The Hidden

by C C Sommerly

  Of course, it didn’t, I thought.

  “What am I being charged with? I was never formally charged with anything,” I said quickly.

  “I don’t think you understand me. You are being charged with first degree murder, terrorism, and a hate crime.”

  I jumped to my feet, slamming my hands on the table, causing pain to shoot up my arms and numbing what little feeling was left in my hands. “This is totally crap. I didn’t murder anyone,” I said vehemently.

  “Did you not kill the Demon Delegate’s son?”

  “Well –”

  “Based on the evidence and witnesses after the killing, the Demon Delegate asked the President, General Gridley, for you to be extradited.”

  “Extradited to where? The Delegate’s son was killed in America. Where is it they want to send me to?”

  He coughed and squirmed in his chair. His face contorted with a brief flash of panic and what might be anger. It was the first sign of emotion I had seen from him. “Good,” I thought. “I hope he was uncomfortable, as it would not come close to how lacking in comfort I was. My life was on the line, so he better well take it seriously.”

  “That’s the thing. The Demon Delegate is claiming Hell is his homeland and you should be tried there.”

  “He wants to send me to Hell?”

  “Listen to me carefully, I will do whatever is in my power to prevent an extradition, but it doesn’t look good. The Demon Delegate is claiming this is an act of war or one of terrorism. The President has to save face and that very well may mean handing you over.”

  My stomach dropped out from me and my vision dimmed. I was a Catholic. Could I really be sent to Hell? Not only was I not getting out of jail, but my life and my soul could be forfeited over a mistake.

  “What can we do?” I asked in a small voice that I didn’t recognize — so unlike my normal blunt and forceful manner.

  “That is something I need to figure out. There’s never been a case like this before. Since it’s unprecedented, that means the courts and our government will be paying close attention to how things play out. Handing you over to Hell sets a bad precedent and I’m certain that is something the President hopes to avoid.”

  I slumped with relief. He continued, “But Staff Sergeant, you will not avoid punishment. You will be convicted, but it’s my job to reduce whatever conviction you are given.”

  One of the guards knocked on the door. The guard said, “Unfortunately, time’s up.”

  I panicked. I demanded, “That’s it? You’re already leaving? When will you be back? I have no way of knowing what is going on. Am I just supposed to wait here and do nothing?”

  Chester responded, “That is exactly what you will do. You will be a model prisoner and stay away from the general prison population. I assume you will remain isolated since it’s for your own good.”

  The guard pounded again. “He’s coming, dickhead,” I said.

  At his pointed look, I shut up. Chester said to me, “Behave. Oh, and I’ll remind the guards that you are not to come to harm. Your hands are purple because of the restraints. It won’t happen again.”

  Wow, who was this guy that he carried that kind of weight, I thought surprised at how impressed it made me. It might stop the guards from cuffing me too tightly, but I’d learned over the years that if someone didn’t like you and wanted to hurt you, then they would find more subtle ways to do it.

  Chapter 5

  “The Warden gave me quite a verbal lashing for being late,” said my least favorite guard, Todd as he glared into my cell.

  “I blame you for that. There is a horde of reporters and demon sympathizers blocking the base gate. Took me darn near forty minutes to get through it and onto base.”

  Another guard, Robbins sauntered to Todd. “Are you keeping our celebrity criminal busy, Todd?”

  Robbins partnered with Todd to bully me at every opportunity.

  Being kept in isolation gave these two ample opportunities to harass me — their favorite new past time. The Marines were keeping me in isolation, fearing that I would be killed by another soldier, according to Chester. He was also my only contact with the outside world. I held out hope that my grizzly bear of a Gunny will visit. He was more of a father to me than a boss — something I never told him and something I’m not sure he realized. The stern and cantankerous man had weaseled into my heart, filling the gaping hole left from my parents’ death.

  Shortly before I was taken off demon patrol, he and I had quite the blow out, ending up with me storming into his office in anger. It was the last time I saw him before being thrown in the brig. I remembered vividly that the argument started with him bringing my parents into the discussion.

  “Are you so quick to join your dead parents?” said Gunny Mack

  “Don’t bring them into this.”

  “They have been in this since you joined the Marines. Every reckless and impulsive action you take is because of that defining moment. You are the first one to jump at a demon and take needless risks to get a kill. Not all demons are murderers, but you don’t care. You kill rather than capture. Every single time, it becomes another kill for you.”

  “They are legitimate kills,” I said.

  “Yes, but are they really necessary? When have you taken the chance to stop and think instead being your impulsive self?”

  “You don’t know anything! I’m not chasing death and I’m not impulsive! I’m skilled and fast. And no one will lose a loved one to demons as long as I can avoid it.”

  He looked down and when he met my gaze, I saw disappointment as he said curtly, “You are dismissed.”

  I realized now however that Gunny was right, and I was going to pay the price for my hasty reactions. When I first saw the demon in the tree line, I should have questioned how he had gotten so close. He was within fifty yards of the building and the alarm was never raised, but I never questioned it.

  “Hey, you listening Slayer?” said Todd.

  I ignored him, remaining lost in my thoughts, but hearing that nickname rubbed me the wrong way. I hated how badly I was being portrayed in the media and by pretty much everyone. So much for innocent until proven guilty, I thought. I found that avoiding any response or reaction to what the guards said tended to piss them off, but it was the only thing that I had any kind of control over while I was stuck in this cell.

  “We were just watching TV and the media is all about the grieving Demon Delegate and the murderous Marine or Slayer,” Todd continued.

  Robbins chimed in, “And they said you were one of the most hated people on the planet!” He chuckled. “They are interviewing citizens. Most of them think we should send you to Hell.”

  I still think Hell was too harsh of a punishment. The only one that had the right to judge me was God. It was a mistake, but even as I thought that, a small part of me hated myself for what I had done. I killed an innocent — something I had sworn an oath not to do. I was supposed to serve and protect. Yes, it was the same type of demon associated with other assassinations, but I didn’t even make sure he was a threat before I acted. I mistakenly labeled all morpho demons as a “threat” without merit.

  “Hey Sarg, you’re in for a treat. The warden decided you should get some TV time,” said Robbins.

  I hated being called “Sarg” almost as much as being called “Slayer.” I had earned my rank with hard work and by always going above and beyond. While they were suddenly acting friendly, their behavior only served to put me on alert. They were not my friends and over the past few days, they repeatedly went out of their way to make things difficult from me, by dropping my food on the ground or tripping me on the daily walks around the “grounds.” I asked for a TV, books, newspapers or a magazine — anything to pass the time and all requests were denied. Why were they offering me TV now after repeatedly denying me? Why now would the warden do anything potentially nice for me? I wondered. While part of me wanted to refuse the TV, another part of me was so bored that I’d rather see how thi
s played out just to get out of my cell and be around other people — even if the other people were criminals.

  They unlocked my cell door, handcuffed me and led me to the recreation room. The recreation room was suspiciously full of other inmates. This was the first time that I was out with the “general population” and it felt weird. I got quite a few curious glances and some leers. I was one of the few women there. I was escorted to a seat in front of a super-sized TV screen that was playing the news. Todd and Robbins took a seat on each side of me. No other inmate was being watched. It was a bit excessive, but I was so desperate to be around other people and watch TV that I was willing to handle the overbearing and rude guards’ treatment. I was not much of a “people person,” but being isolated tended to make you starved for any human interaction.

  When we walked into the recreation room, the other inmates casually studied me, figuring out where I fit into the inmate hierarchy. The guards were also watching me carefully, but I ignored them and assessed the inmates around me for potential threats. Did the inmates know who I was? And, would these guards prevent anyone from hurting me? I wondered.

  I settled in a plastic seat and see that the news was on, making me cringe. This was the absolute worst thing that could be playing on the tv and I was stuck with dozens of other inmates and two guards that made their dislike of me blatant.

  A somber blonde news anchor was on the screen. “And, now we switch our attention to live coverage at the Grand Meridian Cemetery, where Demon Delegate Angra Mainyu has begun the Ceremony of Unbirth for his son, which is the demon version of a funeral. It has been nearly a week since the Demon Delegate’s suffered the tragic loss of his son. A son, who was gunned down by an irrational and unstable Marine. A Marine, who was part of the security detail to protect his father,” said the blond news anchor.

  “The shooter remains incarcerated. There is much speculation by listeners and even some experts that Staff Sergeant Teagan is a member of the True Believers’ Group, one of the main groups leading the anti-demon movement,” continued the news anchor, who managed to convey a sense of importance overlaid with sadness.

  After she mentioned me, a photo was displayed on the corner of the tv screen of me in Marine Corps uniform, which made me wince. So much for being anonymous here in the brig, I thought. Might as well put a neon sign over my head saying, “Kid killer.” My fellow inmates started grumbling and several glared in my direction. Great, just great, I thought. How long until one found a way to shank me? I’m suspect that the guards would make a half-hearted attempt at protecting me.

  My instincts told me that something bad was about to go down. I was sitting there with my hands literally tied and there were about fifty inmates and from the sounds and looks I was getting most wished me harm. Fifty to one is horrible odds, no matter how well skilled I am in hand-to-hand combat. The sheer numbers would overcome my skills. How many of them want to hurt me and how badly will these two guards let me get hurt are my primary concerns.

  The guard on my right, Robbins, gleefully grinned at my obvious distress. I took no pride in the killing that I committed, but if the media can be believed, most people thought that I intended to murder the delegate’s son, rather than mistaking him as a threat.

  “I’m told that the Demon Delegate Angra Mainyu is preparing to speak. We will switch to live coverage of the ceremony.”

  On the screen was a regal and heartbroken Demon Delegate. “It is with a heavy and pain-filled heart that I am here today. In the thirty years since demons revealed themselves, tremendous strides were taken to ensure that the prejudice taught by the Church about demons was reduced. We worked closely with all humans to teach you about us. We work to maintain a peaceful existence with humans and encourage acceptance.”

  I could not help it as a snicker slipped out. No way did they want to help us. Anyone that felt that way was naïve. These were freaking demons with scary-ass powers. If they chose to, they could wipe us out, I thought.

  The news flashed to the crowd and showed women dabbing their eyes in sympathy and men nodding in agreement. He was really convincing, I thought.

  One of the inmates smacked me on the head, instantly sobering me. Evidently, there were demon sympathizers amongst them.

  The Delegate continued, “It is moments, like today, that show just how far we still have to go to meet that goal. The murder of my innocent child should not be forgotten. I will work every day to ensure that his death was not in vain. If anything, this only solidifies my mission to eradicate the hatred, fear and outright prejudice some people still have against demons.”

  As he stopped speaking, the Demon Delegate walked away.

  “Child killer,” said one of the inmates, looking at me.

  “Why is she out here with us?” Asked another inmate.

  Something hit the back of my head, forcing my head down with a near whiplash force. Jesus, that hurt.

  Turning to Todd, I asked, “Can I please return to my cell?”

  “So, you don’t want TV time? I thought you begged for this,” Todd looked over at the other guard, “What do you think, Robbins? Should we let her hide in her cell? I thought things were just getting interesting. The other inmates seem interested in making your acquaintance.”

  With a sneer and a glance in my direction, Robbins says, “I think Sarg here has been without companionship long enough. Care to check out the perimeter, Todd?”

  My two guards got up like synchronized marionettes strung up together and bobbed along towards the outer edges of the room. While the guards walked the edges of the room, several of the inmates were heading in my direction. They were like sharks scenting blood. Based on their eager expressions, things were about to get rather bloody. It didn’t matter whether they agreed or disagreed with what I did to end up here. They would follow the masses to my “beat down party” for a chance to have something to do. Boredom was a chronic problem in the brig. We were lucky to have the base library send us some books once a week and even the time most prisoners got outside to work out was a reprieve from the cell. My guards absence from my side was a green flag to my fellow inmates that I was free game.

  I leapt up and grabbed my chair to use as a makeshift shield. While not ideal, it would at least keep some distance between me and the other inmates. Please don’t let them break me too bad, I thought. I shifted back to survival training. Training taught us to take out as many as adversaries as you can as fast as possible.

  “Fight until you can’t fight any longer, then protect yourself from additional injuries. Minimize the damage in whatever way you can,” the instructors had told us.

  I drew a small measure of comfort in knowing that as a high-profile inmate, I wouldn’t be killed. The Demon/Human dynamic to the killing meant that I needed to be tried for my crime. Besides, it wouldn’t be my first and most definitely not my last beating. I could handle this. I felt an eerie calm descended, pushing down the rising panic. I put my thoughts behind me and try to block out the incoming pain.

  I blocked the first punch thrown by a young, swarthy guy white guy, who hadn’t yet filled into his frame. This meant his punch was not packing like it would be once he grew into his frame. I dodged the punch and threw my leg out to sweep him off his feet. He fell hard on the concrete floor, but I took no satisfaction from downing him since there were more opponents eagerly clustering around for a chance at me.

  Another inmate rushed me from the left as several others surrounded me, hoping I stayed distracted with leftie and would be easy pickings. I blocked that ole leftie and spun around to face the guy to my back. I needed to get my back to a wall, so I had less sides to defend. I hit the guy on my right and as I spun to deal with the threat to my front, I felt a hit to my kidneys. Hunching forward, I looked to my left to see a guy built like a house had replaced leftie. This didn’t bode well. Already my kidneys were screaming for mercy from repeated hits and the growing number of inmates surrounding me meant that there were plenty more to fight off. In
a blur of feigns and punches, deflections, and hits from me, as much damage as I rained down on the inmates, it was in no comparison to their combined damaged. My left leg dragged, where I was stabbed. Who knew a shank could do such damage? I suspected I had torn muscles, maybe even ligaments as blood spilled down my leg, crimson rivers flowing down my uniform from multiple deep cuts.

  It was at that moment that the warden stalked into the recreation room. He demanded, “Silence. Todd and Robbins remove Staff Sergeant Teagan. I don’t want a riot on my hand.” The inmates ignored him, and I was too busy blocking kicks and punches to pay him much mind. I would like to say that I blocked and defected more kicks and punches than what was delivered, but I am not sure that was the case. My lip was bleeding from where it split. One of my eyes was swollen shut, drastically reducing my field of vision, and my kidneys hurt bad enough that they must be mush from all the kidney punches. My leg was bleeding freely from where I was shanked, blood spilling on the ground underneath me and making the concrete floor slippery.

  Out of my one good eye, I saw guards spilling into the room, as the warden directed them towards me and the other inmates. Several of the inmates slammed into me and I was taken to the ground. Punches and kicks rained down on me until I blacked out.

  Chapter 6

  I woke up to bright lights and restraints that tied me to a hospital gurney. Blinking, I took in my surroundings. My whole body hurt. Where am I? I wondered. I could not tell if this was some medical ward in the brig or if they had transferred me to an actual hospital.

  A short brunette woman walks in with all the seriousness of someone on a mission, “How are you doing?”

  “Felt better. What’s the damage, doc?”

  “I’m your nurse, Sarah. And, you’ve been through a lot. Are you in pain,” she asked, her grayish-blue eyes shining with compassion.

  Considering for a moment, I took stock of how I was feeling rather than the ungodly pain that I expected. “I’m fine. Am I still in the brig or somewhere else?” I asked.