by Nolon King
“I chose my path. Nobody to blame but me. And the people I killed … well, they deserved it.”
Jasper stopped short of adding that his killing didn’t result in the death of an innocent child. No reason to make an enemy of his podmate. Wally wasn’t an awful person to be stuck with for the most part. He could have been much worse and wasn’t a threat.
“Yeah, you just keep tellin’ yourself that story, Pops.”
Pops.
That reminded him of the young man, Tyrell, who died trying to protect Spider. He wondered how she was, if there’d been any change in her condition. Last Jasper had heard from his lawyer, she was still in a coma.
That was two weeks ago. The whole thing was his fault. Her in a coma, Tyrell and others who had aided him in his pursuit now gone forever. So much death he was responsible for, all the more tragic when it wasn’t by his own hand.
And for what?
Revenge, his daughter had said. Accused him of being driven by revenge.
The prison guards made sure that Jasper took his meds every night before lights out, so now he never saw her. The pain of Jordyn’s absence was almost unbearable.
But he’d made his bed, and it was his to lie in. He chose to forgo a trial, to confess his crimes. He was fine with prison, he just hadn’t considered the consequences of being medicated for his condition.
Just as well. Jasper didn’t think he could look into his daughter’s eyes right now. She warned him not to kill Calum Kozack or pursue Victor Forbes and the pedophile network. It was dangerous, and there were other options with Forbes. The network would have been exposed without him.
But Jasper had wanted revenge, so others paid the price.
Now he was paying the tax for his bloodlust. Stuck in prison with Wally Talks Too Much.
After a long moment of quiet where Jasper felt hopeful that Wally was either going to sleep or jerk off, his podmate piped up again.
“Man, you seem smarter than most the cats in here. How’d they catch you?”
“I confessed.”
“Confessed? Why the fuck you do that?”
“Because I’m tired of running. I did the crime. I’m doing the time. No sense in fighting it.”
“I would never confess to shit. Never, hell no, uh-fucking-uh.”
Jasper didn’t say anything.
Eventually, he heard Wally beating off.
He turned over, faced the wall, and tried to ignore the sound.
After breakfast, it was time to hit the yard for fifty minutes of “recreation.”
The recreation yard at Lennox State Penn involved two different areas with weights and benches, a basketball court, a handball court, and a track that circled the yard. Forty-three prisoners were there at once, with four corrections officers keeping watch on the ground and one in the tower, holding a rifle and overlooking the yard.
Jasper stood alone with his back to a squat concrete shed at the far end of the track, enjoying the wash of sunlight on his face. He’d once made the mistake of leaning against the fence, before Wally told him, You can’t do that, man. They’ll think you’re trying to break off a piece for a shiv.
The sun was warm, and the breeze wasn’t bitter. Days like this he missed freedom and thought of Alicia and Ophelia. Imagined a life where he settled down with her and started over. But a normal life was never in the cards for him. Even when he’d tried to aim for the straight and narrow, trouble followed him and threatened the lives of those he loved.
Jasper wondered how Mallory Black was doing. How Jessi Price was. How were those girls down in Mexico?
He felt no guilt for the people he killed protecting them. Those killings had been for the right reasons. They weren’t revenge.
Jasper should’ve kept it to that, saving people instead of enacting the justice that had twisted him into something he could no longer face in the mirror or even live with. But there was no running from all those crimes that haunted him nightly. Even if he could, He was tired of fleeing from the things he’d done and the person he’d become.
He’d flirted with fighting the case in hopes of getting the death penalty instead of settling for a miserable existence in prison. But Jasper deserved the time. Penance and death would only be cheating justice.
As he eyed the flock of birds flying in formation overhead, he heard footsteps coming toward him. More than a single set. He turned, looked. Bit back a sigh.
Two buff white dudes. One tall and bald, the other short with slicked back dark hair and lots of ink on his arms — Aryans.
The shorter one, Kenn Faber, looked Jasper up and down. “Word is you’re a cop.”
Fuck.
Jasper didn’t know if the man was fishing or if he knew. He suspected the latter and said nothing.
“That true?” Kenn asked.
“No.”
“Well, some people are talking about shivving you. Personally, I don’t care one way or another. One less n— well, you know. But we just might be able to help each other out.”
“Oh?”
“Your cellmate needs to go. And since you’re already a lifer, you oughtta do it.”
“You want him dead, why don’t you do it?”
“It ain’t me who wants him dead. I’m just fulfilling someone else’s request. My boys do it, and it’s a race riot. But ain’t no one gonna do shit to you. One more black dude killin’ a black dude, ain’t no one gonna blink. You probably won’t get more than a few days in the hole.”
“And what do I get for doing your work?” Jasper had no intentions of killing Wally.
“You have protection.”
“From the Aryans? What about the others?”
“Protection from all the people who matter. Ain’t nothin’ that happens in here without going through me or Young Luther.”
Young Luther was a rising rap star a few years back who took the gang thing too far and got in over his head. Went to prison and brought his 904 Mafia gang thing behind bars. It was the 904 Mafia, White Nation, and Muerte Boyz all vying for the top spot on the food chain.
“Young Luther? You and he are, what, knitting buddies?”
Kenn smiled, his canines filed sharp. “Nah, but we have a working arrangement. Same with Hector and the spics. We all agree you’re safe, then shit, you might as well be sleeping in church. But first you gotta do this thing for us.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jasper said.
“You’ve got forty-eight hours. Otherwise, someone else’ll do the job and you’ll be next.”
Kenn smiled and walked away with his pet behemoth.
Jasper leaned back against the shed wall, eventually glancing over to where his podmate was lifting weights with another dude.
Wally looked suspicious.
This time, Jasper did sigh.
He knew what he had to do.
Chapter 3 - Mallory Black
Being stuck in a hospital bed waiting for the doctor to return with a prognosis was a purgatory Mal needed to get the fuck out of.
It had felt like she was having a heart attack. She had passed out. But now, everything was back to normal. Except for her skull-crushing headache.
Mal wanted to detach from the machines reading her oxygen level, heart rate, and blood pressure. Wanted to get up and out of the hospital gown and back into her clothes.
It sucked being sidelined in a hospital bed while some sick fuck was doing the unthinkable to a little girl. She needed to be there when McKenna woke up. Needed to find the bastard before it was too late and Alice Shaw was just another dead kid.
She grabbed her phone and texted her partner.
Mal: Any news?
Mike: No. You okay?
Mal: No. Doc said it’s bad.
Mike: WHAT??
Mal smiled.
Mal: Yeah, said I’ve caught a case of the Asshole Virus. Must’ve been from my partner.
Mike: Fuck you. Seriously. What’s wrong?
Mal: Still waiting to find out. Not ruling out the Assh
ole Virus, though.
She could picture him shaking his head.
Mike: Okay. I’m gonna swing by. Fill you in on the latest.
Mal: Can’t wait.
A knock sounded at the door, then it opened to Dr. Patel — an Indian woman in her late forties, with big warm brown eyes behind thick glasses and long hair pulled back into a bun.
“Hello, Mal. How are you feeling?”
“Top notch, Doc. So, what’s the verdict? Am I gonna die?”
“No.” She smiled and looked down at her chart. “But based on your responses, I think you had a panic attack.”
“Ah.”
“Have you had them before?”
“No?” But as Mal cycled through the past few months, there were a few similar instances, just not as extreme. She told the doctor about that, then asked, “So, what does that mean? Is this a thing I’m gonna have to deal with from now on?”
“Not necessarily. But it’s possible. I know you have a stressful job, and … well, you’ve been through a lot these past couple of years.”
She’s bringing up Ashley, my abduction. Is VICTIM all anybody sees when they look at me?
Mal nodded, looking down at her hands in a braid on her stomach.
“Are you seeing anybody?”
“You asking me out, Doc?”
The doctor gave Mal a polite laugh. “I meant a therapist.”
“No. Not really. I mean, I have, but no, not ongoing.”
“It might do you some good. Meanwhile, I’m going to prescribe .25 miligrams Alprazolam.”
“Xanax?”
“Yes. Only take it if you feel another attack coming on. I’m prescribing the lowest dose. Start with one pill and see how you respond. You can bump it to two if one isn’t working.”
The doctor went on about the medication, but all Mal could think was, Great, another fucking pill.
She’d been sober for six months. The notion of taking a pill so many people abused made her feel weak and even more afraid of a relapse. Plenty of people died from mixing Xanax and opiates, maybe being on Xanax would make her less likely to take the pain pills again. Choking to death on her own vomit wasn’t how Mal planned to leave this world.
The doctor detached the sensors then left.
Mike arrived a few minutes later. He looked at Mal like she was a sick kid or a wounded puppy.
The pity made her want to punch glass. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m fine. Just a panic attack. No big deal.”
Mike began to ask questions.
Mal took off her top.
“Jesus.” Mike shielded his eyes. “Could warn a guy.”
“Do my tits offend thee?”
“Fuck you,” he said, still looking elsewhere as she put on her bra.
“It’s okay, my offensive tits are now covered.” Mal grabbed her shirt and started to put it on. She was still in her underwear, but Mike didn’t turn away. At least he wasn’t a total prude.
He kept asking her questions.
She continued dodging them, then fired back, “You’re supposed to be updating me on the Alice Shaw case. Where are we?”
“Yeah, about that …” Mike looked sheepishly away.
“What?”
“Sheriff took you off of it.”
“What?”
“He heard you fainted on the scene and thought maybe it was a bit too close to all the shit you’d gone through.”
“And who’d he put on it?”
“Me and Skippy are leads.”
“Fucking Skippy? You let him put fucking Skippy on it?”
“It’s not like I had a choice, Mal!”
“Did you at least fight for me?”
Mike said nothing.
“What the hell, Mike?
“I thought you had a heart attack! What was I supposed to do? I’ll ask him to—”
“No.” Mal grabbed her coat, shoved her arms through, then her holstered gun which she slipped onto her belt. She strode past Mike and into the hallway with a shake of her head, unsure of where she was going but knowing she needed to get away from him.
“Seriously, it’s no big deal. I’ll ask him to put you back on.” Mike followed her out of the room.
Mal reached the elevator just as the doors opened and a pair of orderlies stepped out. She got on, then met her partner’s gaze. “You should’ve fought for me, Mike.”
She stabbed the button. The elevator doors slid shut.
Mal wanted to scream.
Sheriff Claude Barry had been waiting for the moment to fuck her over, and this was his excuse. He was taking her off the case. How long before he tried to make an argument that she was ill-suited for duty?
This was revenge for her backing Gloria Bell when she ran against him and got him out of office. Not only had Barry attacked her through his proxy — that fucking coward, Cameron Ford, and his stupid blog — he’d tried derailing her several times since returning to office. Someone must’ve said something, because he backed off for a bit. Even went so far as to publicly praise her. He wasn’t an idiot, and Mal was adored by the press for all she’d been through. It would be too obvious if he cleaned house immediately.
But now he had legitimate cause, calling her fitness to serve into question.
Barry was the main reason she hadn’t taken any pills. If she slipped up and used, he’d find out and would fire her on the spot for sure. Might even arrest her.
I can’t take Xanax.
He’ll say I’m a liability in the field.
Fuck!
The doors opened.
Mal got off the elevator as her phone started ringing.
It was a dispatcher. “I’ve got a man on the line saying he needs to talk to you. It’s about the missing girl.”
“Put him through.” Mal stepped outside the hospital, looking for a quiet spot just outside the entrance.
A fountain in the distance sprayed water in rhythmic spurts, and her mind flashed on a little girl’s severed neck, her carotid artery sprinkling blood like a Bellagio water show.
“Is this Mallory Black?” A man’s voice streamed suddenly in her ear, snapping her back to reality.
“Yes, who is this?”
“I’m the one you’re looking for.”
“Who is this?”
“The one who took Alice. Write down this number if you want to find her: BR60C3A866.” He vented a heavy breath, then said, “Good luck, detective. And don’t be late.”
The call went dead and Mal grabbed her notebook, jotting the number down.
But what the hell was it? Too short for a VIN. She typed the number into her browser then did a search to see if anything useful popped up.
Nothing.
What the fuck?
Mal stared at the numbers, trying to make sense of them. She flashed back to her time researching for school, and later on the job, thinking that maybe the numbers were something from the Dewey Decimal System.
A quick search of the Library of Congress’s website still yielded nothing.
She stared at the numbers. If it was a book, maybe some of the numbers referenced a specific page.
Mal typed in the digits, a few at a time until she saw a title: The Confessions of Augustine.
A religious book and a crime involving two girls walking home from church seemed to line up. The only extra numbers, if they were indeed for this book, were the numerals 66.
She went online and saw several editions of the book, including a few public domain freebies. She bought a digital edition, but there weren’t any page numbers.
Fuck.
She went to another online store and found an edition that did have page numbers, and bought that. But page sixty-six offered no clues.
Mal stared at the numbers again, trying to think of what else they might be.
Why did he say, ‘don’t be late?’
Then the answer hit her smack in the face — the library.
There
were two in town. She called Mike and told him about the call, asking him to hit the library in Butler while she took the county library.
She called Butler and spoke to a librarian named Pam. After confirming the book was there, she told her not to touch it or let anyone else near it.
Pam met her at the door then led her to the book in question.
Mal slipped on her gloves, removed the book from the shelf, then flipped to page sixty-six.
There in the margins, almost obscured unless she opened it all the way, Mal found a local address written in red ink.
She called Mike, bagged the book for evidence, then raced out of the library.
The second Mal hopped in her SUV, she tore out of the parking lot, hitting her lights and siren.
Chapter 4 - Jasper Parish
“Lights out in fifteen,” said a Corrections Officer over the intercom.
Time for the guard to go on his rounds, checking the pods and making sure Jasper took his meds.
The door buzzed open.
Tonight’s CO was Officer Ramón Hernandez, a stout man in his mid-thirties who looked like he had hit the weights hard before letting himself go. Though he had a baby face, his dark eyes, with darker circles beneath, betrayed any softness. He wasn’t the hardest of hardasses on the block, but he was all business, with little tolerance for nonsense. He’d taken Wally to the hole twice since Jasper’s arrival, both times for being a smartass.
In one blue-gloved hand, Hernandez held a small paper cup with Jasper’s three pills inside.
He opened his mouth and in went the pills.
Hernandez gave Jasper the cup which he used to fill with water from the sink over their toilet to wash them down. Then he opened his mouth for inspection. Sometimes Hernandez would pull Jasper’s tongue to the side to check, but this time he didn’t.
Hernandez left without a word.
Jasper laid down on his bunk, closing his eyes as he wondered how long it would take Wally to bring up that he’d seen Jasper talking to the Aryans.
“So, what’s those pills for, anyway? Keep you from shivving me?” Wally asked instead.
