by S. R. Rashad
It's dark in the walk-in...
“Where the hell is the light switch? Maybe there's an exit through this damn thing?"
She runs her hands along the frosty metallic walls. She touches what feels like an arm...maybe...
“shit!" It better not be. She thinks to herself. She's beyond frantic and afraid now. Just then, her hand, fumbling along the wall, finds the switch, turning on the lights. She lets out the most horrific scream...
Falling backward, she catches herself as she nearly loses her equilibrium.
Indeed it is an arm, that happens to be attached to a young coed, frozen and hanging there, and there appears to be more victims. She is panicked and hysterical for sure, glancing around the walk-in, she sees no other exits. There is just the door she entered through. She knows if she doesn't find a door, or some way out, she'll be next. She has no idea where her captor is, or when he'll return, causing her heart to race through the roof. She starts to cry hysterically, in heavy panic breaths. She tries controlled breathing, but can't. There has to be a way out, and out of this fuckin' mess.
Peter enters the room. Feeling his presence, she turns quickly. She noticed him entering the room through what was a hidden doorway, as all of the paneled walls and doors look exactly alike. She knows where there is a exit now. She charges at Peter. Scared and energized both at the same time, her adrenaline kicks into supercharge. She's swinging and yelling, crying and kicking, all hands and feet and screams.
Peter does a quick sidestep as she charges at him. Taking a few glanced blows to his arm and chest, he makes one forceful right jab and connects with her right eye and like that, she's out again.
Peter enjoys the runners, the ones with fight and bravado. The rush is beyond measure. Especially, when he subdues them again, showing his dominance. "Oh yes! Little lady, that was...great!"...he screams in exhilaration, poised in a victory stance over her, as though he just won a prizefight. She lays motionless on the cold tile floor.
She's back in her restraints, back on the operating table, back at the mercy of the merciless VonNetzer. Unless by a miracle or some divine intervention, which at this moment is seeming very unlikely, her fate is sealed, like all the rest who’ve come across the path of a psychotic perfect storm.
She comes to again, no loose straps, on this occasion, no wiggle room on these restraints, not even the hint of freedom, no more running. The monster will have his way. She looks up at Peter lording over her. The cold table sends a chill through her body. There is an uncanny coldness to the table, to the room, to the moment. She sees Peter for what he is. He's no jerky boyfriend. He's no sappy, goofy potential lover. He's not looking to steal a first kiss. He is a dominant sociopath, a psychotic maniac, a friendless frenzied psychopath, a blood thirsty monster. And he's the last man she'll ever see. Her last look at humanity...she is still hoping for a miracle, for a time out, a do-over.
She asks for Peter to spare her. She begs. She yells and squirms and wiggles. She makes all sorts of promises if he would just let her go. The enraptured monster is immune to protestations. He rubs her arms, caresses her legs, feeling the warmth of her soft skin, as her blood courses beneath, but he says nothing. Eyeing her raw fleshy glow from head to toe, he is too much in bliss. She gives in. She tries to make peace with her fate. Her eyes water. Her impending doom overwhelms her. She retraces the events of the day. She second guesses her choice to leave home for the weekend and stay up north at her friend's place. Why did she stop running and confront Peter. Why did she get into his truck. Her head fills with "why's" and "what if's,” no one understands this moment better than Peter. Few have seen this moment in someone's eyes more than he. Few enjoy this moment as much as he. He rolls the machine over to the table. She turns and looks at the nightmare machine coming toward her and is so afraid, she begins to shake and weep hysterically.
"No, no, no, little lady, this is not a time to fret. No one appreciates you more than I; your gift, your sacrifice."
…as he runs his hands through her beautiful curly brunette locks, admiring her well kept silky strands. He rubs her now flushed lips and catches the tear rolling down the side of her face with the tip of his index finger, rubbing the moisture between his thumb and index finger. He looks at the tips of his now tear soaked fingers, then rubs them across his lips and kisses her forehead.
He pushes a button on the side of the table, causing a large panel in the ceiling just above the table, to side open, revealing a full length mirror embedded directly above her. This is a special treat for guests who put up a fight, who resist his gift; they get to share in every detail of their exsanguination, every puncture, every slice, every bloodletting, every strange function of Peter's nightmare machine.
She looks tearfully at Peter, the machine, the mirror, the image of her bound body, her helpless state. Peter's cold voice and calculated delivery…”Yes, look. Look at yourself…this is your truth and mine…predator and prey...bound together in life…made whole in death, in sacrifice.”
Peter turns on the nightmare machine. The noise itself is enough to send a chill deep to the core... gears grind rapidly... dials spin purposefully… tubes drain effectively... surgical blades cut and slice deep and true…all joining together to form an apparatus with a singular purpose...to snatch life…quickly, efficiently and most effectively. He slides the cold long blade across the inner topography of her warm and smooth thigh, locating the carotid artery. She whimpers, taking deep panic breathes as she watches him in the over head mirror. He kisses her thigh at the carotid, then jabs the long blade deep into her. She screams then bites her lip. Peter shoves a tube into the incision. The machine begins to pump as it drains her. Large quantities of blood are sucked from her body..
Looking into the mirror, she wants to pass out from the sight alone, not to mention the blood loss. He holds his hand there between her thighs, on the tube and knife, admiring the effectiveness of it. In a few seconds, she will be no more. He moves his face close to hers. He rubs his cheek against hers, feeling her warmth for the last time, as he waits for that most special moment when the life force is drained from the body. His face pressed against hers. He rams another blade into her neck at the jugular. Her skin quickly loses color. Her body temperature drops rapidly. Her breathing becomes shallow pants. Her eyes which were clear and green, begin to run back into her head. Peter's heart begins racing. His eyes well up. His excitement starts to climax and then, in an instant, there is the miracle of death. Trish lowell is gone. Her life's essence claimed by Peter and his nightmare machine; his…the last face she sees, the machine...the last sound she hears.
Peter stands over what once was vibrant life, a young, joy filled embodiment of hope and wonder, but is now a thing, an object to be discarded like a child's once beloved teddy bear, at the point the child has grown and the bear can no longer hold the child's love and affection, so too is the fate of the things that cross Peter’s table. The heated elation Peter felt, at its peak just moments ago, begins to fade quickly. Her body doesn't glow anymore. There is nothing radiant about Trish, now. She no longer has the ability to captivate the intense, depraved and unwanted attention of a monster. Her blood now holds fascination for Peter. It alone gives him solace.
He removes the lifeless, non radiant object from his table, places it in a large clear plastic bag, takes it over to the walk-in. He moves the other discarded things to the side to make way for one more. He finds a pair of hooks and hangs it there to freeze till he has the time, or the wherewithal to properly discard any trace of its former existence.
The machine has done its work. There is blood…
A deep need is satiated. Joy comes in crimson.
He pulls a lever on the floor beneath the table.
A panel opens, revealing a set of stairs
which leads to his most precious sanctuary.
The reason for the blood is there, beneath…
Chapter 8
Keeper of the gate
The warden is calle
d down to investigate the attempted prison break…
This is Big John Willis’ first huge appointment by the governor, as warden of this newly updated super-max facility; one of the oldest structures in the Catskills region, it was first used as a citadel for George Washington’s army, then it went into disrepair for years until it was purchased by PT Thurman, the largest bootlegger of the Jazz-age. After his arrest, it was seized by the government in 1934. Then it became a manufacturing and storage facility for the war efforts. Finally, it was abandoned once more before becoming what it is today, the beast of all prisons, super-high and super-thick walls all around, with four watchtowers, each equipped with snipers at the ready, and highly trained guards, mostly ex-military to keep a close eye on the inner workings of the day to day functions, not to mention one of the best alarm systems around.
There will be no prison breaks on his watch. He won’t have it…
“What the hell is going on around here, boys.” As he addresses his more senior officers.
“Now, am I hearing it correctly, one of these gentlemen isn’t happy with the hospitality around here…” one of the guards attempts to speak.
“What are you motioning for young man? This is a rhetorical question. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. Let’s find out what exactly is going on around here.”
The guards stand waiting for further instructions…
“Well, what the hell are you all standing around for. Let’s investigate this son of a bitch!”
“Sgt. Hobbs, I want you with me.”
“Yes, Warden Willis.”
Sgt. Hobbs is warden willis’ right hand; a vet of more then 6 tours and possibly the most decorated of the 1st Sgt.’s of the Iraqi Wars. This former MP has proven to be one of warden willis most trusted and astute guards whose investigative skills are also legend.
“What do you know of what or who is trying to break out of my prison?”
“Well, sir, I know for a fact that no one got out, but the alarm was triggered. It is possible it was an error but I find that highly unlikely.”
“Where was the alarm first triggered or who reported it, Sgt.?”
“Well, Sir, that is unclear at the moment.”
“I’m gonna need you to make it clear before the Governor begins to have doubts about my leadership. Are we clear on that Sgt.?”
“Crystal, Sir.”
“Good. Lets get some answers.”
Sgt. Hobbs is accurate when he said no one escaped, but that wasn’t the true nature of the false alarm, and calling it a false alarm isn’t truly accurate either. The alarm was indeed trigger on purpose. How else could one test the response time and effectiveness of the new system. In theory, this prison is unescapable, but theories have been proven to be wrong before. So why all the theatrics…
Ben Dylan was one of the guards stationed at the monitors when all the commotion happened. He is the first name on Sgt. Hobbs’ list. And his list is pretty short. He is confident the answers will come quickly. He is a proven investigator. And he knows people, how they work, how they function and what motivates them, or so he believes.
The warden wants a bulk of the investigation to be held in his office. Although Sgt. Hobbs is charged with leading and conducting the investigation, warden Willis who rules with an iron hand, will be damned if he doesn’t have a watchful eye on the goings on, from start to finish. Therefore, the warden’s office will set the stage.
Ben is called to the office…
“Hello warden, hello Sgt. Hobbs, I was told to report to the office.”
“Yes, now son, I want you to just pretend I’m not here. This is a matter for Sgt. Hobbs,” bellows the warden. He loves for people to pretend they don’t see his 6’6 320 pound figure in the room.
“Okay, what do you need from me, Sgt.?”
“Well, officer Dylan, What is this attempted prison break about? You were the first to report it. Is that correct?”
“Um, I believe so...well, The lights and alarms started going crazy on one of the monitors that keeps track of the north gate and northern quatrain.”
“Okay, do you know what triggered this monitor to flash? Was it an electrical malfunction or…”
“No, Sgt. Hobbs. There was a breach in the gate near the northern corridor. I believe.”
“A breach, you say,”
“Yes sir, Sgt., a breach.”
“I reviewed the tape earlier, officer Dylan, and I saw no indication of a breach in the video.”
“Well, I can’t speak on that, but there was a breach, for sure.”
“Okay, we’ll review the tape again. Anything else you want to report?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Okay then officer Dylan. That’ll be all.”
“Okay, sir.”
Warden Willis who was paying close attention to the interview, steps up to address what was said, as officer Dylan exits…
“So, what do you think of his story, Sgt. And can we trust his character?
“I’m not 100 percent yet, sir, but he seems truthful, that is, at least I believe he believes his story.”
“But you say, you saw nothing of a breach on the tapes, is that, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, I ain’t no rocket surgeon, but something ain’t adding up. Is it?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Well, lets do some more damn investigating. Cause shit! There’s something going on here!”
The warden, Sgt. Hobbs and Hobbs’ right hand, officer Johns, head over to the central monitoring room, where most of the prison is under the watchful eye of the ‘big brother monitoring system.’ There are more than 30 screens and 16 guards assigned there on an 8 man 12 hour rotation. At any given time, there will be 8 guards, a supervisory Sgt. And two video techs present. Each guard being in charge of 4 monitors, while the supervisor monitors the guards and the techs keep a watchful eye on the system itself. Now, the monitors for the northern quatrain where the first triggered, but an earlier cursory investigation found nothing there that would have triggered the alarm and this is were there are holes in the guard’s accounts. So here is where the team has decided to focus their attention.
The warden’s team confronts Sgt. Richards, the supervisor on duty at the time of the attempted break.
“Hello Sgt. Richards, have there been any hick ups in this system lately?”
“Nothing that would make the report, Sgt. Hobbs.”
“So there are hick ups, Sgt.?”
“No, not really. Just day to day minor bugs, nothing out of the ordinary, a cd skips, the volume on the speakers fluctuate, knobs break. This kinda stuff is within reason.”
“You’ve reviewed the tapes earlier and made me a copy, but we would like to see the monitor that flashed the initial warning and the original cd at the time of the incident.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
They all step over to the four monitors that act as the eyes in the northern quatrain…
“You see, not much here,” says Sgt. Richards.
The team looks over the monitors to see if they have been tampered with. All seems to be in order. The more experienced of the techs has cleared the system, saying it is fully intact. All parts are working in satisfactory condition.
“Listen, here boys! Everybody keeps saying the same goddamn thing. The system is great. The system is great. Then what the hell? If everything is so goddamn great, why the hell are we all here!” Shouts Big John.
The room is silent. No one dares speak then Sgt. Hobbs steps up…
“You know what. I hear every body saying the system’s great and no one saw anything funny except for officer Dylan. He says the northern gate appeared to be jarred and that’s what the monitors picked up on. Well, if is the system is great, then there had to be something funny going on at the time the alarm was triggered…Play the tape again!”
Everyone stands over the four monitors as they play the tape starting from just a few
minutes from the alarm being triggered to a few minutes after. And then everyone sees it, but no one is sure what they just saw…until...
“Wait…what was that I just saw, Sgt.” Asks Sgt. Hobbs
“What was what?” Says Sgt. Richards.
“What was what? Did you just not see what I see?”
“Nope.”
“No. No?... Someone play back the last few minutes.”
Sgt. Hobbs points at the bottom right hand corner of the screen…
“Hold, here it comes…there…see?”
“Oh, that. The CD skipped,” Sgt. Richards says nonchalantly…”that happens.”
“Yea, but at the exact same time as the alarms signal a breach?”
“Well…ah…I don't know.”
“No you don't know. That's the problem…look…see here!” He says angrily, “The numbers counting on the bottom right hand corner? These are time signatures.”
“I know that.”
“You do. Do you? Okay. First, at the same time the alarm is sounded, the glitch happens, unlikely. And further, the alarm in that quatrain rings for ten minutes. the exact amount of time that's missing from the time signature. Someone erased ten minutes from the tape, people. That’s why there's a jump, gentlemen.”
The warden is irate and he lets everyone know it…
“Good lord! What a bunch of… I don’t know what? Hell, I am tempted to say idiots but I think that would be insulting to idiots. You bunch of nitwits, shit!”
“Someone here fucked with my goddamn tape. Better still, there was a breach. What I think happened is that some nincompoop left the northern gate unlocked and tried to cover up his incompetence. Gentleman, I'm sure of it, but believe me. There will be hell to pay.”
The warden calls Sgt. Hobbs over and whispers…
