Fortified Dreams

by James, Hadena

  “Your pupils are dilated,” Malachi said.

  “Extreme stimulation,” I told him. Malachi, like most psychopaths, did not have much of a sense of smell. The smell of blood was lost on him. With Turkish Jack draining blood into a bucket, it was the most prevalent smell in the room for me. That kick started a thought and I walked over to him, standing very close. He smelled of body odor. He had worked up quite the sweat killing the men outside the door. Under that was the smell of oranges and musk, meaning the Fortress provided lightly scented soaps for both the men and women. This intrigued me, but I wasn’t sure why. He wore deodorant, but not antiperspirant. His breath held the smell of coffee, cigarettes, and bacon. Over all of it, was the coppery scent of blood. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to lean close to the open wound that was draining the intoxicating scent from his lung.

  The calm descended back upon me like a curtain closing. The world drifted a step away, allowing me to see it with a different mindset. The pain in my foot disappeared. I stretched and flexed my back and arms, losing them. They had become stiff after sitting for so long.

  “I hate when she does that,” I heard Malachi say. I turned to look at him, surprised by the comment. He took two steps, closing the distance between us. He stood very close, forcing me to either step back or hold my head at an odd angle to see his face. “Most people find it creepy. I find it enticing. Please don’t slide out of it again today. My control is not where it should be as it is,” he whispered these things into my hair. Malachi was not asexual. I believed him when he said it aroused him to watch the change happen. At the moment, I didn’t care. Tomorrow, if I lived that long, I probably would.

  Twenty-six

  After the rescue party left, it was a skeleton crew inside the cafeteria. There were about three dozen women, a dozen or so men, not counting the injured or rebels. I was staring at the opening Patterson had put in the wall earlier. The desire to climb back up there was strong. There had to be people up there. Well, not people so much as serial killers, mass murderers, and bad guys in general. I was also fairly sure I could get a signal in the warden’s office or climb out onto the roof and get one. I wasn’t entirely sure who I was going to call though. Somehow, I needed to alert Xavier that Christian Hunter might still be hunting his father. I was very glad we had left him on the outside. I was not as enthused that we had left him with Xavier. Xavier was probably our weakest link, health wise.

  Besides, Bella and Fiona were starting to annoy me. They needed to have a proper argument, get it all out in the open. Their simmering hostilities were distracting. However, having an argument right this second was probably not in their best interest. I would accompany Fiona back here on a family day or something and make her and Bella hash it out. Family, no matter how fucked up, was family and siblings needed each other.

  Something else about it nagged me, but I was unwilling to admit out loud that I was that human. My sister had been named Isabella. She had been a year or two older than Eric was. I couldn’t remember what she looked like or sounded like. If I tried really hard, I could sort of conjure up a picture my mom had of her, but that was it. I had no memories of her being alive. She’d been cremated because an open casket was impossible. Her killer had put a bullet through her face and not one of the small ones that could be covered up with putty and make-up. I did not know what my last words to her had been or even when I had seen her last. She was just gone, as if she were only a dream left gnawing on my memory.

  This made me think of Eric, and about what he had said about Patterson and Apex. Some serial killers needed to stay in society for the greater good. The concept struck me as utilitarian, but it made some sense. The SCTU had been created to circumvent certain laws that left serial killers and mass murderers out in society. We couldn’t be everywhere at once though. Serial killers that preyed on serial killers were probably helping us out with the rise of the predators. Some psychiatrists, psychologists, and behaviorists believed psychopaths and sociopaths of the antisocial variety were evolutionary steps. It seemed only fair then that the predators that preyed on other predators were just one more step in that process.

  That made my work with SCTU and Malachi’s heading the VCU political. Maybe it wasn’t about Jeffrey Hunter. Maybe it wasn’t about Malachi or me or the US Marshals. Maybe it was all some sort of political move. Of course, the political agenda would need to belong to a serial killer or just someone out of their freaking minds, but I had seen some weird shit lately. It could be the work of anarchists, but could anarchists organize enough to do this sort of damage to the infrastructure of the criminal justice system? I did not know the answer to that. It did seem like letting serial killers loose would be very bad for everyone.

  If all these people were released into society, violent crime would skyrocket. Short of population control, it was hard to imagine they served much of a purpose. Suddenly, it hit me. I refrained from kicking the wall, but only because I could see my foot smashed between the plastic whatevers that Caleb had wrapped around them.

  “Fiona,” I whispered to her. “We need to make a call. If someone can get to the fire exit in the warden’s office, we can get outside onto the roof and get the message out.”

  “Who are we calling?” She asked.

  “Someone more secretive than us,” I answered, hoping she got it. Then I remembered she had not been with us when we had worked the fairground bombings. She wouldn’t remember dealing with the idiot at Homeland Security. That had been before Michael had died. She shook her head and shrugged at me. I sighed very loudly. I wasn’t exasperated with her. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been around for that. I was pissed off at James Okafor, the guy who had killed Michael and myself, for forgetting about it for a moment. Then I had a moment of rage at Patterson for killing Okafor before I could. I tried to let all of it pass, but it just kept building. I bit down on my lip as hard as I could. Fiona looked concerned. I didn’t feel the pain, but it did keep me from exploding and yelling at people or shooting them. I handed her the gun that I suddenly remembered I had. It was probably best for everyone if I did not have a gun while we dealt with domestic terrorists. Terrorists were technically exempt from the current Serial Killer and Mass Murderer amendment. I hoped that changed after this. There were a few on my radar at the moment that I really wanted to kill, just as soon as I figured out who they were. However, Christian Hunter was looking very tempting now.

  “Aislinn?” Fiona said my name slowly and quietly. I did not speak. I did stop biting my lip and licked the salty blood from it. There was no reason to release serial killers unless you wanted to terrorize people. Most people thought of terrorists as an anonymous group that blew people up for crappy reasons, but the truth was, a terrorist or terrorist cell was any person or group that wanted to inflict fear and panic using violence. Taking down the criminal justice system that dealt with serial killers and mass murderers was a great way to inspire fear and panic. Taking down the Fortress was an even better way to do it, because all those caught monsters could get loose at any moment, in theory. I was positive there were millions of Americans currently glued to their television sets hoping that the Fortress did not fall.

  In fact, taking the Fortress was more terrifying than taking the White House for most Americans. A president and his staff could be replaced. This prison could not be rebuilt in a matter of hours, not even days or weeks. All these serial killers and mass murderers would have to be moved to another prison, one less secure, one that did not cater to the brilliant criminal mind.

  And we were stuck inside the damn thing without any real way to communicate my concerns to the outside. I couldn’t even tell Malachi and Gabriel. It all made perfect sense now and it had taken me most of the day to figure it out. So much for my brilliant criminal mind.

  “Here,” Fiona handed me her phone.

  “I cannot leave you here,” I told her.

  “I have Bella and a few others. We’ll be fine.”

 
; “I doubt that,” I told her. “As a matter of fact, I doubt any of us will be fine when the day finally ends. That is the end game.” They were waiting on the biggest possible coverage and the least secure moment. If they brought down a tower and the killers escaped en masse, the majority would get past the minimal security we had on the outside, especially since at least one sniper in a tower was in on it. “I cannot go out there anyway.” My brain reminded me that if we were right, said sniper could take me out and claim he thought I was an escaping killer and no one would blink an eye. Especially since I was sort of like a serial killer.

  “What do you want me to do?” Fiona asked.

  “I have no idea. We cannot go out. We cannot stay here. Most of all, we cannot, and I mean absolutely cannot let the walls of this prison fall down. I do not care if we have to take every bomb off every wall and throw ourselves over them.” I looked at her. “We have got to get control of the Fortress, Fiona, and I would say the countdown has begun.” There was no way to do it during the daytime. It would have to be done at night. The outsiders would be tired after an entire day of sitting outside at the ready. Normal people could only hold adrenaline spikes for so long. The snipers would have trouble seeing through the debris that would rise into the sky, even if they had night scopes. I imagined they were getting tired too. Most people had to sleep. The good guys inside the building were hit or miss on the tired part. Some of the Marshals would be nearing exhaustion. Most of the killers would be doing fine if they were turned off to the world around them.

  “That’s a scary thought,” Fiona said.

  “You have no idea,” I told her and looked at Bella. “So, why exactly were you chopping up men? Was it just for grins or was there a purpose behind it?”

  “That’s kind of rude,” Bella answered.

  “Just answer the question,” I glared at her.

  “I’d like to know that too,” Fiona turned on her, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “All of them were assholes,” Bella shrugged.

  “A little more specific.” I continued to stare her down.

  “Mike wasn’t an asshole, he treated me great!” Fiona protested.

  “He was sleeping with the maid of honor!” Bella shouted back at her. Fiona looked like she’d been slapped. “Since there was no reason for either of you to be with a cheating asshole, I killed him. For the record, I lured him to my house on the pretense of giving him a good time with me before he tied the knot with you. He was plenty eager to come over too. Practically waltzed right into my house only half dressed.”

  “Good to know,” I said, stopping the argument that was forming between the sisters. “So, can you only kill with a saw?”

  “I had to get them to sit still for the saw somehow,” she answered.

  “Even better, because it is going to take as many of us as possible. We are way outnumbered. The only thing going for us is that most of us are crazier than they are.”

  “Fiona’s not.” Bella hooked her thumb at her sister.

  “You underestimate her.” I gave a quick look at Fiona. She had actually proven herself quite capable of dealing with crazy. Most people would have quit the SCTU after Detroit, let alone my trip down the LSD lane or waking up nude with me after being drugged. Knowing what I knew now, I was positive Hunter was the one who had released those pictures. He’d probably been involved in drugging us and putting us in bed too. It was all very hush hush. The US Marshals had released a statement saying we had been dosed with rohypnol, but had left out the XTC and ketamine in our systems. It was really somewhat miraculous that we had woken up the next morning. I understood that I metabolized drugs quickly, but I was beginning to believe Fiona did too. After meeting Bella Stewart, I was pretty sure I knew why she did it as well.

  Twenty-seven

  When one decided to plan a rescue and an overthrow of the established regime, one does not pack along dead weight. We left the wounded and stupid behind. We also left the dead weight that didn’t really want to help with our insane plans. This meant our group consisted of six psychopathic serial killers, including Brent Timmons, who I would not let have the scimitar I had confiscated. Two mass murderers that I was fairly certain were loyal only because it afforded them the opportunity to kill. One contract killer that was freelance and really didn’t mind hanging out in the Fortress, he had claimed the challenge was gone from the profession. Most people were too much like sheep to make the jobs any fun. Five US Marshals including Parsons and Demetrius Lazar, who I was surprised had not gone with the menfolk to rescue the other Marshals. The warden who was a pretty good egg, despite aging not being kind to him. Fiona, who I hadn’t included as a US Marshal, because she was a member of the SCTU, and myself.

  After a little debate, we had given Bella the gun that I had been given. Timmons had gotten my baton, which sort of irked me, but made sense since he was technically a swordsman. Demetrius Lazar had given his back up gun to Lewis Branch, a serial killer who appreciated a well-placed bullet wound. A knife had been scrounged up for another serial killer by the name of Adam Grodgen, which worked out because Adam really liked getting up close and personal with his kills. He even preferred killing heterosexual men who liked to beat up women, which rather made him less of a bad guy and more of a wayward soul. The others were improvising with things we had found in the kitchen. One of our mass murderers was carrying a very large, very heavy skillet. I was almost sure it would stop a bullet.

  The plan was for them to start at the sixth floor. These doors had not been opened using the master codes, or if they had, they had been resealed. I had hoped to catch up with them, but a man who looked like Frankenstein stopped us on the second floor.

  He was tall, stocky and had more scars than I did. He grunted at us, which wasn’t a good sign. I had no Marshals from the secure ward and no references to draw from. However, I was willing to bet money that he had come from that particular area. We had a decision to make. Gunfire would draw attention, attention that we didn’t necessarily want. That left us with hand-to-hand combat and while some of our group seemed eager to test their might, others visibly paled.

  “Lance Roberts,” Fiona told me. “Captured in 2002, killed three hundred and forty-six people in the space of three years, super psychopath, and preferred women victims. Took them to the woods, tied them to a tree, and then made tiny cuts on their bodies with a pocketknife. Cause of death in all cases was exsanguination. Caught by Blake, Green, and two other former members of the VCU. Killed the fifth during the take down by slamming his head into the ground and stomping on it, repeatedly, while being shot, repeatedly.”

  “He literally performed death by a thousand cuts?” I gave her a sideways glance.

  “Yes,” she answered. He wasn’t charging us. I wasn’t sure why. He was just standing there, grunting at us, and making weird hand gestures.

  “Anyone speak grunt?” I asked, only half joking.

  “No, but you would think he would be trying to kill us by now,” Timmons offered.

  “That is why I asked. It is like he is trying to tell us something,” I commented, turning to look behind us. There was no one there. “Do you understand me?” I asked Lance Roberts. He nodded. “Progress. Are you going to try to kill us?” He shook his head. More progress. “I do not understand what you want us to do, but we want to take back the prison. Do you understand?” He nodded.

  He took a step towards us. Several people stepped back, but I held my ground. He reached out his hand towards me. For a moment, I thought he would throttle me and I’d have to cut his arm off. Instead, he tapped the badge strung around my neck and grunted again. I was totally lost. He repeated the gesture and then held his hand up in the air. It was below his chin, but it was approximately seven feet from the ground.

  “Who were the other VCU agents?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” Fiona answered.

  “Alejandro Gui?” I asked. I didn’t know many seven feet tall US Marshals. They just didn’t make th
em that size. Roberts nodded his head. “He is dying or dead at this point, I’m not sure. Friend?”

  Roberts’ face darkened and he sneered. His head shook furiously and he pointed to a scar on his neck. It looked like someone had tried to slit his throat.

  “Gui did that?” I asked. He nodded. So, he wasn’t a fan of Alejandro. I could understand that, because I wasn’t either and that was before he tried to kill me. “Do you want to go see his body, finish off the job if he is not dead?” Roberts shook his head. He pointed to me, his finger pushing against my breastbone with force enough that I had to work to remain still. After a moment of this, he drew a line across his throat and then pointed at me again.

  “Okay, I do not know whether you want to kill me or you want me to kill Gui or you know I tried and you are thanking me.” I frowned at the large man. He stuck out his right hand. After a moment, I took it and he shook it heartily. “So, want to kill some more serial killers? We could use a super psycho on our side,” I told him. He nodded. I added one giant, super psychopath to my mental inventory. Everyone else seemed a little hesitant about the addition. I was of the mindset that he might come in handy. If he didn’t, I was fairly certain some of those scars could be reopened with a sword and a baton.

  We were about to continue when someone said my name. It was drawn out, long and slow, each syllable pronounced, a feat since Cain only has one syllable. I didn’t look around for the voice and its owner. I knew exactly who it belonged to. When I was in college, a serial killer that had attacked me and lived. He’d been rather intent on raping and torturing me and I had been rather intent on not letting it happen. In the fight, he’d gotten a good head bashing from an Anubis statue before I stabbed him seventeen times with a butcher’s knife. I should have stabbed him about seventeen times more, but I had been young and thought that seventeen was surely enough.