by Ladew, Lisa
Lance had tried to imagine being caught in one of these cells and found he could do it all too easily. He wondered if his father and his uncle knew about this room. It had an air of disuse, as if no one had been in it for a long time.
Little-boy Lance had imagined one day being old enough to investigate the mystery and find out who had built the bomb shelter, but as an adult? It didn’t even matter anymore. Someone had built it for him, that much was obvious, even if they didn’t know it at the time. The room fit his needs in this lifetime perfectly.
As Lance walked through the barn and remembered that first trip into the bomb shelter, he wondered again if anyone in his family had ever made use of the bomb shelter in any way, including what appeared to be its intended use of some sort of interrogation chamber or homemade jail cell. And if so, who? It seemed unlikely that his father or uncle ever had. They had both been nothing but alcoholic losers. He wondered if they even had ever even known about it and thought it unlikely.
His family had a long history in California, and supposedly this farm had been built in the 1800s. Lance had never looked deeply into the history of the farm or of his family; such matters just weren’t important to him. All that was truly important was his goal. His bomb shelter was just another example of the help he received along the way. Another piece of the puzzle that he had somehow weaved for himself before setting himself off on this grand adventure.
Lance picked up the trapdoor and lowered himself onto the ladder, then pulled the trapdoor shut above him. He made his way down the 126 rungs, counting each one so he knew when to step off in the darkness. He pushed his way through the small door, definitely having to crouch this time, and immediately started lighting the lanterns.
Everything was in its place, all the doors were shut, and nothing was disturbed. Perfect. Not that he expected anything to be disturbed. No one knew about this place and there was no way the women could get out of their cells. It smelled of course, but that was to be expected. He hadn’t been here in three days.
He walked to one of the counters and rummaged in the equipment neatly laid out on top. It was time for his shot. He had his needles set up everywhere so he never had to go without one. Lance drew up a syringe and dropped his pants. He wiped his leg with alcohol, and gave himself the shot, imagining he could immediately feel its effects. He pulled up his pants and dropped the needle into the garbage can under the counter, then turned to the day’s chores. No one had made a peep yet, and that was good. He hated when the women cried and begged. It didn’t happen anymore with this group. They knew the ropes. There hadn’t been a new addition to their happy family for two months now. Zippy had been supposed to go and pick someone up at the San Francisco airport last week, but Zippy was unavailable for now. Briefly, Lance wondered what Olga had done. Had she gotten back on a plane and gone home? Or was she still wandering around San Francisco, looking for Frank Phillips? She had gotten off easy, and she didn’t even know it.
Lance turned his attention to the containers outside each one of the cell doors. He passed the ancient chairs that were still exactly how they had been forty years ago, with barely a glance. The only thing that was different in the room these days was the shower he and Zippy had added, plus all their supplies. Oh, and the fact that the cells were in use.
He grabbed a large black plastic bag off a counter and began to gather bags of human waste. A few years ago, he and Zippy had briefly experimented with composting toilets inside the cells, but that had been a big disaster. The smell had been so bad inside the room that no one could stand to be in there, so they’d adopted this system instead. The women knew to go inside the bags and then seal them and push them out the food slot. When either he or Zippy came, they piled the waste bags into a plastic bag and hauled it up the ladder, then dumped it at a far point on the farm. It was a lot of work, but better than the alternative.
Lance noticed immediately that there were no bags outside of cell number four. He quickly gathered up the rest of the containers and took the trash bag out to the base of the ladder, then returned to figure out what was wrong with Svetlana. He crouched, then opened up her food slot and looked in, careful to keep his face well away from the door. He wasn’t too worried about an attack though, the women knew they would die without him tending to them.
A smell hit him in the face immediately. A different smell than the bags of waste. Fuck. There was no questioning that smell. She wasn’t playing possum. She wasn’t sleeping. Svetlana was dead, and had been for at least a day or two. But what could have killed her? Did she get sick? She had seemed to have been eating and drinking normally the last time he had come. Maybe she had been pouring her water on the ground. But could a person do that? Keep themselves from drinking water even if it was readily available? No, she must have been sick, or had an infirmity he didn’t know about.
Lance swore and crossed the room quickly. Now he was down to five women. And what a waste! He hadn’t even been able to use her the way he wanted. He didn’t think it would take five bodies to push Katerina over the edge, but he didn’t know for sure how things were going to play out. Damn! And Svetlana had seemed to be in perfect health.
Lance paced quickly back and forth across the room. He needed to think.
Chapter 6
Waiting for nothing in the living room of Katerina’s small apartment, West drank another beer. If he was counting, which he wasn’t, this was probably his sixth or seventh beer. He hated sitting around and doing nothing. He hated how things were going. He especially hated that there was some sort of a rift between him and Katerina. Why was he hanging around here if she didn’t want him anymore? West squashed the thought the instant it flashed through his brain. None of this was Katerina’s fault. And there was no way he was going to just abandon her. He tried to think back to the Katerina he had met in the bar, the light and teasing Katerina he had worked with on the ambulance. She would be back soon, he knew she would. They just needed to get through this.
He heard the door to the bedroom at the far end of the hallway open and shut. He looked up to see Jordan enter the living room.
“She says she’s tired,” Jordan told him. “I’m going to head home, but I can come back anytime you think she needs me.”
West looked hard at Jordan, weighing a question in his mind. Finally, he decided he needed to know. “Let me ask you something, Jordan. Does Katerina have any anger issues?”
Jordan looked surprised. “Anger? No, Katerina is the least angry person I know.” Her eyebrows drew together. “In fact, I don’t think I can remember a time that she’s been angry. Irritated, sure. Upset, yes. But angry? You know Katerina. She’s just not like that. She’s sweet, always wanting to think the best of everyone.”
West nodded wearily. “I know. But she’s been angry lately.”
Irritation flashed on Jordan’s face. “Well wouldn’t you be? If some nut case was targeting you?”
West held up his hands. “Hey, I know it’s justified. It’s just sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s her. I get afraid… Well, I don’t know,” West finished lamely, not wanting to voice his true fears. Deep inside, he was afraid that she was changing in a fundamental way, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Just call me, okay? I’ll come straight over if you’re having a hard time with her. I know I can make her feel better. Maybe I’ll just come by every day after work no matter what, until this is all over. But you can still call me if I’m not here - call me anytime. I can always take a day off from work if she needs me.”
“I appreciate that, Jordan. You’re a good friend.” West stood up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
West walked to the door and held it open for her. “I know I don’t have to, but I would feel better if you let me. Until the second psycho is caught I think you should be more careful than normal.”
Jordan pulled something out of her purse. “That’s why I have this,” she said, holding u
p a piece of black plastic.
West looked closer. A taser. He took an involuntary step backwards. “Whoa, do you know how to use that thing?”
“Absolutely. I took a class.”
“Well good… But I’d still feel better if I walked you to your car.”
Jordan cocked her head at him and raised the pitch of her voice in a false breathy voice. “Walk away, good sir. My coach is out yonder.”
West laughed and followed her out the door, locking it behind him. He checked inside her car, then waved as she drove away. The moment he stepped back inside the apartment he could feel the increased tension simmering there. His first thought was to run to Katerina’s door, but she was just inside the living room, staring intently at him.
“Where were you?” Her voice was low and tense.
“I walked Jordan to her car.”
A variety of emotions passed over Katerina’s face. West watched them come and go, fascinated. He saw what looked to him like relief, anger, determination, and then curiosity.
“So what is with Blaise anyway?” Katerina asked, the anger suddenly gone.
“What do you mean?”
“Why does he hate Jordan?”
“Hate Jordan? He doesn’t hate Jordan.” West could feel his own confusion registering on his face. Hate was such a strong word. Katerina kept throwing him off every time she said something.
“Well he sure isn’t nice to her. I think she might be interested in him, but he barely looks at her or talks to her.”
West sighed. He hadn’t seen this coming. “Oh. I didn’t realize she was interested in him. He’s got this uh … thing, about badge bunnies.”
Katerina’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck is a badge bunny?” she spat out.
West winced at her choice of words and the venom with which she spoke them. She’d gone from normal, to hostile in a half a second. A week ago, he never would’ve believed she had a hostile bone in her body. He chose his words carefully. “You know, a woman who goes after police officers. Blaise says he would never date one. He says they’re untrustworthy and any officer he’s ever known who has gone out with one has regretted it. He says they cheat with the other officers.”
“What does that have to do with Jordan?”
“I don’t know. I’m just assuming I guess, because he’s seen her at the cop bar before, that maybe he thinks she’s one of them?” West saw danger in Katerina’s eyes. “I mean, I know she’s a perfectly lovely person and I’m sure she’s not like that but maybe he just thinks that she is because he’s seen her there.”
This time the emotions didn’t just cross Katerina’s face, they exploded there. Disbelief, anger, then a deep and abiding rage. Her hands snatched at the items on the coffee table in front of her. She managed to grasp a magazine, and she opened it and ripped it right in half. West watched her, incredulous. She dropped the two pieces and pushed past West, stomping to the bedroom. She slammed the door hard, and West blinked, shaking his head. He wished Jordan had been here to see that. He would’ve liked to have known what she thought.
West walked to the window and stared out of it. Being inside so much was really wearing on him. He was an outdoors guy, an active guy. Always moving, always doing something physical. It wouldn’t have been so bad, cramped inside this apartment, if Katerina was her normal self. But with her being so upset all the time, he felt like he was drowning.
He needed to get her help. He wondered briefly if she had taken any of the pills yet, but knew she probably hadn’t. Maybe he should take her a glass of water…
West’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and answered it absently. “Shepherd.”
“West, bro, you’re finally answering your phone. Where you been?”
West huffed out a breath and relaxed at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Brody! Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. Things are crazy up here. How’s the company? How’s Dad?”
“Dad’s the same. The company is booming. I’ve added fourteen new distributions this month. We’re going to have to start a new production line.”
“That’s great, Brody. See I knew you’d be the best CEO the company ever had.”
“Yeah well, that goes without saying…”
West laughed and pictured the cocky grin he was certain was on his little brother’s face right now. The quintessential Brody grin. But Brody deserved to spout off a little bit. He was one of the youngest CEOs of any company in the entire state, and doing an excellent job. He had graduated from business school with a 4.0 average, taking to it much easier than West ever had. He was born to make deals and amp up production. West had taken over the family business when their dad had shown early signs of Alzheimer’s, but he’d never loved it. He’d sent his little brother to business school as soon as he could pull him off of the ski slopes or out of the ocean waves for more than a semester. Brody still surfed or skied most days, but Shepherd Industries was his first priority now.
“So what’s new with you, West? Dad said you’re part of some police investigation?”
“Yeah, there’s some crazy stuff going on up here. I’ve, uh, kind of gotten involved with someone who -”
West broke off, a thought spearing into his brain and not letting go. Brody had always been interested in science, nature and the supernatural. He’d heavily researched the occult and miraculous phenomena on his own when he was in high school, all while taking advanced chemistry and biology classes. West was eight years older than Brody and hadn’t seen most of it firsthand, but he remembered his father calling and complaining about Brody’s newest obsession frequently. Their father had been quite worried about some of the more far-out aspects, but Brody had let most of it go when he had entered business school. West knew that Brody had spent a good deal of his trust fund tracking down things like Jesus in a grilled cheese sandwich or crop circles in the Midwest between the ages of seventeen and twenty. He suddenly wondered how much his brother could help him with his current situation.
“Hey Brody, I’m glad you called. I have a really serious question to ask you.” West took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to phrase what he was wanting to ask. Suddenly he knew Brody was his link to some answers to Katerina. He should have thought of him before! In fact, now that he was thinking about it, Brody was probably the reason he had come to accept Katerina’s ability even before she did. Many people automatically distrust the notion that psychic phenomena even exists, but West had come to terms with the probability that it did years before, when his brother, one of the smartest people he knew, fell in love with it.
He phrased his question for Brody carefully. “Is there such a thing as a psychic for psychics?”
West heard Brody laugh on the other end of the phone. “Are you making fun of me, big bro? I don’t mess around with that stuff too much anymore.”
“I’m not making fun of you at all. That’s not really what I meant. I think I want to know if there’s an adviser for psychics or someone that helps people who have psychic powers learn how to control them. But someone for real, not some quack just trying to make money. Is there such a thing?”
The phone was silent and West held his breath. Finally, Brody spoke again. “There’s a lot of fakes and bullshit out there West, But there is one lady who might be for real. I’ve heard some pretty amazing things about her but she’s more of a psychic to the stars these days. That’s where the money is. She’d be the only person that I can think of in this country who might be able to provide that kind of a service, but I can’t say for sure. I’ve never talked to her in person. She’s expensive.”
Expensive? West knew Brody’s trust fund that had matured when he turned twenty-one had been a bit over a million dollars, and his current salary as CEO earned him more than four times that in a year. But West didn’t like the doubt in Brody’s voice.
“You said in this country – is there someone in another country that I would be better off going to?”
“I’ve heard some pretty fan
tastic stories about what people are doing in other countries, and what kind of abilities they have, but I can’t verify any of them either. I’ll bet Madame Gabriel is your best bet. If she can’t help you, maybe she would know someone who could. I’m not really interested in that scene anymore.”
“Do you have her number?”
“No, but I’m sure I can get it. What in the hell is going on with you, West?”
West pictured himself trying to explain what had been going on with Katerina and shook his head. He didn’t have that kind of time to waste right now. If someone could help Katerina, that was a priority. “Sorry Brody, I don’t have time to explain it all right now. Get me that lady’s number, and I’ll call you back ASAP and explain everything. It’s quite a story.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back then.”
The phone went dead in West’s ear and he knew he’d upset his brother. But he also knew his brother would get over it quickly. None of the Shepherd boys could stay mad for long. It wasn’t in their makeup.
***
West sat on the couch, silently urging his phone to ring. It had been an hour. He’d eaten a snack and finished another beer. He hadn’t heard a peep from the bedroom. He sincerely hoped that Katerina was sleeping. What had the psychic lady’s name been? It came into his mind almost immediately. Madame Gabriel. He opened a web browser on his phone and typed in the name. Google returned dozens of results, but as West read the titles, his heart sank. She was a psychic to the stars. She went to a movie star’s house and read their palm or their aura or something. Not what he was looking for at all. She was probably nothing but an old fraud. West huffed out a breath and knew he was back to the drawing board.
