Fortified Dreams
Page 11
I didn’t want to pry. The fact that Fiona had never mentioned it was a sign. She was either ashamed, embarrassed, or pissed off about it. I grabbed her arm.
“Is it going to be an issue?” I asked.
“Not really, I haven’t spoken to her in at least fifteen years. I feel like I should make sure she’s okay, but she earned her cell and I hope she rots in it.”
“Hostility, interesting,” I said and let her go. We exited into the cafeteria and just stopped. All the Marshals in green were lined up against a wall, their hands on the blocks, with Malachi and Gabriel holding guns on them. The warden was not with them. He stood to the side, spluttering and panicked.
My head cocked to the side, the corners of my mouth turned down. Wrinkles appeared in my forehead, and my nostrils flared, all without any input from my brain. I wasn’t entirely sure what we had walked into, but at least our guys had the guns and not the other way around. That was promising. What was not promising was the lack of discrimination, even Dominic Lazar was against the wall. Demetrius Lazar was standing off to the side, rage on his face. I wasn’t sure if it was because Dominic was against the wall or for some other reason.
“Your phone,” my brother handed me the hunk of junk that had fallen to the bottom of the shaft. It somewhat looked like a phone, but it also sort of looked like a crushed microwave. I took it and put in my pocket, mainly to keep it from becoming a weapon in the wrong hands. Serial killers are very crafty.
“Should I ask?” I looked at Eric. Eric shrugged. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know, even you should know that,” Eric scolded me. I resisted the urge to rub my hand down my face or kick a wall. I looked at Patterson. He was smiling. He was a sick man with some sick hobbies. The fact that we thought alike was disturbing, but not as disturbing as Eric shrugging at me. It wasn’t just the shrug, it was that it had come from Eric, regarding a situation that involved guns. It spoke volumes, and I probably wouldn’t like what it was saying.
“I’ll ask.” Fiona looked at Gabriel. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out who triggered all the bombs,” Gabriel answered.
“Gotcha,” Fiona said and then opened her mouth again. “All the bombs?”
“There have been five total,” Eric offered. “And he says there are more.” He hooked his thumb at a new serial killer that had joined the group while I was gone. I wondered how long it had taken me to climb up and back down. It hadn’t seemed very long when it was happening, but I hadn’t noticed three bombs go off nor had I noticed that there were a handful more serial killers and mass murderers tied up.
“So, are we going to shoot them all and let God sort it out?” I asked Gabriel.
“Really?” Eric clicked his tongue at me. I shrugged at him. I couldn’t remember what movie it came from, but it got through. Gabriel looked at me. His eyes were a little wider than they should have been, his lips drawn into a taut line that had turned white, his pulse jumping at his neck and temples. It was the first time I had ever seen Gabriel terrified. Scared yes, but he was human and humans conquered fear. Terror was quite another emotion and Gabriel wasn’t conquering his very well.
I strolled over to him and took the gun from him. He let me. Malachi looked at me. Green was doing thorough pat downs of them.
“Have we considered that someone snuck in the detonator to the bombs and gave it to a killer?” I asked. Everyone turned to look at me. “Well, I was just thinking about it, and I could not call Fiona because of the shielding. The coms are a little staticky. Something is trying to interfere with the signal. However, if I walk outside this room, they become clear. It seems more likely that the detonator for the bombs is roaming around outside the cafeteria, not in here with us. Besides, it would be a dead giveaway if one of the Marshals carried it. We would torture him until he told us who paid him.” They blinked a few times. “Also, before we go making accusations, we are taking the word of compulsive liars. I mean is there a reason that Dominic Lazar is against the wall? Do we really think he is involved? He has a family, kids, a dog, a nice house, so why would he risk all that to save Eric if his intention was to blow us up?”
“Fine, as long as they aren’t armed and aren’t carrying a detonator, they are free to remove themselves from the wall,” Malachi said after a moment. He didn’t lower his gun.
“You are going to disarm all of them because one of them might be a bad guy?” I asked Malachi. “That is just not logical.”
“Greater good,” Malachi informed me.
“No, it is not. The greater good says we leave them all armed and hope one of them does not shoot us in the head,” I argued. “Look, our guy is going to be young, impulsive, have expensive tastes, and be arrogant, possibly to the point of narcissism. That rules out a good chunk of these guys.”
“Why young?” Malachi asked.
“Because an older Marshal would remember the days before the Fortress and not screw with it. He would remember what happened in LA. He would remember when serial killers were starting to take over the world. He would not go along with it unless he was a pure psychopathic nutter.” I frowned harder. There was actually one person involved that fit the description, but he was on the outside.
“You want to administer the behavioral tests?” Malachi asked.
“No, I want to go figure out why we have not seen a single female serial killer running around. Nor have we seen any female US Marshals that should be guarding them. Fiona and I have concerns about some of the other inmates getting to them. This,” I waved my hands in front of me, searching for a word, “debacle, can be sorted later. I think the women should be the first priority.”
Malachi finally looked at me. He wanted to hurt someone. I understood the look and the feeling. Gabriel let out a weird noise that reminded me of a squirrel talking underwater. There were less than forty female serial killers and mass murderers in the Fortress. A dozen or so female US Marshals ran the ward. The ratio was out of whack, but since we were capturing more females all the time, it appeared to be an act of preparedness. Besides, I was in charge and didn’t really give two shakes about how it was done, as long as it was done.
Bella
Isabella Stewart looked like her mother, with long dark hair that flowed down her shoulders and stopped at the middle of her back. Striking brown eyes that were ringed with a touch of amber had proved stunning over the years. If she’d been the least bit normal, she would have had to beat the men off with a stick. Unfortunately, for those men, she wasn’t normal and beating wasn’t really her thing. She preferred dismembering them with a saw, while they were still alive.
She checked the ammo in the gun for a second time. No one had come close to the doors in nearly thirty minutes. Every woman in there was on edge. She could smell it. Of the thirty-six inmates and ten guards on duty, they had managed to fend off all the incoming trophy hunters. Bella was not about to have made it this far in life only to become a trophy of someone already in prison.
A US Marshal named Olivia Parsons was next to her. She liked Parsons. Parsons didn’t seem to care that Bella hated men or that Bella liked to dismember them. It had been Parson’s idea to arm the women, trusting them to protect her and themselves.
The trust had been a little misguided and one US Marshal had died along with five female inmates, but there were bound to be a few bad eggs, especially inside the Fortress. The other inmates had handled that swiftly and predominantly. They all seemed to agree there was safety in numbers. Killing US Marshals and trying to make a break for it did not offer much appeal. While most of the women were psychopaths, they were not equals of most of the male psychopaths running around. Rape was the least of their worries if they ran into the wrong guy. A few of the dead and wounded on the other side of the secured doors was proof of that. They were mostly torturers. Bella doubted she would like being tortured.
Bella could have blamed a long line of people responsible for her current situation. Her gene
s seemed contaminated by psychopathology. However, she didn’t. She took responsibility for her killings. Sometimes, she even took pride in them, like killing that bastard that had cheated on her sister just a week before the wedding. Of course, her sister had been running for the nearest thing like a family that she could imagine. Yet, Bella didn’t blame Fiona for it. She understood. Their own family was nothing short of a disaster. A mother who had murdered the neighbors and a father with wandering hands and a taste for young girls had made their youth unbearable. All five girls surviving into adulthood was a miracle. It was even more miraculous that only one had turned out to be a killer.
They hadn’t spoken since Fiona was seventeen. Bella had been caught a few days after the groom had gone missing. She had not explained to her sister why she had killed her betrothed and they had not even exchanged a letter since the day of her arrest. Two of their other sisters came to visit once a month or so, but Fiona and Rose refused. Bella wasn’t entirely sure she blamed them. She had killed Rose’s boyfriend too. Of course, it had been in Rose’s best interest, but those sorts of things seemed to bother people for a long time. One day, she hoped they got over it. In the case of Fiona, today would be good.
Her sister had been with the SCTU less than a day when Bella found out. She had been very proud of her sister, telling everyone that would listen. One of the Marshals had even allowed her to send a note to Eric Clachan expressing her gratitude that his sister would be looking out for hers. It was a good job and the life expectancy for SCTU members had increased since Aislinn Cain had joined the unit. At least, for everyone but Aislinn Cain, but Bella was pretty sure that was just pessimism talking. They didn’t understand. Most female psychopaths had borderline personality disorder, most sociopaths too for that matter.
Not in Bella’s case, but in most. She was glad a woman that could think like her was watching after Fiona. Fiona needed it regardless of whether she knew it or not. She smiled and looked out the Plexiglas window in the door.
Another of those jackasses was trying to sneak down the hallway, coming towards them, ducking into cells that were empty due to a low population problem. She wondered if he even noticed the dead bodies on the floor or if he did, and was just that arrogant. Marshal Parsons opened a small metal flap next to the door and took aim. Her goal seemed to be to wound them. This one was no different. As he popped out of a cell to get closer, Parsons shot him twice, once in each leg. Bella had her own flap set inside the middle of the door. She considered finishing him off. It was within her rights to defend herself, but she didn’t flip it open. He could writhe in pain for a while. If he remained determined, she would aim for the head.
“Four fucking hours,” another US Marshal said from behind them. “We’ve been in here for four fucking hours and not a single word from anyone on our side.”
“Rhonda,” Olivia Parsons turned from her spot to look at the other Marshal, “I’m sure they are doing the best they can to get to us.”
“I doubt they even remember we’re here,” a killer named Georgia said. Georgia Weyland was like most female serial killers. She liked to poison people. She’d been really good at it too, killing over thirty before being caught by the VCU. She wasn’t good at anything else though. Trying to hand her a gun had been like trying to hand her a snake.
Three entrances were on every level of the tower they had taken refuge in. Some of them had been blocked off with tables and things, even if someone did enter the code, the door would jam trying to open and one of the armed women could go take care of the problem and shut the door again.
“They remember,” another woman said. She had been nicknamed Blondie by those on the floor. She’d used her charm to lure seven husbands to their deaths before being ferreted out by the VCU. She’d been working on husband number eight, but things had gone all wonky. No one really knew the story behind it. She didn’t offer and they didn’t ask.
“I’m sure the SCTU will move heaven and earth to get here, if they are allowed in the building,” Parsons said. She lived one street over from most of the SCTU members. She and her husband had attended a few of Gabriel’s barbecues. They were strange events, but not entirely unpleasant.
“You think Aislinn Cain has it in her to save our asses?” Rhonda Mitchell, the US Marshal, said.
“Yes,” Bella and Parsons both answered in unison. They exchanged glances and a small smile. Neither women could admit it, but they had a sort of friendship. Parsons even made sure that Bella got extra stuff to do in her spare time, of which, Bella had a lot. The women’s unit ran a little different from the men’s unit. They were allowed more freedoms, more time to socialize, more time to wander in their tower and corridor. They were relatively not dangerous to themselves or others. There were a few that were wonkier than others, but they could be kept in check by the Marshals and inmates when need be.
“Yeah right,” Rhonda muttered.
“Give it a rest, Rhonda,” US Marshal Cathleen Connor snipped. “Just because you had a thing with Blake, doesn’t mean a damn thing when it comes to SCTU. They’ll come because we are US Marshals and because they probably need the back up.”
“That woman caused it to be a fling, not a thing,” Rhonda Mitchell answered.
“Oh, good grief,” Bella groaned. “Blake is a psychopath, a full blown psychopath. It was never anything more than a fling. He isn’t marriage material. He isn’t the type to have a little wife at home. He isn’t even the type to understand monogamy. Cain had about as much to do with the demise of your imaginary relationship as Haley’s Comet. How can you work day after day with psychopaths and not get it?”
Marshal Mitchell mumbled something unintelligible and went to guard a different entrance. She tapped Cathleen and sent her to the spot she had just vacated, putting as much room between herself and Bella as possible.
“Hey, your sister is SCTU, isn’t she?” Connor asked.
“Yeah,” Bella beamed. “She’s their computer guru.”
“See, the SCTU will come for us,” Parsons chirped.
“We haven’t spoken in over a decade,” Bella answered. Parsons didn’t lose the smile.
“Family bonds are strong, even when they are on opposite sides of the law,” Connor offered. Bella wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but for today, she’d allow herself to hope. If the SCTU made it into the Fortress, Fiona would come looking for her. Getting through the males that seemed to be running amok would be dicey, but she would try. Her mood darkened. What if Fiona had already tried and they had gotten to her? Bella would fuck up any deranged ass wipe that laid a hand on her sister. The worst that could happen was an extension of her sentence, which was already life without parole. She might go to the hole for a few weeks, but even that wasn’t so bad. It was quiet there.
Of course, it was currently quiet in here too, except for a whispered conversation going on between two people. Bella couldn’t make it out, but she was surprised. Aside from bitching, loudly about being forgotten, there hadn’t been much conversation. She turned. Mitchell was talking with Heidi Aitken. Aitken was possibly the only other psychopath in the women’s ward to have ASPD psychopathology. She’d been a contract killer before getting caught. Mitchell and Aitken were like Bella and Parsons. They had a semi-friendship that was hard to explain. However, it bothered Bella that they were whispering and Bella wasn’t sure why. Mitchell was nodding emphatically, her hair bobbing with the effort. Her mouth formed words that Bella couldn’t understand, but her face was set in a hard grimace.
If being a psychopath had taught her anything, it was to trust her instincts. They kept her alive, even when she didn’t understand why they were screaming at her, until after the fact. This held true at this moment. Aitken had recently received a few visitors that had not come in during normal visiting hours and Mitchell had always been her escort. Was it possible this entire take-over had been planned and if so, how did Mitchell and Aitken fit into it? And were they really here to sabotage any rescue efforts?
Her best chances of survival suddenly hinged on her sister with her psychotic team members coming to rescue her. She’d let it slide that they were mostly men. They didn’t seem to be like other men.
Fifteen
In theory, I should have been able to see down the hallway that led to the women’s ward. However, I should have been able to do that with all of them and couldn’t. There were not just big steel doors that separated each hall from the hub, but each had been built with a slight curve to it. These hallways were cell free, with three layers of security built into them. The cells existed only on the outer ring.
Furthermore, there were more layers of security for the women’s ward. It was designed with the idea that serial killers preferred female victims. Even female serial killers if they couldn’t get anything else.
I was beginning to see flaws with this design. Originally, I had thought it was brilliant. After spending a few hours on the inside, I had come to the conclusion that each spoke should have been its own self-contained unit with only one real exit and a fire exit in the tower. From where I was standing, fire seemed like an unlikely worry. A fire was burning in one of the hallways in a corridor that had lost its door, but the ventilation system was removing the smoke quickly. A fire suppression system was coating the floor with foam. The walls and doors were withstanding the heat without so much as a crack forming and the steel security doors were probably hot, but they weren’t molten. I made a mental note to talk to someone about it if they really were building a second one. I did not know who that someone was, but I could probably find them.