"Not if I can help it." She looked into my eyes, and I suspected saw fear there. Fear had been a stranger to me for so long that I had forgotten what it felt like. Fear demands action.
Chapter 18
After riding in the backseat for an hour like a bona-fide prisoner—aside from a couple side trips in preparation for my eventual escape—I began life as prisoner 16425. My holding cell was six-by-eight feet, and reeked of vomit, feces, and urine. The stench was so foul that it forced me to shut off my sense of smell completely. A filthy looking toilet and a small sink sat against the back wall, and a bed—little more than a cot really—adorned the sidewall. The thin bare mattress had brown, circular stains from taking in years of bodily fluids. I walked to a bare corner and sat down on the cold, concrete floor with my back against the wall.
"Hey, why does he get special attention?" my neighbor, his face tight to the bars, yelled to the guard standing outside my cell. I was under twenty-four-hour surveillance, ordered by the Special-Agent-in-Charge no less.
"Don't you worry about it, jerk-off!" the guard yelled back.
"Only ones I've seen under watch are those suicidal-pussy-kid rapers," my neighbor continued anyway. "Is he a kid raper?"
"Shut it!" the guard demanded.
"'Cuz if he is, we can take care of him nice, and you can go home. Is he?" The guard chose to ignore the question, and the prisoner turned to amusing himself by singing loudly from his bed. I recognized the tune, which was from a famous pop song about peaches, but he had something more sinister in mind than eating peaches. "Going to the country, gonna shank me up a kid raper. Going to the country, gonna shank a lot of kid rapers." The guy would be trouble.
I blocked him out and looked down at my stylish orange jumpsuit, marveling at how far I had come down in just a few days. Still, there was hope; I planned to be in prison for just a day or two. Once Agent Blackwell gave me the word that Karen and Lori were safe, I would fly away to track down Samael. I hoped that there was time before my ancient enemy enacted whatever sinister plans he had concocted, but I had no doubt that he moved up his timescale when I awoke from my memory-deprived state. He feared me, but now that he knew his toxic virus worked so well, he would take me out of the picture fast once he got what he wanted. Once he realized that I couldn't get anymore potion, I felt certain that Samael wouldn't hesitate to rupture me like an exploded water balloon with his nasty viral stew. And then the world would be his, unopposed. Like a thief in the night…
My loudmouthed neighbor eventually quieted down and I passed several hours in deep thought until an obnoxiously shrill alarm jarred me back to reality. I opened my eyes as the bars of all the cells but mine slid sideways. I got up and looked out. A river of orange jumpsuits meandered forward, while guards holding rifles hovered overhead in their sniper nests.
"You're special. You get to go eat with the pigs," a scraggly, near-toothless man sneered at me as he walked past. Behind him shuffled a large, heavily tattooed, bald man who turned his head towards me and spat. I jumped sideways fast, barely avoiding the offending fluid.
"Ya had to do sumptin' sick, perv," Baldy said, and then walked away.
Slowly the river turned into a stream, and then vanished altogether. My personal guard reappeared with two young and eager looking helpers. One held a set of wrist-to-ankle shackles, his lips curled into a countrywide grin.
"Step back," my guard ordered. "It's lunchtime." He held a nightstick in one hand, gently thumping it against the palm of the other hand.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather skip it," I said. My feeding at the hospital would last for a few days at such low exertion levels; moreover, there was nothing on the menu of use to me anyway.
"All prisoners go. It's the rules. Now get the fuck back so we can get you shackled." With resignation, I retreated a few steps. One of the guards operated the controls that slid the door open.
"Step out," the guard ordered. I eased forward onto the concrete walkway, surrounded by the three of them.
"What's he in for, boss?" the one holding the shackles asked.
"They wouldn't tell me. Craziest shit I've ever seen. They just said to watch him close. What 'cha in for?" he asked me.
"Stepping on an ant," I replied. "Apparently it was employed by the FBI."
"Looks like we've got a real smart-ass on our hands. Turn around so we can shackle you." I complied. "And this is to learn you some respect." Out of nowhere, I felt his nightstick whack against the back of my knees. It thudded as if hitting a steel pole, jarring his hand, causing the nightstick to fall to the floor. He cursed in pain.
"That really makes me respect you more," I said.
"What the hell!" he yelled. "You've got something hidden in your pants you shouldn't have, don't you?" He retrieved the nightstick. "That justifies the use of force." This time he hit at the base of my neck, and again the nightstick fell away to his curses. The two assisting guards stepped back, their young faces awash with worried confusion.
"If you're done learning me some respect, I'd really like to go and get this over with. I have a lot to contemplate," I said, remaining calm. He pulled his sidearm out and held it to the base of my skull.
"I have a mind to blow your damn head off. Put your hands up in the air and then don't move. Steve, get over here and search him. He's got some kind of armor on."
Steve hesitantly shuffled over and began combing my backside while his boss backed off to the side, keeping the gun leveled at my head.
"If you shoot that gun, the bullet will ricochet and might hit one of you," I warned.
"Shut up," the boss said.
Steve finished searching. "I didn't feel anything unusual, but he's hard as a rock, that's for sure."
"Take your goddamn jumpsuit down," boss-man ordered. I unzipped, pulled my arms out, and slid it down. Standing in my boxers for their observation felt a little humiliating, but I wasn't about to start trouble…yet.
"He looks clean. No armor at all," Steve said.
"Fuck it. Get dressed. I know just what to do with you."
I pulled my jumpsuit up and the young men nervously shackled me. They led me out and down the long walkway to the cafeteria. We came to a metal door that required a code to open. Steve entered it and then swung it open. There was a small hallway with another door at the opposite end.
"Are you sure this is okay, boss? He's supposed to be on the secured side," Steve said.
"Hell yeah it's okay. He seems like a tough fellow. I'm sure he can handle himself in there with his fellow prisoners." It looked as if I wasn't going to eat with the pigs after all.
"Okay," Steve responded and then turned to me. "Go on in. Once I close this door, the far one will open. Walk in, and you'll see the chow line."
I shuffled my feet forward, trying hard not to accidently break the shackles. The door slammed shut behind me and hydraulics pulled the one in front open, letting in the sounds of hundreds of angry men. I shuffled forward and entered the cafeteria. Heads turned in my direction, and quickly voices subsided, filling the air with a menacing silence. An empty table sat just a few feet away, so I made my way to it. The only sound now was that of the chain between my ankles, clattering along the floor.
I saw that several prisoners were scowling at me. My cell neighbor had to have shared his belief that I was a kid raper. I eased myself down onto the picnic-table styled bench, placed my hands on the table and stared down at them. I felt the best way to keep the peace was to keep to myself. That didn't work out so well.
Within a few minutes, my cell neighbor sat down next to me with his tray of food. Another man sat next to him, and a couple more guys took the seat across from us.
"You must have pissed them off," my neighbor said. "Ain't no way they'd put a cuffed rapist in here with us animals. You can't even protect yourself!" I picked my head up, looked at him, and learned exactly what a shit-eating grin looked like.
"I'm not a rapist," I said.
"Then what you in for
?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Ha! That's what we all say!" His little gang joined in with his laughing.
They calmed down and settled into eating, or more accurately, pretending to eat. They were all trying to conceal the fact that they were looking around, with their eyes darting from one guard to the next, stationed on catwalks overhead. One of the prisoners across from me looked at my cell neighbor and gave a barely perceptible nod of his head. I caught a flash of silver as something sharp slipped out from under my neighbor's jumpsuit at his wrist, falling smoothly into his hand. He stabbed forward into the side of my belly, and then he yelled. The shank fell to the floor, unseen for the moment by the guards above. He displayed his hand before his face. A gash stretched from one side of his palm to the other. Blood dripped freely. The shank had stopped when it contacted me, and had slid back through his hand.
"That looks like it'll need stitches," I said.
"What the fuck did you do?" he yelled in my face, trying to curl his hand into a fist to slow down the bleeding. His blood had a putrid smell, similar to meat just as it starts going bad.
"You're sick," I said.
"No, you're the goddamn perv. You'll pay for this!"
"No, I mean you're sick with a disease. Hepatitis? That's what it smells like."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked incredulously.
"How long have you had it?"
"None of your business, asshole."
"Look, I am not a rapist, and I'm not your enemy. I actually appreciate the fact that you don't like to let perverts off so easy. I have a daughter myself." He scooped up a napkin and balled it in his bloody fist. "What are you in for?" I asked.
"Killing the perv who touched my boy." He stood up and stormed off in search of medical attention.
Left leaderless, the other prisoners at the table ate with their eyes down, in total silence until the bell sounded for us to return to our cells. My guard glared at me from the catwalk above as I shuffled along in my own island. No prisoner got closer to me than five feet. Word spreads fast in prison.
Chapter 19
"You've got a visitor," the guard said through the bars an hour after lunch. "The FBI seems to think you're special. Get up so we can cuff you."
They put the shackles on me without drama this time, and led me down the corridor as other prisoners watched from their cages. I thought of monkey enclosures at the zoo, where the primates stared out with those big-brown eyes, longing for freedom. I found myself feeling sorry for them, but then I reminded myself that just like monkeys, these men could be vicious, too.
We went through several reinforced doors and down some stairs, where we finally arrived at a gray door with a small observation window in it. My guard knocked, opened it, and then shoved me roughly inside. I expected to see Agent Blackwell, but that wasn't who was sitting at the small table in the center of the otherwise bare room. They led me to a gray metal chair opposite the suited man, where I sat down and looked curiously at my visitor. The man never took his eyes off me, but kept silent until the guards departed.
"Michael Spencer?" he asked, his voice deep with authority.
"Yes."
"I'm Special Agent Richards." I sat up straighter, with interest doubly piqued.
"Special-Agent-in-Charge Richards?" I asked.
"Yes. I need to ask you some questions."
"You're spying for Samael," I stated.
"False accusations can bring you serious trouble, Mr. Spencer."
"Are you working for him? For Samael?"
"Of course not." His eyes easily betrayed his lie.
"I don't believe you. You were in Karen's house taking pictures, and probably the one who took the other pictures, too."
"Pictures? Why would I waste my time taking pictures? I went there to search through your possessions. Samael's looking for a vial of fluid that's supposed to be magical, or some bullshit like that. Where are you hiding it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but thank you for confirming whose bitch you are," I said, and then wondered, if he didn't take the pictures, then who did?
"Have it your way. I'm told you stay here until you produce it, or he grows tired of you. While I am not working for Samael, I am working with him. He is a powerful man in society who has some serious concerns about you. After what I've seen you're capable of, those concerns strike me as legitimate."
"Samael works with no one. You're a tool. For your information, he is just as capable as I am, and of a much darker nature. You're helping the wrong side."
"The wrong side is sitting in front of me. Next question: where are Agent Blackwell and Karen Weiss?"
"How the hell should I know? I've been in prison." I felt relieved that they managed to go into hiding.
"Mr. Spencer, let's be honest. Someone very precious to you is being kept safe. As long as you cooperate, she will continue to be safe."
Did Blackwell and Karen not succeed in getting Lori out? Trying to hide my concern, I said, "Let me get this straight; the FBI is threatening someone close to me. Can I file a complaint?"
He retrieved a cell phone. "With one call, I can make life very miserable for you. Do you want to continue playing games? Where are they?"
"You have no idea who you're helping," I said.
"Have you heard the news? Vladimir Putin was killed. A man just flew in, sliced off his head, and then demanded the surrender of Russia. He has an army of followers moving into the Kremlin as we speak. These are complicated times, and Samael appears to be unstoppable."
"And you're one of those followers?"
"I do what's best for my interests and those of the Bureau. Now, where is Blackwell!" He stood and banged his fist on the table. Bad cop time.
"Agent Blackwell is your employee. If you've lost him, that's not my problem."
"You have one last chance." His voice grew harsh, icy. "Or your daughter will meet Samael in the flesh. Where are they?"
"I don't know." It was the truth. "Give me a poly if you like."
"Liar!" He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. My stomach knotted in dread. "Get her," he said into the mouthpiece and then hung up.
"You traitorous bastard! I can kill you right now, and you know that!" I threatened.
"But then all hope of ever seeing your daughter and your new piece of ass again will be lost. I’m betting you aren't willing to take that chance."
I broke the chains binding me, causing him to jump back several steps and place his hand on the holstered pistol.
"Try me," I said through clenched teeth. His cell phone began to ring, but he stayed focused on me. "Answer it," I urged, hoping it was Samael and I could then take the phone and let him know he would die soon if he touched my daughter. On the fourth ring, Richards answered, backing away even further, not realizing that my hearing was super-human.
"What do you mean?" he asked the caller.
"I tried to tell you, but you hung up so fast. We followed her to school, but she's not there anymore," the voice on the phone replied. Relief washed over me.
"Did you check the office?"
"Yes. They know nothing, and no one checked her out. She must have snuck out on her own." Agent Richards gave me a cold stare.
"No. She wasn't on her own. Put out a BOLO for Agent Blackwell and the woman."
"For what?"
"Abduction. Also, issue an Amber Alert for Lori Spencer." Richards pocketed his phone and yelled for the guards. The door flew open and my escort entered. I stood.
"If you touch my daughter, I will hunt you down," I said.
"I'm confident your buddy from Hell can keep you in check."
"You are so wrong. Samael is but a child."
I glared at him, and considered it a justified action to kill him on the spot, but knew that Samael would just replace him with another goon. I couldn't settle things while locked up, but once I escaped, then that would be a different story. I let the guards take me by each arm and
lead me away.
"You are bringing about the end of the world, Agent Richards. Sleep well," I said coldly before we stepped through the doorway.
My prison cell still stood open, but they guided me to the cell next door instead. My neighbor stood back with a wry grin on his face as the bars slid open and they forced me forward. Once they removed the broken shackles, the bars slammed shut behind me and I stood face-to-face with Mr. Shank-Me-A-Raper.
"Thought you boys needed some time to work out your issues," the boss guard said. "Come on. Let's give these gentlemen some privacy." He led the guards away with a snicker, probably expecting to find me dead when they returned.
"How's your hand?" I asked.
"Fucked up, thanks to you."
"At least I didn't try to ram a piece of steel into you."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry 'bout that. My mind ain't what it used to be. Come here. I've got somethin' to show you." He walked over to his bed and lifted open the pillowcase. Suspecting a trap, and not wanting to hurt the man anymore, I approached slow and carefully. I saw that where the pillow should be, there were instead several cartons of cigarettes.
"Sorry, but I don't smoke anymore," I said, relieved it wasn't a trick.
"This is like a million bucks in prison money. An orderly gave them to me when I went to get my hand stitched up."
"Why? What did she want in return?"
"He wanted me to give you a message. Turns out you are pretty special." He dug into the pillowcase, pulled out a small piece of paper, and handed it to me.
I read, "Call me. Andre." A phone number followed the name.
"I'm pretty sure I got the number right," he said. "He wanted me to memorize it, but I wrote it down when he wasn't looking."
"I need to sit." I went to the bed, no longer concerned about any potential traps.
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