Prey Drive

by James White, Wrath

  Forty-One

  Joe was led back to his room by a skinny CO with buck teeth, red hair, and a stutter. He looked like Howdy Doody. The guy was clearly nervous and Joe couldn’t help feeling bad for him.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, my friend. You’re not my type.”

  Howdy Doody laughed nervously.

  “That-that girl … um … is she really your wife?”

  Joe cocked an eyebrow.

  “Why?”

  “She’s just … well … um … she’s beautiful.”

  Joe shrugged.

  “She’s okay.”

  “Well, here you are. Thanks for … well, uh … you know. Thanks for being so co-operative.”

  Joe smiled, proudly displaying a mouth full of ivory razors.

  “My pleasure.”

  Joe walked alone into the hospital. Nathan was waiting for him with a handful of envelopes.

  “Hey, Joe! I brought your mail.”

  “Thanks, Nathan,” Joe said, taking the envelopes from him. “Oh, and Nathan, I heard you had another body to deliver to the morgue tomorrow morning.”

  Nathan smiled. “I believe I do. Tomorrow morning?”

  “Tomorrow morning. It will be down there waiting for you.”

  “Uh, um, Joseph?” Nathan whispered, looking nervously around the room as if he thought the walls were bugged.

  “Yeah?”

  “Should I still get two coffins ready?”

  Joe slung an arm around Nathan’s shoulders like they were old pals. He pulled him close and whispered in his ear. He could smell the man’s pastry-scented soul. The monster stirred and Joe pulled away before it could fully awaken and ruin someone’s day.

  “Two coffins. I need you, Nathan. Don’t let me down.”

  Nathan nodded vigorously.

  “Badass! You can absolutely count on me. This means everything to me. You have no idea.”

  “Okay. Now get out of here before somebody gets suspicious.”

  A small tremulous smile crept slowly onto Nathan’s face and his eyes moistened. He looked at Joseph almost lovingly. There was an underlying sadness to the expression that confused Joe for a moment. Then he realized what it was. Nathan knew he was going to die. He knew and he didn’t care. He was like the many long pigs who would come to the message board long ago, offering themselves to the “chefs” to be consumed, only Nathan didn’t want to be consumed by just anyone. He was only interested in one chef, the famous serial killer, the monster of the moment, Joseph Miles.

  Joe studied Nathan’s expression closely, wondering how the man would taste. His death would have to be something spectacular, something that would live up to the man’s fantasies. As if he was reading Joe’s mind, Nathan offered a suggestion.

  “Have you ever baked someone alive … like in an oven? You know, like Hansel and Gretel?”

  “I’ve never put anyone in an oven if that’s what you mean, Nathan. I don’t think there’s an oven big enough to put a full-sized human in it.”

  “There are at restaurants and bakeries. There’s one here at the penitentiary.”

  Joe studied Nathan’s face.

  “Baking someone alive would be a very painful way to go, Nathan. That would be extremely excruciating.”

  Nathan dropped his head and looked down at the floor. His mouth worked soundlessly, grasping for words that avoided him, then he looked back up at Joseph with a sad expression, holding out his arms, pleading with Joe to understand him. Joe tilted his head like a dog hearing a strange sound, regarding Nathan like some alien species. Eventually, Nathan found the words.

  “When I was a kid, my mother used to tell me that story, about Hansel and Gretel, and the gingerbread house, and the witch. I would try to imagine what the witch felt like when they pushed her into the oven and she was cooked alive. It terrified me. I would look at that book with dread whenever she reached for it. I wanted to tell her not to read that story, to pick something else, but I kinda wanted to hear it too. I liked that feeling of being terrified. I liked the goosebumps that would spring up on my skin when she described the witch. I liked the way my mom would hold me and laugh when I would turn away and bury my face in her chest. I liked the way the images stayed with me all night long. I still like that feeling. That’s why I like reading about serial killers. The fear. The goosebumps. That’s why I liked reading about you, Joseph.”

  Joe nodded and patted Nathan on the back.

  “I understand, Nathan. I understand.”

  Nathan nodded back and walked off with his eyes still glistening with tears that did not spill. Joe told himself they were tears of joy, but he couldn’t be certain. There was a deep well of pain within Nathan that seemed to be bubbling to the surface. Joe hoped the man would stay stable long enough to see this through. Getting the coffins on the truck was the most important part of the entire plan.

  The hospital was bustling today. There had been a fight in the exercise yard and five inmates were wounded. One of them had been nearly gutted. He came in on a gurney, screaming and holding his intestines in with his hands. The smell of his insides jolted the monster awake. Joe turned his attention from the carnage with great effort and instead looked down at the stack of envelopes in his lap. The first thing he noticed was one from Lana. It was long and rambling, handwritten in a shaky cursive script that seemed almost formal.

  Dear Mr. Joseph Miles,

  I have been trying hard to find the right words to express my feelings after seeing you. I have hated you for so long and now I don’t know what the fuck to feel. Confused. Angry. Repulsed. Sad. Grateful. Yes, I was grateful. I wanted closure and seeing you, speaking with you, gave me that. I can’t pretend to understand what went on between you and my sister, but it was clear to me that you had genuine feelings for her. It was obvious that you loved her. I don’t know if she loved you or not. You clearly believe she did. That was obvious too.

  I have been reading a lot about serial killers lately, trying to understand, and something about you doesn’t quite fit. They say serial killers are usually narcissistic, anti-social, incapable of feeling empathy or remorse. I didn’t get that impression from you. I saw you cry. I saw the love in your eyes for my sister. You’re not the monster I imagined you to be. You’re still a fucking monster. I’m sure about that too. You murdered my only sister. You’re a sick, twisted, fucked up individual. You’re just more complex than the evil villain I thought you’d be, the villain I thought I needed you to be. You’re pretty fucked up though. You’re a horrible bastard, but I don’t hate you anymore. I’ve wasted too much damn time on hate. I just pity you now. You’re a very sad person, Joseph Miles. I think you eat yourself up as much as you have eaten your victims. That’s a fitting punishment I guess. When my mother said I should forgive you, I thought she was crazy. I didn’t think there was any way I could ever forgive the man who took Alicia’s life so brutally, so horribly. I wanted to find a way to hurt you, not forgive you. I wanted to make you feel what Alicia felt, what we feel. Now, I think my mom was right. I need to let all this anger go. All I know is that my sister’s life hadn’t been happy for a very long time. She bounced from one abusive relationship to another, messed around with drugs, drank too much. She was ruining her life. It was no surprise that she wound up dead. So don’t torture yourself anymore over her. If you think she died happy, I have to believe you, for my own sanity. I think you need to believe it too. I forgive you.

  Sincerely,

  Lana

  Joe’s hands trembled. He tried to hold back the tears and failed. They came in a downpour of anguish that threatened to wash him away in its tide. The other inmates were watching him. Joe didn’t care. They recognized his pain. They had all felt it before, even the crazy ones. It was the torment of realization. That moment of self-recognition when evil realizes itself. For the past few months, Joe had only been concerned with escaping. He had seldom thought seriously about finding a cure. His only thoughts of Alicia had been selfish. H
e missed her, but he felt no remorse over killing her, betraying her. He was betraying her again now by not seriously seeking out a cure. She had come with him to Seattle because she had believed he could cure the terrible thing growing inside him, but he had now given in to it. He now thought of the disease, the curse, as an indivisible part of him. The monster. It wasn’t an alien presence or an alter ego living inside of him. It was him. It was who and what he was. Joe had let himself become this loathsome, destructive, violent, evil thing. Alicia would not have recognized him now. She would not have loved him. He hadn’t fought the curse hard enough. Joe had let his regret over the loss of Alicia sap him of all hope. He had given in to the horror that lurked inside him, worse, he had come to enjoy it. He had nurtured it with rage and self-pity, allowed it to grow out of control. Every move he’d made the last several weeks had been calculated to get him out of prison and access to more victims. Finding his grandfather had been a peripheral concern at best. Even if he found the man and killed him, his confidence that it would change anything was almost nil.

  Joe wiped the tears from his eyes and opened the next letter. It was from the woman who used to run his Sex Addicts Anonymous group. She was still trying to fuck him after all these years. Joe chuckled and tore it to shreds. The next letter was from his cousin Dirk. It was dated a week ago; the day after Joe called his cousin and told him to contact Selene.

  Yo, Cuz!

  I found out some more information about your real grandfather. Remember when I told you he went to prison for trying to kill his wife? Well, I did a search on the case and turned up a whole bunch of crazy shit. I guess the case was a big deal back in the sixties. It was in all the old detective magazines. They even had pictures of him. He looks just like you. Crazy. I attached a photo. He looks like a 1950s Clark Kent! Anyway, he didn’t just try to kill his wife, he cut her tits off! Wild, huh? The detective magazines said he tied her up, cut her tits off, fried them in cornmeal, and ate one and fed the other one to her. She escaped to a neighbor’s house and they took her to a hospital. That’s how he got caught. She almost bled to death and wound up going crazy and spending the rest of her life in an asylum. He ate her fucking tits! Don’t that sound familiar? I think you’re on the right track with this one. This dude was sick! You were looking for the guy who started all this, well here he is. I hope you find that old fuck and fuck his shit up good. Take care, Cuz.

  See you soon ;)

  Dirk

  P.S. I found the hotel where Selene is staying in town. I’m going to meet up with her tonight.

  Tonight? That would have been a week ago, but Selene hadn’t mentioned seeing him. Joe remembered the smell of death wafting from Selene’s skin. She smelled like she’d been drenched in blood.

  No. She wouldn’t.

  But Joe knew it was true. He played the scenario over in his head. He could imagine Dirk meeting Selene, her seducing him, bringing him up to her room, drugging him, and then … drunken shrimp. Dirk had been her kill, her drunken shrimp. Joe stared at the letter for a long time, knowing it would be the last one he’d ever see from his cousin. His last link to his family was gone. He was losing everything.

  Joe was dangerously insane. He knew that and had known it for many years. He had fought his own madness, had often given into it, but he had always been aware of it. What he was only now becoming aware of was the destructive insanity he had surrounded himself with. Selene, Nathan, even Dirk himself. He attracted perverts, sadists, and psychotics. He lived in the company of lunatics. They wrote letters to him every day. He had let them into his life and now one of them had murdered his cousin. His life had gotten far out of control. It was time to take that control back, to take his life back. He still needed them to get him out of prison, but that was where it had to end. He could not cure himself while surrounded by people who enabled and encouraged his illness. He had learned that years ago in Sex Addicts Anonymous. Staying with Selene was a recipe for relapse. More than that, he needed to avenge his cousin’s murder. Dirk had not deserved this. He had been a good and loyal friend to Joe and it had cost him his life. Someone had to pay for that.

  Joe began composing a note for Professor Locke. The man had believed in him and Joe felt he owed him an explanation before he disappeared. He had just begun putting pen to paper when Joe spotted a familiar face staring at him from across the room. He sighed and rolled his eyes as he recognized Officer Belton’s characteristic scowl. Belton locked eyes with Joe in what was clearly a challenge, more of his chest-beating, macho bullshit. Belton still could not stand the idea that there was one inmate in the penitentiary he couldn’t humble. The big, angry corrections officer lifted his chin and smirked. It looked more like a sneer. If Belton was stationed anywhere near the infirmary this evening, it was going to be a problem. Joe had no intention of letting the man get in the way of his freedom.

  The day crept by like all days in the penitentiary, one sluggish second loping lazily after another in a painful, crushing monotony. Joe went for several walks between naps. He had one last trip to the physical therapist.

  “I think you’re ready to get out of here. Your stitches have healed and you seem to have your strength back. We need that bed for the sick patients,” said Mrs. Apley, a portly, black corrections nurse who also served as the hospital’s only physical therapist.

  “The only reason they let you stay here this long is to make certain you didn’t just wind up right back in here. The warden wanted to make sure you healed enough to be able to protect yourself. It was either the infirmary or solitary or back to supermax.”

  “Then I’m glad he chose the infirmary,” Joe said trying a smile that failed miserably. Joe still had a hard time with normal human interactions. His only comfortable, natural relationship with humanity was one of predator and prey. Relating to humans as peers had always been a problem.

  “I hear he had help making the decision. Rumor is there’s someone giving him some monetary inspiration where you’re concerned.”

  She studied Joe’s face, obviously waiting for a comment or facial expression to confirm or refute the rumor. Neither was forthcoming. Joe merely stared back at her, returning her inquisitive stare with one full of threat. She turned away.

  “Anyway, I’m putting in your release papers. Tomorrow you go back to your cell.”

  “Home sweet home,” Joe replied with a smile. He’d begun filing his teeth again. They were as sharp as ever, like a mouth full of tiny, white arrowheads. Nurse Apley turned away with a shiver.

  “Thanks for everything, Nurse Apley. I guess I’d better go get ready to leave.”

  “Goodbye, Joseph. I hope I don’t see you back here any time soon.”

  “You won’t. I promise you that.”

  Joe smiled again. The expression had never fit comfortably on his face, not since he was a child, before he’d been assaulted, before he became a monster. Now, with his teeth filed to sharp points, his smile was absolutely terrifying. He remembered how threatening it had looked on Devon and even on Luscious and felt sorry for the nurse, but there was no way to make it look any less monstrous. He shut the smile down and turned away.

  “Goodbye,” he said as he wandered back to his bed.

  Fausto was there when he returned.

  “Hey, hermano! You look good! You heal pretty quick, huh, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Listen, homes, there’s rumors going around that Devon and Luscious are going to fuck your shit up when you get back to genpop. You want me to say something to the warden for you? See if they can get you moved to another cell block?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “I’ll be okay, Fausto. Thanks for the warning.”

  Fausto nodded.

  “Okay. I know you’s a bad motherfucker and all, but you sure you don’t need help?”

  Joe patted the big Mexican on the shoulder. Fausto flinched. Inmates didn’t touch each other much unless they were gay. Joe pulled his hand quickly away, seeing how uncomf
ortable it made his cellmate.

  “You know what’s funny? Until I saw what you did to Devon, I was planning on raping your ass one night. I know you’re tough and shit, right? I mean, you fucked up Luscious and Armondo, right? Yeah, I knew about Armondo and I know you were trying not to say nothing, but my homies, they wanted you fucked up for that shit, right? And they wanted me to do it. They wanted me to rape you and then cut your loco ass up. You know, right? But after seeing you handle yourself, I knew you would have killed my ass if I tried some shit. Besides, you’re a pretty cool dude and Armondo was an asshole. It was only a matter of time before he fucked with the wrong dude. Plus, I know the screws made you fight him. It wasn’t like you just picked him out of a crowd and decided to rip his face off, you know, right? You ain’t have no choice. Anyway, I told the homies to just let it ride, so you don’t have to worry about no beef from us.”

  Joe nodded.

  “Thanks, Fausto.”

  “You take care, hermano. Stay safe and I’ll see you back in the cell.”

  Fausto held up a bottle of pain killers so Joe could read the label. It was a bottle of percocets with Joe’s name on it. Fausto placed them in his pocket.

  “I swiped them from one of the nurses. Last week. I figured you were tough enough you didn’t need ’em anyway, huh, right?”

  “That’s fine. You take ’em. Consider it payment for Armondo.”

  Fausto smiled and nodded enthusiastically then and stuck out his fist.

  “Huh, right?”

  Joe bumped fists with him.

  “Right.”

  “One more thing, hermano. You’re gonna need something besides those teeth to protect yourself with. Here—”

  He handed Joe a little toothbrush with a razor blade embedded in it. The bristles had been melted and the blade was stuck in the wax, then glued down with something, and wrapped in duct tape.

  “It works, homes. You’ll see. You might need it.”