Netted- Inside Out

by K T Rose

  She nodded frenetically. “Anything. I swear and if—”

  He nodded to Tilly as he shimmied up on his crutches and limped for the door. He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll see you guys around.” He went out into the hallway, exchanged a few words with Doc Viper, and the trailer door slammed.

  Tilly smiled a blushed goofy smile as he reached under his pillow and handed her a folded piece of paper. On the outer side of it were a few stick figures. One had a round body with a wide smile. The other was tall with yellow hair and the last was short with brown hair. Overhead, the sun beat down on them and a colorful rainbow made up the background.

  “It’s a portrait of me, you and Boa—I mean, Zach. Do you like it, Miss Olive?”

  “Call me, Jessica.”

  “Jessica,” he said smoothly. “I like that so much more. Olives are gross and they look like beetles with a hole in their backs. I used to hate when Daddy brought pizza home with those things on it. Ugh.” His face lit up. “You look like a Jessica. And I miss your brown hair.”

  She smiled and went to unfold the paper.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t open it. Open it when you’re back at your room. I don’t want Billy to come by. He’s been hanging out around here a lot. It was hard to get Zach here alone without Billy hovering.”

  “I can do that.” She closed it in her hands.

  Tilly yawned. His eyelids slowed as if he were fighting off sleep. “Jessica, I’m tired.”

  She pulled his cover over his chest. “Get some sleep. I’ll come check on you later. Okay?”

  “Are you going to the execution?”

  Her heart lurched. That feeling of having to do something undesirable that had to be done dawned on her. Hazel was going to die and there was nothing she could’ve done to stop it. She couldn’t warn Morgan as the phone was broken into pieces on Paul’s 3D floor. And Paul was on wide alert; no one was going in or out of the compound until the execution was done and it was time to move. Coming here alone was risky. Taking this note was even more risky. In order to save face, she had to prepare for the death of her trainer and now predecessor. Poor Hazel. An undercover.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “I know. Me either.”

  “You can’t go. Look at you.” She eyed the IV pumping painkillers into his small body. The red of the bandage around his hand soaked through as it rested on the front of his hip. The wounds had to be rough and the days seemed to get colder. There was no way Tilly (or Tommy) was going out to watch a grown woman die.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he graveled. “We kids can’t be out after eight, eat candy or chocolate, or even go to the bodega, but it’s mandatory we watch a woman get killed just to receive a message: fear Father Paul, the man who loves us. How messed up is that?”

  Jessica chuckled, surprised she herself hadn’t noticed that. Before she could agree with Tommy, he drifted off, leaving her alone with her thoughts and his drawing.

  ***

  Hi. My name is Zach Lasso. I’m blond, 5’11, 140 pounds, and sixteen years old. I am a member of The Silent Red Room Clan. If you are receiving this letter, that means that someone has successfully planted it as evidence at an abduction site. This is for your eyes only until you pass it on to Officer Montague of the Tucson PD, Lieutenant Tusk from Berkeley PD, Detective Chest from South Philly, or Detective Morgan of the Grand Rapids PD. I am writing this because we are in trouble here at the compound and we need his help.

  Although Father Paul is reproable for over hundreds of deaths, he has also made it miserable to live among this place, making leaving a sheer impossibility. Essentially, the people here are normal everyday people that were curious about the darknet stream, The Silent Red Room. I’ve added an attachment of helpful backlinks to navigate you to the forum and the show. It goes live every third Thursday of the month. He uses that to drag viewers into his cult with the promise of a sweet afterlife as he will be the next Grim Reaper, playing in the realm between life and death. Along with this, he feeds the notion that they don’t have to bend to the rules of life set forth by humanity such as paying taxes and bills, going to a nine-to-five, or dealing with a harsh society. He’d even fed them the thoughts of owning their own businesses here on the compound. But I suspect he is a psychopath that uses these drones to run his compound. They are responsible for running and maintaining fresh food supply, education, a medical facility, electricity, heating, and clean water.

  While he tends to his own sickness (schizophrenia), he claims the lives of both volunteers, by waving money in their faces by the thousands and even millions, depending on who the person is, and the innocent by using men and women of the cult to lure them in. This is done by using online meet-up websites, drunken bar nights, or the occasional snatch and grab. The names of all the victims are included with this letter along with the names of the cult members. All victims are cremated or melted in acid or caustic bases, never to be seen again.

  The people here don’t realize the danger that lurks about. Most of them believe this is the first go around for him and that we are his first and only family, but I know that isn’t true. It wasn’t until very recently I was able to get this information from Agent Monica Jenkins, the undercover cop on campus.

  I have reasons to believe that his paranoia, driven by hypochondria and the fear of losing control of his destiny, is going to drive him to do something unspeakable. Please help us or something bad is going to happen. I’ve lost my brother to this place (Jasper Kyle Lasso) and I miss my mom, Natalie Mellissa Lasso, and my town of Ludington. I would do anything to get out of here alive.

  Also attached to this note is a map of the compound, guard posts, schedules, a legend for the symbols on the map and a layout of the traps. On the map, there is a circle and a symbol of a tree that has two branches twisted in strange angles. I will wait every night, around midnight, for you to show up. Please come help us. Twenty lives (four kids under the age of twelve, six teenagers under the age of seventeen, and ten adults) depend on it except for maybe St. Pete. I don’t know his real name, but he is just as bad as Father Paul as he is expected to have shown up with him.

  Hurry.

  P.S. I’m very sorry about Agent Monica Jenkins, the one who was supposed to drop this note initially. Deep down, I knew she meant well. At least that’s what I like to think about everyone here. She will be killed on January 12, 2019 and buried in the cemetery if all stays the way it has. But since she’s an undercover cop, she too may be dumped in lye.

  Zach Lasso

  Jessica tucked the note into her bra and stared at the front of her dresser as she sat on the edge of the bed. Something else she hadn’t thought of: How was Paul going to transport all these people with such a hasty move? They only had the old pick-up truck and the SUV. It’s not like he’d rent a couple of vans.

  A sense of urgency consumed her whole. Then she remembered that Paul wanted to talk with her about something. His haste in getting out of here was rather abrupt after he found out that Dale was still alive and Morgan was on his tail.

  A strange sense of relief washed over her.

  Dale was alive. Breathing. Living and not stuck here. He made it back home to his family, something she wished she could do.

  Karma had a nasty way of playing tricks. But it wasn’t funny this time; it was petrifying.

  Chapter Twelve

  Everyone lined up outside the barn door, grabbing a disposable Polaroid from the cardboard box Techy held up to his chest as they entered one at a time.

  Jessica picked up a disposable camera and walked inside the chattery barn. Hay bales lined the cement floor in rows, just as they had during the town hall meeting not even a week ago. She spotted Boaty’s blond bun as it sat neatly atop his head, no streaks from distress flayed over his face. He fumbled around with a clipboard and ink pen, jotting some things down and tugging at his beard as if deep in thought.

  Jessica went for the middle row and sat on the bale next to him. Befo
re she could say anything, Boaty grabbed his crutches, which had been leaning against the opposite side of his seat, and slowly limped off. She watched, confused as to why he moved to the end of the row, away from her. He took a spot behind Tilly, who rested his chin on his chest as Ms. Orleans rubbed his back.

  “He’s still peeved about his toes,” a shaken voice said from behind. Blaze moved up a row and took Boaty’s seat. “I’m sorry for being mean yesterday. I was just—”

  “It’s alright. I mean…I get it,” Jessica said.

  Blaze smiled and her eyes lit up. “I don’t want to be at this meeting, Olive. But I sat up all night, telling myself this had to be done. That I’d watch and get it out of my head fast and get on with my day. Go on duty and read The Baby Sitter’s Club. I’d sit up in that treehouse and flip through pages, putting Hazel and her world-famous hot cocoa away for good.” She grinned. “But I’m going to miss those. She always came up there and made me laugh as I tore that cocoa up. See, she’d stack it high with whipped cream and Oreo sprinkles. She makes it the best, ya know? Even better than my foster parents had. She’d even go as far as to add a dash of hazelnut syrup which really set that thing off in my mouth.” Her smile faded. “The thought of those moments never happening again makes my heart sag from my chest and fall into my stomach.” She sniffled and ran a finger under her eyelid. “Look at me, huh? She isn’t even dead yet and I’m crying like I did at Marla’s funeral.”

  Jessica nodded. Marla was nothing like Hazel, someone who wanted to help save everyone. But Hazel had done as much damage as Marla. She’d abducted, watched, reported. A right hand if Jessica had never seen one before. Where was that thin line between being deep undercover and becoming the person you were supposed to take down?

  “Alright, everyone, settle down,” Paul said as he took his place at the podium. He placed a notebook on the surface and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. He was far from the character she grew to know personally over the last month. His t-shirt was covered in yellow stains and deep green track pants covered the length of his legs until they met the tops of a pair of rugged boots with their laces loose. Dark rings lined the outside of his eyes and his hair was amiss with thick dark strands going every which way. He could’ve been a totally different person. Perhaps the drinking from the day before turned into a full out binge. “We have a lot of business to attend to with not enough time to cover everything.”

  The crowd hushed.

  “Right.” Paul squinted at his notepad. “The move to Nebraska is moved up to a week from today.”

  Murmurers and confused looks crossed the room.

  “Um. Father Paul, that’s—” McGee pointed out as he stood up.

  “I don’t have time to take questions. You need to be thinking about what and how you’re going to pack.”

  “We don’t have the vehicles to—”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just…” he put his hands out and his eyes bulged. “… fucking pack. When you’re done, put it all out near the Center. We’ll be moving it all into the vehicles you’re so worried about, McGee.”

  McGee frowned and sat down.

  Father Paul glared at the man. “Anyway...” He flexed his shoulders. “…as a ceremonial going away, we will have a feast. I expect the last cow, hog, and the few chickens to be slaughtered and turned into breakfast and dinner for the week. I want the beef, especially, to be used for a huge stew for the night before our departure. Toss whatever vegetables that may go bad in there as well.”

  Mercury stood. “Father Paul, if I may—”

  He huffed. “Not really but go ahead.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need help if you want the cow and pig slaughtered straight away. Mind you, we have a nice amount of meat that’s frozen from the last cow and hog. But—"

  “Fuck! Take your pick. Dammit! I don’t have time for this shit,” he snapped.

  With an aghast frown and a hand on her chest, Mercury sat down.

  “Who wants to help Mercury with her job? Raise your hands now.”

  Shelly and Nutty raised their hands.

  “Put your hands down!” Paul snapped. “You,” he pointed. “Er, Patty, Mr. Keys, and Basil will go help Mercury in the kitchen. Tate, Shelly, and Nutty will help Sister Green at the bodega. I want everything packed and accounted for. Boaty, you’ll be handling the item list as usual. Sister Green make sure you have the kids pile the snacks into the kitchen trailer. From there, make sure all the cakes, potato chips, and cookies are divvied up and sent to each trailer. This needs to be done by Monday morning. I want it cleared out. Got it?”

  Sister Green nodded.

  “Now.” He looked over his shoulder. “St. Pete,” he called out.

  St. Pete came up the steps from behind Paul. Jessica frowned. Attached to chains was Hazel, her eyes hidden behind a black blindfold. The chains dragged along the ground as Billy stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder as if he were a guide. Jessica glared into the boy’s face, to which he smiled at her in return.

  Fucking asshole.

  “So, you all may know about Hazel and her departure this morning. Well, who am I kidding? You’ve all seen her get dragged into the cell downstairs, yesterday.” He stepped from behind the podium. “There have been rumors going around: she broke a curfew rule, she lied to me about many things, she slacked on her duty…she beat on poor Olive.” He looked over at Hazel. “All of which are very true. This woman is an undercover cop for no other than Agent Morgan. And, as a means of getting in contact with him, she brought contraband into the compound. She’d sneak out and make calls and send messages to my enemy—our enemy!

  “She slacked on her job by giving Dale a small dose of the tranquilizer, which is why he was able to kill Marla! And even after we captured him, Hazel set him free after Olive’s initiation, using poor St. Pete’s time to mourn over Blue as an opportunity to fuck us over! She is no more than a serpent sent here to break us apart. If the police find us, they will take you all away, get you evaluated, and inject you back into society where you’d have to go back to those mundane jobs and unappreciative employers. Those monthly bills. Your hurtful peers. They want to snatch you off the true path to living a happy life until you meet a beautiful death which you would be personally shuttled into by me! Luckily Billy found out and Olive got the phone opened because we never would’ve known what to do. We never would’ve known the fuckery Hazel was up to. We wouldn’t’ve seen those agents creeping in after putting a bullet between Blaze’s eyes as she sat high up on her post, or Orion’s chest as he walked the perimeter. And we wouldn’t’ve stopped those bastards from dragging a blade across Domo’s neck as he combed the woods. Hazel wanted to hurt us more than she already has! Take that blindfold off her!”

  St. Pete untied and pulled the cloth from her eyes. She blinked hard and scowled at nothing.

  Blaze sobbed louder, prompting everyone to turn to her. She went to rise but Paul said, “Blaze! Sit the fuck down. You’re not the only one who has been hurt by this rat. Look at what you did, Hazel? Is this what you want? To hurt everyone? To make Blaze hurt? Look at her crying face!”

  Hazel clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes. Unadulterated hatred glazed her stare as they rested on Paul.

  Paul chuckled. “You have no one to hate other than yourself.” With baring teeth, he spat, “You did this, you rat cop. Get her out in the field! Domo, get the AKs and hurry up! I want this demon out of my sight and out of our lives,” he snarled.

  He pushed past Billy and Hazel as he stomped up from behind and threw the garage door open. It banged so hard against the ceiling that the building shook.

  “Hurry up!” he yelled, as he stepped outside.

  Everyone stood and followed close behind Billy, as he shoved Hazel from behind. Domo squeezed through the crowd, arms hugging three automatic weapons as he said ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon me’ while he made his way to the garage door.

  Hazel stood in front of the barn, her back to t
he woods, her eyes on the crowd.

  Paul turned to them. “Everyone has a camera, yes?” He stuck his hand out. “Everyone with a camera, get them ready.” Everyone, except those with a gun, Tilly and Boaty, wound their cameras and put them up to their faces. Jessica watched the perimeter behind her lens. She hoped to take a picture of the woods or something, anything, other than Hazel.

  “When my hand goes down, I want bullets to fly and the cameras to capture her going down. I would love to get a souvenir over to her boss.” He chuckled. “I would offer her last words, but there is nothing she can say about being a rat.”

  “Have you no mercy, Paul?” Hazel asked with a thick rasp. “I want to say something to my friends before you chop me down, or, better yet, have your cronies kill a federal agent.”

  He glowered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She snickered. “You may parade around in that mask and goggles, taking lives, claiming to be the Grim Reaper’s successor, but you know you can keep your hands clean. It’s funny how all these naive people follow you but do they know about what happened to your last host of followers? They think this is all new. Just thought up by a local. But it isn’t. He’s a deceitful, pathetic, little boy and killing me won’t change that.”