Cara Mia

by Denise Verrico

  Okay, here goes nothing. Good, it’s unlocked. It’s dark. I’ll wait a moment for the eyes to adjust to the darkness. There it is. Incinerators leave too much behind, Ethan always said, but this one was a scumbag. Lots of people hated him. Who thinks twice about a wasted pimp? Or a cast off concubine for that matter?

  Don’t start now. Christ, he’ll never fit in one piece. I can jam the legs in just a little further, but the arms will have to come off. Remember the way he taught you? Knife through the tendons, between the joint, just like boning a chicken. There. Nice work. All blood is gone, no muss, no fuss. A fitting epitaph? Burn in hell little man.

  What’s this sensation running through me? Is this freedom? Freedom! You’re free at last, little girl! Ethan said you couldn’t do it.

  “Ethan, you colossal prick, I’ll survive to see you rot. It’ll take a hell of lot more than you to kill me.”

  ONE

  Genpath Laboratories, Southern California, 2000

  Joe wasn’t happy. The neuroscientist’s plans for a relaxing evening with his girlfriend were just ruined by Lydia Loy, his boss. Slamming the door to Lydia’s office, he stalked down the hall to the security desk where a beefy, young red-haired man sat eating Chinese ramen soup from a Styrofoam cup.

  “Where’s the sergeant?”

  The guard looked up, broth and undulating noodles dribbling down his chin, at the tall, dark, angry man in front of him. “Upstairs.”

  “Get him down here.”

  “He’s got rounds.”

  “Get him the fuck down here, now!”

  “Yes, Doctor.” The guard picked up the phone and hit a button. “Sarge? Kramer here. You’re needed. Nah, she’s the same. One of the Docs… I’ll tell him…” The guard looked up at Joe. “He’ll be down in about twenty minutes.”

  “It’s imperative I see the female subject immediately. Tell him now or I’ll report him to Dr. Loy.”

  “It’s real important Sarge… Right, I’ll tell him.” The guard hung up the receiver. “He’s coming.”

  Joe set down his briefcase and medical bag, rapping his fingers impatiently against the gray granite desk. He glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. Shit, he was supposed to be at Jean’s place at eight. He’d never make it. Why did he have to go in there tonight? He was exhausted from setting up the new lab all day. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with that thing in the cell. He wanted to be fully alert when he went in there for the first time. On top of that he felt a migraine coming on.

  The elevator dinged and slid open. A huge sandy-haired man dressed in a khaki uniform and heavy black boots stood there with an annoyed expression on his pugnacious face. The Gulf War Vet’s face held remarked distaste. Joe supposed he looked too much like the enemy to suit him.

  The sergeant growled in a deep bass. “You wanted me?”

  “I’m going in to see the female.”

  The sergeant paled a moment, pulling at his bushy mustache in consternation and nodded. “Right, follow me.”

  Joe scooped up his belongings from the counter and started down the gray-carpeted corridor behind the sergeant. “Dr. Loy says she attacked Rider. She’s restrained?”

  The sergeant grunted, “Sedated too,” and strode to a door marked Broom Closet. “But we gotta take extra precautions.”

  Fumbling in his pockets he brought out a key ring to unlock the door. It swung open, revealing a neat little arsenal of rifles, tazers, clubs, cuffs and dart guns. Enough dangerous toys to keep the security boys happy, Joe reflected. The sergeant selected a high-powered rifle and loaded it.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  The guard looked at him oddly. “Doc, trust me on this one.”

  Joe’s heartbeat accelerated. Rider, the psychiatrist, ended up with a dislocated shoulder and fractured pelvis when he attempted to interview the subject. Apparently, she didn’t take to him and decided to take him a few rounds. Now he was given the unsavory duty of trying to examine her. This wasn’t exactly his specialty, but Lydia was convinced the violence had neurological significance.

  Take a look—talk with her—see what you can make of it. Maybe you can calm her down.

  The sergeant offered some unsolicited advice, “Listen pal—it ain’t human.”

  Joe corrected him. “Doctor.”

  The sergeant’s face worked as he digested Joe’s comment. “It looks like a nice little girlie but its every instinct is to kill. Don’t let down your guard for a minute.”

  At the end of the corridor another guard, a young, open-faced, African-American, sat in a chair between the doors leading to the two cells, also clutching a large caliber weapon in his hands.

  The sergeant nodded to him. “Any change?”

  “Howlin’ like a banshee when I checked on her ’bout half-hour ago. Pitched a real fit at chow time. Turned the intercom off so’s we didn’t have to hear. “

  Joe frowned. “Chow time?”

  “She wouldn’t…eat. They transfused her,” explained the sergeant. “We’re going in. Get on the horn—have three more men stand by.”

  “Three?” Joe asked. “You’ve got to be kidding?”

  The guard and the sergeant exchanged looks. A trickle of sticky sweat rolled down Joe’s backbone. His polo shirt clung uncomfortably to his body. Was it his imagination or was it ten degrees hotter down on this level? He wiped his damp forehead and noticed a smudge of black ink on his damp palm from the notebook Lydia had given him. Damn it. He rubbed it off on his jeans.

  The corridor was oddly quiet. Most of the staff already had gone home for the night. Only the constant drip of the malfunctioning air conditioning provided ambient sound. Joe wondered if the guards could hear his hammering heart. He chided himself for irrationality but couldn’t help wonder if she could hear it through the thick concrete walls. Did they listen for fresh heartbeats? For fresh blood? Nausea pitched his stomach.

  The sergeant opened a keypad by the door. “Got your clearance code?”

  Joe nodded, noticing a mangled mass of metal that had once been a chair near the door.

  “It records whoever makes a visit to the cells, and when. Flash your ID first—then punch in your code. When the light blinks put your palm in the reader. The outer door will open. Inside is the observation door. Just the palm there.”

  “And to get out?”

  “Fingerprint on the inside pad—if you need to get out fast. Didn’t help the shrink though—she was all over him in a second. See that chair?”

  Joe glanced at the twisted metal. “Yeah?”

  The sergeant looked vaguely amused. “Imagine it’s your spine. Left it to remind us what we’re dealin’ with.”

  Joe had no idea what to expect. Everything he’d been told up to now wasn’t exactly comforting. In his research into neurological roots of anti-social behavior he’d dealt with dangerous individuals with all manner of bizarre conditions. But this thing? Never in his wildest imaginings could he have ever have conceived of this. Vampirism? Not some goofy Goth kid who dressed in black and drank animal blood as part of some ridiculous adolescent rebellion. Not a victim of porphyria, necrophilia or any garden-variety psychosis, but an honest-to-god, human blood-drinking, immortal being. Apparently stronger and faster than humans to boot. Yet he was expected to go in there and talk, even reason with a blood-sucking monster out of a nightmare?

  “Ready?”

  A shiver passed down Joe’s vertebrae. He flashed the blue security card at the sensor and then deftly punched in the code. A series of beeps, reminding him of some old girl-group song from the early sixties, issued from the keypad. A small green light blinked. He placed his palm on the reader. A white painted door made of heavy steel, slid open. They passed through quickly as it closed behind with a whoosh and preceded to the next with its thick glass window. He saw nothing. The room was dark. It was below ground and there were no windows. Joe ran his palm over the smooth, cold surface of the glass. “Obviously she didn’t have any luck here.”

&n
bsp; “That’s three inch bulletproof glass—even so—she’s not that big. Neither is he. I’d hate to run into a really big guy. If there’s two there’s bound to be more. Like roaches, for every one you see there’s ten thousand more crawling around in the walls.”

  Joe chose to ignore the analogy. “Where is she?”

  “On the bed—tied up in a neat little package. Flipped out the minute we put her in without him. Lerner tried to talk sense. When we finally pulled her off him, Dr. Loy gave her the shot to calm her down. Took five of us to hold her. Knocked her flat in a second. Slept a long time, but when she woke up she started cussin’ everyone out.”

  “And him?”

  “The Docs took ’em for check-ups when they got here, and then we brought ’em separately to their cells. The boy’s pissed but he just stares when we look in, real creepy-like. There’s an intercom button on the wall to talk to her.”

  Joe took a deep breath then buzzed the intercom. Not really sure how to address her he called out cautiously, “Good evening, Ms. Disantini.”

  “Fuck you,” a voice snarled back. “I’ll pull your balls over your head if you touch me.”

  Joe wasn’t unaccustomed to being cursed at. In his residency he’d dealt with his share of Tourette’s cases and got over shouted obscenities pretty quick, besides he’d known the sound of hatred aimed at him ever since he’d come to this country. Joe answered breezily, even though he was scared shitless, “I’m Doctor Ansari, chief of neuroscience.”

  “Another god-damned nerd coming to prod at me? Go fuck yourself, unless you have a key to this dump. What have you done with Kurt? I want to see him!”

  “We’ll have to speak with Doctor Loy about that.”

  “Tight-assed bitch gave the orders to lock us up.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “You don’t sound like a nerd.” She paused again, as if weighing whether or not to let him in. Suddenly, she called out. “Let’s have a look at you, Doctor Asshole. Leave the baboon outside.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The sergeant, I can smell him out there.”

  Joe eyeballed the rifle. The sergeant was just a little too eager to plug the subject, and scared or not, this was Joe’s opportunity of a lifetime. He released the intercom button. “I’m going in. Please wait here.”

  The sergeant scratched his buzz-cut head, his face wrinkling up like confused Pekinese pup. “Can’t let you do that Doc.’’

  “I don’t need you.”

  “Doc, that thing’s not human. Hey, I was fooled too.” The sergeant leaned over to him and spoke confidentially, “She’s hot.”

  Joe wasn’t really sure what that bit of information mattered. “Wait outside.”

  “Doctor Loy said no one goes in there without an armed escort.”

  “I’ll deal with Doctor Loy.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “Whatever you say. Hit the buzzer if you need help. I’m right outside if she gives you any trouble.”

  Joe opened the observation doors, stepping inside quickly as they slid closed behind him, snapping on the overhead fluorescents.

  “Shut them, damn it!”

  He snapped them off. “I can’t see in the dark.”

  “Neither can I, asshole. There’s a lamp next to the door.”

  He felt around for the lamp, nearly knocking it over with his shaking hands, and clicked it on. The room filled with soft, pinkish light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a surprisingly small figure lying hunched up by the restraints on a low bed in the center of the small cell.

  “I can’t see you. They have my head restrained. Stand over here.”

  Joe walked over to the bed, every muscle tense, just in case this was a trick. A scent perfumed the air, like musk, a hint of sex in the bouquet. Bizarre. She was on her side, straight jacketed and strapped securely in a fetal position. He relaxed slightly. They’d put a leather mask over her face, like a muzzle, obviously to prevent biting. A pair of glittering, dark, almond-shaped eyes swept over him.

  “Well, this is definitely more like it. You’re the prettiest nerd I’ve ever seen—Dr. Asshole.”

  “Ansari. My…” he faltered, “My name is Ansari.”

  “Mmm, love a little taste of you.”

  The room grew hotter, his skin clammier. He loosened buttons on his polo shirt. Insistent pounding started in his head. Ignoring the comment, he set down his bag on the bed. “Dr. Rider was in?”

  She replied in a breathy whisper. “He left rather abruptly. Aren’t you afraid?”

  He chose his words carefully. “I’d rather not end up like Dr. Rider.”

  “You’re already points ahead of that myopic toad. I like the way you look.”

  He pulled a pen out of his pocket. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Get me out of the S&M gear and we’ll see.”

  His shirt was drenched now. A chill passed over him as the air conditioning kicked on. He weighed the probabilities. She wouldn’t cooperate with the restraints. But could he trust her if he released her? Panic gripped his chest. She might kill him. If he didn’t release her, the interview was at an end.

  “At least take off this mask,” she breathed. “I promise I don’t look as horrible as I sound.”

  He made his decision and began unfastening the strap holding her neck down, hands trembling. The buckle caught in her thick, dark hair. He worked to unsnarl it as if it was one of his twin daughters’ barrettes. Who knew if she felt pain? It was the most nerve-wracking task he’d ever performed—like a cop on the bomb squad felt sent in to disarm an explosive. He kept expecting her to break free of the straps and strangle him. Finally he worked the metal free from her hair and removed the mask. He wasn’t prepared for the sight.

  How could something so foul look so…well…pure? Her face was pretty, but not in the conventional, All-American way but in the timeless fashion of a renaissance Madonna, a Leonardo, disturbing in its apparent youth and innocence. Its porcelain skin was smooth, framed by the somewhat short, dark hair. Her cheeks were round and pinkish, and the smallish mouth like an absurd little rosebud. Her arresting hazel eyes cut him to the quick: deep, sharply intelligent, looking straight into his, glittering enigmatically. Shards of broken mirror. They’d seen a hell of a lot more than the innocence of her countenance suggested.

  Her voice dropped somewhere deep in her chest, rich and resonant, screen sirenish, “Not quite what you expected Doctor?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The girlish phiz.” A smile gelled and set on her face as she stared back.

  Disturbed, he looked away and down to his clipboard. “I’ve been sent to do a basic assessment—I have a few simple questions.”

  “Never said I’d answer any questions. Where’s Kurt?”

  He looked up. She regarded him like the proverbial cat. He turned away again. The probing eyes spooked him too much. He covered by jotting down bogus notes on his clipboard. The only thing he’d really observed so far was that she was as intimidating as hell. “He’s right next-door.”

  “If he was I could hear him.”

  “These walls are at least a foot-thick.”

  “I can hear better than you.”

  “He hasn’t said much.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. How is he?”

  “He hasn’t attacked anyone, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t been to see him.”

  “Get me out of this thing.”

  “I’ve been advised not to.”

  “But you have the authority?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You think for an instant I’d treat you like those baboons? You’re obviously evolved a notch or two above them.” Her voice grew husky again, “To a gentleman I can be a lady.”

  His gut told him she was telling the truth. Still, if he pissed her off somehow, he could end up a mangled mess like the chair in the corridor. He was dealing with a large, dangerous animal, only this animal was equipped with an intellect and from what he saw, a pretty
sharp one. He was uncertain how to treat her—even if he’d addressed her properly. Were there certain cultural mores they observed? A social ranking? She spoke to him with certain arrogance. Racism perhaps? He could deal with that. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Taking out a small light, he said, “Look into the light, follow it with your eyes.”

  “Ooh, how commanding.”

  Despite her mocking, she complied without protest. Was she playing some kind of game? He jotted down his observations on the clipboard, and then followed with some simple tests of response to visual and aural stimuli. The tests were crude compared to the precise laboratory instruments. Her responses were extremely rapid. He longed to test her reflexes and muscle control but that would involve releasing her from the restraints and he wasn’t quite ready to take that leap of faith. All he wanted to do was to get this over with and escape in one piece. He didn’t trust her and doubted if she trusted him.

  But his mission was to win that trust. At the last moment Lydia thrust these grimy little notebooks into his hands and ordered him to read them to see what he could make of them. They were found when they’d ransacked her backpack, the only thing she’d brought with her. Both of them had arrived bedraggled, with the clothes on their back, he with a laptop computer in a case and she with the small leather bag. He wondered why Lydia had found it necessary to search it.

  He rubbed his eyes in agitation. Too much was left unsaid on both sides. Lydia obviously had nefarious motives in sending him in here, but his distaste couldn’t outweigh his desire to get to the bottom of the situation.

  He already had too much on his plate. But now that Rider was laid up, Lydia explained, someone had to work with them. Find out what made them tick, she said. Why him? Because, he was the only one left on the staff with any expertise in treating mental disorders she told him. But only from a neurological standpoint, he argued. Besides, he’d wasted very little time in clinical, moving quickly into research. He wasn’t exactly noted for his bedside manner. Yes, he was very interested in what secrets her brain would reveal, but he didn’t care to hear them coming out of her mouth.