Netted- Inside Out

by K T Rose

  “Whomever? Father Paul this is crazy. It’s Haze,” St. Pete said.

  “And Haze broke a rule by bringing an unsolicited device on the property. May I add that it could belong to the cops?”

  “Not with that code. That’s some special shit. I mean…expert shit,” Techy said.

  “Why not destroy it?” St. Pete asked.

  “Because whomever she is working with, I’m game. I’ve been in the mood for a rumble. What better way to leave a mark on Michigan before I take my peace? It’ll be like old times, St. Pete. Like Philadelphia, Berkley, and Tucson.”

  “Shit,” Billy muttered.

  Father Paul’s face dropped when he glared at Billy. “Hand it here, before you crash the damn thing.” Father Paul snatched the phone from Billy’s working fingers.

  He looked at Jessica. “My, you’re awfully quiet. Would you like to try?” He handed it to her.

  She stared down at the screen. Why’d you have to point that gun in my face, Hazel? She let out a light sigh. No. This isn’t on me.

  She stared at the screen. A four-digit pin. It could be any combination.

  “Jessica, the only thing you can do is get the phone, call the number inside and say, it’s a go. They’ll know what it means,” Hazel had said.

  But who would she be welcoming onto the compound? Someone out for revenge? The cops? She was sure Father Paul had lots of enemies. But Hazel? Jessica pulled her thumbs over the keypad. The keypad looked untouched; looking for worn out numbers wouldn’t work. Dammit. She had to be the one to open the phone. To see who this mystery person was.

  Paul. Hazel’s voice rung out in her head.

  A light went off in her mind as she watched the men sulk and sip on whisky that was older than Father Paul.

  Paul.

  A four-letter word. And on this keypad, the numbers came with letters.

  P-7 A-2 U-8 L-5

  The screen popped open, blank with the bottom corners reading, contacts and call. She pulled up the contacts. The only number on file belonged to The Hawk. She opened it and there was a number with a 999-area code and a number that seemed to be fake: 9992222.

  “She’s got it!” Billy announced.

  She cringed. Fuck.

  The men stopped their chattering and set glasses on the coffee table.

  “Oh, my dear Olive,” Father Paul said as he stood and reached for the phone. She handed it over as St. Pete came closer to the huddle.

  “How’d you get it open?” Billy asked.

  “I don’t know. I just thought of things Hazel talked about and tried it.”

  “What was it?” Techy asked, the frown of defeat prominent on his face.

  “Paul.”

  Father Paul sniggered and shushed the room as he put the phone on speaker.

  A click. Then a man with a firm, deep voice said, “I can’t talk right now.”

  Father Paul hummed as a delightful smile rose the ends of his lips. “Morgan? Is that you, my dear old friend?”

  Morgan breathed deep, then an ominous silence came through the phone. “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Ah. Your agent. My Hazel. She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. My, how long has it been since I’ve seen that beautiful chocolate mug of yours? Huh? About ten years? God, I missed you. And to think, I was just sitting over here telling my friends about how much I wanted to rumble.”

  “Did you tell them about the bodies your so-called rumbles stacked up?”

  “Never mind that. How’s the wife? Is she sick of moving around the country in her attempt at pleasing that boner you have for me?”

  “Don’t you dare—"

  “And still a boring conversationalist. You would think those files you have on me would’ve taught you some charm…but it sounds as though you are as bull-headed as before. I guess you can blame that on age.”

  “Listen, you sick son of a bitch! Turn her over or I’ll have that place burned down to the ground!”

  “Oh, uh uh uh. We both know you won’t do that to the innocent people here. Didn’t all those court-appointed therapy sessions and anger management teach you anything? Remember what happened the last time you tried storming me with your friends? You got so many people killed, Morgan. Some of your friends and most of mine.”

  Jessica put a hand to her forehead. They were nothing but personal shields. The more she learned about Paul, the more she wanted away.

  Morgan huffed. “Give me her and…I’ll give you Dale.”

  “Dale?” Father Paul scoffed. “He’s been out of the picture since you fucked up that night outside his apartment.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Paul! I know you crept into the hospital and took him!”

  Paul flashed St. Pete an obligatory gaze. “Oh really?” He flipped the phone closed and crushed it in his hand. His smirk twitched. “What is he talking about?”

  “Haze—” St. Pete tucked his lower lip. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. Fuck is right.” He nodded with a sadistic look in his eyes. He smiled. “That explains why Marla’s dead too.”

  St. Pete cocked his head. “How?”

  “The night she died, she called in, pissed about why he didn’t go down as the targets typically do. Who administers the tranquilizer, St. Pete?”

  “Shit.”

  “Um,” Techy said.

  “Whoa,” Billy said.

  “Still think next week is too soon?” Father Paul asked. “Since she was undercover, I doubt they had tracking on this shitty thing. Shit. Shit!” He put a hand on his hip and another on his forehead. “Shit! That motherfucker checkmated me!” He kicked the table. It crashed to the floor.

  He laughed. “That cheeky son of a bitch. You see what he did there? Having fun, I slipped up.” He roared, then breathed deep. “Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Hmm. Not Officer Montague of the TPD. Not Lieutenant Tusk from Berkeley nor is he Detective Chest from South Philly. He’s drawing closer to using his real name, calling himself Detective Morgan of the Grand Rapids PD this time around. I wonder if that means next time, he’ll use his real name: Special Agent Peter Morgan of the FBI.” He chuckled. “Ohh that man lives undercover.”

  He bit his bottom lip, baring his top teeth. “Techy, I want you to find Dale. I want an update by the morning. Clearly Morgan doesn’t know where that fucker is, but we will. Oh boy we will. St. Pete, get the message out that we are having a meeting in the morning. Everyone is to meet at the barn. I’ll show that fucker to play games with me,” he spat. “Oh and cameras, Techy. Bring them all, I want everyone to have one in the morning. We’re going to have ourselves a photo shoot!”

  Biting his nails, he turned to Billy then pointed, “I want you and the Fury of Four to stay on watch. Don’t get an inch of shut-eye. You hear me?”

  Finally, he turned to Jessica. “This wouldn’t’ve happened if it weren’t for you using your head. And for that, I thank you. Make sure you stop by here tomorrow around noon. I have a special assignment for you.”

  ***

  Jessica pulled her fingers through Tilly’s hair as he rested. She searched the wall for any specs, bugs, or anything. There was nothing but pale walls and counters full of gauzes, bandages, and medications. The center of the small room was taken by the hospital bed, the only one on site, and cords attached to the heart monitor that beeped at a steady pace. Nostalgia filled her chest. Granny used to blast her favorite detective show with the lead being a brunette. The sound of the hospital room where she’d find her victims was a lot like this outside from the chatter and P.A. readouts of whoever the doctor was on duty. For the first time, anticipation for the victim to wake up from their coma was very real. Imagine if the detective were not a detective, but a member of a cult. Jessica’s heart raced. A cult that could get her and the poor victim killed. Tears clouded her eyes, covering the monitor in nothing more than blurring red and green lights.

  “Hi, Miss Olive,” Tilly said with a sleepy l
ilt.

  “Hey, kiddo,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “How ya feeling?”

  He grunted. “I got no thumb, Miss Olive.”

  “I know. I, uh—I’m sorry for that. I tried to—”

  “It’s not your fault. I knew something bad would happen if I made a friend.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Trouble follows me everywhere.” He looked at her. The blacks around his eyes seemed to darken. “Now it follows you too.”

  Her mouth hung open. Death surrounded her, marking her in a thick crimson ink that hung over like a rain cloud. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else to get hurt on her account. But it didn’t seem fair for him to blame himself. “I know.”

  “How do you get him to stop?”

  “I don’t believe in the devil.” Or at least I didn’t until I lived here with Fa—Paul… just Paul.

  “No. Not that trouble. Billy.”

  Shock faded into confusion. “Billy?”

  Tilly coughed and motioned for the straw in his water glass. She picked it up from the counter, propped it against his mouth and he sipped. “He came over yesterday to see me.”

  “What did he want? To get you in trouble again?”

  “No. I can tell you, but you have to promise to keep it as a secret. You promise?”

  “Yes.” She went in to pinky swear with him but stopped midair. His thumb bled under the frosty-white wraps that covered his wrists and up the length of his hand. The poor boy will never be the same after such trauma.

  “He knows. He knows everything. He knew about the chocolate and phone. He knows about Hazel, or Agent Jenkins. He wants to stop us.”

  She blinked frantically as her heart beat against her chest with force of a freight train rolling up the tracks. “You knew about Hazel?”

  “Yes. She promised to get us out of here.”

  The room started to spin. “How long?”

  “Since Daddy died. He and Agent Jenkins were coming up with a plan. To get someone out of here alive and to tell on Father Paul. Tell everyone where we are and end this. But Daddy was killed the day Billy saw him trying to save a woman Marla brought here. Daddy confessed to working alone and tried to fight Father Paul. But Agent Jenkins turned back into Hazel and helped them bring Daddy down to the barn. So we tried it again with Dale. You see, I lied to you, Miss Olive. I was on lookout for Hazel when she took Dale away and set him free.”

  Tilly. Tilly was the… mastermind behind all this? The group reaching salvation? Or better yet, his now dead father and Agent Jenkins? “Tilly, that doesn’t explain why Billy didn’t just turn me over. You know how much he hates me, right?”

  “You’re right. He does hate you, but not enough to make you suffer. He wants to keep picking up dirt on you because Father Paul has a special feeling for you in his heart. No one knows why, but Billy wishes he had Father Paul’s love and attention. So, telling him you knew about the chocolate and the phone would only make it your word against Billy’s. He wanted credit for the stuff he told about while you stayed around and watched him rise in the ranks before everything blew up in your face. He called it a win-win. That’s the same thing he did to Agent Jenkins, anyway.”

  “What?” She growled.

  “Yeah. But I told him that no matter how much he tries, that you, Miss Olive, will not fall for it. You see the monster he is and I told him…” Tilly grunted as he tried sitting up. “… I told him to burn in hell and that you’re nothing like Agent Jenkins. You’re different than everyone else here.”

  She ground her teeth. No matter how Tilly flipped it, this was her fault. Not Hazel’s, not Billy, the snitch. She saw herself squeezing his thin neck until it broke between her hands. No way in hell would Billy get away with this. She didn’t want to stick around any longer. He could have Paul and this entire hell hole. She’d rather be back in her small town with her simple classmates, Granny, and Brandy. Shit. If she were to see Brandy right now, she’d run to her and apologize for not trying harder to be her friend. She’d even beg to go away to Europe with Brandy. But a future that shone so bright for her friend didn’t look the same for Jessica. It looked bleak, black, and buried. A lot like someone’s who lived six feet in the ground.

  “Tilly let me tell you something. You don’t belong here. I’m no dif—”

  A soft knock sounded at the door. Jessica looked up to see Boaty standing in the doorway. His hands clutched his crutches as he stood upright. His shoulder rested on the doorway. Strands of hair fell from his messy bun and hovered before his blue eyes. He gave her a weak smile. “I can come back later,” he said.

  “No, please. Come in,” Tilly instructed.

  Boaty limped inside. His boots dragged wet snow as he scooted his feet across the floor. He grunted as he leaned his crutches against the chair on the opposite side of the bed, directly across from Jessica.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Tilly.

  “My head feels like it’s about to float off my shoulders,” Tilly said.

  “Yeah, well, I know about that feeling. Trust me, you’d be better off feeling that light-headed wooziness than the pain from losing or breaking a bone.”

  Jessica stood. Intrusion on such a personal moment was the last thing Tilly needed. The boys seemed acquainted, talking more than she remembered ever seeing.

  “Miss Olive, are you leaving? Do you have something to do?”

  Boaty looked up at her with glossy eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to talk to Boaty. Is there something else you need?”

  Boaty looked over at Tilly with skepticism all over his face.

  “It’s okay, Boaty. We can trust her,” Tilly said through a smile.

  Boaty looked back at Jessica with a frown.

  “What’s going on?” Jessica asked.

  “Boaty wants to give you something.”

  “Okay…”

  She sat back down and looked into Boaty’s unassuming eyes. “What is it?”

  “Do you want to get out of here?” Boaty asked.

  She looked at her lap. Her vision blurred as tears slipped from her eyes. A hard question she’d had the pleasure of answering straight away for the first time in weeks.

  “Yes.” She shook her head and put her hand on her forehead. She sobbed. “Yes.” It felt good to answer aloud and honestly.

  Boaty cocked his head. “But you love Father Paul, right? You wanted to be here. I saw how you looked at him that night you were inducted. You swung that hammer hard into Dale’s skull. And the look on your face when you did it was…cold. Empty. You let that sick bastard Paul creep into your mind and swarm through you just like the rest of the idiots around here. There is nothing that makes you different from these people, thinking this is the life for an intelligent capable human. Some of them wanted an easier life in exchange for following the way of Paul and his demented beliefs. They believe the shit he spews through his lying teeth. He’s the Grim Reaper. Humanity has no power like he does. He will lead us on our way into a fulfilling after life. He talked to God. Right? And you believe it.”

  “No, I don’t,” she cried.

  He scoffed. “Do you not? I heard about what you did to that poor girl.”

  “You don’t know shit about Franny! She was a bitch and she hurt my best friend. You have no idea what it feels like to see someone you love get hurt by a bully! She was a bitch!”

  “I can say the same to the one who blew my brother’s brains out in cold blood to get out of here, only for her to betray the very man who tried escaping with her just to stay here.”

  She sobbed. It stung her heart to know of the personal hurt she caused Boaty, Mr. French, and Dale. “Dale’s alive.”

  “Yeah. I know that. But my brother isn’t. How are you going to make this right, Olive?”

  She cringed. “Don’t call me that!”

  “Miss Olive,” Tilly whispered. “Calm down. We don’t want anyone to hear.”

  Her chest heaved as she stared int
o Boaty’s face. How dare this asshole try to tell her right from wrong, question what she did to Franny?

  Boaty held her glare in his straight face, and then said, “This is a waste of time, Tilly. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t want out. She’s just as bad of Paul, if not worst.”

  “Wait, Boaty, please,” Tilly begged.

  “This is a risk I’m not willing to take. How are we going to put faith in this—this—murderer? She can’t even own up to—”

  “I was wrong,” Jessica blurted. “I was so fucking wrong and I regret it every fucking day,” she spat through gritted teeth. “I—I wanted Brandy’s pain go away because no one made mine go away. All of my life, I was treated like shit. My mother didn’t want me, my father hated me but only took me out of guilt. My sisters—shit—tortured me and their mother watched. I finally found a place where I was comfortable, and Franny fucked it all up when she messed with Brandy’s head by humiliating her time and time again and I decided to do something about it. This bullying and feeling inadequate wasn’t about to reset itself in someone so undeserving and sweet as my best friend. I didn’t mean for Franny to kill herself. I swear. I just wanted her to fuck off and leave my perfect world, that I deserved, alone! I hate what I did to Dale but Father Paul was a hero to me. He embodied everything I couldn’t get out of anyone else...” She snickered. “And Granny’s old and Brandy’s leaving the country. I would be left alone. Do you know what that feels like? Huh? To be alone? It’s painful. It’s like feeling eternal loss. I thought staying here would wipe that away. But it hasn’t. It’s only turned that blackened abyss into something different. Something harder to crawl through or call out from…. I’m suffocating.”

  “My brother felt the same way, ya know,” Boaty said. “My mother thinks we’re both missing, killed in the woods outside of our home. I know it because I have clips from the newspaper: ‘Twenty-two-year-old and twelve-year-old kid brother goes missing.’” He smirked. “But Jasper, or Mr. French, brought us here. He wanted me as far away from Mom as possible. Now, he’s always been into some fucked up things. Those videos of people being killed on camera, street fights, and car accidents, but when he brought me here, I begged him to get help, Jessica. This—isn’t—normal. But he was more gung-ho on hurting our alcoholic mother, trying to prove that she would lose her kids forever if she kept picking the bottle over us, trying so hard to teach her a lesson, he forgot to check what was best for his mental state. So then we ended up here because he couldn’t bear doing this alone. And now he’s dead and I have no one. I don’t think anyone wants out more than I do. I mean it. I’ve contemplated burning this fucking place down. But that’s not the best way to go about it. Tilly’s way is the best step in the right direction; getting someone that can leave on our side. We had that, and now she’ll be executed and I’m desperate. So I have to know. Truly. Do. You. Want. Out? Will you help us?”