2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  The supervising guard looked up from her tablet and said, “She’s a red threat level.”

  After processing, she was handcuffed and shackled again, then escorted to the bathroom. After peeing, she was led down an off-white hallway along a black line. Other female inmates loped along with their guards, like dogs with their owners.

  Summer was led to a windowless classroom. The walls were painted the same off-white as the hallway, with the same light green linoleum on the floor. The female guard guided her to one of the open desks in the back. The sturdy steel desks were bolted to the floor, and Summer was locked to the desk by her handcuffs. Twenty-five desks were in the square room, arranged in symmetrical rows of five. A handful of guards stood to the side, watching for trouble. The other inmates were mostly people of color, many of them covered in ink and wild-eyed, all of them female. Summer wondered if the island was segregated by sex somehow. She thought that was unlikely and terrifying. One of the female inmates blew Summer a kiss. Summer looked away.

  A male guard marched to the head of the class. His name tag read Green.

  One inmate said to another, “Fuck you, bitch.”

  “You’re the bitch I’m a kill first,” the other inmate replied.

  “Shut up,” Green said.

  And they did.

  Green continued. “Listen up. There’s a short video. I suggest you pay attention. After the video, you’ll be transported by bus to the ship.”

  “I’m hungrier than a mufucker,” an inmate said.

  Green glowered at the woman with cornrows, then raised his gaze to the guards in the back. “Put her on the bus. She can sit in the heat until we leave.”

  Two male guards unlocked the inmate from her desk and forced her from the room.

  Once she was gone, Green said, “Anybody else?”

  Dead silence.

  “That’s what I thought. By the way, you’ll eat on the boat.” Green stepped to the side and removed a remote from his pocket. He pressed the remote and a large OLED television lowered from the ceiling. A video played on the screen.

  A middle-aged blonde, wearing a billowy sundress, walked on a sandy beach with crystal-blue waters. Summer recognized her as a mildly famous actress well past her prime. “I’m Blair Brando. I’ll be your guide as you transition to the next phase of your life. You might’ve seen me in various movies and on TV, but this is by far my most important role. You’re probably feeling a little nervous right now. Maybe even scared, but I’m here to tell you that there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, right,” an inmate said.

  “Shut up,” Green said.

  Blair Brando continued, “In the 2030s, crime was on the rise, and prisons were overcrowded.” The video cut to pictures of prisons packed with inmates. “At the time, prominent criminalists in the US and around the world believed that crime would be nonexistent if sociopathic personalities were eradicated from society.” The video showed Blair again. “After nearly one hundred years of research, most psychologists and doctors believed, and they still believe, that these sociopathic persons were and are incurable. Sociopathic personalities are natural predators, born without a conscience and without empathy. Policy makers were left with an impossible dilemma. Imprison people in overcrowded and inhumane conditions or release these antisocial personalities on the general public.

  “Lucky for you a third option was invented. In 2036, Chinese scientists perfected the antisocial personality test with DNA sequencing and brain scans to accurately predict sociopathy in nearly 100 percent of tests.” The video showed scientists in a lab and the double helix chain of DNA.

  “In 2042, China and Russia began ridding their society of these personalities, not by capital punishment or confinement but by sending them to island paradises in the South Pacific.” The video cut to images of palm trees and beaches and coconuts. “Also in 2042, Hurricane Zoey destroyed much of Puerto Rico, and, for the next two years, people were evacuated from the island state with the intention of creating the first US open-air penal colony. Between 2042 and 2044, the US followed China’s and Russia’s lead by testing incarcerated and newly arrested citizens for sociopathy.” The video showed brain scans and prisoners receiving buccal swabs.

  “Today, the United States is crime-free with a much more humane justice system.” Blair Brando gestured to the beautiful beach around her. “This is your new home, where you’ll be free to make a life of your own. I won’t lie to you. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be far better than spending the rest of your life in prison. You’ll learn to live off the land, and you’ll commune with nature. You’ll make friends. You might even fall in love. In many ways you’ll live freer than most of us.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Blair showed the inmates how to forage for fruits and vegetables. From the video, it appeared that Puerto Rico was a paradise with succulent fruit hanging from every tree. Summer wondered why they were trying so hard to sell this place. Because an island full of psychopaths must be hell on earth.

  60

  Naomi and Wall Street

  The autonomous car parked near the intersection of Broadway and Wall Street. Naomi’s security team parked behind them. Just beyond the car window, her supporters marched on Wall Street in the sweltering heat. Naomi and her team would join the march near the finish line. The last thing Naomi needed was to look sweaty and disheveled for national TV.

  “You ready?” Vernon asked, wearing shorts and a polo.

  “I had hoped for a better turnout,” Naomi replied.

  “It’s just so hot,” Katherine said. “It’s no reflection on you.”

  “This is for the TV cameras anyway,” Vernon said.

  The trio stepped from the vehicle. They were surrounded by her security team, walking with them as they headed for the marching protestors. Naomi and Vernon looked like a well-to-do couple out for a stroll. Naomi wore a lightweight dress, not wanting to sweat buckets and not wanting to show too much skin either.

  As Naomi and her entourage merged with the march, protestors recognized Naomi and called her by name, often yelling things like, “We love you, Mrs. Sutton!” and “Our next president!” Naomi waved and smiled at her supporters, but the security team kept them at arm’s length.

  After a short walk, Naomi stepped onto a stage erected specifically for the event. She stood at the podium, a stone’s throw from the New York Stock Exchange.

  The crowd coalesced in front of the stage with sweaty faces and wet T-shirts. They held signs, like Greed ISN’T Good, Capitalism Is Killing America, Fair Share, Bailout = Bullshit, Tax the Rich, and Workers Unite! One person waved an old Soviet Union flag, with the hammer and sickle.

  The TV crews were in position. The crowd was ready. At four o’clock on the dot, coinciding with the closing bell on Wall Street, Naomi said, “Thank you so much for braving the heat.” She took a deep breath. “For far too long Wall Street has enriched the few at the expense of the many. They’ve created a rigged system, built to funnel as much money from the general public as possible. And, even worse, our politicians have been bought and sold to look the other way as the graft continues unabated.”

  A few spontaneous cheers erupted. Naomi smiled and put up her hand to quiet the crowd.

  “This past week has been the worst in Wall Street history, with the stock market down 23 percent. Over the past few decades, Americans have lost their 401Ks and their pensions and their life savings, while the bankers and financiers make money on the way up and on the way down. It’s a rigged casino, and the house always wins.”

  The crowd cheered, and Naomi waited for the cheering to dissipate.

  “When I’m elected president—”

  The crowd cheered again, even louder, and Naomi had to wait a little longer for the cheers to subside.

  “When I’m elected president, pensions will be guaranteed by the US Treasury, and no more free rides will be given to Wall Street. You better believe they’ll pay their fair share.”

  61 />
  Derek Goes on a Cruise

  Earlier, Derek had watched from his window as his bus waited for their turn. The guards had loaded the ship two busloads at a time, roughly one hundred men or women, the genders segregated. From his rough estimation, the men outnumbered the women ten to one. From listening to the guards complain, Derek had ascertained that the process took all day, but shipping day was only once a week or every two weeks, depending on intake volume.

  Now, Derek was on the pier, still shackled, shuffling within a line of inmates toward the ship. The sun beat down on his head and his light-blue uniform. From the pier, the ship looked massive and white with USPCE on the side and an American flag emblazoned on the funnel. But it wasn’t that big. A cruise ship at a nearby pier looked five times as big. The USPCE ship didn’t have a pool or a water slide or a basketball court. Looking at the hull, Derek didn’t even see windows. The back end of the ship had a huge blue ramp that was folded up.

  A commotion caused Derek to look behind him. Guards subdued an unruly inmate with stun guns. There’d been at least one in every group, and the guards were merciless. Derek thought, They have to be. We’re like livestock being led to the slaughter.

  Derek and his fellow inmates were prodded from the pier across the little bridge and into the belly of the ship. Inside, it was cooler, the air-conditioning on. They trudged upstairs and down a narrow hallway, doors on both sides of them, each with a small window, and a slot large enough for hands and trays of food. Prisoners, already in their cabins, scowled through their door windows.

  Derek was prodded into an open cabin along with another man. The room was piping hot. No air-conditioning for the cargo. Two guards removed their leg irons. One of the guards said, “When I shut the door, put your hands through and I’ll remove the cuffs.”

  The guards exited the cabin and shut and locked the door. One by one, Derek and the other man placed their hands through the slot, and the guard removed their handcuffs. Derek rubbed his wrists, surveying the tiny room. Bunk beds, the mattresses covered in plastic. No pillow or sheets. A single stainless-steel toilet and one roll of toilet paper. The other man, short and doughy but not overly so, looked lost and afraid.

  Derek extended his hand. “I’m Derek.”

  The other man looked up, his eyes as blue as the ocean in that video they’d watched. “Connor.” They shook hands, Connor’s sweaty, his grip weak. “It’s so hot in here.”

  “I think this cabin’s on the south side, so it’s been hammered by the sun all day. It’s gettin’ late though. It won’t get any hotter than this.”

  Connor wiped sweat from his forehead. “I’m so thirsty.”

  “I’m assumin’ they’ll give us water with dinner.”

  Connor cocked his head at Derek, who’d barely broken a sweat. “Aren’t you thirsty?”

  “I’m used to the heat. I was a farmer,” Derek answered, but it didn’t seem like Connor heard his response.

  Connor went to the tiny window, looking into the narrow hallway.

  Derek touched the plastic mattress cover on the top bunk. “Which bed you want?”

  Connor didn’t respond.

  Derek shrugged and lay on the bottom bunk.

  Connor turned from the tiny window and paced in the small cabin, taking only three steps from wall to wall. While pacing, Connor talked more to himself than Derek. “I gotta get outta here. I can’t be here. I kept thinking it was all a bad dream. This is a mistake. Where are my parents? Why didn’t they help me?” He went back to the window and shouted, “Help me! Get me out of here. Please help. This is a mistake.”

  Cackling and mocking came from nearby cabins. Other prisoners imitated Connor in a high-pitched voice. “Help me. Get me out of here. That fuckin’ faggot’ll be the first motherfucker dead.”

  Connor slid to the floor, crying, his head in his hands.

  The prisoners mock-cried and chortled at Connor’s expense.

  Derek had been prepared for his arrest. He’d known he wouldn’t get away with it. He’d accepted his fate with a stiff upper lip. When he’d decided to murder Zhang Jun, he’d figured on life in prison, but maybe this was better. Nothing was left for him, and he doubted he’d be missed.

  Derek stood from the bed and approached Connor cautiously. “You can’t do that.”

  Connor looked up, his eyes red and his face wet. “What difference does it make?”

  “Could be the difference between life and death.”

  “I’m a dead man either way,” Connor blubbered through his tears.

  “Get ahold of yourself.” Derek was stern now.

  Connor sniffled and wiped his eyes with his prison shirt.

  “You have two choices. You can fight, or you can lay down and die. That’s a decision you need to make now, or fate’ll make it for you.”

  62

  Jacob and the Ex is Gone

  “What did you need to talk to me about?” Rebecca asked. “Is it Derek? What did the lawyer say?”

  Jacob loosened his tie. “We should sit down.”

  They sat in the sitting area of their bedroom, on the love seat.

  “Did you hear from the lawyer?” Rebecca asked. “I’ve been worried since your phone call.”

  Jacob had called Rebecca on his way home from work, letting her know that they needed to talk in person.

  “Derek failed the antisocial personality test,” Jacob said.

  Rebecca shook her head. “That can’t be right.”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  “That’s ridiculous. He’s not a psychopath.”

  Jacob raised his eyebrows. “He murdered a man. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

  Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “I refuse to believe that.”

  “Then how do you explain the test?”

  She shrugged, dropping her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. Maybe they made a mistake.”

  “They don’t make mistakes.”

  “Then maybe the government wants to get rid of him. Maybe the conspiracy theories are true.”

  “They’re not. If the US government was shipping off dissidents, I’d know about it.”

  Rebecca pursed her lips. “I saw online that they’re saying that Zhang Jun died of a heart attack, but then the FBI told us that Derek killed him. They’re hiding something.”

  “The Chinese are just trying to save face. Their press is controlled by the government.”

  “Can’t the lawyer make them test him again?”

  Jacob shook his head. “I’m sorry. I tried, but the test voided his right to counsel. He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  “He’s on a ship to the island.”

  Rebecca stood from the love seat. “We have to help him.”

  Jacob stood from the love seat, taking his wife’s hand. “We can’t. He’s already gone.”

  Rebecca snatched her hand from his. “How long have you known about this?”

  “I just found out a few hours ago from Eric.” That was a lie. Jacob had found out the day before about the test but had waited until Derek was on the high seas to tell Rebecca. Jacob knew his family wouldn’t waste political capital on Derek. If anything, they wanted to distance themselves from the situation. The Bank of China, the Chinese government, and the US government also wanted the situation to disappear.

  The Chinese didn’t want Zhang Jun’s activities revealed in court, and the US didn’t want to publicize the murder of a foreign diplomat on US soil. So, according to Eric, they had made a deal. It must’ve been an easy choice really. Sacrifice one lonely broke citizen or deal with some bad publicity. Derek’s name would never appear in the press, and Zhang Jun’s cause of death was reported as a heart attack.

  “How would Eric know?” Rebecca asked.

  “He deals with the Bank of China, at least the North American division. This puts the family in a very embarrassing situation.”

  Rebecca glowered at Jacob. �
��You can’t be serious.”

  Jacob glowered right back. “They know you were married to him. The new CEO thinks I might’ve helped Derek.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I agree, but my dad still gave me an earful.”

  “So what? Fuck him. He’s not the one being shipped off to that hellhole.”

  Jacob blew out a breath. “It’s a terrible situation for everyone, us included.”

  “Lindsey will be devastated. I told her that the lawyer could help.”

  “You shouldn’t have told her that.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “No.”

  “What about Eric?” Rebecca held out her hands. “He’s always bragging about his connections. Can’t he help?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Will you please call him anyway?”

  Jacob sighed and removed his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket. He tapped the icon for his younger brother.

  Eric answered and said, “What’s up, Jacob?”

  “Is there anything we can do to help Derek?”

  Rebecca edged closer, her head tilted, trying to hear both sides of the conversation.

  Eric cackled.

  Jacob pressed the phone tighter to his ear, so Rebecca couldn’t hear.

  “You can’t be serious,” Eric said. “I’d let him rot. Mayer spent the last twenty-four hours disavowing the guy to our Chinese contacts.” Mayer, Jacob’s eldest brother, was the head of Roth Holdings Asia.

  “Maybe you can do it anonymously? Rebecca’s asking. We’d both be grateful.”

  “She’s in the room with you, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.” Jacob hesitated for a beat. “It’s very important to both of us.”

  “Tell her that I’ll make some phone calls and I’ll let you know.”

  63

  Summer’s Nightmare