“She is angry and confused.”
“Remorseful?” Vincent said, sounding hopeful.
Rebecca shook her head. “It’s not that black and white. She blames herself for her friend’s death.”
Vincent thought about telling the priestess the newest death count, but refrained.
“She claims that Frank Broadhurst and his men kidnapped some of her friends and that they fought his men to get them back,” she said.
“And stole the supply truck?” Deputy Sheriff Huber said.
“They did.”
“Point is, whatever happened outside of Arcadia, I don’t have much control over that. I don’t want control over that. I have my hands full with everything that takes place inside these walls,” Vincent said, pounding his finger onto his desk blotter. “Inside this town, my town, our town, they let shit come to a head. They all but destroyed the Bent Elbow. They turned that place into a bloody mess. How many people were there tonight?”
“A few families,” Benjamin said. “I’m not sure. Twenty people?”
“Twenty people witnessed a killing spree,” Vincent said. He pointed at Huber. “You get statements from everyone?”
Huber nodded. “We did.”
“We have never seen anything like this. Last thing even remotely close was...I can’t think of a single thing even remotely close to the shit mess this girl caused in less than a day inside our borders,” Vincent said.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Benjamin said.
“I’m not saying it was all her fault, but your story, Rebecca’s, they aren’t much different. The bottom line is, the two groups had bad blood. They went at it. People are dead. If Broadhurst was alive, I’d be charging him as well. But he’s not. He’s dead. His crew is dead. Those deaths are far more important to me than those of prospects are. Frank and his team were our best suppliers. I don’t know where they dug shit up, but whatever we needed, they got. How do you replace a crew like that during times like these, Ben? Huh? How?
“When the town finds out that we don’t have the supplies we ordered…”
“Dad—”
“We put the laws into place for a reason, Ben. We can’t let this woman get away with stealing, fighting, and murder. There is just no plausible way around this. It isn’t the first time someone’s been sentenced, it won’t be the last. It wasn’t easy then seeing someone sent to the Cog, it won’t ever be easy.”
“The Morales Gang,” Ben said.
Vincent shrugged. “There is always an exception. The thing is, we have to follow the laws we’ve put in place. It is the only way to prevent chaos and anarchy. It’s why Arcadia works. We have structure. We have order, Ben. We have order.”
# # #
Char was the only person in the holding cell. The windowless room was dark, despite cased fluorescent lighting. Everything was a deep hunter green or dark grey. There was no way she’d sleep, despite how heavy her eyes felt. She closed them and hoped she’d drift off, but it didn’t happen. Instead she paced, or stood gripping the bars; her head placed against them and stared at the floor.
She counted off steps. Twenty-four from one end to the other, and twenty-four from side to side. She wanted to keep busy. If she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, she needed something else to occupy her mind.
No nightmare lasted this long.
Three years, and counting.
There had to be an end it. There had to be a way to stop the pain, the suffering.
Truth was, she’d tried. She’d done her best. After her brother and father died, she didn’t think she’d be able to push on. She hadn’t wanted to keep at it. There seemed no point. She remembered sitting on the side of the road under a hot Mexican sun, wondering why she’d continued the fight. Why had she decided life was worth living?
She wished she could recall the reason.
Something had convinced her not to give up.
Then.
Right now, she didn’t bother searching for that conviction. She saw the hopelessness. Arcadia was a facade. It couldn’t last. The lights, the electricity, all that was cosmetic. Appearance.
It was little else.
Char unmade her bed, tossing the blanket onto the floor. She balled up the sheet and stood on the mattress. Her father would never approve. He always wanted the best for her, and for Cash. He sacrificed for them.
He never told them as much, but she knew it. She’d always known it.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said. Her lips quivered. She wanted him to be here. If anyone could fix this mess, he could. He had a way of making her feel safe, confident, and special. “Don’t be mad at me, daddy. Don’t hate me for this.”
She looped the sheet over the bars that ran along the top of the cage, and knotted it in place.
She had no idea about heaven and hell, despite having been raised to believe in God and to fear the devil. Certain things were a sin, according to the Bible. She wondered how God could hold anything against her at this point in the game. She’s worked so hard at staying alive. If anything, He should be delighted that she’s finally coming home.
She wanted to see her father and brother again.
She wanted to join them.
If there was a Heaven, that was where they’d be. Together.
Soon the three of them could be reunited.
A tear slid down her cheek and she smiled as she brushed it away with the back of her hand.
Unsure how to construct and actual noose, Char tied the opposite end of the sheet and knew once she placed her head into the hole and jumped off the bed, the knot would slide tight around her throat.
She didn’t care if it didn’t kill her right away. She would die, suffocating eventually, and that was reassuring enough. Holding the sides of the hoop wide she stuck her head in and stepped off the mattress.
The knot tightened.
Char gasped. Her legs kicked, at first.
Survival instinct, she assumed. She forced them to go limp, and closed her eyes and waited. She thought, Who could tell me I’m wrong? Who could say I haven’t tried my hardest? I still failed. Despite it all, in spite of everything I’ve overcome, I still failed. You can’t blame me now for finally deciding just to give up.
This had been easier than she thought. There was no fear of dying. She felt nothing except empty and alone and tired. She welcomed death. She only hoped she didn’t have to wait much longer.
Spots floated past on the insides of her eyelids.
Her lungs began to ache. She wasn’t sure if she was holding her breath, or if her weight dangling off the knot prevented her from breathing. What she did know was that it was working.
As the oxygen to the brain was severed, her legs began involuntarily to kick. Her body twitched, and spasmed.
She was dying, and in only a few moments more she knew she would be dead.
Chapter 18
Through mostly closed eyes, Char saw blurred light. A shadow loomed above her. It grew larger and smaller and larger again. She heard something hiss and gasp, hiss and gasp. It was slow, steady and rhythmic. Someone was talking to her. The sound was muffled, and difficult to understand. She closed her eyes. The odor of rubbing alcohol or of something strong and sterile assaulted her nostrils.
Convinced there was no such thing as an afterlife, Char was surprised by the sights, sounds and smells.
“Charlene?”
She knew the voice. While it sounded familiar to her, she knew immediately that it was not her father, or her brother. She thought for sure the first people she met in Heaven would be them. Maybe she assumed they would have been told she was on her way, and would have been first in line to welcome her.
“Charlene?”
This wasn’t right. Any of it. It wasn’t making sense. She felt discombobulated. Aside from the voice calling her name, the hiss and gasp she heard sounded like something she’d heard before. It was a sound from a long time ago. She remembered her great-grandfather. He’d been in the hospital. He ha
d been in his late eighties and suffered a stroke. He was dying, and they’d gathered around his hospital bed waiting. They’d waited for nearly a week and a half before death took him. The entire time they spent in his room there was that same hiss and gasp. It came from a machine that her father explained helped great-granddad breathe.
Something wasn’t right; the strong aroma of sterilization, the hiss-gasp, the voice calling her name that wasn’t her father or brother’s.
She wasn’t in Heaven.
Char tried opening her eyes again. They fluttered. The light wasn’t as bright this time and what she saw was not as blurry.
The shadow leaning over her slowly came into focus.
She wasn’t in Heaven, or Hell.
She was in Arcadia.
Her eyes closed and she fell thankfully into a dreamless sleep.
# # #
When Char opened her eyes she found herself sitting in an upright position in bed. She no longer heard the machines inside her room. There was a single light on. The glow was soft, relaxing. What bothered her was the cuff on her wrist attached to the bedframe. The steel clanked on the rail as she gave a useless tug of her arm.
He was asleep in a chair by the bed. It had been his voice she’d heard calling her name earlier.
She looked around and knew she was in a hospital room. The curtains were drawn closed across the window. She had no idea what time it was; if the sun or moon was out. “Hey, Benjamin!”
He sprang out of his chair, eyes open wide scanning the room. His mouth was open, and his breathing heavy. When he looked at Char, he settled down some, as if catching his breath. “You call me?”
“You were sleeping.”
“Everything okay? You’re awake. I should get the doctor,” he said.
She held up her un-cuffed hand. “Wait. Not yet.”
He moved closer to the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“I can get you some water. I think.”
“What’s going on?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I thought I’d killed myself,” she said.
“You nearly had. I came in and found you hanging in your cell. We got the door open and cut you down. Why would you do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Benjamin looked away. He didn’t have an answer. She didn’t suspect he would.
“I have nothing, Ben, and I’m being charged with a murder in a town I don’t belong in. They can’t do this to me,” she said, and raised her cuffed arm as high as it would go. “I know we have no government, but this isn’t justice. You were there. Broadhurst started it. He attacked us. Did you tell them that?”
“I told them exactly what happened.”
“So why am I cuffed to a hospital bed? Why would you bother to save me? Just so I can serve some made up prison sentence for murders that were committed in self-defense? Does that even make sense to you?”
“You haven’t been found guilty, Charlene.”
“It’s Char.”
“There will be a trial. Jurors. You’ll get a chan—”
“A what? A chance to tell my side of the story? I’m not from Arcadia, Ben. I know someone has to take the fall for this, for what happened. I don’t think it should be me. I wasn’t going to let it be me.”
“Our patient is awake, I see.” A woman in a white lab jacket entered the room. She held a clipboard. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“She’s thirsty,” Benjamin said.
“Will you get her a glass of water, please?” The nametag on her coat read: Dr. Sophia Debes.
“I said, I’m fine.”
“You don’t want water?” Ben said.
“Please, Ben. Get her water. If she isn’t thirsty now, she will be.”
Ben left the room.
“How are you feeling, aside from fine?”
“Bruised.”
“Your neck is black and blue. You’re lucky to be alive. If the mayor’s son hadn’t found you when he did, you and I would never have met.” She was young, with light brown hair worn up and a warming smile. She looked tired, as if she had worked multiple double shifts without much downtime in between.
Char wanted to tell the doctor that she wanted to be dead. She saw no point in sharing that much. She wasn’t in the mood to be psychoanalyzed. “Am I all set? I mean, can I have my things, and a key,” she shook her wrist, “and leave. I’ve had my fill of Arcadia. I think I like my chances on the road outside of your walls a lot better.”
“I’m afraid that’s not for me to decide, but I would like to check your vitals, if you don’t mind.” The doctor pulled the stethoscope off from around her neck.
Char thought about protesting. Instead, she let the doctor listen to her heart and lungs, flash a light into her eyes and take her pulse.
“Everything seems okay,” she said.
Char didn’t feel relieved. “What happens next?”
“I’ll notify the sheriff that you’re awake. I’m sure he’ll be by in the morning. The two of you can discuss the next steps together,” the doctor said. “Is there anything I can get for you? Are you hungry?”
Char might have been hungry, but wasn’t sure. Regardless she wasn’t sure she could eat. There wasn’t much point in taking her anger out on the doctor. “I’m okay for now.”
“I put some ice in the water,” Benjamin said, coming back into the room.
“I’ll be down the hall if you need anything else,” Dr. Debes said.
Char nodded.
The doctor left the room.
“Want me to set the water down over here?” Ben pointed to the nightstand next to the bed.
Char held out her hand. “I’ll take it.”
“I have a straw.”
Char removed the paper and sipped up ice cold water. It tasted wonderful. “So did your daddy assign you to keep an eye on me?”
Benjamin stood beside the bed, both hands on the rail. “I’m not on the clock. I told him I wanted to stay with you.”
“What?” she said. “The way you’re looking at me.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It? If you are referring to an ‘it,’ then it is something. Tell me.”
Ben could not look her in the eyes.
“I’m not fooling around here. What’s going on?”
“Your friend, Sam? He, ah, he didn’t make it.”
Char felt deflated. She didn’t want to be here, to be alive. Sam’s death was proof that she didn’t want any of this. She knew she was crying. She couldn’t feel the tears. Her skin was numb, her muscles, her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She stared at the thin white sheet over her legs. She was in a hospital gown. She hadn’t even noticed earlier. Where were her clothes?
Why do I care about my clothing? she thought.
Tony was dead. Sam was dead.
“Where’s Grace?”
“She is alive.”
“I want to see her. She must be here.”
Ben looked at the door.
“Is she down the hall? Please. Take me to her.”
“She’s not awake.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Char said.
“She’s in a coma.”
Char struggled against the cuff. She yanked on the rail, gripped it with both hands and pulled. She heard someone screaming.
She was the one screaming.
“Char! Charlene!”
“I want to see her, Ben,” she said.
“I can’t. There’s nothing I can do,” he said, motioning to the handcuff.
“You don’t have a key?” she said. “You do. You have a key!”
Ben fumbled a hand into his pocket. “I can get in trouble for this. Big trouble.”
Char wanted to remind him that he was the mayor’s son. She wasn’t trying to escape. “I want to see my friend, Ben. Please.”
He unfastened the lock on her wrist. “Are you okay to walk?�
�
“I’ll manage,” she said. He helped her out of bed. Her bare feet on cold linoleum sent a shiver up her spine.
They stepped out of the room.
Dr. Debes looked up from the nurse’s station at the corner. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to visit Grace. Down the hall. We’re not leaving the building,” Ben said.
The doctor did not look happy.
Char turned away and let Ben lead her toward the room. It was three doors down. The door was open. Grace looked small and frail under the bed sheet. A machine beside her bed beeped. The woman was not cuffed to the rail. She wouldn’t have been. She’d done nothing wrong except help Charlene.
Char approached the bed, stood next to her friend, and cried. Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold in sobs. “This wasn’t our fault, Ben. It wasn’t hers. She shouldn’t be lying here like this.”
She remembered the story Grace had shared with her about her daughter, Anna.
“I have to get out of here, Ben.”
“This is a pretty good little hospital,” he said.
“I don’t mean out of this place, well, I guess I do, but I mean out of here, this town. Can you get me past the wall?”
Benjamin turned away from the bed and walked around to the foot. “I can’t do that.”
“What’s going to happen to me? If they find me guilty of these killings, what is the punishment?” All she could think about is that sign out in front of Arcadia. No stealing. No fighting. No murder. It didn’t get clearer than that.
When Benjamin refused to answer, Char felt despair settle in.
“Are they planning to have a funeral for Tony, for Sam?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 20
Carl Trieste introduced himself as he set a briefcase down on the table. He reached across and shook Char’s hand.
“How are you doing?”
“I told them I wasn’t interested in being represented by an attorney,” Char said.
Trieste had military-style cropped white hair; buzzed on the sides and a little longer on top. He couldn’t be over five-eight, one hundred and forty-five pounds. He wore glasses that magnified bright blue eyes, and suspenders that clearly kept his trouser up around his thin waist.
Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead Page 14
