by P. T. Hylton
Contents
Book One: Regulation 19
- Chapter One: Under the Law
- In the Before (Part 1)
- Chapter Two: Same Old Town
- In the Before (Part 2)
- Chapter Three: Certified
- In the Before (Part 3)
- Chapter Four: Cases
- In the Before (Part 4)
- Chapter Five: The Cassandra Lock
- The Bad Thing That Happened
- Chapter Six: Seven Nights in Rook Mountain
- The Unregulated (Part 1)
- Chapter Seven: Regulation 19
- The Unregulated (Part 2)
- Chapter Eight: Away
- The Unregulated (Part 3)
- Chapter Nine: The Broken Clock
- The Unregulated (Part 4)
- In the After
Book Two: A Place Without Shadows
- Prologue
- Chapter One: The Curbside Killer
- In the Woods (Part One)
- Chapter Two: Sanctuary
- In the Woods (Part Two)
- Chapter Three: Artifacts
- In the Woods (Part Three)
- Chapter Four: The Pulse
- In the Woods (Part Four)
- Chapter Five: The Price
- In the Woods (Part Five)
- Chapter Six: The Broken World
- In the Woods (Part Six)
- Chapter Seven: Always Spinning
- In the Woods (Part Seven)
- Chapter Eight: A Place without Shadows
- In the Woods (Part Eight)
- Epilogue
Book Three: The Broken Clock
- Prologue
- Chapter One: Swarm
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part One)
- Chapter Two: Strained
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part Two)
- Chapter Three: The Rough-Shod Readers
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part Three)
- Chapter Four: The Key Without a Lock
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part Four)
- Chapter Five: Frank’s Dilemma
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part Five)
- Chapter Six: Seven Years in King’s Crossing
- The Boy Who Found the Watch (Part Six)
- Chapter Seven: Reunion
- The Man with the Watch (Part One)
- Chapter Eight: The Quarry
- The Man with the Watch (Part Two)
- Chapter Nine: The Lock Without a Key
- The Last of the Hinkles
- Author's Note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
Regulation 19
Book One of the Deadlock Trilogy
By P.T. Hylton
CHAPTER ONE: UNDER THE LAW
1.
Frank Hinkle was staring at the murder weapon in his hand when Correctional Officer Rodgers called his name.
“Hinkle!”
Frank squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a near silent curse.
He had been standing in the prison yard, drifting. Not even thinking. Just drifting. It had been happening more lately, the sense that his mind had become un-anchored from reality. He would find himself standing in the middle of the yard with no idea how long he’d been there. The old timers said the longer you were inside, the more it happened. You would find yourself losing bits of everything—time, your personality, even the reality of the prison walls around you. Still, common or not, it was damn unsettling.
If he had seen the Newg striding toward him, he would have turned and walked the other way. But he had been drifting hard, and he didn’t see the Newg until the other man was up in his face.
The day Jerry Robinson arrived at NTCC, one of the men in the yard called him ‘the New Guy’. As a reward for this burst of wit, Robinson punched the inmate in the throat. In spite of the throat-punch, the nickname had stuck. Over the years, it had morphed from ‘the New Guy’ to ‘the Newg.’ and somewhere along the way the Newg had come to embrace his new name. He even had it memorialized on his right bicep in prison ink.
While the Newg wasn’t opposed to a good old-fashioned throat punch when the need arose, he now preferred to repay perceived slights with a shank. He’d doled out one such repayment only two days ago, and the COs were in an unusual hurry to find out who had stabbed the kid in the shower.
The Newg gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he spoke. “Man, I need your help. I know I ain’t paid you back for what you did before, so I feel real bad asking. But I ain’t got no choice.”
Frank blinked hard. His mind snapped back to reality, but he still felt like he was playing catch up, jumping into the middle of a conversation he didn’t fully understand.
The Newg must have taken Frank’s silence as permission to continue. “Need you to hold on to this for me.”
Something slipped into Frank’s hand. He didn’t have to look to see what the Newg had handed him. Frank’s mind, and his pulse, sped to life.
“Whoa, Newg,” he said. “I respect you, and you know I’d love to help. But you also gotta know I’m not putting a murder weapon in my bunk.”
The Newg’s face scrunched up in desperation. The man wasn’t handsome to begin with and the look did nothing to improve the situation. “You were at the laundry, right? They got you signed in at the time of death, and at least three guards laid eyes on you while you were working.”
“It doesn’t matter where I was. They’re going to keep tossing bunks until they find something. How did they not find this already?”
The Newg glanced around and lowered his voice. “I got a hiding spot in the yard. But it’s not the kind of spot that’s gonna withstand a full sweep.”
That was the moment the voice came, shouting his name like it was a cuss word. “Hinkle!”
The Newg looked up and the color drained from his face. He backed up. “Looks like Rodgers wants a word.”
“Newg!” Frank whispered as loudly as he dared. He still hadn’t turned to acknowledge the CO’s call. “Get back here and take this thing!”
The Newg wiggled his head back and forth, his eyes never leaving the figure behind Frank. “I appreciate this. I owe you double.” He turned and hustled away.
Frank remained frozen. There was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. He snuck the shank into the waistband of his pants and pushed it down as far as he dared. If he shoved it down too far, it would fall down his pant leg and onto the ground. Guards tended to notice stuff falling out of the leg of an inmate’s pants. It was an all too common, last resort option for getting rid of contraband in the loose-fitting, pocketless prisoner’s clothing.
“Hinkle! You got shit in your ears? I’ve been calling your name for two minutes.”
Frank felt a hand on his shoulder, this one from behind him, and he grimaced. He turned and saw Correctional Officer Rodgers standing there, the light hint of a smile on his face. When CO Rodgers smiled, it was never a good sign.
Frank had most of the guards figured out, but Rodgers...Rodgers was different than the others. Rodgers was smart. He was good looking. He was an athlete. Fifteen years ago, Frank had been in the stands the day Rodgers had led the Bristol, Tennessee High School football team to a stunning victory over Virginia High. The kid had been a natural athlete.
Rodgers went on to play for UT his freshman year of college before being cut from the team as a sophomore. He finished school and got his degree in criminology. And then, for some reason, he had come to work with a bunch of dunces and thugs who’d barely made it through high school.
“Sorry about that,” Frank said. “I was spacing out. Didn’t hear you.”
Rodgers grunted. He nodded his head toward the Newg who was now halfway across the yard. “Having a little conversation with Robinson?”
Frank nodded, not quite meeting the other man’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Every time I give you a little bit of credit and start thinking maybe you're an actual human being with a functioning brain, you gotta turn around and prove me wrong. Why is that? Did you have to train hard to act so stupid or does it come naturally?”
The shank in Frank’s waistband felt huge. Rodgers had to see it. Any moment he would blow his little whistle and ten guards would sprint across the yard and tackle Frank to the ground.
Frank said, “I guess it comes naturally, boss.”
The smile faded from Rodgers’s face. “That was a rhetorical question, Hinkle. See what I’m saying? You just proved my damn point.” He grabbed Frank’s right arm and marched toward the administration building. “Come on. Warden wants to have a chat.”
“What?” Frank asked. He struggled to keep up without dislodging the shank from its precarious position. “What’s the warden—?”
Rodgers stopped and spun to face Hinkle. He leaned in close to the prisoner’s face. “Do me a favor. Keep your feet on that side of the yellow line and don’t speak unless you are asked a direct question.”
Frank may not have understood the inner workings of CO Rodgers’s mind, but he did know enough basic guard psychology to understand that Rodgers had no idea why the warden wanted to see him.
They stopped outside the door to the administration building. “Hands in front.”
Frank held out his wrists, and Rodgers clicked the handcuffs into place. “Okay, let’s move,” Rodgers said.
They entered the administration building and walked down a long, institutional gray hallway. It didn’t look much different from the other buildings in the NTCC except for the doors. They were standard office building doors with nameplates instead of the heavy metal monstrosities found in the rest of the prison.
Northern Tennessee Correctional Complex wasn’t a terrible place, at least as far as maximum security prisons went. The bizarre rule changes during Frank’s nine years inside had made things worse, but the location was still hard to beat. The prison was located in Rook Mountain, Tennessee, and the prison yard views of the Smoky Mountains could be outright breathtaking. Still, even after nine years, the sight of the administration building unnerved him.
He had been in this building once before. He had been scared that time, but at least he had known why the warden wanted to see him. He could reveal or withhold the facts as he wished. That little bit of power had been something to hold on to, something to savor. Even though they had him in handcuffs, he chose whether to talk. This time, he had no power.
Also, last time he hadn’t had a murder weapon in his elastic waistband.
Rodgers led Frank into a room with no windows. The warden sat in a chair behind a large metal table. The fluorescent overhead lighting gave his already weathered face a sickly hue. He looked uncomfortable, like maybe he was suffering from a bout of gas. He nodded to Rodgers, and the guard moved Frank to the lone chair on the near side of the table. Frank sat down, and Rodgers locked the handcuffs in the latch built into the table for this purpose. Then Rodgers took a few steps back until he was out of Frank’s field of vision.
The warden leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “We’ve only got a few moments, so listen to what I am about to tell you.”
Frank shifted in his seat.
“An hour ago I got a call from Rook Mountain City Hall. They told me Becky Raymond needs to meet with you. I know you haven’t had the chance to keep up with politics lately, but Ms. Raymond is the city manager of Rook Mountain.”
The warden stared at Frank for a long moment.
Frank had the feeling that he was supposed to say something. He couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. “This the same Becky Raymond who used to work at the Road Runner gas station out on Dennis Cove Rd?”
The warden leaned even closer. Frank saw beads of sweat forming on the big man’s forehead. “Ms. Raymond is going to be here any minute, so don’t be cute. I need answers. What the hell does the city manager want with you?”
Frank shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Come on. Think!”
“I...I guess it could be something to do with my brother. He works for the city. Maybe he’s up for a promotion, and they want to interview me for some background check or something.”
Rodgers snickered behind him. “I’m pretty sure your brother isn’t up for a promotion.”
The warden smacked the table. “You expect me to believe the Rook Mountain city manager would come down here and walk into this prison about a background check?”
Frank paused, unsure of how to continue. “All due respect, but it seems like you may be thinking about this a little too hard. We're going to find out what she wants in a few minutes, right?”
The warden shook his head. “You don’t understand. Things have changed in Rook Mountain. The city manager represents the board of selectmen, and the Board...” The warden paused. He glanced at Rodgers as if looking for an assist, but the CO remained silent. The warden continued. “The Board has done amazing things since you’ve been inside. Wonderful things. But there are rules –”
If Frank hadn’t been looking at the door behind the warden, he wouldn’t have seen it. But he was, and he saw a flash of blue light through the crack below the door.
The door opened and a tall, sharply dressed woman in her early fifties marched into the room. She moved toward the table and held out her hand to the warden. “Warden Cade?”
The warden leapt to his feet and shook her hand. “Yes ma’am. It’s an honor. Thanks for coming down. I think you’ll find what we are doing here is in keeping with the Regulations.”
“Fine.” She slid into the nearest chair and looked at Frank. Her face was all sharp angles. Her deep brown eyes perfectly matched her hair color. “Mr. Hinkle,” she said, “how would you like to get out of prison?”
2.
Will Osmond drew a deep breath and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. They were hiking through a dense stand of pine trees, but it wouldn’t be long now. In a few moments, they would step out of the trees and onto the round bald top of the mountain. The view would be worth it. It always was.
Henry Strauss said, “You holding up okay?”
Will stopped and glanced back at the other man. Henry was red with heat and slick with sweat. Both men were in their late thirties, but, when Will compared his own stamina with that of the six twelve-year-old boys hiking with them, he felt much older.
The two men held up the rear of the procession. Ostensibly, this was so that they could keep watch on the boys in front of them. In truth, it was so they could go at a non-lethal pace without the kids stepping on their heels.
Will grunted in reply.
“Yeah, me too,” Henry said. “It sure was easier when we could drive up.”
Will ignored that last comment. Sometimes it was better to let things slide.
He said, “We made it. That’s the important thing. Almost made it, anyway.”
Two years ago, the board of selectmen had decided vehicles were not allowed past the old ranger station on Rook Mountain. Before that, you could drive all the way up to the parking lot at Carter's Gap. A stroke of a pen turned a fifteen-minute hike into an excursion that took a whole afternoon. Will had no idea why the board had passed the change or what danger a vehicle near the summit of Rook Mountain might pose, but he had long ago stopped asking those types of questions out loud.
When it came to the board of selectmen, trust was a must.
Will stopped for a moment and waited for Henry to catch up to him. Then he fell in step with the other man. When he spoke, it was quiet enough that only Henry could hear him. “Did you see what I saw half a mile back?”
Henry nodded. “Under that boulder by the overlook?”
&nb
sp; Will smiled. “Good eye. We have to deal with it on the way back.”
Henry arched his eyebrow. “What about the boys?”
“The boys are the reason we have to deal with it,” Will said. “What if one of them saw the backpack wedged under that boulder? The hiker wasn’t even trying to hide what he’s doing.”
Henry nodded. “So the kids might have seen it. That’s not the end of the world. We’ll report it when we get back to town and let the boys sign the testimony. It’ll be good for them.”
Will snorted. “We're supposed to be teaching these kids to be men, right? How’s it look if we just go back and report it? Sure, we’re fulfilling the letter of the Regulations, but we aren’t doing our duty. Is that what you want to teach Carl? 'Cause it’s sure as hell not what I want to teach Trevor. By the time we go to town, file our report, and the law gets back up here, the hiker could be long gone.”
Henry squinted at him. “What are you suggesting we do?”
“You know what I’m suggesting. I’m suggesting we teach our boys to uphold the Regulations.”
Neither man spoke again for a few long moments. Only the call of distant birds and the excited chatter of the boys on the trail ahead cut the silence.
Finally Henry said, “You’re right. We don’t have a choice. We need to take care of it on the way back down.”
Will nodded. “Good man.”
Henry was the leader of their Rook Mountain Scout troop. Henry’s son Carl was Trevor’s best friend, so Henry and Will saw a lot of each other. The two men weren’t close. It was mostly a quick hello when dropping off the kids at some activity or a little chat around the dessert table at a school function.
It had come as a surprise when Henry invited Will to help out with this camping trip. Will knew Henry wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t desperate. The Scout troop’s usual co-leader had come down with a case of something or other, and Henry had nowhere else to turn. People got a little nervous around Will because of his job. Combined with his wife Christine’s job and...well, they didn’t get invited to a lot of cookouts. Sometimes he thought it wasn’t fair the way they were cut off socially just because they served the community. Other times he felt like it was a necessary evil.