by Hadena James
“How’s the side?” He asked.
“Fine,” I told him. “What’s up?”
“We are getting ready to go out on a case, but I thought you might like to see this first,” he passed me a baggy. Inside was a piece of paper with dark brown smudges. The ink had run in several spots. The paper was yellowed.
Hey Boss, I killed her. I enjoyed it. The whore had it coming. I stopped reading and passed it back to Malachi.
“A copycat with the decency to at least do some serious copying,” I said to him.
“We tested the ink, it’s an iron mix. He even used authentic ink.”
“Who was it sent to?” I asked.
“Me, I’m the ‘boss’ in the letter. He even included a piece of kidney from a prostitute in New York City that was found murdered a week ago. Not only is the ink authentic, but the paper isn’t paper, it’s vellum. However, it’s been artificially aged.”
“So, you’re looking for a printer or antiquarian forger.”
“That’s my thought. Most people don’t know what vellum is or how to age it and they certainly don’t know how to make ink. What are your plans for the evening?”
“Oh, I do not know, I thought about plucking out the hair on my toes and watching Alien vs. Predator for the umpteenth hundred time.”
“Sounds fun. When you finish with your toes, you might do your eyebrows, they’re a little bushy.” He stood up in a single, fluid motion that made me momentarily hate him. “Patterson’s been asking to see you.”
“I have no interest in seeing him.”
“You can’t hide from him for forever, Aislinn. You’ll have to see him eventually.”
“Eventually, I will. Maybe in court.”
“Whatever,” Malachi shook his head at me and left. I read maybe half a book when my door opened again. I waited for Malachi to walk back into the room. Instead, it was Gabriel. He was sporting stitches on his cheek and a cast on his arm.
“Never again.” He flopped into the seat Malachi had vacated. It lacked grace.
“Never again what?” I asked.
“You not going with us. That was freaking dreadful. I think Fiona is the only one that didn’t get injured and that’s because she doesn’t break down doors.”
“I thought Lucas broke down doors,” I commented dryly.
“I’ll rephrase, she doesn’t go into serial killer lairs. She’s truly a geek. She can use a gun, but she looks petrified when faced with real danger. Lucas broke through the back door, we all went in behind him and she stands in the yard, with the regular cops. Why? Because she doesn’t do that sort of thing, it’s in her contract.”
“Sounds like a problem.”
“Damn straight. Michael, and even John, went into the danger zone.”
“Well, maybe she is interested in living a long life. You have to admit, following you is not a great way to stay alive.”
“Obviously not. Following you seems to be better. I heard you got stabbed with an ink pen.”
“Yep, one of those clear hard plastic tubes to the side where it entered my kidney and leaked piss all down the side of me without me realizing it because I was sure Patterson was going to be a problem. But he just gave up, after killing Gertrude. Now, what happened to your face and arm?”
“Well, the arm was broken when a big, mean son-of-a-bitch grabbed hold of my wrist and snapped it like a twig. Then he grabbed hold of Xavier and threw Xavier into me, which is when my face got cut on Xavier’s jacket zipper. Lucas Tasered him, but he might as well have shot him with a rubber band. Eventually, Xavier spider monkey climbed up him and put him in a choke hold while Lucas took a crowbar to his hip.”
“Why didn’t you shoot him?”
“We’re trying a new ‘non-lethal approach.’” Gabriel raised his eyebrow as he said this. “Something about too many dead bodies in our wake.”
“Pity Christmas has passed, I’d get you all Tasers like mine.” I told him. “I guess there’s always Valentine’s Day.”
“Wouldn’t it be weird to give us Valentine’s Day presents?”
“Nope, I love all of you and it is not like I have a romantic interest in my life. I can probably get the company to ramp up a few more and pass them our way. Where’s the new policy coming from?”
“Above my pay-grade, but killing a suspect now requires forms, a written essay on other possible choices, and several visits with a shrink that isn’t Lucas and the turning over of your firearms while the shrink goes through your head.”
“Is this just us?” I frowned.
“Nope, VCU is also being subjected to it, but because it’s the FBI, they have to do everything in triplicate.” Gabriel stood up.
“Does your broken arm mean we have time off?”
“Nope, we’re just waiting on a call. They figure if you can work after being shot in the head, I can work with a broken arm. Besides, the cast provides me with another, non-lethal weapon. VCU got sent a kidney by a Ripper copycat. That means the next case is ours. I’d guess two days, maybe three.” Gabriel stared at me for a moment. “Patterson gave himself up because he wants a relationship with you and Nyleena.”
“And Eric,” I agreed. “I do not know how I feel about him at the moment. Neither does Nyleena. So, he’ll mostly be bonding with Eric.”
“Well, Eric will be his closest neighbor.”
“Yeah, maybe they can share a cell block.”
“They are. They have adjacent cells. Patterson’s already plead guilty and asked for sentencing. He was transferred yesterday, which is giving the Department of Justice, the Department of Corrections and the Marshals Service some serious things to consider. August is also at The Fortress while he awaits trial. Someone put forth the theory that Patterson surrendered to get to August. That’s why they put him in the same block as Eric. He’ll have the fewest opportunities to attack August. But they can’t move Eric either because he poses a risk to other inmates.”
My brother, Eric, wasn’t known for playing nicely with others. Since going to The Fortress, he’d killed three other inmates. Like Patterson, he was suspected of having a hit list. That apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
Unnatural deaths were rare within the walls of the fortified maximum security prison, corruption among the guards was kept to a minimum by changing out the Marshals every six or nine months. Once in a while, they were suspected of turning a blind eye when the serial targeted cops specifically, but otherwise, their record was nearly spotless. The inmates that were a threat to other inmates were segregated into a special cell block.
However, punishing a killer in The Fortress was a lot like shaking your finger at a kid. It didn’t do much. They were all lifers. Special privileges were offered as incentives to be good and those privileges were removed when someone broke the rules. There was also an area of special confinement, but again, like shaking your finger at a kid. Most behaved simply because it made life more interesting.
Unfortunately, neither Patterson nor Eric particularly cared about life being more interesting. They would find trouble, probably together. I didn’t envy the powers that be or the Marshals in charge of keeping them from the rest of the population.
Also by Hadena James
Dreams & Reality Novels
Tortured Dreams
Elysium Dreams
Mercurial Dreams
Explosive Dreams
Cannibal Dreams
Butchered Dreams
Summoned Dreams
Battered Dreams
The Brenna Strachan Series
Dark Cotillion
Dark Illumination
Dark Resurrections
Dark Legacies
The Dysfunctional Chronicles
The Dysfunctional Affair
The Dysfunctional Valentine
The Dysfunctional Honeymoon
The Dysfunctional Proposal
The Dysfunctional Holiday
Short Story Collection
Tales to Read Before the End
of the World
Hadena James
I’ve been writing for over two decades and before that, I was creating my own bedtime stories to tell myself. I penned my first short story at the ripe old age of 8. It was a fable about how the raccoon got its eye-mask and was roughly three pages of handwritten, 8 year old scrawl. My mother still has it and occasionally, I still dig it out and admire it.
When I got my first computer, I took all my handwritten stories and typed them in. Afterwards, I tossed the originals. In my early twenties, I had a bit of a writer’s meltdown and deleted everything. So, with the exception of the story about the raccoon, I actually have none of my writings from before I was 23. Which is sad, because I had a half dozen other novels and well over two hundred short stories. It has all been offered up to the computer and writing gods as a sacrifice and show of humility or some such nonsense that makes me feel less like an idiot about it.
I have been offered contracts with publishing houses in the past and always turned them down. Now that I have experimented with being an Indie Author, I really like it and I’m really glad I turned them down. However, if you had asked me this in the early years of 2000, I would have told you that I was an idiot (and it was a huge contributing factor to my deleting all my work).
When I’m not writing, I play in a steel-tip dart league and enjoy going to dart tournaments. I enjoy renaissance festivals and sanitized pirates who sing sea shanties. My appetite for reading is ferocious and I consume two to three books a week as well as writing my own. Aside from introducing me to darts, my SO has introduced me to camping, which I, surprisingly, enjoy. We can often be found in the summer at Mark Twain Lake in Missouri, where his parents own a campground.
I am a native of Columbia, Missouri, which I will probably call home for the rest of my life, but I love to travel. Day trips, week trips, vacations on other continents, wherever the path takes me is where I want to be and I’m hoping to be able to travel more in the future.
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