Habeas Corpus: Black Womb (Black Womb Collection Book 1)

by Matthew LeDrew

  She was ready.

  She repeated that in her mind several times, leaning back in her chair and letting out a long sigh. She was ready. After only a moment she rose again, bringing her pen to the page in front of her and scratching out a line near its middle.

  Ever since she’d been a child, she’d been nervous this way when it came to preparing. Writing notes out for a test a hundred times to make sure it was memorized, even long after she’d tossed the book away and written it from memory. Reciting particularly hard passages over and over again until her tongue went numb. Once, in college, she’d stayed up studying for thirty-six hours on nothing but cold pizza and Red Bull.

  The pages in front of her blurred together and then separated back apart, bulging in and out as if they were breathing. Groaning, she rubbed the bridge of her nose as she examined the empty cup of espresso next to her and tried to recall when the last pot had been brewed. Despite rumours to the contrary, coffee did in fact have an expiration date. Anything over an hour old was like drinking tar.

  A tall man poked his head in through the window, his hair slicked back neatly and a charming smile pasted across his face. The smile would almost have been creepy but for the small sparkle in his eyes that somehow made it okay and made it more honest. The suit he wore had looked pressed and magnificent a few hours ago when he’d put it on, but was already showing signs of daily wear and tear from the day’s labours. “Anthony Jones paging Megan Greene, please pick up Megan Greene.”

  She tried to glare up at him from her papers, but couldn’t help the smile that was slowly spreading across her lips as he entered the room. “That’s getting old.”

  “No it’s not,” he responded in a chipper tone, sitting down in the chair across from her and laying a steaming cup of coffee on the desk before her. “Here. Thought you could use a break.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said, taking the cup to her lips and blowing the steam away before taking a cautious sip, then downing a massive gulp.

  He watched her for a moment until she noticed him.

  She hummed a small laugh, then put down the cup and smirked at him. “Sorry. Thank you.”

  “Hmm?” he said, looking up at her. “Oh. No big deal, I was on my way up. So, you ready for the big Genblade hearing?”

  She rolled her eyes and was about to make a snide comment when she stopped herself just as her mouth opened. “I think so,” she said instead, tapping her finger against her desk.

  “That doesn’t sound good. There’s a lot riding on this. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you. This could be your ticket to assistant DA. You sure you don’t need a hand with the research?”

  She smiled, waving the notion away with a gesture. “I got it covered. It should be fairly open and shut. Even if he won’t confess on the stand, we’ll just read his prior statement into evidence and get him on purgery as well.”

  He grinned. “That’s a bit of overkill when you’re going for the death sentence, don’t you think?”

  “Why go at him with a pistol when you’ve got a cannon right there?” She smiled, shrugging as she leaned back in her chair again, crossing her arms in front of her. “I’m gonna see this through to the end, Tony... and I really do pity anyone who tries to get in my way.”

  “Ow,” Natasha said as she clunked her head onto the cluttered table in front of her, feeling the impact reverberate through her skull.

  She closed her eyes tightly to try and force the floor beneath her back into focus, finding it very difficult to convince her eyes to open again. Each of her lashes felt like lead weights and the bags under her eyes got bigger every time she looked in the mirror. She tried to remember the last thought to go through her head and get the train rolling again, when to her horror she discovered she was so tired that she’d actually lost the ability to think for a moment.

  For the briefest of serene moments, she felt sleep nipping at her and began to fall into it.

  A knock at the door jolted her up suddenly, scattering the papers on her desk even more than they already were.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Xander said, unable to hide his bemused grin as he stepped into the office, pushing papers with the door as he went.

  “No, I just... dropped my pen,” she lied, sitting up completely and pretending to stack papers. She kept up the charade for only a minute before sighing and dropping them back onto the desk. “What can I do to help you?”

  “Ah, I’m looking for a--” he paused, pulling a crumpled up business card out of his front pocket and examining it. “--Natasha Mayer. Any chance you know where she is?”

  “That’s me,” she smiled, motioning for him to come in. “I am she, I’m... how can I help you?”

  “Huh,” Xander said, sizing her up for a moment as he flicked the card between his hands. After a moment he silently accepted her invitation and stepped inside. “Sorry, pictured you a little different.”

  She cocked her head to one side, squinting at him a little. “Do I... know you from somewhere? You look very familiar.”

  “I’m sorry,” he chuckled, extending a hand toward her. “My name is Alexander Drew. Most people call me Xander.”

  She ignored his hand, turning back to the papers on her desk and shuffling through them quickly until she found the one she was looking for. She scanned down through it quickly, her eyes darting back and forth in her head until she found what she was looking for. “Drew, Alexander. Jesus, you’re the kid Genblade kidnapped.”

  Xander gave a short, forced laugh as he looked down at his feet and clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth. “Yeah, yeah that would be me.”

  Natasha rolled her eyes, flopping the papers aside. “Listen, kid, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve been telling the parents who won’t stop calling: everyone deserves a good defense. It’s one of the backbones of our justice system and if you don’t like it, you can take it up with your senator, not with me.”

  Xander laughed, flicking his top lip. “Okay, two things. First, do you still call them parents if their kids are all dead?”

  Natasha shot him a look, then shifted her gaze towards the door.

  “Okay, okay. Second, I... really wasn’t here to complain.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, leaning forward onto her desk and lacing her fingers together. She tried to appear collected and calm for a moment, but her face eventually turned upward in a confused drawl. “What?”

  Frowning, Xander moved forward until he was standing right across the table from her. “I want to help you with the Genblade case. Be a witness, help with how to approach him in court... whatever. I want to be as involved as you’ll have me.”

  “Think you’re confused,” she coughed, switching back to pretending to stacking papers again. “I’m with Genblade’s defense. Maybe you should be speaking with--”

  “I know,” he grinned, taking a small folder out of his jacket and laying it down on the table. “I think I can help.”

  “How do you spell proliferate?” Cathy asked, chewing on the end of her pen.

  Mike let the magazine he was reading flop onto his chest, turning to stare at her from his place snuggled between the mountains of pillows on her bed. “Why?”

  “Hmm?” she hummed, finally looking away from the rose scented piece of pink paper in front of her, the blue words upon it written in extravagant, cursive loops that she marked as one of her only true artistic talents. “It’s... nothing. Just something I’m doing for the memorial.”

  Mike frowned, stopping to think for a moment. “P-R-O-L-I-F-E - -”

  “Thanks.”

  He stopped, shooting her a look.

  “Wasn’t sure if it was an A or an E after the F.”

  “Proliferate. A phase of wound healing. Means getting better at a steady rate. Pro Life Rate. That’s... how I remembered.”

  “That’s a pretty weird way to remember that.”

  He sat up on the bed and tossed the magazine aside as he watched her hunch back over her desk, careful
ly making the loops and swirls of every word. “May I ask why you’d need that word for a memorial letter?”

  She finished the word she was working on, then lay down her pen before turning around on her chair. “Sara couldn’t pronounce it. Tried like hell, never could. Not even if someone else said it first. Same thing with authentication.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why you’re putting it in a memorial letter.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. Grimacing, she picked up the paper and started to crumple it up.

  “Hey!” Mike snapped, snatching it away from her. “Just because I don’t get it doesn’t make it bad. Just means I don’t get it. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “People... seem like they’re remembering everyone through rose-colored glasses.”

  “Through what?” he asked, smoothing out the paper against the wall.

  “You know what proliferate means, but you’ve never heard the phrase rose-colored glasses?”

  “Discovery Channel,” he said meekly in his own defense.

  She rolled her eyes, smiling at him. “People have been remembering everyone at their best. Like they were flawless or something. For me it was the stupid little things that irked me that I’m going to miss now.”

  “Like how she couldn’t pronounce proliferate?”

  “Or, how she didn’t put toothpaste on her toothbrush, she squirted it into her mouth and used the toothbrush to scrub it around. Or the way she ate her peas one at a time. All that stuff. That’s... what I’m trying to say.”

  He nodded, pursing his lips.

  “You think it’s stupid.”

  “No,” he smiled, passing her back the sheet of paper. “I think it’s great. I think her parents’ll love it.”

  She smiled, straightening the paper as she continued to write.

  He grabbed a slinky from her desk and started wobbling it back and forth between his hands as he walked back toward the bed, keeping his eyes trained on the shimmering metal in the center of the arch. “What do you think Xander wants?”

  “I... don’t know. I rarely ever know what Xander wants, in fact.”

  “I meant with us. Tonight.”

  “I know what you meant, I just don’t know.”

  He paused, letting the spring slump into his right hand. He walked over next to her and laid it down on the paper, forcing her to stop.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t have to be dead to have someone that only ever sees the best in you.” he said blankly, avoiding eye contact with her.

  “What are you - -”

  “He’s got a problem. Unless we figure out what’s going on soon or whether or not he can get a handle on it... we’re going to have to do it for him. Are you ready to do that?”

  Cathy narrowed her eyes, then turned away from him and pushed the slinky aside, continuing to write.

  Natasha fixed her blouse, making sure the top button was fastened tightly as she sat down in the cold, orange chair. She twitched nervously, rapping her nails along the edge of the burgundy notebook she carried pressed against her breasts as she squirmed and tried to get comfortable.

  Her usually short hair had been allowed to grow out just a little too long and tickled the tips of her ears and eyelashes. Her mouth had gone dry the second she’d walked into the glass doors of the huge stone building, and she hadn’t been able to work up any moisture yet, except to sweat. The arm of her blouse was already translucent from wiping the sweat from her brow every few minutes.

  The ceilings were high and all the walls painted stark white. It was as quiet and still as a church on Saturday, the only movement coming from the blinking light attached to the side of each camera; their lenses seeming to be trained directly on her no matter where she looked.

  Directly in front of her was a glass wall that seemed to go up forever. It was so thick that everything viewed through it became distorted like a funhouse mirror. There were small cracks in it from the other side that made her squirm again.

  There was a loud, metallic snap as the door on the other side of the glass unlocked itself. She swallowed hard as Adam Genblade walked out from behind it and into the visitor’s area. His head was down and covered in shadow, yet somehow she could tell that he was smiling. Smiling so wide that it could barely even be contained by the confines of his slender face. After a few steps he looked up, his eyes so light a blue that they might well have been white, locking eyes with her instantly through the pain.

  He stopped walking for a brief instant when he saw her. If it had been from surprise he did not show it on his face, calmly sitting down in the chair opposite her and hoisting up his chains enough to reach the foam-covered phone and bring it to his ear.

  She did the same, her hand shaking a little as she touched the receiver. She stopped herself from checking her blouse again, even though something in the back of her head was telling her it was undone again. For a moment there was no sound, apart from the moist sickle of Genblade cleaning the front of his bloodstained teeth with his tongue.

  “Hubba,” he said finally, his eyes moving over her as though he owned her. “You’re not the brunette I was expecting... but you’ll definitely do. You charge by the hour, sweetie?”

  “Actually, yes,” Natasha responded in a steely voice, trying her best to sound civil. “My name is Natasha Mayer of Mayer, Summers and Soul, Mr. Genblade.”

  Genblade cocked his head to one side and smirked, but did not respond.

  “I believe you addressed me in your letter requesting legal aid.”

  There was another long silence as he looked her up and down, though now he appeared to be measuring her metal instead of her brass. After a second or two he seemed satisfied, snorting into the phone. “Never thought in a million years you’d actually show. Not now.”

  “It’s a high-profile case,” she informed him, pinning the phone between her head and shoulder as she took a few pieces of paper out of her folder and began to scribble on one of them. “Win or lose, the publicity will be unimaginable. Just look at Johnnie Cochran’s career.”

  “Who?” Genblade snarled, raising an eyebrow.

  Natasha pasted on a fake, warm smile as she brushed the thought notion aside with a sweeping gesture. “Never mind. What’s important is that we get started on your case, Mr. Genblade.”

  “You don’t actually think you’ll win, do you?”

  Natasha tapped her folder again in silence, looking from one sheet of paper to another. “No. But with me behind you, I think you’ve got a much better chance.”

  “That’s not exactly the position I had in mind for you... but we’ll start out that way for now.”

  Again, Natasha shifted. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to offer a case like this in the long run, however,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “The fact that you admitted guilt previously hampers my ability to undermine that. It shouldn’t be too hard to claim insanity for your actions. See, if your crimes are the result of mental impairment then it’s considered inhumane to put you to death for them.”

  “Darwin never was a judge,” he scoffed under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” she said, almost without thinking about it.

  “Darwin, Charles. Kinda pioneered the whole ‘strongest will survive’ theory of evolution. He would have hated what western society has become, catering to the mentally unfit the way you do.”

  “Comments like that could also seriously undermine my efforts,” Natasha said in an informative way, snapping her folder shut. “Also, if you would refrain from killing any more people during the duration of the trial, that would help a great deal.”

  “No promises,” he said, staring at her through the glass.

  Her eyes remained locked on his for a moment, pupils shrinking to the size of pinheads as sweat slowly dripped into them. She squirmed again, breaking the contact and placing the papers back into their place. “There’s really not much more I can say. If you get another psyche evaluation I’d ap
preciate it if you turned down the violence and turned up the crazy... would help with our process a little. Other than that, the only news I have is that - -”

  “You know how cute you are, in your little white blouse and your well-done hair?” he interrupted, slamming his palm against the glass as he spoke in hushed tones. “You look downright edible. But your red nails and dark eyeliner make you look like something I wouldn’t have given a second stab at on the corner downtown. You know what? You look like such a good cross between a professional and a whore that you might as well just be a Professional Whore.”

  She shifted again, looking down as she opened her mouth to speak.

  “And I see the way you wiggle and worm every time I open my mouth. I make you so uncomfortable you can’t sit still, like a straight man watching gay porn on cable. But deep down inside, there’s a reason he stopped there when he was flicking through, and it wasn’t because he was hoping for bush like he tells his wife. Deep down, what really makes him uncomfortable is how much he likes it... same as you. Squirming around in your chair, half-dressed up... can’t hide the fact that every time I speak you get just a little moist.” He stopped, looking her up and down one final time and smiling. “You must really have some Daddy issues.”

  She winced at that last part, her eyes closed when she heard Genblade chuckle. After a moment to prepare herself, she turned back toward the glass and continued to speak, although her voice wavered heavily now. “I’ve actually gotten an offer for aid in your case. While I’m not sure how much help it’ll actually be, it’ll definitely look good.”

  Genblade’s brow furrowed as he squinted at her, tilting his head from one side to the other. “Can’t be who I think it is. Can’t be anyone I can think of.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. He’s a young man from town named Alexander Drew. I believe you have some acquaintance with him.”