by Elicia Hyder
He looked over at me. “Are you cold?”
“I’ve been hot and cold a lot lately,” I lied, avoiding his eyes.
“I’m worried about you. Are you sure you’re doing OK?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Did you get some sleep?”
“A few hours.”
“You can sleep now while I drive if you need to.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to disrupt my body’s schedule too much.”
When I’d first moved to night shift, convincing my body that nighttime was supposed to be daytime had been miserable. I never wanted to repeat that experience, so I kept to a nighttime routine as much as possible. But it wasn’t easy in a city that was by no means nocturnal.
Bars and clubs usually stayed open until two a.m., but the rest of Sapphire Lake was dead after midnight. Fortunately, my neighborhood had a few twenty-four-hour establishments I frequented: a gym, a grocery store, and a tiny cafe called Night Watch. Sometimes I picked up extra shifts or security gigs, anything to fill the time and keep myself awake.
Not to mention, if nightwalkers were real, then until I learned to control detaching, sleeping at night was going to be a problem. Maybe the shift change had been a rare stroke of good fortune.
“Why the sudden willingness to have anything to do with your dad?” he asked. “I’ve never been able to get you to even talk about him before.”
God, I wished I could tell him the truth. “You’ll laugh at me.”
He smirked. “Try me.”
“I had a bad dream.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up.
“See,” I said, looking back at the road.
“What? I’m not laughing.”
“Sure.”
“Come on, Nyx, tell me about the dream.”
“No. You don’t deserve to hear about it.” And I wouldn’t tell him anyway.
He chuckled. “Please?”
I ignored him. As we approached the exit, the bright lights of Sin City Tacos caught the attention of my stomach. “You hungry?”
“Always.” He turned into the parking lot. “Drive-through?”
“Sure.”
With everything from traditional tacos to ones with a southern spin, Sin City was one of the many Las Vegas seedlings that had sprouted and thrived in Sapphire Lake. They had an impressive selection of craft beers on tap, a full menu until two a.m., and a drive-through. They also gave officers half off our meals when we were working.
It was (surprise, surprise) one of Essex’s most favorite restaurants. I had a sneaking suspicion it was a driving factor in his settling down in Seneca Park.
I ordered two honey chipotle pulled-pork tacos in cornbread shells with a water to drink. Essex ordered three crunchy catfish tacos with tequila creamed corn, a large sweet tea, and a side of chips and okra salsa for us to share.
The night-shift manager, Carly, leaned all the way out the window when we rolled up. “Hey, Tyler,” she said, pressing her breasts together. Her uniform top was unbuttoned, exposing a low-cut red cami and so much cleavage I wondered if she used the cavern to stash extra packets of hot sauce.
“Evening, Carly,” he replied, shifting into park.
She straightened when she saw me across the cab. “Officer Nyx.”
I waved.
“I saw you on the news last night. You OK?” she asked.
“Peachy. Thanks.” I shifted on the seat as my stiff body screamed otherwise.
She handed his tea through the window. “Twelve seventy-five.”
“But we’re not on duty,” Essex argued.
Puckering her lips, she pressed her finger against them. “Shh. Our little secret.”
I pulled a twenty out of my phone case and handed it to him.
“I got it,” he said.
“Better let me. I’m pretty sure it was my half the bill she didn’t comp.”
With a laugh, he put his drink in the cup holder and took the money. He handed me my water and bag of food.
Carly leaned out the window again when she passed him his bag. “I stuck some banana pudding churro bites in the bottom.”
He lowered his voice as he took it. “Thank you, Carly.”
She held onto the bag a second and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “My pleasure.”
As he pulled away from the curb, I popped a chip into my mouth. “Looks like I’m not the only one who gets free shit for being pretty.”
He shook his head as he got back on the highway. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thanks for driving.”
Two hours later, we pulled up to the prison gate. Essex slowed near the guard post.
“Ask for Warden McCain,” I said.
A burly guard walked toward us, and Essex rolled down his window.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
“Sergeant Tyler Essex and Corporal Saphera Nyx of Sapphire Lake Police Department to see Warden McCain. He’s expecting us.”
“One second, please.” The man turned away from us and used the radio strapped to his shoulder.
“Have you been here before?” Essex asked, looking up at the tall fence capped with coiled barbed wire.
“Not since I was a kid.”
The guard returned. “Go ahead and put your car in park. Please remove all weapons from your person and from your vehicle. You’ll check them in here.”
Essex groaned as he put the truck in park. He hated being disarmed even more than I did. I got out and followed him inside. A second guard was watching a set of security monitors.
“Use any locker with a key in it. Put your weapons inside and take the key with you,” the first guard instructed.
I pulled my gun from my waistband holster and put it in a locker. Then I bent and slid the knife from the strap around my ankle. My head swirled when I straightened.
“You all right?” Essex asked.
“I’m fine.”
I locked the steel door and pulled out the key.
“Anything else?” the guard asked.
Essex patted his waist. “Feeling pretty naked.”
“They’ll pat you down and check your vehicle at the next gate.”
Essex thanked him as we walked back to the truck.
Down the road, at a second gate, another guard walked outside with a long undercarriage mirror. “Please park your truck and step out of the vehicle,” he instructed.
Two other guards came out. One got in the truck. The other patted Essex down. “Kind of late for a visit, isn’t it?” the man asked.
“We work nights too,” Essex said.
“Ah,” the man said with a nod of understanding. He patted me down next and stopped on my right side. “What happened to you?”
That question was going to get old fast.
“Ninja knife fight,” I answered as he ran his hands down my leg.
His face snapped up.
I just smiled. Essex was biting back a laugh.
“All clear!” the guard sliding out of the truck called.
The man who frisked me stood, still perplexed by my answer. “I’ll be in the white truck ahead.” He pointed through the gate. “Follow me to the admin entrance.”
“Thank you,” Essex said as we got back in his truck. He grinned at me as we waited for the gate to open. “Ninja knife fight?”
“What’s funny is he wasn’t sure if he should believe it or not. I’m calling that a win.” I put on my seatbelt.
We followed the white truck onto the massive prison campus. The concrete building looked eerie in the moonlight with its watchtowers and searchlights. The truck stopped at a bright entrance under a metal overhang.
The guard got out and gestured for us to follow on foot. He pressed a button on the wall and looked at the camera over the door. “Escorting guests of Warden McCain.”
With a loud buzz, the metal door clicked as the lock tumbled open. He pulled it open and went inside. Essex held it as I walked through, then followed me in.
/>
The guard led us through a labyrinth of hallways and locked doors. Deep inside, we arrived at a cluster of offices and conference rooms. When we were buzzed through the final door, a large man with a white beard and a round belly walked out of an office to greet us.
He looked from Essex to me, then extended his hand. “Officer Nyx?”
I shook it. “Warden McCain?”
He nodded.
“I appreciate you letting us come this late. I know it’s well outside business hours,” I said.
“Happy to help out a fellow keeper of the peace.” He smiled and turned toward Essex.
“This is my boss, Sergeant Tyler Essex,” I said.
The two men shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant,” McCain said.
“Likewise. Tight ship you run here,” Essex said as the warden led us down another hallway.
“Has to be. We house some of the most dangerous criminals in the world.”
My father had been one of them.
“You’re doing a fine job of it,” Essex said as we walked into a big office.
A woman in a business suit stood from one of the chairs facing the desk. “Sergeant Essex, Corporal Nyx, this is one of our attorneys, Margaret Pittman.”
A lawyer? At this time of night?
She shook our hands. “We’re so sorry for your loss, Corporal,” she said to me.
McCain gestured toward the chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
Essex and I sat. Margaret Pittman stood beside the warden. He lifted a folder out of the rack on the corner of his desk. He glanced over the top of it at me as he laid it in front of him. “You’re Elias’s daughter?”
“I was,” I said, my voice devoid of any emotion.
He held my gaze for a second, making it clear he understood my position. “Well, you should know that as far as our lifers go in this place, Elias Nyx was one of our favorites.”
I would have been less shocked to hear Elias had murdered everyone on the block.
Essex was clearly surprised too. “Really?”
McCain folded his hands on top of the file. “Yes. He’s been here a long time. Never caused us any problems, was always kind and respectful. I’m sure everyone here would say the same. He was well liked.”
“Interesting.” Essex crossed his boot over his knee and leaned back in his seat.
“How did he die?” I asked.
The warden took a deep breath and cast an uneasy glance at the attorney. “We’re not sure, to be honest.”
“But we are conducting a thorough investigation,” Pittman added.
“We were told he was killed in his cell,” Essex said, confused.
“He was, but we don’t know how. We’re still investigating.”
“What happened?” I asked.
McCain looked at me. “I assume you know your father was very ill.”
I nodded.
“The medical staff here agreed he was within days of passing, and the plan was to return him to Hawthorne Medical after the morning shift change. The night before, he asked to be moved to cellblock two hundred. We jokingly call them the condos, as they’re the only cells in this entire facility with natural daylight.”
Daylight.
“As requested, we moved Elias to Cell 203, and all was well when he was last checked on around three a.m.”
“Was he asleep?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Soundly, I was assured, which wasn’t unusual. He slept a lot in his final days.”
I’ll bet he did.
“Shortly after rounds, we had a system malfunction. On the other side of the facility, a security door between two general-population blocks was opened. The pods contained rival gang members, so you can imagine the fights we had on our hands.”
“How was the door opened?” I asked.
McCain lifted his shoulders. “A system glitch.”
I thought of my cell phone and my alarm clock. “Do glitches occur often?”
Pittman spoke first. “Like with any system, problems happen occasionally, but this is a secure facility.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t.” I forced a smile. “We saw the level of security coming in.”
McCain and Pittman visibly relaxed. “It’s not flawless, but it’s pretty damn good,” McCain said.
“Clearly,” I agreed.
“Still, our guards were quite busy wrangling the situation in gen pop, and the next few rounds were missed.”
Oh . . . I suddenly understood the presence of the lawyer. McCain was afraid of a lawsuit.
He cleared his throat. “Elias wasn’t checked on again until he was found dead around seven a.m.”
The sun rose in Nevada before seven this time of year.
“I was told it was brutal. Can you explain?” I asked.
McCain hesitated.
“Warden, speak freely. You may have fond memories of my father, but I don’t. I’d like to know exactly what happened. Please don’t sugarcoat anything.”
He studied my face for a moment before nodding. “There were definite signs of a struggle. The body was mutilated beyond recognition.”
I thought of the bodies at the Drexler.
“Mutilated by who?” Essex asked.
“We don’t know. The cell was locked and could only be digitally opened by Master Control. Our records show it stayed closed.”
“Would the records show if there was another system malfunction?” Essex asked.
“Yes. There wasn’t. We found blood spatter outside the cell but no footprints leading to or from it.”
“What about cameras?” Essex asked.
I already knew the answer before McCain said it. “The camera inside Elias’s cell was disabled. The hallway cameras picked up nothing except a flash and smoke.”
“Smoke?” Essex sat upright.
“There was a significant burn spot on the floor, by the cell door, and ash we’re working hard to identify.”
Nightwalkers were incinerated by sunlight.
Essex ran a hand down his face.
McCain’s eyes fell. “His neighboring cellmates heard screaming and a struggle, but no one saw anything. There were no cells facing his. Only outside windows.”
My mind was churning, trying desperately to recall all the conversations with Elias I’d tried to forget over the years. Nightwalkers—or night demons, as he sometimes called them—fed on human fear. They hunted at night and plagued human dreams to indulge on the fear they induced.
They were the reason Elias had warned against detaching at night. The body of a detached human formed a bridge between worlds. Nightwalkers could cross that bridge, tearing through the body to materialize in the human realm.
Here, they didn’t feed on fear. They feasted on human blood, indiscriminately and viciously draining everything in sight. The more they consumed, the more powerful they became.
I gestured to the folder. “Do you have photos?”
Again, McCain hesitated.
I reached for the file. “May I?”
He handed it to me, and I opened it on my lap.
Essex scooted his chair closer to mine and lowered his voice. “You sure you want to do this?”
I looked him square in the eye. “I have to do this.”
With an unsteady hand, I opened the file. The first page was a report with detailed chicken-scratch notes etched in blue ink. I skimmed it and turned the page. The photos followed.
Blood smeared and splattered all over the wall.
A close-up of a bloody mass only identifiable as a head because of the teeth.
Charred remains on the floor.
My stomach turned. I closed my eyes and felt a soothing hand on the back of my neck. “Can I see it?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“The cell?” McCain asked gently.
I nodded.
“Sure. Follow me.”
I was keenly aware of the fingertips on the small of my back as the four of us walked through the jail. Essex kept step with
me as we walked behind McCain and Pittman. The lights were dim, and everything was quiet, as most of the prisoners were asleep.
We entered a concrete stairwell and walked up four flights of stairs. After another loud buzzer, the door at the top opened to a deserted hallway lined with cells. Stale smoke and new paint lingered in the air.
The left wall was a long window covered with bars. I stopped and looked outside, carefully memorizing the lay of the horizon.
“Over here,” McCain said quietly. He’d stopped at the third cell. Essex and I walked over to join him, and someone stirred in the second one as we passed. “I’m afraid there’s not much left to see. The cleanup crew repainted this morning, and we just got new furniture moved in tonight.”
“Don’t waste any time, do you?” I asked.
“Can’t. We’re short on beds as it is.”
“But we did follow proper protocol while investigating and cataloging the scene,” Pittman added.
“Where are the cameras?” Essex asked, looking around the ceiling.
“Both ends.” McCain gestured to the ends of the hallway. Then he turned toward the cell and pointed to the top-right corner. “That’s the one that was disabled.”
“Could it be an inside job?” Essex asked.
McCain and Pittman whirled around. “What are you trying to suggest?” the warden asked.
Essex crossed his arms. “Seems really convenient that no one saw anything and that the doors could only be opened by Master Control.”
“Is that so?” A muscle was working in McCain’s jaw.
Pittman stepped in front of him. “Perhaps we should return to the office and—”
“No, it’s fine.” I put my hand on Essex’s chest. “What are you trying to do?”
“Just asking questions.”
“As I told you, Elias Nyx was well liked.” McCain was fighting hard to keep his temper in check. “We all want to know what happened to him.”
“Of course,” I said calmly. “Thank you, Warden.”
“Whatever got him wasn’t no human,” a gruff voice said from a nearby cell.
McCain rolled his eyes. “That’ll be enough, Bill.”
I walked to the cell. “What do you mean?”
Beady eyes stared back at me. The old man was sitting on his bed in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. He rubbed his knotty knees. “I heard it, hissin’ and sputterin’ as it ate him. Ate him, you hear me?”