Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series)

by Douglas Clegg

  "Program 28, only," she said. "With the other patients, I went to the pods."

  "Why give Scoleri these little trips out of his pod?"

  "He's not an animal, Trey. He may be a sociopath. A psychopath. But he was responding to some extent. I thought we were near a breakthrough." Her voice trailed off as she lost confidence in her own words.

  "Okay," Trey said. "This is all we have to go on. Let's see what I can get out of Scoleri."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Twenty minutes later, Trey sat across from Scoleri.

  Scoleri spread out on his cot, arms crossed behind his head. Eyes closed. Grinned, as if knowing too much.

  "You know what's great about this place?"

  "What's that?" Trey asked.

  "You kill someone, in here, and all they do is transfer you. Either to another ward, or to another institution. If I were to say, kill you — not that I intend to — I'd get some extra meds and maybe a more comfy bed."

  "Is that what you want to do?"

  "No. I don't like hurting people. I only do it when they attack me. But I was just saying it as a for instance." Then, turning his head slightly, he said, "I knew you'd be back once you talked to Elise. I knew you'd be here. You want to know about the Red Angel now. But you don't believe in me, Trey. You must believe in me. I am the way."

  "Sit up," Trey said, in as authoritative a voice as possible.

  Scoleri's eyes blinked. Then, he grinned. "You gonna be my daddy?" he asked in a little boy voice.

  "I mean it. Sit up. I want to ask you some questions."

  Scoleri made a strange move with his body. Trey remembered what Jim Anderson had told him: contortionist. It was as if Scoleri were a snake, and his body moved fluidly into a sitting position. "Yes sir, herr doctor. Oh, but you're not a doctor, are you? You're just a cut above janitor. Psych tech. A nice title for somebody who wipes my ass. You meet Creep down the hall? He's paints his shit all over like Picasso. Somebody should wipe his ass better."

  "Sit up," Trey said.

  After a minute, Scoleri decided to sit up. It probably helped the Trey had the two COs from the end of the hall come in and pick Scoleri up, put him in the chair at the table, and then bind his hands behind him. "Very nice, Trey. Very nice. You got me where you want me. I used to do this to some pretty ladies I knew. They enjoyed it. Me, I'm more of a hands-free kind of boy."

  Trey took the chair across the table from him.

  "You're not at all afraid of me?" Scoleri asked. "Not the teensiest?"

  "No."

  "You should be. I'm God. I like hurting people."

  "Tell me about the Red Angel."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Who is he?"

  Scoleri shook his head, grinning. "You don't get no pussy without some flowers and Chardonnay."

  "You don't know anything about him, do you?"

  "Well, I know something about him. He's a very bad man."

  "What else?"

  "He has little Lucas Conroy in his secret hidey-hole. He calls it the Mad Place, and it's not because he's insane. It's because he's nuttier than a shithouse rat and he thinks that it's where you're allowed to get very angry when you want, and nobody's around to hear you scream about it."

  "Who's telling you all this?"

  "Ah," Scoleri said, narrowing his eyes a bit. "You don't believe in me. That's right. Let's start with that. If you become my disciple, I'll let you in on my sacred secrets. There are six sacred secrets. In each of the six, there are another sixty. And within those six hundred. That's six hundred sixty six, or 666. The mark of the Beast. And I am not the Beast. I am Abraxas. Believe in me or I will never tell you anything more."

  "All right."

  "Oh goody. A follower. First, only call me Abraxas. This Scoleri garbage has to go. Michael Scoleri was the flesh I had when I was a boy, but that got burned away when my Godhood came out. I was about eleven, when —"

  "I don't care. I'll believe in you. All right?"

  Scoleri paused. "Believe in who?"

  "Abraxas."

  "That's more like it. God likes to be called by his real name. The Red Angel was once one of my disciples. He was one of my most beloved. But he got a little too much Devil in him and now he's trying to bring about the end of the world. He's completely crazy. He thinks that by..." But Scoleri stopped himself. "You know what, Mr. Trey Campbell? I want you to show me you believe in me."

  "How?"

  "Do something for me."

  "Okay."

  "A magic trick."

  "You're God. I think you should do the magic tricks."

  "I know, but I'm trapped in this," Scoleri pinched the skin on his face. "I can't quite cut my way out of it. What I'm thinking of is a vanishing act."

  "You want me to leave?"

  "Both of us. I want you to take me to Elise Conroy's office. We can all three talk there."

  "I'm afraid that won't happen."

  "Well, it was a test of faith. And you failed."

  "How about you tell me a little bit more? Maybe with some more information, I can get around the house rules."

  Scoleri closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he said, "I just heard from him. The Beast. Do you know one thing that the police don't know about him? He's been kept at bay. The part of him that's not Beast has been kind up to now. He put the little angels to sleep before he sent them off with their messages. But this one is going to be different. This one is number six, and number six is a magical number. It is the Beast's number. This one, sweet little Lucas Conroy, isn't going to go to sleep. The Beast is taking over fast now. The man who he was is burning away. He is losing the last of his soul. The others, he's only tasted. After they've gone off with their messages to me and then on to heaven. This one, he is doing to devour alive. He bites them. The Beast. The Red Angel. He bites them and he doesn't eat them. But he's going to eat this one. He's held back. He's fighting his nature. But he won't this time. This little angel is going to get eaten alive and may not make it to heaven."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  3 p.m.

  Trey held his breath in the last second while Scoleri spoke.

  Then, exhaled.

  Then, "Where is he?"

  "I had it on the tip of my tongue," Scoleri said.

  "Where is he?"

  Scoleri leaned forward, and Trey smelled his breath, which was foul.

  Scoleri's face was less than an inch away from Trey's.

  Briefly, and so quickly it was nearly imperceptible, Scoleri's tongue flickered out from between his lips and touched Trey's upper lip.

  It was like being touched by a snake.

  Trey recoiled, drawing backward fast.

  Scoleri grinned.

  From the doorway, one of the Corrections Officers stepped toward the table where the two men sat. Trey recognized him. The guy named Atkins. The one that might have something not quite right within him. Trey didn't want a confrontation. He wanted information now. He didn't need a fight.

  Particularly not with a CO who was ready to smash someone's head in.

  Trey took a deep breath. Fight the fear. Put it down. He's trying to put you off guard. He won't attack you. He's under control here.

  Trey motioned to the COs to stay where they were.

  "Tell me," Trey said, staring at Scoleri. I will stare you down if I have to.

  "You can't stare me down," Scoleri said. As if reading his thoughts.

  Trey felt a shock go through him.

  He tried not to let it shake him up.

  Damn. I know you can't read minds. Up yours, Scoleri. Abraxas. It's a trick It's a trick based on the obviousness of the situation. It's a trick you learned in your carny days. You are smart. You have some enormous I.Q. and you have some nastiness inside you. You are a snake. A rattler. Waiting to strike. Somehow, some way, you are going to tell me how you know about the Red Angel and where he is.

  "There's only one way in heaven or hell that I will tell you where he is,"
Scoleri said.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Trey had that feeling again: of cold. Of being stunned.

  The way a rat must feel just before a python opens its mouth.

  Scoleri's face seemed to change. He seemed younger, as if he fed off the fear he was feeling from Trey Campbell.

  His eyes began that rapid eye movement that seemed to blur so that his eyes fluctuated between all white and darkness.

  Then, Scoleri moved rapidly forward, grabbing Trey by the ears before Trey could lean back fast enough —

  Trey heard the COs at the door shout, and other noise —

  Scoleri pulled Trey's face close to his in a motion that was so fast that Trey felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him —

  Scoleri's lips went to Trey's ear and in that second or two before the officers pulled Scoleri back, lifting him up out of the chair and practically slamming him into his bed, quickly tying the restraints —In that second or two —

  Scoleri whispered, "Get me out."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  1

  "That's insane," Elise Conroy said.

  Insane was not a word she used lightly.

  She stood in the corridor, outside Michael Scoleri's pod on Program 28.

  Trey glanced back into the room. Michael Scoleri watched both of them from his cot. In full restraints, he could barely move a muscle.

  "We could go to the police with this. Maybe there's a way..." Elise began.

  "Like you said, it's insane," Trey said. He drew her back from the pod, down the hall a bit further. The COs watched them from a distance. "I don't want anyone else hearing this, Elise. But we could help the police catch him. They have no idea where he is, or something would've happened by now. Scoleri knows something. I don't know how. I don't know why. But he knows something. If we can get him to feel comfortable, he'll tell us. Look, we call the police in. Or the Feds, if they're involved. Maybe they could interrogate him and get it out of him."

  "Not if he goes catatonic."

  "He's done that before?"

  She nodded. "Sure. He did it for two weeks after he first got here. Nobody got a word out of him, and we had to feed him intravenously. I don't know how he hypnotized himself into that state, but he managed to do it. When he came out of it, he ripped the tubes out of his arm and started screaming that he was being buried alive. But during those two months, not a word or a movement. I'm not even sure if he blinked. His respiration was so low, that...well, it was like a mild coma, if that were possible."

  "He's a magician. A carny," Trey said. "In his late teens, he worked the carnival circuit. He probably learned tricks from others. He probably had a natural talent for it."

  "Let me talk to my friend in Caldwell's police department. Maybe there's another way," Elise said. "Do you believe him when he says he's in communication telepathically?"

  "I don't think so. I'm not a great believer in that kind of stuff. But he knows things he shouldn't know. And it doesn't seem, in a pod in Program 28 that he'd be able to get much information from the outside world. Unless a CO or a psych tech is delivering it. Now, realistically, it could be someone here. It could be someone who is as screwed up as any patient here and is passing messages onto Scoleri. But unless it's you or Fallon, it doesn't seem like anyone has been passing messages to this guy. I've checked the logs. How does he know? I have one guess. That is, he knows the Red Angel from when he was free. Or maybe even from Napa. He was told the Red Angel's plans, years ago. Or else he knows, based on the Red Angel's psychosis exactly what this pattern of killing means. Maybe Lucas and the other kids who were kidnapped have something in common. Maybe. It would probably take a few days of sitting down with the cops to figure this out. By that point, Lucas's dead. I'm sorry to put it that way, but it's the only way I see it."

  Elise thought for a moment, lit up a cigarette. "You're right. We're going to get him out. I'll arrange a day transfer to Patton for observation."

  "Right. Nothing more than that. If we can just get him outside for an hour, maybe he'll do what he says he will. Maybe he'll give us more. Then, we can pass that information onto the police. Look, I don't believe in telepathy. I don't believe he's God, either. But I do believe Scoleri knows something, and wants to tell you. I think he likes you, and I think he respects you."

  "It's impossible for him to respect anyone."

  "I don't know. He respects me. I don't know why. But he could've easily hurt me bad in there. He was showing that I could trust him. That even when he had an opportunity to do so, he didn't want to attack me. Scare me, yes. And besides," Trey said, "he'll be shackled and cuffed. We'll get a transport car so that there's a screen between the front and backseat. We'll have two COs sitting next to him. He just wants to get out for a while. He wants a drive. We'll give him a drive, and he may help us. If not, we'll get the Feds in to talk to him. Look, Elise. We'll do this. It will work out. We will get Lucas back. Alive."

  She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you. All right. I'll go make some calls and get this arranged. It'll probably take a couple of hours. I have to call the EC and then Olsen will have to be in on it. Get some lunch."

  "I can't believe you're holding up."

  "It's a nightmare," she said. "But I'm going to get through it."

  "So will Lucas. They'll get this guy."

  "I guess I have to believe that. I have to," she said, as if trying to convince herself.

  2

  Trey found Jim Anderson in the employee canteen, sipping a Diet Pepsi and flipping through Popular Science. Anderson glanced up. "My man. Want half a bad ham sandwich?"

  "No, thanks." Trey briefed Anderson on the situation. "Look, Scoleri is somehow getting messages from outside. Any idea how?"

  "None," Anderson said. "He has minimal contact with staff."

  "I didn't like that one CO. What about him?"

  "Atkins? I know what you mean. He's the kind of guy who flies hard and fast. But unless his background check was screwy, he's not the kind of guy who would slip messages to Scoleri. He despises the patients in 28."

  "How about cleaning staff? Or the midnight crew?"

  "Again, minimal contact. And there are usually two to four people around whenever there's an interaction with Scoleri. Even when he's with one of the docs, he's got at least two people right behind him. They'd have to pass that message pretty quietly if they were going to do it." Taking a bite from his sandwich, Jim Anderson nodded as if answering a question in his head. "He's had a bad few days, though. Scoleri. Fallon punched his lights out this morning. Cut Scoleri's lip."

  "Fallon's not passing messages," Trey said. "I wish I could think it was him, but he's the last one who would do that. He'd be more likely to hump Scoleri."

  "What about the cafeteria?"

  "He never goes in there. The most freedom he gets is in the a.m. for showers, and then at nine. Snack time."

  "What happens at snack time?"

  "We bring them in here. One at a time." Anderson pointed to the vending machines. "They get Twinkies or Ho-Hos or a soda. Four men supervising. Ten minutes each. It's their big treat."

  "Who put that policy in effect?"

  "Conroy and Brainard. It's for observation, I guess. They're pretty much shackled, though. It's just one way to give them a little something to look forward to before beddy-bye time. Only three on 28 are capable of doing it, though. The others are pretty much in another world."

  Trey looked at the first vending machine. Fritos, Cheetos, the basics of snack foods. Then, to the soda machine: Coke, root beer, Dr. Pepper, Pepsi. Then, the Snapple machine. Then the bottled water machine. Then the sandwich and fruit machine. He came up blank.

  "When do the vending guys come in?"

  "Depends. But never when Program 28 is here."

  "Okay. I guess I'm just hoping."

  "Hoping for what?"

  "That Scoleri's just like the rest of us. At least in terms of how he gets messages."

  "Aw, Bubba,
you know he's not like the rest of us. Well, at least not me."

  3

  Trey checked out the showers next. It was eerie being there when they were silent and empty. Outside, a tiled room full of benches where the patients would disrobe. There were green metal lockers for them to store their clothes. Then the towel room — empty except for the laundry basket.

  He stepped into the shower area. It seemed huge with only him standing in it.

  How could a message be passed without one of the psych techs or the orderlies noticing?

  Trey stood at the center of the showers, where the drain came out. He went so far as to get down and check the drain.

  And then, he knew one other way a patient in Program 28 might get a message.

  One other time of day when he might speak with someone other than psych techs and COs.

  4

  Back in Elise's office, Trey sat down across from her desk. She was on the phone, but quickly hung up.

  "You," Trey said. "You met with him on Friday."

  "I meet with him every day."

  "But in your office on Friday. What did you tell him last Friday?"

  "Trey. There's nothing that was spoken of here that would have given him any information."

  Trey reached for the picture of her son on her desk. He held it up to her. "He knows your son. Scoleri knows your son. He named him because he knows him."

  "He wouldn't know his name," she said.

  "That wouldn't be hard to find out. You've been treating him for months. Not just here, but at Patton, too. You've spoken to him. You mentioned your son. Maybe in front of him. Maybe when you didn't think he was there — when he just was leaving your office. But he knew Lucas's name from you."

  "What would that matter? Someone got a message to him."