, and my name is Dr. Taylor. She remained perfectly calm. Trevor wondered how.

Okay, we walked up to the door and he acted like I could see through him and get the damn code. He went too fast and messed up so I told him to slow down. There was no way I could get the numbers with him hovering over the ID box like a chicken over her chicks.

Do you want to get the code?

What kind of question is that? Trevor asked, bothered at such a ridiculous inquiry. He grew sober. No, Dr. Taylor, I don’t. I want to stay here so I can continue to have therapy sessions to improve my outlook on life.

Hmm, that’s very good to know, Dr. Taylor smiled. While she wrote a note down Trevor continued.

I only do it for you, Dr. Taylor. I think you’ll probably change my whole way of thinking. May I say that you are looking astonishing today? I have never had a doctor who looked as fine as you do.

Mr. Wells, that is inappropriate. Her voice had lost its optimistic nature and she glared over the top of her glasses.

How can I stay on subject when you’re so beautiful, Leslie?

Mr. Wells ….

Call me Trevor.

Mr. Wells, I will not say this again. My name is Dr. Taylor. I do not insult you, and I do not expect you to insult me.

I’m sorry, Dr. Taylor. Trevor did nothing to hide his smile.

Do you want the code? she repeated the question.

No.

She wrote something down. Trevor let his eyes roll down her athletic body. He wondered if she worked out. Then why were you harassing the manager about it?

He was acting like a idiot, thinking I was close enough to actually get the code, when I was standing behind him away from the box.

Then why would he mention this to me?

Probably because I was giving him a hard time, and he can’t take a little joking because he’s a nervous little dip….

Mr. Wells, language.

Dr. Taylor gave him a piercing glare. Trevor sighed.

"You’re one of those counselors, aren’t you?"

If you mean I don’t allow foul language in my sessions, then yes.

"Relax, plus, he is a dumb …."

He is a person, she interrupted, and you should be considerate of his feelings.

Yeah, that’s a matter of opinion, Trevor wasn’t impressed with her last statement.

At this time another Siamese clone came to take Trevor back to his cell.

You did a fine job today. Dr. Taylor removed her glasses and smiled. Her words were fruitless, though.

Thank you, I’m glad you found my erotic dream a worthy topic for today’s discussion. I particularly liked the scene you were in.

Dr. Taylor turned red, and the Siamese clone squeaked. Trevor turned and walked out of the door, not allowing his counselor to say anything in response.

CHAPTER TWO

________________ • ________________

Trevor returned to an empty cell room. It was like he had dreamed Forrest was even there an hour earlier. He shrugged and decided to take a nap. Lying down on his bed he relished the thought of his entertaining therapy session. He hoped that Dr. Taylor wouldn’t forget his comment and he chuckled to himself at the thought of her wearing a full-length bear coat to their next meeting. Did she know how to loosen up? She was a member of the staff and therefore unpredictable when it came to Trevor being one of the patients. Trevor closed his eyes and imagined what she’d look like outside the prison. She would smile and laugh at the jokes he made; her blonde hair down, blowing in the breeze. Slowly her laughter changed from light and happy to a softer, shy giggle. Her golden hair stopped shining and changed to a beautiful deep brown with highlights of red that would become visible only in the sunlight. The deep-blue eyes changed to a beautiful golden brown. The specks of gold flickered and her smile bashfully appeared on her gorgeous face. Trevor reached out to this beautiful woman. He wanted to hold her.

Click … whoosh …. Trevor awoke to the cell door opening. Forrest was let in by one of the managers. Trevor was too exhausted to be upset about losing his dream for the second time that day. He sat up on his elbow. The clone unlocked Forrest’s restraints and left him standing alone in the center of the room. The reserved man walked over and sat on his bed. Not once did he look at Trevor.

Where did you go off to? Trevor questioned Forrest mostly for the noise. The silence drove Trevor berserk.

I had my first therapy session. Forrest said in a monotone voice. His deep eyes reminded Trevor of a sad puppy.

Who did you get for a whack job of a doctor?

I have Doctor Ilene Stout.

You’re joking! Trevor sat up.

Forrest turned his head slightly to one side. No … why?

She is a cow! Man, you really do have bad luck. I hate that woman. We have to have group sessions with her and she drives me insane. I come out of every meeting wanting to cut my throat.

I didn’t think she was horrible. Forrest noted. She was what I expected a counselor to be like in prison.

Trevor shook his head. Wow, your luck is horrible! I wish you had gotten anyone but her. Wait until she starts digging into every single ounce of your life, including overanalyzing why you are here in the first place.

She already did that today. Forrester wore a worried expression.

How did that go?

Forrest shrugged. Okay … I guess … I don’t really know how it was supposed to go.

I don’t know what to tell you. She drills her patients until they admit what she wants them to. That old snake is good at manipulating and brainwashing, Trevor wrinkled his nose to show his disgust. Forrest’s brows came together between his eyes and the skin on his forehead creased.

Don’t worry; if you keep one step ahead of her in your thinking you’ll be fine. Don’t let her put you on pills. Trevor got up and paced around the room.

Why?

Most of the men in this prison, on pills, are addicted to them. Once that happens, he snapped his fingers, it’s all they live for. I guess that’s what drugs do.

Yeah, they do. Forrest looked at the floor and his eyes glazed over. His mind was somewhere else. This interested Trevor.

You know? He sat back down.

Yeah, my mother was addicted to many things over the years.

Oh … Trevor didn’t know what to say. He had never personally had any substance abuse problem, but he had seen others have them. He didn’t have to say anything because Forrest continued.

So was my ex-girlfriend, she is kind of the reason I’m here.

Trevor leaned back against the wall to listen but when Forrest remained tight-lipped Trevor knew he was hesitant to trust him.

I got in here on a bogus charge also, Trevor carelessly said. Forrest raised his head. The light returned to his eyes.

Yeah, what was it? Forrest slowly asked, not sure if it was really his business.

I was in a store one afternoon buying some overpriced beer. Down the aisle some guy started shouting at the clerk. I walked up front to see what was going on. The guy had a pretty damn big knife, that thing had to be about eight and a half to nine inches. I think he must have made it himself. Trevor held his hands apart to demonstrate the weapon’s length.

Anyway, he was threatening to break though the protective glass the clerk was behind and stab him if he didn’t do what he was told. The robber was so busy trying to get the clerk to punch in the code for the safe to the cash box that he didn’t see me behind him. I looked around for something to smack the guy with. The clerk kept his eyes down and acted like I wasn’t there. All I could find was the baskets, so I picked one up and smacked the guy in the head as hard as I could. He started bleeding instantly and stumbled away from the counter, dropping his knife. The clerk dropped down to hide. I dashed for the knife, but instantly the three-hundred-pound guy was fighting me for it. I knew I was a dead man if I didn’t reach the weapon first. That is how I got this scar on my elbow.

Trevor rolled up his sleeve and showed Forrest. The skin had grown over the wound in grotesque twisted patterns.

He got me a couple more times, but those were only flesh wounds that have gone away. As I thought he was finally going to do me in I had one more surge of energy to get the knife. The fighting stopped and the big oaf lay screaming like a mashed cat, bleeding all over the floor. I froze. I had stabbed him in the guts. I didn’t run the knife all the way through, but just enough to make a good-sized mess. The police came running in, cuffed me, and rushed the robber to the hospital. I had no problem going with the police at that time knowing things would get cleared up. I should have known better, right? Trevor shrugged.

What happened?

Well, afterward they questioned everyone. The clerk said he didn’t know if my part in the ordeal was meant to help or attack. The robber claimed he was trying to stop me. I told the opposite story. In the end, the court believed them.

Forrest’s facial expression changed. It was almost like a spark had been