by J. D. Sloane
Lance pointed his finger at the building in front of him and then swept it across the whole yard, motioning towards the gates with a twist of his hand.
“I’m only repeating what I hear, Mr. Dula. And I hear that people are concerned, seeing as how your whole facility is less than a mile away from the downtown area…”
“I assure you, Mr. Davis that our facility is not only safe, but on the absolute cutting edge of criminal rehabilitation. If it puts your mind at ease at all, rest assured that our facility is one of the most secure prisons in the entire country. Despite this building’s somewhat unconventional appearance.”
He made a gesture to Alicia that tried hard to be gallant.
“I hate to insist Alicia, but we really must be getting inside.”
Lance rolled his jaw in Alicia’s direction and then sighed, his jaw jutting forward as it sometimes did when Matt gave him some softball assignment he felt was below his paygrade.
“Fine,” Alicia said, meeting Lance’s eyes as she turned around. “Give me a minute.”
She walked back to the van and flung open the back doors as Lance followed her back, reaching for her large leather bag as his face tightened with anger.
“Christ, you’re not going for this, are you? This is pure bullshit and you know it.”
Alicia transferred her recording equipment into the leather tote on her arm without looking up.
“Go and shoot the outer grounds and some footage of the yard. If the guards will talk, let them. I’ll deal with White. And Dula.”
Lance grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, lowering his voice.
“Alicia, this facility is the story, okay?” he said, tilting his head at her and if she wasn’t quite grasping the situation. As if she was still some cheerful, vacant-eyed weather girl, bouncing around in front of a green screen while the world looked on.
“As far as I’m concerned White is just our way in.”
Alicia shrugged her arm to break his grip and then slid her bag up on her shoulder.
“Maybe, maybe not. But I know this guy, Lance. If we push that angle now, Cyrus will kill it right here. White’s our story. Matt will like it, believe me. The public can’t get enough of that guy.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of you being in there alone with him.”
Alicia took a step closer and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing as she slammed the van door shut.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten up on your public avenger soapbox the minute he opened his mouth, hmm? What do you think? Was that the most diplomatic move you could’ve made?”
Lance blinked quickly, his shoulders wilting and then stepped aside as Alicia strode past Daniel without looking back, nodding to Dula as he held the door open at the top of the steps. He swept her inside, the broad wooden door swinging shut behind them and Alicia let out her breath as her eyes adjusted to the light, the air in the vestibule at least five degrees cooler than the late autumn breeze outside.
Inside the place really did have the feel of an old church, with high ceilings that met in a sharp peak above their heads and scrollwork a little too intricate for modern architecture. She took in the long, wide hallway leading back to what looked like a series of offices and then stepped closer to one of the brick pillars lining the wall, brushing the shiny 6 x 8 plague decorating it with her fingertips.
“‘He who does not prevent a crime, when he can, encourages it.’ This place wasn’t designed with prison cells in mind, was it?”
Dula gave her an indulgent smile.
“Not at all. This building was actually meant to be the new aquarium. We just appropriated it for our own purposes.”
Alicia tipped her bright gold eyes in Dula’s direction and felt a brief moment of nerves as he gave her a slow, familiar once over, extending his arm out politely as he corralled her down the hallway.
“I’ll be honest with you, Alicia, I was surprised to learn that you’d been corresponding with White at all. Nothing in your- professional portfolio leans towards this sort of…”
“Sensationalism?” Alicia finished, her lips pulling up into a wry smile.
Dula’s expression fell, his eyes shifting with a polite embarrassment a little too practiced to be believable.
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me. I certainly never meant to be disparaging. I’m sure you’re capable of getting an excellent interview out of White. If, that is, what he’s intending to do.”
Dula dropped into silence beside her as they passed through a huge marble-tiled vestibule, one guard acknowledging them stiffly as they passed. Alicia’s eyes followed him as he moved, and then she glanced in Dula’s direction, wondering again about the strange connection between her producer and the warden who had rolled into town less than a year ago and wound up at the helm of the most expensive prison project the city had ever undertaken. She thought about it as she followed him down the hallway and realized that it wasn’t just that Dula was odd. It was that he was odd in a way that was incredibly difficult to pinpoint, and which never seemed to show up in any of the short, soft ball interviews the press was always lobbing at him.
And then, of course, there was the club.
Alicia reached for her handheld recorder as she looked around the hall quickly and realized that in all the months she had been Matt’s invited guest at the city’s most exclusive underground playground, she had never actually seen Dula on the game floor once, although he was often in his private box, the number next to his one-sided glass lit up at all hours of the night. From the scraps of Matt’s hints and jabs, she had pieced together that it was because the warden was one of those men who simply preferred to watch.
Almost, Alicia thought, to the exclusion of everything else.
Alicia stood aside as Dula swiped his card at the threshold of another set of double doors, his strange, stoic silence annoying her for no reason she could easily place and felt a pang of foreboding as a low buzzer went off above them and the doors parted, something about the cool green walls and fluorescent lighting reminding her all at once of a…
Hospital, she thought, her head snapping towards the crisp, efficient looking rooms that lined the hall without thinking of it. This place looks like some kind of a mental ward.
“Is this another block?”
“It is. This wing is where inmates come to receive their weekly therapy sessions. I thought you might prefer to interview White here. It’s a little spartan but I’m sure you won’t find it too far south of your expectations.”
Alicia hit the record button as she switched on the small, device into her left hand.
“Therapy sessions? What kind of therapy?”
Dula turned to give her a look of unruffled professionalism, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as if something was amusing him deeply.
“Like I said, Alicia, this facility is at the very cutting edge of criminal rehabilitation. All of the men in this wing are volunteers.”
“Including White?”
“Oh yes. Mr. White is the most recent addition to our program and a very special case. He’s one of the inmates our doctor is most excited about.”
“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, her brow furrowing as she glanced up. “Did you just call it a program?”
Dula looked up as two staff members in crisp white lab coats walked up, each giving Alicia a flat look of dismissal before beckoning him aside. Dula held up his hand in a gesture of apology and then walked out of earshot as Alicia glanced around, trying not to be obvious as she tried to catch the broader strokes of their conversation. She heard the word ‘uncooperative’ rise out of the huddle as she glanced around at the hall again, the high blue-tiled dome of ceiling above them somehow underscoring the strange, cult-like feel of the place.
“Needs consent to drug?” She said quietly, holding the recorder almost to her lips. “Find out what. Ask Matt.”
She raised her brows as Dula walked back over an
d gave her a stiff smile, waving his hand to the younger of the two staff members as they approached.
“I’m sorry, Alicia, I was hoping to walk you back myself, but something urgent has come up. Jason will be happy to escort you.”
“Nothing bad, I hope,” she said glancing from Dula to the tall, thin man next to her. She noticed that he barely acknowledged her when she spoke and simply kept his eyes on Dula, like a military officer waiting to be dismissed.
“Oh no, no. Just something…unexpected. Jason will lead you to our therapy area. When you’re finished, he can escort you back to my offices. Let’s call it 11 o’clock?”
Dula glanced at his expensive looking watch and then tapped the face twice, shooting Jason a quick look. Alicia started to say something and then snapped her mouth shut as Dula turned around, already deep in conversation with the woman next to him as they both strode briskly down the hallway. She gave Jason a short shrug and felt that same thrill of disquiet run through her as he simply stared down at her, that same, strange look of self-satisfaction stamped across his face.
God, Lance is right, she thought, snapping off her recorder and tucking it back into her purse as she tried to match Jason’s pace down the long, winding hall to the therapy area. This place is creepy as hell. And why haven’t I heard a single word about this special program of his before today?
Jason turned at the end of the hall without bothering to see if she was following him and began talking in a monotone voice that sounded like the stiff first take of a hastily written script.
“As Dula no doubt told you, this room is a little less formal than an interview room but I’m sure it’ll be fine for the time being. Mr. White is on his way down now. We’ll have a guard remain in the room with you for the duration of your visit or, if you prefer it, he can remain restrained. It’s completely up to you.”
Alicia’s brow furrowed, and she rushed to match his brisk pace, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes as he paused in front of a clear, frosted steel framed door, the hall across from it lined with several windowed offices.
“I’d actually prefer to speak with him alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. Then we’ll leave him restrained. And I’ll have to ask you not to smoke, I’m afraid. This wing is strictly smoke free.”
“I don’t smoke.”
Jason sighed and pointed to the nicotine patch on her arm, the edges of it almost hidden by her long fall of hair.
“I’m quitting,” she said hastily. “I’m trying to quit.”
“Just a precaution, Miss Gale. I’ll be frank, you aren’t the first visitor to wall down these halls looking for a story.”
Alicia looked up as Jason handed her a thin metal strip with a black patch on it inside of a plastic sleeve and pointed to the narrow elastic wrist band as he zipped his swipe card through the electronic reader in front of the door.
“What is this?” she asked, looking it over as he swung the door open with a careless air.
“Panic button,” he said as he stepped over the threshold and then turned to wait for her. “Wear that at all times. If Mr. White begins behaving erratically in any way just hit the button and our guards will be at this door in less than thirty seconds.”
Alicia paused, her brow furrowing as she stepped into the office.
“Thirty seconds. That sounds fast. Should I be worried?”
“Of course not,” Jason said clearing his throat. “Mr. Dula took extra precautions in preparation for your visit. And despite all the cryptic warnings Miss Gale, Mr. White is absolutely subdued at the moment. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Alicia shrugged off her coat and raised her brows at the disapproving look he gave her, his eyes running over her short, form-fitting dress with an expression just short of contempt. She smoothed the kick pleat of her skirt with a quick swipe of her hands and then glanced around the room, her gold eyes flitting from object to object as she tried to commit them to memory.
Decent room, she thought, her short sensible heels echoing loudly on the polished tile floor. Definitely more modern than I would’ve expected considering that weird hall of horrors up front.
The walls were painted in the same pale green as the hallway, the mild lighting darkening it into a vaguely clinical shade of mint. On the far left wall there was an old-fashioned wooden desk that looked as if it had seen hard duty some time before the last world war with a studded leather swivel chair angled behind it. She dragged her eyes across the low ceiling of the room, noticing that there wasn’t a single exterior window, and let Jason lead her to a long wooden table in the middle of the room as she shrugged off her bag.
“Precautions,” Alicia repeated as her eyes made their way back to Jason’s face. “You mean by drugging him.”
Jason gave her a withering smirk and then held up his hands as if he’d been caught doing something mildly embarrassing.
“Is he drugged more than usual?”
“Miss Gale…”
“This interview is of absolutely no use to me if Mr. White is not in full charge of his facilities when he gives it, Jason. I’m sure you understand the conflict. So is he drugged more than…”
Alicia broke off mid-sentence as she heard the loud click of an electronic lock. She glanced at Jason, still trying to decide whether to press the issue and then took a quick step backward as a tall guard in a white collared shirt pushed the door open with one hand and stepped inside. She craned her neck over his shoulder, her stomach doing a quick, awkward flip as he said something to the man behind him. She blinked as Ronan White stepped into the room, his wide dark eyes tipping in Jason’s direction briefly before locking on her face.
Alicia bit the inside of her lower lip as Ronan tilted his head at her and felt every natural warning instinct in her body suddenly scatter and take flight as he paused just beyond the threshold, his wide dark eyes sweeping down her body idly for a moment as the guard instructed him to wait.
“Miss Gale meet Mr. White,” Jason said, inclining his head slightly as the guard shut the door behind them. “Mr. White, this is Alicia Gale. From Channel Four.”
Ronan rolled his eyes in his direction, and then snapped them back to Alicia’s face, something mildly unpleasant dancing behind his polite expression.
“Channel Six, actually,” Alicia said, swallowing deeply as Ronan took a step closer. “It’s Channel Six. Mr. White. How nice to finally meet you.”
“That’s close enough, White,” The guard behind them said mildly.
Ronan paused without turning and smirked as Alicia took a small step backwards, covering it with an awkward reach for her bag.
“It’s good to be met, Miss Gale,” he said, his low, gravelly voice filling the room around them like an electric charge. “And such a nice thing to say.”
Alicia pressed her lips together as Ronan’s voice curled up with a malicious sort of good humor and dragged her recorder out of her purse, holding it out in front of her like a gun as Ronan raised his brows in her direction. She turned to Jason to cover her sudden rush of nerves and tried not to focus on the fact that she had never actually been alone in a room with a convicted killer before today. Not for an interview and certainly not alone.
She watched the guard make his way to the back of the room and then knelt behind the table, her eyes widening as she realized he was adjusting the length of a steel chain to a shallow link on the dark tile floor.
“Standard procedure, Miss Gale,” Jason said, his eyes shifting to Ronan with a careful sort of contempt. “As I said before, we’re not expecting any trouble today. Are we, Mr. White?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed slightly as Jason spoke and then the expression cleared as if by magic, his face once more dropping into lines of polite half-interest.
“None whatsoever, Jason,” Ronan said, his eyes following her movements like a predator as she placed her recorder on the edge of the table with an awkward clunk. “You know how long it
’s been since I’ve had polite company.”
Ronan tilted his head in her direction, the flash of sudden, watchful hunger in his face sending a fresh wave of chills right up the corridor of her spine. His eyes twirled slightly as he scratched the front of his jaw and then smirked as she noticed his handcuffs, glancing back towards the doorway with a bemused expression.
“And will your film crew be joining us today?” He asked slowly. “Or are you here all alone?”
Jason’s boyish face tightened, and he made a motion to grab their attention, his expression suddenly all business as he snapped his fingers in the guard’s direction.
“There won’t be any filming today, Mr. White. Miss Gale is simply here to get some preliminary questioning out of the way.”
“Well, well,” Ronan said, leaning forward as he flashed Alicia a sudden, brilliant smile. “Lucky me.”
Jason turned his body in her direction, ignoring Ronan pointedly as the guard led him around to the back of the table. She watched with growing dismay as Ronan took a seat and the guard began shacking him to the floor, shifting his legs apart as he regarded Jason with an amused sneer. She tilted her head to get a better look as the guard stood up and then swallowed hard as Ronan pitched his body forward, dragging the long line of chain through the latch with a noisy rattle as clicks.
Like a roller coaster track, she thought, her brow furrowing slightly as Ronan dropped her a wink. It sounds like the last few seconds on a roller coaster, before the entire car goes careening over the edge.
“Sure you won’t change your mind, Miss Gale?” Jason asked, searching her face as Alicia shook her head. “I know for a fact that Mr. Dula would feel more comfortable with a guard in your room. But he did say to leave it up to you.”
Ronan’s dark eyes twirled with violent amusement as he pitched his shoulders forward, brushing his hand towards him in a quick wave of dismissal.