by J. D. Sloane
“Long enough to know better, Mr. White,” she said, throwing the phrase at him with such rote indifference that he felt that deep, subterranean pang again, his rage turning it into something vaguely unhealthy as she turned her back on him. He looked over the stiff white length of her lab coat as Lance cleared his throat and then met her eyes with the sudden full force of his attention as she turned around.
“Don’t tell me you’re here for the career satisfaction,” He said, cocking his head slightly as his dark blond hair shifted across the deep groove of his scar. “Hard to believe Mr. Helton would let a girl like you out of his sight for long.”
The doctor froze as Ronan cleared his throat, his lips twitching into a smile as she glanced towards her left hand.
“Just a lucky guess, Doc,” he said, giving her a wink. “Don’t worry. You remembered to take it off.”
Helton opened her mouth as if to say something and then dropped her hand to her side, giving him a look of outright dislike as she balled it into a fist.
“Mr. Stone,” she said, her voice low and acid as she took a step backwards and then peeled off her gloves. “Would you mind finishing up here? It’s not nearly as deep as it looks.”
Ronan watched her turn on her heel, allowing himself the brief, intoxicating fantasy of wrestling her to her hands and knees and dragging her backwards into the metal cage behind them and then rolled his eyes in Lance’s direction as he cleared his throat again, nodding as if he had made a salient point.
“Don’t mind the doctor,” Lance said, looking over the metal tray as Ronan raised his brows. “They’ve been stretching her incredibly thin these last few weeks. She isn’t usually that bad.”
“Oh no?” Ronan asked, leaning back as he held out his arm again. “How bad is she on a good day?”
Lance bit back a snicker and held up his hand as he picked up a long surgical needle and then put it down again.
“Um…pretty bad I guess? She doesn’t seem to like prison work much.”
“So I gathered. What about you? Don’t mind the colorful atmosphere?”
“No, not really. I worked in a hospital overseas before this. At least here they’re not shooting at us, right?”
Ronan felt something quick and amused flicker behind his polite expression and controlled it casually as Lance turned around and scratched the back of his neck with one gloved hand.
“I need to get some more thread. She’s right, it looks a lot worse than it is, but you were cut in a strange way. It may take a lot of stitches to close it up. The guy that did this. It was with a shiv?”
“Felt like one,” Ronan said, his low, gravelly voice smooth and relaxed. “But I couldn’t really say. I never saw it coming.”
Ronan looked back towards the end of the medical center as he saw the doctor give him a tight, disapproving grimace and then closed her office door on him like a high school principal who’d grown weary of his antics. He brushed his fingers over his lips, still enjoying the quick violent daydream of dragging her across the tile floor enough to replay it and then felt his mood darken as a sudden vivid image of Brooke opening her eyes burned through his mind like a nuclear blast, the quick, unexpected agony of it enough to make him wince. He looked back towards the metal cage as he saw Lance disappear into a storage closet and patted his shirt pocket quickly, pulling out the lone pin-up card lying against his chest as he smoothed it out gravelly.
It was a rare Joker pin-up girl, the kind of lush color image that would’ve once looked right at home on the side of a B-17 Bomber, lost to a world before photographed pornography had cornered the entire market of male hearts and minds. In it a girl in a long red robe sat at an old-fashioned dressing table and examined her face in the mirror, the angle of her body exposing her breasts almost completely. Ronan ran his finger over the girl’s lips, her long, glossy black hair falling across one wide green eye and then closed his eyes as he allowed himself to get close to it for a moment, watching the drawn image of Brooke come to life while he felt the pain of her absence hollow him from the inside out.
Soon, he thought, rolling his shoulders as he began to feel the white-hot flood of rage rush to fill the emptiness inside him like a sonic boom. Soon, soon, soon…
Ronan ran his tongue over his lips as he heard Lance walk back into the room and tucked the card into his pocket as he scratched the back of his neck, his expression disappearing as quickly as a yanked shut attic door. He whistled under his breath as Lance produced the thread and then considered him with narrowed eyes as he pulled it through the eye of the surgical needle with a smooth, effortless air.
“You can rest your arm on the table if you want,” Lance said, pulling up a metal stool as he sat down in front of him. “Like I said, this may take a while.”
“Nurses, nurses,” Ronan muttered as Lance stuck the needle into the area below his elbow first and leaned closer as he dragged the thick, shiny thread through. “I miss the women, to be honest with you. No. Offense. Implied.”
“No, I get it,” Lance said, sticking the needle in again. “A lot of the guys feel that way.”
“The cage down the hall. Behind the check-in desk. Are those the only guns they keep on this block?”
Lance looked up, his hand freezing in midair and then looked down as his brow furrowed.
“I don’t know,” he said lowering his voice as he dragged the needle through again. “That’s not really my department. The guards in this block kind of hang together, you know?”
“Hmm,” Ronan said looking around the medical wing casually, as he tipped his head to the side. “The guards. And would you say you know those men pretty well?”
“I-I just started here in May. I don’t know anyone that well, Mr. White.”
“Well no time like the present, Lance. And who doesn’t like making new friends? I hear your generation just about invented social networking.”
Lance glanced over his shoulder and Ronan followed his gaze, something hard and vicious dancing just behind the curtain of his polite expression.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about the delightful Miss Helton.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Lance said, his light eyes leaping with apprehension as he leaned closer. “I do. But I can’t get into any trouble. I just can’t.”
“Well I’d say that depends on you, Lance,” Ronan said, turning his wrist towards him slightly as he held his eyes. “And feel free to be honest with me. How satisfied would you say you are with your current employer?”
Chapter Two
Alicia Gale glanced up as the prison loomed large in the windshield, rapping her fingernails against her window as she craned her neck around to get a better look at the grounds. She paused as she caught the bruised surface of a street sign as the van glided up the drive and snapped at her cameraman behind her, her round gold eyes bright and alert.
Welcome to Detroit! The sign had once read. One Way Forward.
A pretty nice sentiment, Alicia thought. Until someone decided to improve on it.
“Right there, get the sign,” she said, turning to point out the back window. “Slow down, Lance. I want a shot of that.”
Lance sighed under his breath and then pulled the van to one side as Daniel swung his camera up to his shoulder, adjusting it with his free hand as he kicked open the back door.
“You want a close-up of the sign?”
“I just want the graffiti. We can play it over the opening montage.”
Alicia flipped down her visor and smoothed her golden blond hair behind one ear as she checked her make-up, smiling slightly as she caught a glimpse of the sign behind her. In bright white spray paint someone had scrawled over the word ‘Detroit’ and the word ‘Forward’.
Welcome to Wonderland! The faded green face now read. One Way Down.
“Getting yourself all dolled up for him?” Lance asked raising his brows as Alicia adjusted the line of her lipstick with the tip of one finger. “You�
��re going to make me jealous.”
Alicia bit back a smile and pushed her visor up as she looked over her shoulder.
“Aww, that’s sweet. And kind of pathetic. Did you see the sign?”
“No. What’s it say?”
“Look for yourself.”
Lance adjusted his side mirror with one hand and then laughed as Daniel dropped the camera and gave him a thumbs up, hopping into the backseat as Lance pulled back out onto the main drive with a spin of his hand.
“Those signs were always such a crock of shit,” Daniel said, swinging his camera to the floor. “I couldn’t believe the city approved them.”
Alicia rolled her eyes across the windshield following the wide stretch of freshly laid black-top up to an official looking barbed wire fence and guard booth at the top of the drive. She turned her head as she caught her first glimpse of the building they were heading towards, the tall, spired roof and imposing stone and brick facade lending it the look of historical museum rather than the central block and administrative offices of a brand new, men’s prison.
So this is what became of all of Connor’s bright shining plans for the future, she thought, her stomach doing a strange little flip as she glanced around the prison grounds. One more prison in a city of crime. That seems pretty fitting considering his reputation.
Alicia turned her head as the van rolled up next to the booth and a heavy-set guard with wire-rimmed glasses glanced up from his clipboard. She craned her neck in his direction as Lance held up his ID badge.
“Channel Six,” he said, nodding in her direction. “Crew and talent. You should have us on the list.”
The guard squinted at the side of the van and then did a quick double-take as Alicia gave him a curt little smile, flipping to the second page of his clipboard without really looking at it.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that was today. You’re here to interview White, right?”
“We’re just shooting some preliminary stuff today. Cyrus Dula said he’d be meeting us at Building C. Is this it?”
“This is C. You can park over there in the front lot. I’ll call down to the warden right away.”
Alicia let her hair flip away from her ear as she tilted her head at him, gesturing to the cameraman without turning her head.
“Mind if we get a few shots of the building first? It looks like rain. We might not be able to do them later.”
The guard nodded and gave her a quick fan’s smile as he fiddled with his collar.
“Yeah, of course. You used to be the weather girl, didn’t you? I used to watch your forecast in the mornings. What was it you used to say? You had some kind of a catch phrase. My wife, my ex-wife, she used to do this thing when you’d come on…”
Lance glanced at his watch and scratched his neck, his jaw shifting with impatience.
“Look, man. I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re on a little bit of a time schedule here, you know? And we’re already running behind.”
The guard blushed, looking crestfallen and then held up his hand, giving Alicia one last once-over before stepping back inside the booth. He rolled his hand as the gate started to yawn open and Lance gave him a wave as they passed through, cutting his eyes in Alicia’s direction.
“Hi!” he said is a high, impossibly bright voice. “I’m Alicia Gale. Weather Six first!”
Lance gave her a wink as Alicia turned her head towards the window.
“The only one you trust!”
Daniel burst into laughter behind them as Alicia rolled her eyes, the good humor fading from her face the instant they passed the front gate.
“Fucking hilarious,” she said tightly. “Really. And I wish you’d stop announcing us as ‘crew and talent’. At some point someone’s going to figure out that you’re being condescending.”
Lance smile broadened as he scratched his beard, pulling into a spot close to the walkway.
“Well that’s what you are, aren’t you?”
Alicia tapped the front of the windshield and then cracked open her door, reaching into the backseat behind her to grab her wireless microphone.
“Right there. Set up there. And be sure you get the sky. Christ, this place looks like some kind of church.”
She cracked open her door as Lance slid out of the driver’s seat and took one long step down onto the pavement, shading her eyes as she followed the dark brick building up to its sharp peaked roof. She turned towards the fenced field behind her, one long covered walkway leading back towards what she considered more traditional looking cell blocks. She noticed that there seemed to be two guard towers in her immediate sight range and tracked the outer grounds almost to the river, the water winking along the Belle Isle shoreline in restless lap of gray-black waves.
“Why is this building different than the others?” Daniel asked, uncoiling the boom hookup with a careless twirl of one arm. “That looks more like a prison. I don’t know what this looks like.”
“I don’t know,” Alicia said, stepping closer to the door as she smoothed out her tight gray wrap-dress with one hand. “I don’t think this was ever intended to be part of the prison. I think the area over there was going to be expensive condos or something. But after Connor was…after he died, construction just sort of fell apart. Daniel, could you get a shot of the grounds? Just a wide, panoramic shot. And try not to twitch. We actually have to use some of this footage at some point.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel said turning his back on her as he rolled the camera back towards the prison yard in a long smooth arc.
Alicia stepped up onto the wide bottom step leading up to the doorway and then pointed in the direction of the front door plaque as she adjusted her stance.
“And get a close-up of the dedication sign when I turn my head. I want them to see Connor’s name as I’m talking. Then back to me. Okay? Are we ready?”
Daniel swung the camera in her direction and then dropped to one knee, angling the lens up towards the doorway.
“All right,” he said, nodding. “We’re good.”
Alicia waited for Lance to take a step closer with the boom and then dropped her chin slightly, her catlike eyes suddenly bright and animated.
“And this is where we find ourselves,” Alicia said, turning her head towards the doorway as Daniel swung the camera away from her and then slowly turned it back.
“At the Patrick Connor Correctional Facility. But not where the story begins. More than 26 months ago, notorious drug trafficker and crime boss Ronan White began his reign of terror on the city. It was a reign which started with the brutal public murder of Emergency Manager Patrick Connor and fourteen others on a charity boat cruise around this very island.
“This was a place close to Connor’s heart, an island he hoped would revitalize the city’s struggling economy with condos, parks and small businesses. Some opposing voices in the city liked to refer to it as Connor’s “Wonderland”, and here, here is where his project ended. As a state prison. Home to the very man who killed him and brought about the death of his vision for the city.”
Alicia waited a beat, holding her eyes on the camera.
“Welcome to Wonderland.”
Lance dropped the boom, raising his eyebrows in her direction.
“Good,” he said. “That sounded good. Once more for safety?”
Alicia scratched her temple and shrugged.
“I don’t know. Are we really going with ‘reign of terror’ here? I mean that’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?”
“Try ‘reign of infamy’,” a voice said from behind them.
Alicia smiled and gave Warden Cyrus Dula a wave as he approached, tucking her hair back behind her ear as she stepped down from the stairs. Dula gave her crewmen a nod as they swung around in his direction and took Alicia’s hand as she approached, his shrewd blue eyes searching her face with a detached mix of curiosity and admiration that never ceased to annoy her.
That and the other thi
ng, Alicia thought, biting her inner lip as his handshake went on for a second too long, like it always did. Something that feels a lot like contempt although I bet he would deny it outright if I ever called it that.
“Infamy is good. I like infamy.”
“That bodes well for you, Alicia,” he said, giving her a warm, boyish smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Considering your current assignment.”
“So this is it, huh?” Lance said, running his fingernails through the scruff of his beard and looked up at the huge stone edifice in front of them with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Guess that little pipe dream of Connor’s never amounted to much. After White gave him the old…”
He clucked his tongue and made a quick slicing motion across his neck as Alicia pressed her lips together, trying not to enjoy the way Dula bristled under his words. Lance considered himself to be the consummate working man’s artist, as unimpressed by Dula’s celebrity as he was with everything else.
“I’m not sure that was entirely White’s doing,” Dula said stiffly. “Despite what the newspapers have to say about it. There were many factors at play that contributed to our being here, Mister…?”
Alicia took a step forward and nodded in Lance and Daniel’s direction.
“Cyrus, this is Lance Davis and Daniel Strong. They’ll be my crew on the ground here.”
“Of course,” Dula said, ignoring them with a casual turn of his shoulders as he gave Alicia his undivided attention. “I was actually under the impression that this was a preliminary visit, Alicia. I would certainly never have agreed to allow filming inside on such short notice.”
Lance rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and raised his brows, his impish face now on journalistic seek and destroy mode as Dula threw him a dismissive look.
“So, it doesn’t bother you at all that some citizens are calling this place a public menace?”
“Not at all, Mr. Davis,” Dula said his smooth handsome face pulling up into a stiff smile. “And of course, they would say that, wouldn’t they? After all, nothing stirs up less public interest than a safe, state of the art prison facility, does it? This city has been in need of a new prison for some time. And, believe me, they are as thrilled to have us as we are to be here.”