Mortal Scream (Harbingers of Death Book 1)

by LeAnn Mason

  9

  My eyes flicked wildly toward my cellmate’s. Hers were dark, almost appearing fully encompassed by dilated pupils. The cell itself was dark. It must have been after lights-out.

  Raven didn’t remove her hand, and my scream didn’t abate. It couldn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  My head flopped back as the pillow where it had been propped was wrenched from beneath me. A second later, the hand was replaced swiftly by the lumpy fabric as it pressed onto my face.

  When my lungs emptied of the blood-curdling screech, I couldn’t inhale with the pillow firmly affixed over my mouth and nose. The scent of mothballs … but no breathable air entered my lungs. My body cried out, flopping and convulsing without noise for reprieve.

  Panic replaced any thoughts of the dream, and my voice dried up, shifting into muffled, raspy cries to be let free. I tossed and turned against the surprising strength of my cellie, beginning to believe that the morose woman was going to kill me just as she’d promised. My instincts had been right about her apathetic nature.

  When at a disadvantage, use whatever leverage you can to gain the upper hand.

  Assuming she’d kicked off her slip-ons again, my vengeful bunkmate was perched precariously on the edge of her bed to reach up to mine.

  Rolling quickly toward the edge, I pushed both the smothering device and the threat off me. The motion forces her to teeter back, which ruined her balance.

  I heard her feet hit the floor as I gasped noisily for necessary oxygen to refill my system. My throat hurt from the asphyxiation attempt as well as my initial screams.

  Coughing, I felt my anger explode toward the lump I could discern moving only by the red glow of emergency lights filtering through the bars. “What the hell?”

  She didn’t reply, and I assumed that she was going to give me the silent treatment again.

  Fine. Whatever. “Can I have my pillow back?” I asked, agitated. She wasn’t going to talk to me unless she was trying to kill me? This was going to be a long sentence.

  With the cloak of darkness masking the pillow’s flight, it whacked me in the face. I barely caught it as it bounced away from my still recovering senses. “Thanks,” I snarled, meaning the opposite. I was not going to play nice anymore.

  Always start as a friend. If that doesn’t work, make them afraid of you, but be sure you make the decision to become the enemy and not the other way around.

  Probably too late for that lesson to take root since the person I was trying to overpower had already made an attempt on my life. But playing weak in the face of danger was rarely recommended. And when it was, it was meant to put you into a more amenable position…

  Like being thrown into a cell where you could be left alone and plot an escape.

  Giving this bitch power over me would not benefit me in any way that I could fathom. I was already in a cell with no chance of being left alone, and escape was impossible. My parents always emphasized the running part because the chances of survival dropped significantly once you were cornered, or worse, caught. Even more so if you were taken to a secondary location.

  Both had happened to me.

  “What’s going on over here?”

  The voice outside the cell startled me, and a cry would have escaped if my body wasn’t still playing catch-up.

  “Ask the new girl,” Raven huffed, still not speaking to me, like a stubborn, petulant child.

  “Grey. It’s after lights-out. Quiet time.” I could almost make out his strangely amber eyes in the dark. It was the guard from earlier—a different one than the one who had stared at me with vacant eyes in my sleep.

  “Sorry. I had a nightmare,” I told them both.

  “Did I ask you to explain?” he spat.

  I bit my lips to hold in the fire sparking on my tongue. Getting catty wouldn’t do me any good. Especially with this particular guard, who seemed to have some sort of relationship with my ill-tempered bunk-buddy.

  “I expect silence. The rest of the night. No excuses. If I hear anything, amenities get docked.”

  His footsteps padded away without waiting for agreement.

  Raven silently climbed back into her bunk below. She was stealthy; the frame didn’t shake at all, but I knew she was down there because something kicked into my spine. She still said not a word to me.

  I punched the pillow, hard, to vent my frustration, and slammed it behind my head, making sure to bounce and flop enough to move the bunk frame. I even succeeded in causing a few squeaks of protest from the metal, making me smile.

  Amenities? This place didn’t have any of those, and I sure hadn’t brought any. If he took my precious toothbrush, I was going to be pissed. It wasn’t like I could control my unconscious mind. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to think about anything except my previous dream. I didn’t want it to pick back up when my lids drifted shut as sleep threatened, repeatedly, in the silence that the guard had demanded.

  If I couldn’t even sleep in this place without worrying, prison would probably kill me.

  “You wanna play dodgeball?”

  Considering Big Bertha was tossing a boulder the size of my head, I didn’t think she was referring to the game I played in school. You know, before my parents forced us to pick up and move again.

  “I’m good. Just gonna…” I cast about for an alternate outdoor activity. The woman had accosted me before I’d taken more than a few steps out into the rec yard, preventing me from scoping out the new space before replying. A calculated move on her part.

  “I’m going to check out the space. Maybe later,” I concluded my stilted response lamely.

  Big Bertha nodded as if that were a promise, and I backed away warily before trotting to the side. Once at the perimeter, I immediately switched my attention to do as I had told the threatening woman I would. It had been a promise, not a suggestion, that I might partake in a friendly game of throwing stones. Wasn’t there a Bible verse about that? I didn’t think any of the criminals in this chained-in dirt patch was innocent enough to not have thrown a stone or two at another.

  My mind invariably began to speculate exactly what devious misdeeds each person had committed as I paced out the perimeter, counting steps to gauge the size of the yard. I squinted at each person, keeping my gaze fleeting and flitting, never making eye contact so that no one ever felt threatened… in theory. This was prison after all; violence was a way of life for many of these women.

  When learning the lay of the land, never make it obvious what you’re doing. Couple movements with something expected, and mundane, that won’t draw suspicion.

  Spying my cellie and mess-hall frenemies together on the other side of the yard, I couldn’t resist. The group was cuddled up in a huddle at one of the picnic tables, and I made my way toward them, waving like an idiot, still measuring out the perimeter.

  Raven, who was facing me, caught the wave and rolled her eyes so hard that her whole head moved. It was so exaggerated that the reaction was perceptible to me at a distance—a distance of more than thirteen strides.

  I kept counting in my head as the blonde and the redhead turned to see what Raven had seen, Jessica lifting a hand to block the sun.

  The three of them looked like some kind of poster for a chick spy movie—after they’d been caught snooping in a foreign country’s records and tossed in the clink. I wondered if they knew each other before getting locked up or if they’d formed their bonds inside the barbed wire.

  Others seemed to have formed bonds, too. Big Bertha was tossing a slightly smaller rock in her palm while chatting amicably with a bruised woman I was pretty sure she had beaten up over a piece of pie the day before. Several others were in groups. A few played games like basketball with a bare hoop and semi-flat ball, and others were merely talking together or playing cards. Several laughed as if they were indeed having fun during our yard time. One or two sat alone with books.

  One might be lured into believing that the loners were the more dangerous, thinking that
antisocial was indicative of psychotic behavior or mental issues. They’d be wrong.

  Never look for the atypical. Danger hides in plain sight. Look for those trying hard to be overly unnoticeable.

  I guessed that included me.

  The most devious minds were capable of hiding behind a mask of normalcy. Those were the abusers who got so cozy as to lure victims into their lives. The killers who lasted long enough to become serial. The thieves who worked their way up from petty theft to bank heists or home invasions. The kinds of criminals who, if caught, ended up in maximum security.

  Like me.

  I hit thirty-five steps when I arrived at the picnic table and estimated an additional five steps beyond that to hit the corner of our air-exposed rectangle. Thirty being the number of paces that made up the other dimension.

  I caught the eye of the guard posted at the door. That same guy. He was staring at me.

  One nightmare, and I’d drawn attention to myself. Or perhaps it was because I was trying so hard to act normal. He’d stared at me all through breakfast too. Thankfully, the breakfast shift had been new people manning the food line, and I’d avoided the table with anyone I knew, keeping to myself.

  “Hey, there, sugar. Your hair is looking mighty metallic in this beautiful sunshine. Tell me, what products do you use?” Jessica propped her chin in her palm, elbow on the table, awaiting my answer.

  Raven glared daggers over her shoulder and turned back to stare at the cement wall, telling me that she found the bland concrete edifice more interesting than me. The feeling was mutual. Her back was propped against the tabletop opposite the bench on which Jessica sat, one leg crossed over the other. And the redhead was perched, cross-legged on top of the table, head cocked, studying me without expression.

  “Whatever soap is in the shower and a night of rough sleep,” I admitted. Jessica couldn’t possibly be asking for advice; her hair was miraculously perfect, again.

  “Heard about that. Poor lamb.” Jessica’s pout was over-the-top and definitely fake. “Shame we can’t have a sleepover. I’m a pretty good snuggler.”

  “Nightmares,” the redhead said, still observing me. It began to make me uncomfortable. I didn’t like being noticed.

  I looked away, only to spy the guard again. “What’s his deal?” I asked.

  If you want to avoid crossing a line, you need to know where that line is. But before you dip a toe into the viper pit, see if you can learn from someone who’s already been in… and made it out again.

  “Deal? What do you mean, Grey?” Jessica lifted her legs and swiveled to stare at the guy. She gave him a finger wave. He didn’t react at all, scanning the space and its occupants.

  “I mean he seems pretty strict.” It would be good to know how serious he was about that silence threat. I assumed I hadn’t had another dream, mainly because I hadn’t been attacked a second time and had been allowed breakfast like the other women. My cellmate had stalked out of our shared domicile mere seconds after the shout had come that it was morning and the bars slid open with a clang. And she’d been her silent, sullen self then, too.

  “Cole?” The redhead snorted. “Hardly. He’s a puppy.” She laughed to herself.

  Never trust a human on their word alone.

  A word could be broken, shattering like a mirror when it got brittle. You needed to be the smartest person in the room. Not book smart; that didn’t do any good. Reading people could save your life.

  Raven shot her a look, finally revealing that she was, indeed, listening to the conversation though she engaged no further. Instead, she chose to return to her boring watch of the yard.

  My head cocked when I noticed, finally, that’s what she was doing. She wasn’t disengaged; she was just engaged in things outside of our chat. And she did it so naturally that it appeared to be a habit. Just how long had she been in here?

  I’d obviously fallen out of my taught habits, failing to notice things I should and getting myself into the exact situations I’d been trained to avoid. How far I’d fallen.

  The lesson came to mind again to learn from those who’d already been through something. Raven wasn’t as tall as I was, my frame being lankier and hers simply light. Yet, we were similar enough that I had just cause to be on my guard if she was.

  My eyes went back to Officer Cole. “A puppy, huh? I always wanted one of those.”

  “Good luck with that. He’s not really the tame type. His bark is definitely not worse than his bite,” the redhead said.

  I recalled her saying something about Jessica wanting to eat me up. That girl had a weird oral fixation. She’d given me my answer though. Cole was not someone to piss off.

  “Hey, new girl.”

  My head whipped to the woman whose footsteps had been crunching in the dirt toward us while we spoke. If I hadn’t already tuned in to the sound, Cole’s gaze would have given away the arrival of a new member to our party.

  “You owe me a game of dodgeball,” Big Bertha jeered. The rock smacked into her palm as she tossed it once, twice.

  I turned away and caught Cole’s smile as he spread his legs and leaned against the exterior of the building, settling in to watch what he clearly anticipated to be a good show.

  I had a feeling I was about to get on his bad side because I was so not letting myself become a punching bag. My parents’ lessons weren’t all verbal.

  Watch this, puppy. I got some bite in me too.

  10

  I wasn’t about to just stand there and let this big bitch throw rocks at me. I was still figuring out just how I wanted to proceed when, obviously irritated that I hadn’t bounced to her beckoning, Bertha lost her patience and cocked her arm.

  I saw it coming, the wind-up, the step into the throw, the spittle that flew from her nearly frothing mouth. Was the chick rabid?

  When you can’t win a fight, bring someone else into your corner whether they want to be there or not.

  Big Bertha’s mistake in letting impatience dictate her actions was that she’d only seen me. She’d either not noticed or forgotten about the trio at my back… one of whom had attempted to suffocate me in my sleep last night.

  With a quick dodge—as the game was named—I bent around in time to avoid taking the stone to my belly.

  Instead, it hit Raven square in the back just as I’d hoped.

  I tried to keep my face impassive as the devil sprite slowly pivoted on the bench, those alarmingly black eyes homing in on the Amazonian rock flinger.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry Raven. I didn’t mean—I mean, I didn’t see—know you were there. I meant no disrespect,” the larger woman fumbled to apologize.

  My cellie was the perfect example of murderers being unassuming. She was tiny, but damn if she wasn’t scary as fuck with those unblinking eyes and the cocking head. It was like Bertha was a bug being examined, and Raven was deciding whether it should be squashed or lit on fire.

  “I don’t really care if you meant it or not. You did it, and that cannot go unpunished,” Raven replied calmly, standing fluidly and taking slow, measured strides toward her new target. She barely came to Bertha’s shoulder, but menace oozed from her petite frame—especially those unblinking eyes. “We have two options here, Bert. One: you can stand there while I return the favor as part of your game. Or two: we play my game. Totally your choice.”

  Jesus. Even her voice was cold. Raspy and low, it couldn’t be taken as anything other than a legitimate threat. I was glued to my spot, just one of many newly gathered onlookers flocking to the new possibility of entertainment. A memory of the fight in the mess hall yesterday came to the fore of my mind.

  Looks like the regular entertainment in these parts.

  But the important thing was that I wasn’t in the thick of it.

  Aria, one; prison… a whole lot more.

  “Well?” Raven pushed.

  “Rave, we shouldn’t instigate anything,” Ember suggested in a low but light tone.

  “I’m not,” Raven returned.
“I’m ending it.”

  I cut my eyes to where the other two-thirds of the Terrible Trio lounged, taking in their amused expressions. They got a kick out of seeing their friend—acquaintance?—able to strike foe dumb.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Raven,” Bertha finally stuttered. Her shoulder-length blonde mushroom hair flapped with the vigorous shaking of her head that accompanied the denial.

  “Right, then. Let me find that rock,” Raven chirped in a deceptively upbeat voice as she turned on her heel and searched the ground near her former spot on the bench.

  “Here ya go,” the redhead said, smoothly transferring a stone to Raven’s upturned palm. With one raised fiery eyebrow and smirk firmly in place, Ember’s look said one thing to Bertha: You’re in deep shit.

  The huddled group of women, of which I was included, barely had time to follow the motion of Raven’s arm before the stone launched from her hand. Big Bertha’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she fell backward in a folding heap of unconscious bully. The rock landed off to the side after hitting squarely between her widened eyes. Blood rushed from the wound.

  Head injuries are always bloody. Don’t get lured into thinking your enemy is down.

  In this case, it looked like the impact did that though.

  After a moment of shocked silence from the crowd, the schoolyard mentality kicked back in, and several raucous cheers and jeers sounded. I was jostled from all sides as the women’s enthusiasm for blood and shows of dominance took hold.

  Note to self: Raven has a wicked arm and surprising strength and accuracy… I’d known some of that from the pillow incident.

  “All right. All right. Break it up!” a guard yelled, pushing his way into the circle. His baton was out and aiding him in making a path to the downed inmate. Whether they’d deliberately waited until then to intercede, I wasn’t sure, but several COs moved to surround Bertha and disperse the crowd. Reaching down, the man pushed two fingers into Bertha’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Pulling his hand away, he looked up at Cole—an officer I knew had no plans to intercede—and gave a slight nod.