The Broken Ones (Book 3): The Broken City

by Jobe, David

  She nodded. “Though it kills me, we have to wait until he leaves the facility. We won't stand a chance if he is here. And we won’t survive the attempt. He’s been talking about making an announcement in the next few days. When it is time, I’ll come get you. Just be ready. Okay?”

  “Okay. You sure? I mean, how old is your kid? Maybe she is in trouble.”

  A tear dropped from her eye. “Jessica is only six, but she’s good at staying hidden. I don’t know where she is, but I fear she went looking for her brother. That’s the first place I plan to look when we get out. Hopefully, she’s hiding as a little bear somewhere in his house.”

  “A little bear?”

  Smiled wide at this. “Powers are genetically passed down. She’s a shape-shifter like her mother.”

  He smiled back. “That’s cute. Did her dad have powers?”

  She nodded. “He did at the time. I only found out later it was the only reason he even…” she sobbed. “I don’t even know what power he had activated at the time. Jessica’s never manifested a second one, and I think if she had dual powers like you, he wouldn’t have needed you.”

  Brian blinked. “You mean, her dad is… Is him? Really?”

  She nodded, sobbing into her hands. “And all he’s ever given her is a life filled with nightmares. I think that’s his real superpower. He turns others into monsters.”

  He made the connections. Brian put a hand on her shoulder. “I am sure she is safe. And we’ll get you out of here as soon as you are ready.”

  She nodded, moving back to stand. She shifted back to Nurse Lindell, her mascara running more. She opened her mouth to say something, but just shook her head and left.

  Brian watched her go, not knowing what to think. After the door slid shut behind her, he leaned back in his bean bag, wincing again. He turned to look at the screen. Red letters announced that he was dead. “Not helpful,” he told the television.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nothing but the Facts, Ma’am

  Lanton sat in a brown leather chair lined with stress cracks in the worn upholstery. Each subtle movement made the chair hint it might be the last it would take, and the whole thing would shred underneath him, depositing him onto the cold concrete floor. The scent of books and musk closed in around him like oppressive clouds. Still, lingering just under the surface of all of this, he could detect the faint odor of alcohol. As his eye drifted over the various awards and certificates plastered along the far wall, he couldn’t help but think that had this been a car, he would have asked the driver to do a field sobriety test. He wondered how the prison officials would feel about the possibility of one of their own being at the very least, tipsy on the job.

  “Officer Lanton.” Doctor Rebecca Landers drifted into her office with what Lanton guessed was a practiced entrance that had been meant to convey beauty and confidence.

  Lanton drew a breath, though he felt neither of these things emanating from the woman. Still, he rose out of respect and offered her his hand. “It’s detective now.” He gave a smile that didn’t extend beyond the minor twitching of the corners of his mouth. “It was actually detective last time we met. A minor distinction to a doctor, I am sure, but one I believe I earned.”

  Dr. Landers wore a white silk blouse that clung tight enough to reveal a pattern of the slip underneath. A blue bow adorned her neck, and her skirt hugged her hips as it fell to a stop just above her knees. She placed her well-manicured hands into his rough ones, less a shake and more of a woman expecting to have it kissed. “My apologies, Detective.” She threw his twitchy smile back at him. “Please, have a seat.” She pulled her hand back and made a welcoming gesture at the same time. “I appreciate you being willing to come have a chat with me.” She waited until Lanton had settled into his seat before easing into hers. “I believe you and I may have started on the wrong foot earlier.”

  Lanton sat back, removing his cell phone from his pocket and placing it on the arm of the chair. He crossed one foot over his knee, revealing a shoe with tread worn so thin part of the pattern had all but vanished. “Did we?”

  She smiled wider this time, though it looked a bit pained. The ghostly image that floated around her had dimmed somewhat and seemed erratic. Where before, the white lines coming off of her had been thin and drifted up out of sight, these were the short stubs of an amputated octopus, flailing wildly about her as she spoke. For a moment it had been so distracting that he hadn’t caught all of what she had been saying. “...hoping we could come to an understanding.”

  Lanton nodded, pretending had heard the whole statement. “What kind of understanding were you hoping to reach?”

  Dr. Landers leaned forward, placing her elbows on the only space open on her desk. “Well, the Warden gave me the impression the reason I’m no longer allowed on the grounds after curfew has something to do with you.”

  He nodded. “This is possibly true. I did advise the Warden I thought it best that until this rash of suicides plaguing your prison stops, we needed to reduce any unnecessary personnel. Especially at night, when these events take place.”

  She tapped a pink painted fingernail to her lip. “That seems counterintuitive, Detective Lanton. Wouldn’t you want more people to be standing guard? More eyes to watch for these things? And wouldn’t you agree that I’m even better suited for this task? That is why I opted to stay late. To offer my support to those in emotional crisis.”

  “I see your point, Doctor, but I think we can agree your way wasn’t working.” He picked up his phone and scrolled to the app that had his notes. “Twenty-two suicides in this facility in the last eighteen months. That is more than all the prisons in the states combined during that time frame. It’s a wonder to me that I was the first person to bring this to the Warden’s attention. If you were walking the halls at night for this very purpose, why was the Warden unaware you were here at night?”

  The corners of her mouth twitched into a frown, but she appeared to catch herself. “I didn’t want to make matters worse. It was my intent to discover the root of the problem, and maybe even excise it before adding to the Warden’s stress.”

  Lanton made as if to read more notes, though this part he and Grimm had poured over for several days. “It seems here that all of the victims had claimed to see ghosts in the nights leading up to their death. Tell me, Doctor Landers, did you see any ghosts?”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, Detective. And as I told my patients, I believe the ghosts they were seeing were the manifestations of a guilty psyche. That they were suffering from a temporary cognitive break where their subconscious manifested these apparitions to bring them to terms with their actions.” She gave him a wide smile that showed perfect teeth.

  Lanton scratched his head, remembering watching Colombo as a kid. “Pardon me Doctor. Let me see if I get this straight. No ghosts, just their mind playing tricks on them? All in their head?” For a second he had to stifle the mannerism of the television detective. He knew he shouldn’t be having fun with this, but this woman was trying way too hard.

  “Right. Something like that.” Her shoulder’s squared as she spoke, a bit of confidence returning to her voice.

  Lanton nodded, pretending to add more notes. “Okay. That makes sense. I mean, they all came to you because something was obviously wrong. I mean, why go see a shrink if you don’t need shrunk?”

  “Crude, but accurate.”

  Lanton nodded again but paused. “Say, that’s something.” He pretended to scroll. “All of these people were your patients. Well, except for one, a Mister Valderez, who I was told you asked to come see you, but he told you no.”

  “Yes, but in less pleasant terms.” She frowned, her eyes becoming a bit more narrow.

  Lanton eased back on the game. “Yeah. Convicts have such colorful vocabularies. But why do you think it’s only your patients that have been affected? There are two other shrinks on staff, and none of them have reported any incidences, or even reports of..” he pretended to check his
notes again, “Apparitions wandering the halls.”

  Her eyes narrowed a bit more. “That could be because my methods are more effective. Those other two are idealists who coddle their clients like scared babes. I make these people take a good hard look at themselves in the mirror.”

  “So, it’s your hard love approach that makes them see ghosts and then kill themselves?” He made sure his tone remained neutral. Passive.

  “The latter is an unfortunate after-effect of someone who has done heinous things and now has to come to terms with them. They face their demons, and they flinch. You can’t flinch.” She sat back in her chair, her arms crossing her chest. “Do you know what cognitive dissonance is?” She continued before Lanton could reply. “The short and dirty is that when someone does something different than what they believe, they had a choice. Accept that they have done a bad thing and seek to change, or they make excuses for why they did what they did. It’s a mental crutch that they need kicked out from under them. It is my job to get them to face what they have done, and make that change.”

  Lanton sat there for a moment, staring at her and the white stubs that twitched around her shoulders. “Heinous things?” He set his phone down, the playful ruse discarded. “Mr. Swandon may have killed a man, someone I was supposed to protect, but he didn’t deserve to die.” He leaned in. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Mr. Swandon was an unwitting pawn in a larger game. Those actions were the result of someone else using a power to make him do something. “ He paused, looking at her in the eyes. “That man is no longer a threat to society. And young Simon Fellip. In here because he was dumb enough to ride with some idiots. They told him to wait in the car. He didn’t know that they robbed that liquor store, or that during the robbery the owner was killed. He thought it was just another night of drinking Jaeger shots while watching Pacific Rim. But, though the law is less forgiving, he may have been able to get out on probation and community service. Yet, the reports I hear is that he saw the corpse of that shopkeeper banging its head against the bars of his cell, every night until his only escape was a short drop and a sudden stop. Are you telling me that he deserved that?” Lanton took a breath, realizing his tone had gone sour midway through.

  “What happened to Mr. Fellip was unfortunate, but it was in the end, his choice. His actions had consequences.” She spoke each word carefully as if Lanton might be recording this. He wasn’t. Mac had Asimov back in the workshop. Besides, he wouldn’t have been able to get that thing through security anyways.

  “Here’s the thing. Someone else saw Fellip’s ghost, or corpse stalker, whatever. They gave a detailed description of the thing, and it fits pretty well with the crime scene photos. Only thing is, Fellip never saw them, and he sure as hell didn’t see the body. So, how did his subconscious dredge up the finer details he shouldn’t have known? He even got the old man’s shoes right. To the brand. Tell me, Doctor, how it is possible that someone else saw it, and it had details neither person should have known? You have access to the files though, right?” He sat back and took a breath. Looking at his right hand, he could see the knuckles showing pale because of the tight grip. He released his hand and turned back to Doctor Landers, noticing the demon now standing behind her, smiling.

  “Are you accusing me of something, Detective? Do I need to get a lawyer?”

  Lanton sighed. “I’m asking questions. Like, why is it when they instituted the nightly lockdown, the suicides ground to a stop? When before it was what, one every two weeks or so? And by my calculations, they were picking up speed, not slowing down. It was as if whoever was behind this had become overzealous. You’re mostly a scientist. What do you make of those facts?”

  Dr, Landers cheeks flushed, her eyes dangerously narrow now. “Mostly?” She shook her head, waving off the insult. “I suspect the problem is in your calculations, or a variable you haven’t considered. I assure you, these suicides are a product of guilty minds.”

  “But whose, I wonder.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Lanton looked at his watch. He gave another long sigh and stood. “This has been enlightening, but I have other matters to attend to. I know what you are doing, and you need to stop. This isn’t me asking you; this is me telling you.”

  She gave a dark laugh. “Is it now? Suppose I was responsible. What law would I be breaking? What would you charge me with?”

  Lanton smiled. “You know what your Miranda rights are, correct?”

  She nodded. “Are you planning on reading them to me?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m going to share knowledge with you. I’ll give you the short and dirty version. Things like Miranda rights didn’t exist at one point in our legal system. Truth is, we just didn’t think of it until someone had their civil rights stomped on and it went to the supreme court to decide if we were allowed to do something or not. Things like beating suspects for confessions, or telling them lies about evidence. The great thing about our laws is that they start out unaware, but we get there eventually.”

  She stared at him blankly. “Intriguing. But what does that have to do with any of this?”

  “That if another person dies on your watch, what I do to you will go before the supreme court, I assure you. They will hear the evidence and decide if I acted within the bounds of the law.” He leaned in. “But here’s the kicker. No matter what they decide, win or lose, your case will be decided posthumously.”

  Her mouth fell open for a moment, but then she caught herself. “Did you just threaten me?”

  He gave a laugh that sounded like a dry bark. “Nope. Just telling you to keep your nose clean. You’re here to help people, and I think you forgot that somewhere along the way. If you can’t help people anymore, then I suggest you find a new profession.” He pointed at the award just over the shoulder of a grinning demon. “I see you used to be a special effects designer. Bet you would excel in that profession now.”

  She glared at him, standing and slamming her fist on the desk. “This is outrageous. You have no idea what you’re talking about. I think you might be delusional.”

  Lanton laughed at that. It was an honest and genuine laugh. Even the demon behind her shook with silent laughter. “That very well may be.”

  She took a second to compose herself. She looked around her office as if to find something that might assist her in this. It appeared as if she was working through some mental process to collect herself. “Is there nothing I can do to get you to have the Warden lift these restrictions.”

  “Oh fuck no.” Lanton closed the door to her office, in her face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Robbing from Peter

  “The slug is still buried in your vest.” Allison stared in open horror at the large slug crumpled into the diameter of a quarter. Its jagged edge protruded from the vest like a melted crown. She reached to lightly press her finger against it, testing if it was still hot.

  “Ouch!” Mac winced, leaning more on the table. “Maybe just yank it out, so I can take this stupid thing off.”

  Allison growled at him. “This stupid thing saved your life.” She grasped the bullet and yanked it out, relieved when all she could see in the hole it left was the shine of metal plate. “You should melt this down and turn it into a charm or something.”

  “Pass,” Mac replied. He struggled to remove the vest, the shirt coming with it. Stripping them both off, he tossed them on the table. “How does it look?”

  A black and blue bruise the side of a dinner plate sat in the center of his back. Red fringed the edge, giving it a fiery feel. “Like the iris of Sauron.” She gave a small laugh, though tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ooo, or maybe a black hole eclipsing a red sun.”

  Mac gave a wheezing laugh and eased himself into the chair, careful not to lean back. “I like the second one. Maybe I should make that my hero name.”

  “Too long,” Allison said, slipping around to look him in the eyes. “Are you okay? Really? Do I need to get Julian here to get you to the h
ospital?”

  Mac shook his head, sweat dripping from the curling locks. “Naw. I’ll be fine. The bad part is I can’t take pain pills or it dulls my abilities. I don’t know what Asimov is doing out there, but I don’t want to be powerless if they or someone else comes calling again. Speaking of powers, walk me through what happened with yours.”

  Allison took the rifle that had been strapped over her shoulder and laid it down on the table. “I was taking the little one to the panic room when I walked by your workbench. I saw all sorts of things lying around, and some of them reminded me of your father’s gun. So, I walked over, and I remember thinking, ‘if only we had that gun.' Then I went into this weird trance. I was in control, but my mind told me to put the random pieces together to mimic the look of the gun. Once done, I placed my hand on it. It did this weird blurry thing, and then the gun was there in place of the junk I had collected.”