Prey Drive

by James White, Wrath

  “She didn’t feel anything because she’s not infected. She doesn’t have the curse.”

  The lawyer smiled but his eyes showed obvious confusion and just the slightest hint of annoyance and perhaps disgust. It was there for only an instant before the calm, reassuring expression returned to his face.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Miles.”

  “I had this theory— I have this theory— that what I am is the result of a communicable disease, a genetic retro virus like AIDS, transmitted through body fluids like blood and saliva. It’s like the vampires and werewolves in the movies. The only way to get it is to be bitten by me or someone like me and she hasn’t been bitten. She’s not infected.”

  Mr. De Salvo nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Miles. You’ve been extremely helpful. Oh, and while I’m working to get you released from supermax, I’ll also be working to get Ms. Cassaro’s visitation ban lifted. Perhaps you two will see each other soon. Good day, Mr. Miles.” Mr. De Salvo hung up the phone, stood, and left the room.

  Joe sat there a moment trying to collect his thoughts. Selene had murdered someone. It didn’t make sense. She wanted the curse? She wanted to be like him? Why would anyone want to be a monster?

  Officer Ramirez came to collect him. Belton’s shift must have ended. When he stepped outside the visitor’s room, Cindy Addison was waiting to help Ramirez escort him to his cell.

  “Good to see you, Officer Addison.”

  “Good to see you too, Joseph.”

  Twenty-Four

  “But isn’t ketamine addictive?”

  Joe nodded. He’d have to discuss that with the professor. Trading one addiction for another was not the type of recovery he was looking for.

  “It’s better than killing people, though. Besides, people get addicted to Prozac. I would have to take it for the rest of my life anyway, so addiction would be a moot point.”

  Cindy smiled, but she didn’t look convinced. Half the people in supermax were there as a result of drug addictions.

  “That’s great, Joe.”

  Officer Ramirez was silent as he helped Officer Addison escort the big serial killer back to his cell. Joe’s familiarity with Officer Addison was obviously bothering him.

  Joe tried to bring the man out of his shell. He extended an olive branch. “What did you think, Officer Ramirez? The professor says he can cure me.”

  Officer Ramirez looked up at Joe and scowled. He snorted derisively and shook his head. “I grew up in LA, in the gangs. There were lots of killers in my old neighborhood. Some killed because they had to for protection. Some killed for money. But some were like you. They killed because they enjoyed it. Those types of murderers don’t change. They get killed or they wind up in here. There ain’t no kind of miracle drug to cure you of what you are. You’re right where you belong.”

  Ramirez let out a slight chuckle and nudged Joe forward, ending the conversation. Joe could tell Officer Ramirez was still haunted by many of the things he’d witnessed and perhaps even participated in on the streets of Los Angeles. There was no one in this place who had not been scarred by violence in some way. Joe thought it best to let the matter drop. He wasn’t certain himself if he really could change.

  Finally, they arrived at Joe’s cell and Cindy called to the control room for the guard to open the door. Joe deliberately brushed against Cindy as he stepped into his cell, rubbing his bicep across her breasts. Her nipples became instantly erect.

  Joe smiled coyly as he turned to face Cindy. “Thank you, Officer Addison. And you, Officer Ramirez.”

  Ramirez scowled. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

  Cindy was blushing. She stammered a nervous reply. “I-I-I’m really h-happy you found something to help you.”

  “Thank you. For the first time, I feel completely in control of myself, like I can finally control all the passion inside.”

  Cindy looked into the big cannibal’s eyes and her blush deepened. Joe could see her struggling to keep the smile from her face. “I’ll be back later with your lunch.”

  Joe stood quietly as his cell door closed. “Can you bring me something from the library?”

  “What do you want? I’ll see if they have it.”

  “I want a book about the human brain … and one about vampires.”

  Cindy nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Twenty-Five

  “What did he say?” Selene asked.

  They sat in what was once her father’s study. Large cherry-wood bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Two red leather recliners sat side by side in the center of the room, separated by a small table upon which sat a single reading lamp. The attorney who’d represented the Cassaro family for the past two decades occupied one recliner and Selene fidgeted nervously in the other.

  Jon De Salvo chuckled and shook his head. “What he said was—it was just crazy.”

  The flash of rage that sparked in Selene’s eyes was sudden and terrifying. “I didn’t ask you to judge, I asked you what he said!”

  Mr. De Salvo smirked and then nodded in deference to his hot-tempered client. “Sorry if I offended you, Ms. Cassaro. I only meant that his theory was highly unorthodox and, I dare say, implausible.”

  “Well, what the hell did he say?”

  “He said it didn’t work because you haven’t been infected. He said he has a communicable disease, some sort of genetic virus that turned him into a killer. According to him, this virus is what makes him the way he is. It’s what makes the experience of killing so sexually invigorating.”

  Selene leaned forward, eyes locked on the lawyer, studying his mouth, waiting eagerly for each word to emerge.

  “His vampire theory, right? It didn’t work because I haven’t been turned, right?”

  “Yes. He said you had to be bitten to get the curse.”

  “And I’m pretty sure he didn’t use the words ‘sexually invigorating’.”

  Mr. De Salvo smirked again. “I was paraphrasing.”

  Selene sat back in her recliner. Her fingers drummed on the armrest.

  “You have to get me in to see him—and not with two inches of glass between us. You have to get him out of supermax and into general population so we can meet face to face and touch. You have to arrange conjugal visits.”

  Mr. De Salvo raised an eyebrow.

  “Conjugal visits?”

  “Yes, conjugal visits.”

  “I’m pretty sure you have to be married for that. Just getting him out of supermax is going to be hard enough.”

  “I know you’ve arranged conjugal visits for my father’s friends, bringing their girlfriends in for private visits, even arranging for them to have prostitutes. Some of them were in supermax too, as I recall. Uncle Tony was in supermax when you brought his mistress to see him. You’ll do this for me, Jon. Do it!”

  The high-paid criminal attorney with the meticulously quaffed silver mane, smiled and bowed.

  “I can do this for you, of course, but it won’t be cheap.”

  “It never is,” Selene replied, reaching for her checkbook.

  Twenty-Six

  Weeks passed with the monotony and inevitability of the alarm clock going off each morning. Only, Joe Miles was not waking for a day of work as an office drone or blue- collar worker. Each morning came and went staring at the same cinderblock walls and metal door. His breakfast of overcooked eggs, cereal, milk, and bacon was shoved through a slot in the door, and he returned the empty tray through the same slot.

  Officer Cindy Addison’s late-night visits had become more frequent. They’d made love almost every night in every conceivable way, and, with his twice-weekly ketamine injections, he’d been free of the urge to tear her apart. The monster languished within him, defeated but still alive. Then, Cindy had stopped coming. She had disappeared.

  At first, Joe assumed her shift had simply changed, but he didn’t see her on day shift either. She had vanished. Joe asked Officer Belton and Officer Ramirez wha
t had happened to the new guard, trying to sound as casual as possible, but it was obvious they were aware of his romantic relationship with her and were delighting in withholding the details of her removal.

  “She’s gone,” Officer Belton finally said after days of repeated questioning.

  “Gone where? Did she get fired?”

  “Just gone,” Belton answered and continued on his rounds. That was all he ever got out of him. Then, one day, it was Joe’s turn to leave. The announcement came over the cellblock PA system.

  “Inmate number 177252! Miles! Gather your belongings. You’re being transferred!”

  Transferred? Transferred where? Had Selene finally come through? Joe wondered. A serial killer being transferred to general population was uncommon these days, though certainly not unheard of. Joe wondered, not for the first time, just how much money and influence the Cassaro family had. That lawyer she’d hired for him was certainly not your average ambulance chaser.

  Joe gathered his toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shoeboxes of letters, his paintings and books, and whatever else he could carry and stood by the door, waiting for it to open. Officer Belton came to get him along with a big, goofy, redneck nearly Joe’s size, but soft and flabby. He had dark freckles on his cheeks and reddish blond hair buzzed into a military high-top. Three of his teeth were missing in the front of his mouth and Joe wondered if it was from fights or poor hygiene. The guard was noticeably uncomfortable standing so close to Joe without a gun in his hand.

  “This is your lucky day. You’re going to general population with all the rest of the killers, rapists, and gangbangers. There’s no one to protect your ass there. Good luck!” Belton said with a chuckle.

  Joe turned toward him, smiling with those teeth shaved to points so he looked like a six-foot-six, blue-eyed piranha.

  “I don’t think I’ll be the one who needs protection. But thank you for caring.”

  The big redneck’s mouth fell open and he groped for his baton. Belton merely shoved Joe forward. He was used to the big cannibal’s intimidation tactics by now and went out of his way to deny that they still worked.

  If supermax had been noisy, the cacophony that rose from the cells in general population was like stepping inside Yankee Stadium, or, more accurately, like stepping inside The Mandalay Bay Event Center during an Ultimate Fighting Championship match. Taunts, threats, catcalls, random curses, hoots, whistles—a tidal wave of sound buffeted Joe’s eardrums. He looked up at the rows and rows of cells filled with convicts and felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline. His body was preparing to fight, to defend itself or, perhaps, to hunt.

  The cell block was divided into tiers with a combined forty-eight single cells. It resembled a pet store piled high with cages of unloved animals. There were sixteen cells on each tier with inmates packed in two or three to a cell. A far cry from the oppressive solitude of supermax. The cells opened into a dayroom area with a television at one end and stainless steel tables in the middle. The showers were at the other end of the dayroom and, unlike supermax, the inmates were encouraged to shower every morning.

  Each cell had a bed, a sink, a toilet, and a wall-mounted metal shelf or desk. Joe knew Belton was watching his face, hoping to see some sign of fear. Joe closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, smelling sweat and sex and blood and meat. He smiled that same carnivorous grin.

  “I’m home.”

  “Yeah, well get your ass upstairs. Your cell is on the second tier. Cell number thirty-four,” Belton said. “This is where we house all the 5150s, the nut jobs. You should fit right in here.”

  “If you’re lucky, maybe these animals will throw you a welcome home party,” the big redneck officer added.

  Still smiling, Joe locked eyes with the big redneck.

  “I look forward to it.”

  Joe stepped into his cell, where for the first time since he’d been locked up five years ago, he had a roommate. The man was a large Mexican, six-foot-two and nearly three hundred pounds, covered in gang tattoos.

  “Joe, meet your new roommate, Fausto Cardona. Fausto, meet Joseph Miles. You two play nice now, ya hear?” the big redneck said.

  Belton waved and scowled simultaneously as he walked down the tier and back to supermax.

  Joe began unpacking his things.

  “You can put your stuff over there, homes. I hang my pictures on that wall. You can hang yours on this one. I take the bottom bunk ’cause I’m too big for the top one. I know you’s supposed to be some crazy killer, but you don’t fuck with me and I won’t fuck with you. Cool?”

  Fausto held out his hand. Joe smiled and saw the big Mexican flinch. Joe took his hand and shook it.

  “Deal.”

  Twenty-Seven

  “I guess it’s only fair I tell you what I’m in here for since I already know what you’re here for, right? You got a right to know what kind of vato you roomin’ with, right? Most people in the pen don’t like to talk about why they here and it’s not cool to ask. You just mind your own business. That’s the best way. You know, right? I killed a couple vatos that were trying to steal my coke. I had like half a kilo I was selling and when I caught them trying to take it, I blasted those fools with my shotgun and tried to feed them to my pit bulls to get rid of the evidence, you know? But my dogs, they didn’t eat enough, you know, right? The neighbors saw arms and legs and heads and shit all over my yard and called the cops. Stupid, huh, right? I can’t believe I did that shit. I tried to plead insanity and lost, but they put me in here with the loonies anyway.”

  Joe nodded, remembering his two Rottweilers, Hades and Beelzebub, from when he was a kid and how he’d fed his best friend Mikey to them after they accidentally attacked and killed him. Joe remembered how they’d torn Mikey apart and how aroused he’d become watching the carnage. He’d masturbated for the first time watching Hades and Beelzebub devour his best friend. He could feel himself getting an erection, just thinking about it and instinctively reached down and stroked himself.

  “Jesus, homey! What the fuck is you doin’! You can’t be doin’ that shit in here while I’m awake and shit!”

  Joe snapped out of his reminiscence.

  “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “That shit turn you on? Talking about dudes bein’ torn apart and shit? That’s what you did to the muthafuckas you killed, right? Tore ’em apart and ate ’em, huh? That shit is crazy, huh, right? Just don’t try none of that shit with me. I swear I’ll cut you up.”

  “We shook on it, remember? We’re cool,” Joe smiled.

  “You know, until you smile, you look just like that dude who used to play Superman. Not Christopher Reeve but the dude from like the fifties. Seriously, though, right? You look like mutherfuckin’ Clark Kent and shit! That’s a trip, homey. Why’d you file your teeth like that though, homey? So you can rip fool’s throats out and shit, right? You can’t be doin’ that shit in here though. The screws would know it was you. Ain’t nobody else got teeth like that. You need to get yourself a shank. Stab a fool if he fucks with you, huh? Nobody’s gonna fuck with you anyway cause you’re a crazy mutherfucker and you’re big as shit. Everybody says I’m crazy too, right? So as long as you don’t start no shit, we’re cool, right?”

  “Right.”

  Joe climbed up onto the top bunk and opened a book. The Anatomy of The Human Brain. As he studied about the amygdala and the hippocampus and how they related to impulse control, memory, and emotions, Joe couldn’t stop thinking about eating a brain. There was so much protein and vitamins in the human brain, not to mention that it was the seat of consciousness, the home of the human soul. Eating one was like drinking from the very fountain of creation. The only brain he’d ever eaten was Alicia’s and it had been delicious, transcendental. Joe could not wait to do it again. He wondered if the ketamine was still working. Maybe it was time for another dose. He didn’t want to break his word to his new roommate the way he had with Alicia.

  He had a few unopened letters he hadn’t had time to read before
the transfer. Joe sat in his bunk and opened the first one. It was from his cousin, Dirk.

  Hey, Cuz!

  I’m comin’ to see you! I finally saved up enough to buy a new car, so I’m driving up this weekend to visit. I can’t wait! I spoke to your friend Selene again. Dude, she’s kind of crazy. She’s sort of hot though. A little thick for my tastes, but I know that’s how you like ’em. I found a few pictures of her online modeling lingerie and bikinis. I printed them out for you. Thought you might like to have them. Anyway, she said her lawyer was arranging for you to be moved to general population. You think that’s a good move? There’s some dangerous people in that prison. I mean, I know you’re dangerous too, but they’ve got gangbangers and shit in there. Be careful, Cuz. I’ll see you this weekend. I still need to tell you what she has planned. Dude, it’s fuckin’ brilliant!

  See you soon!

  Dirk

  Joe pulled out the pictures of Selene. There was a picture of her in a black lace body suit, lying on her belly on white satin sheets, staring up at the camera with an expression that clearly said “Come fuck me.” Selene had definitely gained a few pounds, though not as much as she’d claimed. She was curvaceous now, though not nearly as voluptuous as Alicia or Lana. Joe could not stop thinking about Lana. Maybe Dirk could help him find out how to get in touch with her. He had to see her again.

  Another photo showed Selene modeling a bikini. Joe’s breath caught in his throat and the monster roused from its slumber. In this one, she looked particularly delectable. Selene had her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder at the photographer. The pose displayed the marvelous swell of her buttocks. It was an amazing sight. When she said she had been doing squats and lunges to build more mass in her gluteus maximus, she had underrepresented her success in the endeavor. Her glutes were now two massive globes of muscle perched high on her back like that of a sprinter. A layer of fat engulfed the muscle, adding to its size and softening its appearance. It was heavenly. Joe felt his mouth water at the sight of her.