A tat. It was just a tat. A small thing. It could be removed someday. At least they’d done it when she’d been unconscious. She laughed at herself. Like she was ever going to be making plans for the future. Although if they’d knocked her out to give her a tattoo, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Always the Pollyanna, Gerard. Better let that shit go now.
She closed her eyes, picturing Maureen’s mangled body on the floor next to her in the hospital. They’d shot her in the head. Without warning, without any real provocation. Caroline had never seen anything that graphic save for photos and videos. So few people left who were willing to do the right thing…and they were being exterminated one by one. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, trying not to imagine why they’d be willing to kill anyone in their way in order to get to her.
She took inventory of herself. She felt the same way she had when she’d woken up in the hospital. Her ribs hurt. Her head hurt. Her entire body hurt. But she knew…she would know if they’d done anything else to her. If they’d touched her inappropriately. She would have to know. Right now she had no indication that they’d done anything other than violate her body with some ink and a needle. And strip her down to that poorly fitting bra and loose pair of undies. She preferred not to think about it that much. Not that she’d ever know for sure but…
She looked down at the silver cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Standard for prisoner transport and court appearances, although she was fairly certain that it was illegal to secure them to the floor while vehicles were in movement.
Oh, and they’ve been so willing to abide by the rules so far. Don’t focus on their reckless violence, homicidal tendencies, and totalitarian behavior. No, get upset about a technical violation.
How many times had she sat in a courtroom watching defendants being paraded in by United States Marshals or local sheriffs, shackled from head to toe? She’d always search the faces of the men and women she prosecuted, wondering if they felt anything when they had those restraints placed upon their bodies. If they felt their human dignity starting to fade. Or if they became so accustomed to the chains that their response to them was almost automatic.
Caroline would calmly flip through her files, occasionally glancing up at the people whose fate was largely in her hands, taking for granted her own freedom of movement. Her own discretion. Her own authority. Occasionally she’d ponder it on a deeper level, wondering how she’d react in the same situation. Would she rebel? Would she claw and scream and refuse to relent? Or would she obey, be docile, and meekly acquiesce?
She smiled to herself. It had taken four men to hold her down in the hospital. Fuck them all. They had no authority over her. She wasn’t a federal prosecutor anymore and this wasn’t her America. This was a rogue government with no moral or legal right over her. If they wanted her to give up her self-respect, they’d have to strangle it out of her. Or sedate her first. Even then, she wasn’t going down without one hell of a fight.
The van rumbled on and she started to feel queasy. She didn’t even have enough room to put her head between her knees. She’d never been one to get carsick but she’d never been tossed around the inside of a transport van, either. The driver started making a series of sharp turns. They were likely close to arriving at their destination. Without a watch she had no concept of time, and she had no idea how long she’d been out before they’d put her in the back of the van. But she couldn’t have been awake for more than five or ten minutes.
The van squealed to a sudden stop. The rear door opened and the harsh sunlight reflected on the snow temporarily blinded her. She tried to shield her eyes with a shackled hand, but it didn’t matter. Three men climbed into the back of the van, blocking out the light.
“Well, well,” one of them said. “Our little celebrity has arrived.”
Caroline glared at him as he began to remove her cuffs from the bench. What could she do to defend herself if he tried anything? What would they expect? What could she get away with?
“Don’t try anything,” he said.
She knew better, even if she’d been pondering otherwise. That little excursion in the woods had taught her that. And they all had sidearms. An interesting observation. She had a hunch that their aim wouldn’t be all that bad at close range, and they surely wouldn’t shoot to kill. They’d shoot to cause unbearable pain and permanent disability. She was still valuable enough to keep alive.
Pick your battles.
Caroline sat back, compliant, as he shackled her wrists back together and removed the chains around her ankles. He lifted her to a hunched standing position. Her legs were asleep and she lurched forward into another man’s arms.
The first man laughed. “I think she likes you, Fischer.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Fischer asked. When the first man laughed, he frowned. “That wasn’t meant to be a joke, Cameron.”
“My mistake,” Cameron said. “Guess we’ll have to ask the last stripper who gave you a lap dance.”
“Suck it.” Fischer pulled Caroline closer to him and laughed meanly. “Now, sweetheart. I’m not your type. Don’t you have a jealous husband?”
Caroline told herself to keep her damn mouth shut but couldn’t help herself. She’d pick her battles, but she couldn’t be expected to choose wisely all the time. Whatever sedative that remained in her bloodstream weakened her ability to control her anger. “Fuck you.”
Fischer dragged her out of the van and she tumbled to the ground. He heaved her to her feet, slapping her across the face.
“Be nice,” he said. “Your life’s gonna get a lot worse once you go inside there.” He yanked her toward the gray building the van was facing. The other two men climbed out of the van.
“Let’s go,” Cameron said. “Book her in.”
They reached the back door and the first man buzzed them in. Fischer dragged her into a long hallway where a young man in blue sat at a computer.
“Hey, Gary,” he said. “Got a fresh one for you.”
“Inmate name?” Gary asked.
“Caroline Gerard,” Cameron announced, sounding a little too proud of himself.
“McIntyre,” Caroline added. She had no idea why she wasn’t controlling herself better. She was going to get the shit beaten out of her, and soon.
“What was that?” Gary asked.
“Caroline Gerard McIntyre,” she corrected. “If you’re going to detain me without probable cause and deprive me of any number of my constitutional rights, the least you can do is get my fucking name right.”
Gary turned to Fischer. “She’s a feisty one, eh?”
“She’ll lose that soon enough,” Fischer said. “We’ve already placed our bets on when she’s gonna start bawling like a little girl, begging to go home. We done here?”
“Yeah.” Gary gave Caroline a mocking smile. “Cellblock 5. Presidential Suite 27.”
Fischer pushed her down the hall. “It’s not really a Presidential Suite. In case you were getting your hopes up, sweetheart.”
“Now all my dreams are shattered,” she said. “And stop calling me sweetheart, asshole.”
He laughed. “It’s too bad you’re such a treasonous bitch. I suspect I’d enjoy having a drink with you.”
They took a meandering path down several hallways until they reached an unusually quiet area. Steel doors. Barred doors. Heavy doors. All up and down the hall. She and her escort were the only two people around.
Fischer withdrew a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the door in front of them. “You get some privacy, sweetheart,” he said, making sure to emphasize the term. “That is, in terms of other inmates.”
Ah, yes. She’d be sure to mention that perk on the comment card. This guy was 100% certified asshole. “I told you to stop that,” she said.
He shoved the door open. “You think you have the right to make demands now?”
Fuck him. If she let them push her around in the beginning, they’d never let up. “You don’t get to call me sweet
heart.”
Fischer pushed her forward into a cold, dark room that Caroline could see was plainly marked with the number 27. He shoved her up against the wall by her throat, and she gasped for breath.
“Let’s get one thing straight, lady,” he said. “I can call you whatever the fuck I want. You read me?”
She nodded the best she could, coughing for air. Fischer quickly yanked her further into the cell by her handcuffs. The sudden movement jarred her, and she cried out.
Her response made him grin. “Seems to me that you’re not fully aware of the position you’re in right now. Maybe you need to be a little more scared.” He punched her in the face, propelling her backwards onto the bed.
Caroline covered her head in case he was going to hit her again. His gaze fell to the small scar on her left arm. The one she’d forgotten about, since it was several years old. Barely noticeable anymore. He fingered the scar and she tried to draw back. She winced in pain, the blood dripping down her face. Fischer pulled his hand away, staring at the scar again. His lips turned up in another cruel smile. This guard thrived on the pain and humiliation of others. Another troubling notation for her mental file.
Maybe she needed to stop keeping track of her unsettling observations.
“That’s a little badge of honor for you, right?” Fischer didn’t wait for her to answer. “You’re gonna have plenty more of those by the time we’re finished with you.” He pulled out a baton and cracked her across the temple. She could swear she heard him laughing as the room faded to black.
Chapter Four
The Past
The floor was freezing. Caroline never thought about it before but she very rarely got over to the Capitol Visitor’s Center. And never considered whether it would be wise to park her ass on the marble while wearing a skirt suit.
She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against the wall. Random voices told her things, random hands poked her arm. She knew the voices she heard were people from the first aid office down the hall from the metal detectors, with maybe a police officer thrown in somewhere. She struggled to concentrate.
“Get back, come on, let me through!”
Caroline heard a familiar, severe female voice nearby, and the personnel scuttled away. She felt the rush of someone practically diving toward her on the floor and caught the scent of expensive perfume.
“Chrissy?” she mumbled.
“I’m right here.” Caroline could hear the concern in Christine’s voice. “Oh, Punky.” She started unbuttoning Caroline’s navy blue suit jacket, pulling it back to try to remove it from her injured arm. She then began pressing on her shoulder and upper arm instead.
Caroline thought she heard her curse and opened her eyes. “That’s not very ladylike, Representative Sullivan.”
Christine hardly ever used profanity. She left that to Caroline and Tom, and to a lesser extent, Jess. Caroline knew Christine was trying to be gentle but it really, really hurt.
“Like I give a shit right now.” Christine was muttering again. “Mother of God.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a medical degree, remember?” Christine’s tone was self-righteous. “I was at the entrance to the House gallery and some random Capitol police officer ran over to get me, yelling something about a shooting at the Visitor’s Center.” She inhaled sharply, continuing to prod at the wound in Caroline’s arm. “He didn’t tell me it was you.”
Caroline weakly attempted to swat Christine’s hand away. “Stop that,” she said.
“You’re bleeding. A lot. I’m fairly certain your brachial artery was hit. I’m trying to slow it down a little.” Christine turned to the policeman standing near them, keeping a steady hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Have someone go get Representative McIntyre. John McIntyre, from Pennsylvania. He’s on the House floor.” The cop just stood there. “Now,” she said firmly.
Christine’s voice was steady, controlled, businesslike. The switch had been flipped. Caroline had never seen her in doctor mode before. It was similar to her congressional mode, but more formidable. Colder.
Christine grabbed the inside of her arm and squeezed. Caroline willed herself not to cry but the pain made it virtually impossible. She tried not to sound too whiny. “Do you have to push so hard?” she whispered.
Christine’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Punky. I’m trying to do what I can before the paramedics arrive.” She looked at the EMTs cowering a few feet away and shook her head. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured. “Useless.”
That was a first. Representative Sullivan throwing shade at medical personnel. Caroline would have commented on it but she was choosing when and what to speak very carefully. Every sentence was a struggle. Christine untied the scarf around her neck, rolled up part of it, pressed it to the wound, and began wrapping the rest of it around Caroline’s arm.
“What are you doing?” Caroline tried to pull away but the pain that radiated through her arm convinced her that moving it was not a wise idea.
“I’m bandaging your arm, goofball. Or, trying to.”
She’d figured that much out. She wasn’t blind. “Why are you doing that?”
“You’re bleeding all over the place.”
Forget saving her words. It was time to be offended. “I gave you that scarf.”
“I know.” Christine gave her an odd look, tightening the wrap. “You have an incredibly random mind, you know that?”
“I got it for you last Christmas.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I bought it at Neiman-Marcus.”
“Congratulations.”
“I never shop at Neiman’s. You know that. That is the most I’ve ever spent on a gift for you and you’re wrecking it.”
Christine raised Caroline’s arm above her head, keeping her hand pressed against the scarf covered wound. “I’m trying to help you here. And, desperate times…”
“You don’t think the EMTs have some gauze and tape?”
“I don’t think those people could find their backsides with both their hands. This works just as well.”
Caroline scowled. “I’m never buying you anything nice ever again.”
Christine sighed. “It is a great relief to me that you are maintaining your sense of humor right now. Just hold still, okay?”
“This must be bad if you’re willing to ruin your scarf and have someone go get Jack.” On top of that, where the hell was the ambulance?
“No, Caroline. You’re going to be fine, even though I know you’re in a lot of pain. I just think he should be here with you.” Christine’s voice was brusque again.
Caroline knew she could trust her. Chrissy would never lie. Not to her. She tried to concentrate on her breathing, counting each breath in her head, attempting to distract herself. It wasn’t working.
“What happened?” Christine asked.
Sharp stabs of pain shot through her arm and down her side, and Caroline struggled to speak. “I brought some constituents over for a tour. I wasn’t supposed to, but you know how I am right before the recess. I wanted to come over here. Personal – touch.” She gasped and Christine let up on the pressure on her arm, just a little.
“Tell me more,” Christine said evenly.
Easy for her to say. It was hard to talk. “Chrissy-”
“Tell me more,” she repeated.
Caroline replayed the scene in her mind. It was hard to forget. “I was about to leave when I saw this guy with a gun. I don’t know how he got in. There was a camp group or something standing near me and I saw him start to point the gun at some of the kids. Or maybe at me, I don’t know. And I reacted. I don’t know how I did it. I don’t even know what I did. It happened so quickly and we were all on the floor and then someone lifted me up against the wall.” She gulped. “Are those kids okay?”
Christine brought her left hand up to sweep the hair back from Caroline’s face, then noticed it was covered in red and hastily drew it out of her line of vision.
&nb
sp; Nausea was not a desirable feeling when coupled with excruciating pain. “That’s a lot of blood,” Caroline said weakly.
“It’s not. Calm down.” But Christine’s tone was less than convincing, and she looked surprised when Caroline grabbed her bloody hand and didn’t let go. “Those children are fine,” she continued. “You got them out of the way. The police must have gotten to the gunman right after he started firing because you’re the only one who got hit.”
“Lucky me.”
Christine massaged the back of Caroline’s hand with her thumb and smiled wanly at her. There was no mistaking it; Christine was shaking. She was upset and couldn’t hide it. Caroline wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or comforted by such a rare display of emotion.
The other hand Christine kept wrapped around her arm was also covered in blood. It dripped down Christine’s arm onto the light gray dress she was wearing. Caroline’s entire left side felt like it was on fire. She started to feel woozy.
“No.” Christine yanked her hand free and smacked Caroline’s face. “Don’t go to sleep. Stay with me.”
Caroline leaned her head back against the wall. Christine’s hand was like a vise around her injured arm. “You’re not being very nice to me, Chrissy.”
“I’d much prefer if you stayed awake for now. Focus on my voice.”
“I really liked this suit,” Caroline murmured. “And now it’s ruined.”
“Or focus on your suit. It’s really up to you.”
“Do you think my Via Spigas will be okay? They’re my favorite pair of shoes.”
Christine let out another audible sigh. “You have a bullet in your arm and you’re talking about your wardrobe. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.” She was going from businesslike to exasperated in a hurry. “I’m sure your shoes are fine.”
“I want to check,” Caroline said groggily. She tried to bend over despite the stinging pain in her upper body.
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 28