Mortal Scream (Harbingers of Death Book 1)

by LeAnn Mason

  It’s the small things.

  The longer my head bounced against the metal, the more it agitated the sore spot from nearly being brained by that ladder.

  Damn ladder fucked me over in so many ways.

  The van bounced, knocking my head again. A headache began to pulse against the back of my skull. I was tempted to kick out in retaliation but knew any act of violence would probably end badly for me.

  Never let anyone see you frustrated. It’ll only give someone a reason to punish you. Good behavior is rewarded. Like a dog. Be a good dog.

  I added the last part myself. I sure felt like I’d been brought to heel as of late…

  Look where trying to save a guy’s life had gotten me: though not a prisoner—yet, I was an inmate, held on “remand” as a “pretrial detainee.” Basically, I was a hot, jumpsuit-wearing mess shoved into the back of a van, being carted to… well, they weren’t taking me on a fun field trip to the beach. No release on bail for murder suspects.

  Not that I can afford it or have anyone else who’d offer to pay it.

  I tried to relax, to enjoy the alone time while it lasted. It looked like they weren’t doing a big delivery to the prison today. I was traveling in leisure if not glamour. At least the lack of windows meant that no one could look in and judge me like some caged animal in a zoo.

  After all, I still hadn’t been permitted to shower.

  “Out,” a man ordered before the back door had even creaked open fully. I squinted out into the sun blearily, unsure how long we’d been traveling and if I’d dozed off or passed out from boredom.

  “Out,” he repeated.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I groused, my tone equal to his pissiness.

  I clambered to my feet and was all but lifted to the ground when I reached the door. I allowed it since it was a steep drop and I was cramped from the ride. Once on the ground, I was led by the elbow and penguin-marched into a steel door. I expected a gate or something, but twisting to look behind me, I saw that we’d already passed that step and the truck had pulled up right outside my temporary home. Like I was a package, I half expected the guy wrapped around my elbow to yell “special delivery” as he pounded on the metal door.

  This was a much larger facility than the holding cell I’d previously occupied, and I gaped before being pulled inside. Several stories high and quite girthy, I was betting this ugly box held most of the state’s most violent prisoners. And I would get to stay with them for a while, possibly a long while. Yaaay…

  I could pretend it was like boarding school. Maybe now was my chance to finally make friends. But that was hard when you didn’t trust anyone. I’d always been taught that you couldn’t count on anyone to do something that didn’t benefit them in some way. You could, however, trust the untrustworthy to remain so. It had just been easier to avoid making connections. It helped to keep me from getting blindsided when someone didn’t come through.

  After logging me in with a bored-looking person at intake, I was ditched by my driver without so much as a “goodbye and good luck” sentiment.

  A gruff and monosyllabic male guard took over, leading me through some nondescript halls with various doors and into a medical examination room. “Normally, we do a strip search, but you came to us pre-approved. Lucky.”

  Yeah. Lucky. That’s what I considered myself.

  “Wait here.”

  A female doctor in a lab coat entered right after he left, not leaving me enough time to explore the ward or steal a tongue depressor as a crappy weapon. They weren’t leaving me alone at any point.

  Smart.

  She gave me a cursory and nonverbal examination, writing everything down on a clipboard, then asked some questions about my mental health with complete impassivity despite their intensity.

  Have you ever had thoughts about death?

  No.

  I didn’t want to be put on suicide watch. And I hadn’t... not like she meant. I had just seen a man die, so some thoughts about death, in general, were bound to happen. I expected the nightmares that had plagued me after the last death would soon appear.

  Sleeping alone was generally a good thing; nightmares were a weakness. They showed that you have fear. Here, that could have severe consequences. You know, like death.

  Holding out a small plastic bag, she promised it, and the rest of my personal effects would be returned to me upon my release. I must have looked confused. They’d already taken everything. Clarifying, she motioned in circles at her face.

  My piercings.

  Couldn’t have anything stabby in prison even if it was literally only half an inch in length. I guessed that was probably be long enough to jab into someone’s eye and blind them, so, reluctantly, I acquiesced to taking out the piercings and gauges. I didn’t have much attachment to them, having mostly gotten them to match what other people expected from me. With the naturally silver hair, only short stops in each town, and aloof nature, the look was an excuse to turn people off from trying to get to know me.

  It was easier for me that way.

  Finished with her mild interrogation, the doctor left the same way she’d come in. The guard returned, passing her. “Follow me.”

  We wove through some more corridors. Stepping through a thick door with a lot of locks, I walked behind him into the middle of… an arena? No. It wasn’t an arena, but it kind of looked like one. A really sadistic one. The center of the room was open with a few metal picnic tables bolted to the floor. All around me, in a rectangle, were cells for several stories, all connected by metal catwalks that wrapped around the central room on each level.

  Put in some plants, and I’d have called it an atrium except that everything was dark and metal … aside from the navy-blue clad humans interspersed evenly around the cavernous room.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know if my voice echoed or if the other prisoners were just observant, but within moments, there was a roar of heckles. Banging and clanging on bars, cheering and jeering—all male—swelled to a crescendo as I made my walk of shame. I couldn’t tell what manner the prisoners were presenting, whether a welcome or a threat.

  The guard ushered me by the elbow to a door on the opposite side. I stared around as I tripped along beside him, taking it all in.

  I’m really in prison.

  “This is you,” the guard grunted as we entered another hallway and reached an open door on the left. It was thick but otherwise looked, from the outside, not all that different from a studio I’d squatted in for a few months in a huge apartment building. “For now,” he added. “When you come back, you’ll be in the women’s dorms. If we can find you space,” he muttered. “Damn funds are drying up more and more each year.”

  I stepped in to look around. Nearly identical to the last cell in terms of amenities, I smiled with a grim sense of recognition. This was temporary, I reminded myself. I would appear before a court, at some point, for my trial with that pubescent representing me. It would probably be soon, once I pleaded not guilty. But in the meantime, my one-night stand with a faux Murphy-bed was turning into a long-term relationship. I didn’t want to commit to that kind of monogamy—I wasn’t ready.

  Turning, I felt my falsely bright smile wipe from my features when a second wad of fabric was tossed in my face, army-green, unlike the construction-cone-orange of my previous one. Not really my color, but it was worn, less scratchy.

  “Let’s get you changed.”

  I blanched.

  He turned away and gestured for me to trail behind, and like that kicked puppy, I did. “And a shower. You smell.”

  My grin returned. I couldn’t wait for that shower. These people were, so far, more hospitable than those at my holding cell. I’d spent many nights in truly decrepit motels, and this was on par. I’d be fine here for a little while. Then my new, law-scouring BFFL would spring me out, and I’d hoof it far away from this city—and anyone who might look close to croaking.

  Never allow yourself
to be put into a situation that you can’t get yourself out of. That gem caused me to snort without humor as I traipsed back into the inmate arena. I could see arms waving this time, stuck far between the bars. Some offered benign gestures, others more rude.

  “Wait here.”

  “What?” I squeaked, sure I’d misheard, but the guard left me standing beside one of the picnic tables. Flustered, I glanced around, trying to simultaneously get my bearings and take stock of the surroundings… while being casual. I kept my vision low to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone without seeming too submissive. Bad things happened when people felt vulnerable. On the defensive, you’d want to stare them down as much as an enraged alpha wolf. Fear was a powerful motivator.

  One of the cells caught my eye, making me do a double-take. Unlike the others, there was no one pressed up against the bars. It appeared darker than the others as if someone had sucked all the light out of the tiny room. Lifting my chin, I peered closer, curious if it was empty. But the guard had just complained about overcrowding… There! Movement in the corner where the bed would be. Startled, I stared at a pair of piercing deep hazel eyes as they appeared out of the shadows, inspecting me as much as I did them.

  Contrary to how I wanted to behave, I dropped my shoulders and appeared meek, keeping my eyes on the loafers I was about to trade out. But I could almost feel the mystery man’s attention still on me. If I got so fucked over as to be sentenced as guilty of murder, I would be grateful to be put in the women’s dorm, far from here when I came back.

  “Miss Grey?”

  I jumped. “Yes?” I’d been so distracted by my encounter with the hidden inmate that I didn’t hear the female guard approach. Pay attention, I scolded myself. Especially while acting weak and surrounded by predators.

  The wide-shouldered woman with a low blonde bun nodded and said, “You’re with me for the shower.”

  I let out a breath of relief. The thought of a shower was blissful and cleared my head if only briefly.

  “This way.”

  I was eager to leave the arena, escorted once again by a chorus of shouts and hollering. One voice gave an impressive shriek that made my scream in the alley sound like a whisper. I was certain that one mysterious guy wasn’t part of the barrage; I’d have bet he was as silent as the grave.

  The guard walked into a locker room with me and stood along the far wall across from a long row of showerheads, which I noticed had no dividers or curtains. She braced herself, feet apart and arms folded across her ample chest. “You get five minutes. Then the hot water shuts off, so don’t dally.”

  My lip curled. “You’re going to stay there, aren’t you?”

  She just looked at me, the Duh implied.

  I kept my swear internal, so she didn’t mistake my frustration as an insult, and took a deep breath. Then, I began to strip, modesty making me blush hard.

  The thing about always being alone is that you’re always alone. I’d been with guys in the past but always quick and without much intimacy. It was a means to an end, a way to sate my needs. I wasn’t too modest about being naked, but this lady wasn’t really my type, and the feeling of being scrutinized was definitely a turn-off. It was a quick process with the jumpsuit but stilted and awkward when I got my arm stuck at an odd angle in the sleeve.

  “Nice tattoo.”

  Arms pressing over my breasts, I couldn’t cover the tattoo my parents had given me low on my hip. The intersecting lines that looked almost like a pound sign with a stylized number two hanging off the bottom had always perplexed me. “Thanks, it’s my familial symbol.” Or something.

  Bare, I dashed onto the tile, facing away from the guard, ears burning, and turned on the water in a rush to get it over with.

  I screeched as the freezing water pummeled down on my body in sharp irregular bursts. They didn’t suffer from low water pressure here. But my skin might have peeled off.

  “I thought you said it was hot,” I muttered grumpily, shivers wracking my body. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the stream turned lukewarm then warm, causing me to let out a sigh and relax my arms just a bit… until it passed right on over comfortable and into scalding. I shouted and twiddled the knob, knowing that I wasn’t going to get a moderate temperature but still hoping. It was just as well. Comfort would make me want to stay longer, and I’d already wasted time fiddling. I pumped the soap dispenser and stared at the pink goop in my palm.

  “Is this soap or shampoo?” I asked over my shoulder.

  The guard was looking right at me but refused to answer. Instead of being embarrassed, this time, my temper flared.

  “Soap or shampoo?” I tried not to let my tone get too accusatory.

  Her eyes met mine without apology. She’d probably seen a lot of naked bodies in here. “Yes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the-answer. Another sigh left my lungs, and I began scrubbing everything with the pink liquid that failed to froth satisfyingly. The poor quality of the soap would damage my hair and fade the pretty, violet dye at the tips of the strands. The silver would stay though most assumed that also came from a box.

  Before I’d finished rinsing the suds from my strands, the water turned frigid. The sudden change sent me skittering out of the stream with an arched back and an alarmed cry.

  The guard let out a laugh then. “Five minutes are up.” She reached around me, getting awfully close, and cut the water. Like a street magician, she pulled a tiny, bleached white towel from behind her back. When had she grabbed that?

  Never drop your guard; be vigilant and observant. Always. Be conscious of every action and every detail about your surroundings.

  I’d let my self-consciousness get in the way of my cognizance. Screw that. I stood tall, dropping my arms, narrowing my eyes again.

  The guard handed the towel to me, keeping her eyes above my chest.

  Okay, points for that.

  Then, I realized she was staring at my face with a slight curl to her lip—judging me.

  Never mind. I curled mine in kind.

  “Thanks.” I wrapped the napkin around me, feigning modesty though it barely reached from my nipples to my ass cheeks.

  “Dry off. I gotta take you back. I don’t have all day.”

  Toweling down was more embarrassing than stripping. I’d never fantasized about doing that in front of someone. The pile of army-green that had been tossed at me was actually a set of scrub-like pants and top. There was also a white long-sleeve undershirt and a white pair of granny panties.

  “No bra?” I asked. When that was blatantly ignored, I tried, “Is there a mirror?”

  I wasn’t vain, just worried I might have smeared my lipstick further across my face instead of washing it off. That could explain her attentive fixation on my face. No one would be judging me by my looks in here except to discern my spot in the pecking order. How much of a threat was I? They’d be reading me as much as I had been trained to read them.

  Without answering, she took the towel from me. Anything can be a weapon if you think creatively.

  “Deodorant at least? A toothbrush? Hairbrush?” Forget pampering. A basic level of hygiene would really bolster my confidence. My teeth felt mossy beneath my tongue, and my nose scrunched at the thought of how my breath must smell. I wasn’t trying to get a date, but I was going to be sequestered with myself for some amount of time while waiting on my trial.

  “You won’t be here long.”

  That pricked my attention. “Do you know my court date?”

  “No. But murder detainees are never here long. Those cases move fast.” I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  Fine. No so-called “luxury” of basic necessities. My hair dripped down my back. Game face: on.

  It wasn’t hard; I’d become accustomed to resting-bitch face. It fit my persona and my needs, in addition to empowering my lifelong isolation. It was a façade that I needed in order to convince myself that I could make it through, that I was a badass.

&
nbsp; She led me back out and toward my room. The cat-calls began again when we walked back into what I’d dubbed the arena.

  “Next time, you’ll follow the schedule. It’s printed on the wall of your room with the rest of your rights. I assume you can read?”

  I took the question as seriously as it was asked instead of scoffing. “Yes, I can read.”

  My eyes slid to the side before we left the arena, searching out the man I’d glimpsed before. There was nothing there. The cell was like a black hole. A strange sensation of dread filled my stomach, not unlike the one I’d felt before my awareness slipped away and I ended up in an alley of death.

  Entering my room, I heard the door shut behind me with the crank of a deadbolt. I realized I was glad to be alone for once.

  6

  Well, it was official. My lawyer sucked.

  Two months of sitting in “detainment,” following a schedule that was alongside, but apart from, the rest of the inmate population, climaxed in a spectacularly lost trial. The knife had been recovered and, predictably, used as the clincher against me. My fingerprints were all over the thing—no others, meaning the mugger had—intelligently—used gloves. All the witnesses who were on the scene were sure I’d done the stabbing, and there seemed to be nothing to refute their claims.

  Except me, of course.

  But I wasn’t an ideal witness. Apparently, defendants pretty much prove their guilt when on the stand. It didn’t matter that I was actually innocent. My answers to the questions posed by the prosecutor would be twisted, especially when I didn’t have anyone viable to point a finger at. I’d been outnumbered by witnesses, probably because I didn’t let myself get close enough to have any friends. All these lessons were turning out to be quite contradictory.

  Multiple fingers pointed at me, and the prosecution spewed that my prints were all over the murder weapon. Plus, I’d been sprayed with the victim’s blood and was fleeing the scene. The jury wasn’t likely to be pro-Aria.