by Amy Cross
“The body's gone,” she replied, picking up a file from her desk. “By the way, did you authorize Andrew Dunne to send me a little helper?” She turned to him. “I don't need a little helper.”
“This is serious!” he hissed. “I've got a concerned father waiting in my office right now for me to go back and tell him where his daughter has gone. I don't think he's going to be fobbed off too easily, do you? I mean, what am I supposed to tell him? That we lost her? You can't lose a human being!”
“Her father seemed to have managed it.”
“This is my worst nightmare,” he continued. “How are you managing to stay so calm? We have to do something!”
“This is your job,” she sighed. “Remember? We agreed very early on that we'd each have certain responsibilities, and one of yours is the admin work. I'm very sorry that this man has shown up, and I agree that it's very bad luck. After all, the Bradford girl seemed like a typical no-hoper, it's hard to believe anyone actually wants to find her, but...” She paused for a moment. “You need to deal with this situation, Alistair, and you need to deal with it fast. The ball is in your court.”
“What do I do? The man has copies of the records showing that his daughter was brought here.”
“That's certainly unfortunate.”
“If he goes back to the prisons service and tells them the girl isn't here, they'll start asking questions too. We need to shut him up. Where's the body now?”
“Gone.”
“Can you get it back?”
“Of course I can't get it back.” She paused again. “I can, however, do your job for you. There's one way you might be able to get this man to stop looking for his daughter, but you're going to have to follow my instructions to the letter. Understood?”
***
“Terrorism?” David replied, clearly shocked by the suggestion. “What the hell are you talking about? Christine was convicted for vandalism and theft, not anything to do with terrorism!”
“Yes, I'm aware of that,” the governor replied, once more in the chair behind his desk, “but I'm afraid that sometimes, where terrorism-related charges are in play, the public record can be a little... inaccurate.”
David looked down at the papers in his hands.
“This must be difficult for you to believe,” the governor added.
“It's impossible for me to believe,” he replied after a moment.
“We're dealing with a very sensitive area,” the governor continued. “This is obviously a terrible shock for you, and I do apologize for being unable to go into too much detail, but my hands are tied by red tape. However, I am authorized to tell you that your daughter had unfortunately become involved with some very undesirable elements who were involved in certain plots. Thankfully, the police uncovered those plots before anything untoward happened, but it seems Christine might have been at least tangentially involved with certain radicalized individuals. For reasons linked to national security, therefore, she is currently being held at a location that I cannot disclose to you.”
“But -”
“Those documents in your hands,” he added, “are, I'm afraid, designed merely to obfuscate any attempt made to find her.”
“But...” David paused. “My daughter is not involved with terrorists.”
“Take my advice,” the governor replied. “Go home, Mr. Bradford. You have other children, I believe? And a wife? So go home to them, take care of them, and hopefully one day Christine will return to you. It might take many months, or even years, but if she responds well to whatever de-radicalization procedures she undergoes, it's entirely possible that your daughter will one day be deemed fit to return to society. In fact, you might even find that she has improved considerably.”
“This is insane,” David said after a moment. “Are you seriously telling me that Christine was involved with terrorists, and that she's been spirited away... and I'm not allowed to know the details?”
“National security.”
“My daughter is not a threat to national security.”
“I've really told you all that I'm allowed to divulge,” the governor replied. “I do so desperately wish that I could tell you more, but the Official Secrets Act specifically -”
“This is bullshit,” David said suddenly, getting to his feet.
“I'm sorry?”
“Something stinks here. Do you think I'm a complete idiot?”
“I think you're a loving father who is struggling to come to terms with some very distressing and shocking news. Perhaps you're in denial?”
“I'm not going to stop looking for her,” David continued. “I don't believe this terrorism crap, not for one second. As far as I'm concerned, my daughter was delivered to this prison a week ago, and now she's vanished. If you think that I'm going to be satisfied with some spiel about her being spirited away because of national security, then it's very clear to me that you don't understand what it's like to be a parent.” Folding the papers with trembling hands, he slipped them into his pocket as he headed to the door. “You'll be hearing from me,” he added as he left the room. “Soon.”
Sighing, the governor picked up the phone on his desk and hit a button, before waiting for Doctor Bell to answer.
“It's me,” he told her. “Yes, it went perfectly. Exactly as you predicted.” He listened for a moment. “Oh yes, he's very angry, he didn't believe me for one moment. I only hope that the rest of your plan goes just as well.”
Five years ago
“So I heard you almost got fired tonight,” Marcia said as she watched Robin working in the kitchen. “That sucks. What'd you do, piss Mike off somehow?”
“Don't you have tables to wait on?” Robin asked.
“It's dead out there. Half an hour to closing, there's no-one else gonna come in tonight. Just this last order you're doing now.” She paused, smiling as she watched Robin adding a steak to the pan. “You make a lot of mistakes, don't you?”
“And you don't?”
“I make a few, but...” Marcia paused. “Can I ask you a question, and you'll promise you won't get offended?”
“You can try.”
“It's just something that me and a few of the other waitresses have been wondering. I mean, we've all seen you working, and the way you sometimes seem to move your lips when you're reading, so I wanted to know... No offense, but do you have, like, a condition?”
Robin turned to her.
“Like, a learning disability or something?”
“No,” Robin said firmly, “I... I guess I just move my lips when I'm reading, that's all.”
“Huh. 'Cause I just wondered, if you had a learning disability, that'd also explain -”
“Maybe you should go check on the diners,” Robin replied, cutting her off. “No offense, Marcia, but I really need to just get on with preparing this steak and cleaning up.”
“Gotcha,” Marcia said, heading to the door. “Like I said, I hope I didn't speak out of turn. It's just something a few of us have been wondering.”
Once Marcia had left the kitchen, Robin took a moment to lean back against the wall and regather her thoughts. She'd been feeling all night that she was about to explode and take her anger out on someone, and now that sensation was getting stronger by the second. Looking down at the counter, she spotted one of the carving knives, and suddenly a strong image burst into her mind, as if from nowhere:
Marcia, on the floor, with the knife embedded in her chest.
Today
“My plan will work perfectly,” Doctor Bell replied, glancing over her shoulder as Amanda carried the first of the boxes into the room. “A concerned father is difficult to deal with, but an angry concerned father should be easy to fix. He can rant all he likes about Christine Bradford, but he's just going to sound like a lunatic. Did he leave your office just now?” She listened for a moment. “Okay, that's great. Let me know when he comes back.”
Putting the phone down, she looked over at Amanda and saw that her new helper was watching he
r with a frown.
“Go on,” the doctor told her, “fetch the other box.”
“Were you talking about Chris Bradford?” Amanda asked.
“Why?”
“I just... I met her, that's all.”
“You did?” The doctor paused for a moment. “When exactly did you manage that?”
“We were in the same van when we arrived. We talked for a few minutes. Is she okay?”
“Christine Bradford is...” Doctor Bell paused again, trying to come up with an answer. “She's already been transferred to another facility. We quickly discovered that her needs would be better met if she was sent to a place where she could get some proper help with her substance abuse problems. The girl was addicted to heroin.”
“And her father -”
“God knows, but can you hurry back down to the basement and fetch the other box of slides? I really need to get on with some work.”
“But -”
“Now!”
“Sure,” Amanda replied, turning and heading to the door. Just before she left the room, however, she glanced back at the doctor, only to make eye contact with her again. Realizing that she clearly wasn't being told the truth, she hurried out into the corridor.
***
“It's me,” Doctor Bell whispered a few minutes later, leaning down until her lips were less than an inch from Chris's left ear. “I'm sure you love it when I come in to check on you, don't you? I'm sure you wait for the sound of the door opening and you long to hear my voice.”
With the bandage still covering her ruined face, Chris let out a faint moan.
“I'll take that as a yes,” the doctor replied, turning to the work-bench and opening a pack of cotton buds. “I wouldn't be surprised if you're fantasizing about all the different ways you want to get away from me. That would only be natural.” She held up one of the cotton buds and examined it for a moment. “Let's be honest, Christine. You must hate me with a passion.”
Smiling, she headed over to the bed and glanced at the leather restraints that were holding the patient down.
“Remind me to check on those some time,” she added finally, as she prepared the first cotton bud for use. “It would be terrible if you got loose and attacked me.”
***
“Something's not right here,” the voice said. “The governor said Chris has been taken away because she was involved with terrorists, but there's no way that can be true. I mean, it's just come completely out of left-field. They're covering something up, they have to be.”
As she took the second box of slides down, Amanda looked over at the small window at the top of the wall. She maneuvered the box to the floor before hurrying over and peering out at the yard, where a man was standing by one of the doors, talking to someone on his phone as he smoked a cigarette.
“I don't know,” he continued, “but I can't just leave without finding out where she is. I guess I have to go back in there and make him tell me the truth. So far, all the governor's told me is that Chris was never brought to Hardstone at all, like he wants me to just accept that and forget about my own daughter, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he's lying.”
Hurrying out of the room, Amanda made her way to the stairwell and then up to the ground floor, where she found an external door and looked out at the yard: the man was still talking on his phone, pacing up and down as if he was filled with nervous, agitated energy. Amanda waved at him, hoping to attract his attention, but he was looking down at his feet as he talked. Finally, after banging on the glass, she managed to get him to look her way, and she waved at him again.
“Hang on,” he told the person on the other end of the phone as he made his way across the yard and stopped on the other side of the door. “What do you want?”
“I met your daughter,” Amanda told him, raising her voice slightly so she could be heard through the glass. “Chris? We were in the same van when we arrived last week.”
“I'll call you back,” David told the person he'd been talking to, before putting his phone away. “Are you sure it was Chris?” Holding the cigarette between his lips, he pulled some papers from his pocket and rifled through them for a moment, before holding up a photo that Amanda recognized immediately. “This is my daughter, she -”
“That's her.”
“You're sure?”
“I was with her in the van,” Amanda continued. “She said she was here because she'd stolen a car while she was on drugs, and she set it on fire and drove it into a shop or something. She was a little hyper, she said she'd been to youth offenders' institutions before but never to an actual prison.”
“That tallies with what it says on these forms,” David replied, checking another of the documents. “It says she was sent here to Hardstone and that she arrived in a prison transport van last Tuesday afternoon, and as far as the prisons service is convinced she's been here ever since.”
“She definitely arrived. I was with her.”
“Have you seen her again?”
“No, I...” She paused, glancing up the stairwell to make sure that no-one was listening. “I heard something about her being transferred to another facility because of her drug problems.”
“Then why didn't they just tell me that? Why isn't it on any of the official documents? The governor said she'd been involved with terrorists.”
“She didn't say anything about that to me. I just talked to the prison doctor a few minutes ago, and she specifically said that Chris was moved to another facility.”
“And you're a prisoner too?” He paused for a moment. “If you're lying to me, hoping to get me to give you money or something, that's not going to happen.”
“I'm not lying to you,” she continued. “I don't know what happened to Christine after we got out of the van, because we were taken to separate rooms for our processing interviews, but I promise you that she definitely walked through the door and entered Hardstone. Anyone who says anything different is lying to you.”
“Then where is she now?” he asked.
“I've told you everything I know. I can try to ask around, though, and I get access to a payphone sometimes. If you give me your number, I can try to memorize it and let you know if I hear anything.” She paused, waiting for him to take her up on the offer. “I'm not after anything,” she added finally, “I just want to know that she's okay.”
***
“You took your time,” Doctor Bell muttered, not looking up from the forms she was completing as Amanda carried the second box of sliders across the laboratory. “Did you have trouble finding it?”
“No, I just...” Setting the box down, Amanda looked over at her. “You said not to hurry, so I didn't. I spent a few minutes looking in some other boxes.”
“Security pass,” the doctor replied, pointing to an empty spot on her desk.
Heading across the room, Amanda set the pass down.
“So can I ask you something?” she said after a moment.
“No.”
“But -”
“Clean the floors.”
“I'm sorry?”
“You heard me,” Doctor Bell continued, looking up at her. “I don't want to be disturbed, and right now you're disturbing me a great deal, so I want you to go through to my main office and clean the floor. When you're done, come back through here and do the same. Work hard and work slow, and above all work quietly, because I can absolutely assure you that I do not want to have these constant interruptions. Mr. Dunne is going to ask me about you, you know, and things would be better for you if I can tell him that you were at least marginally useful.”
“Fine,” Amanda replied, figuring that antagonizing her new boss probably wouldn't get her very far. “I'll start now.”
Heading across the room, she spotted an unmarked door and grabbed the handle, hoping to find some cleaning supplies. Finding that the door was locked, however, she turned to ask for a key.
“There's nothing in there,” Doctor Bell said firmly, having already noticed.
“Keep away from that door. You'll find what you need in the cupboard out in the corridor. Now please, get to work and don't utter another word for at least the next two hours. Understood?”
“Understood,” Amanda replied, heading out to find the supplies. Five minutes later, however, once she'd gone through into the adjoining office and shut the door, she began to look through the papers on Doctor Bell's desk, determined to find proof that Chris Bradford was still at Hardstone – or just that she'd ever been there at all.
Five years ago
“You fucking bitch!” Mike shouted. “You can't -”
Before he could finish, Robin grabbed his head, tilted it back and forced the blade straight down his throat. She began to carve through his jaw, as blood erupted from his mouth and covered her hands. As he died, Mike let out a gurgled scream and -
“Hey,” a voice said suddenly, “wakey wakey.”
Turning, Robin saw that Mike was standing next to her.
“No time for daydreaming,” he continued. “The front's all shut up, but I need you to stay late and to an inventory. Someone's been stealing from the storeroom and I need to get on top of it.”
“It's midnight,” she replied. “I have to get home.”
“Call your girlfriend and tell her you'll be late. It should only take a couple of hours.” He grabbed his coat from the rack. “Do you want this job or not, 'cause if you don't, there are plenty of other dip-shits who'll come running. Don't worry, though, I arranged for someone else to stay and keep you company.” With that, he headed out the door, leaving Robin standing alone.
“Fuck,” she said finally, turning and heading toward the storeroom, and when she pushed the door open she saw that someone had already started work on the inventory project.
