by Ryan King
Opening the door, she was met by a thick wall of air conditioning and then a receptionist. The receptionist was the typical government gatekeeper, there not to assist those who entered the building's hallowed halls, but to convince them to go someplace else for help if possible.
"May I help you?" the thin librarian-looking woman asked with a face that made it clear she did not want to help anyone.
She put on an air of authority. "Yes, I am FBI Special Agent Deborah Mitchell. I'm following up on a missing person's case and hoping some of your...residents...might be able to help me."
The receptionist frowned. "I don't see how any of these people could help you. They were all homeless until recently."
"The missing person was also homeless," Deborah replied patiently.
"Oh," the woman answered, the word carrying considerable weight. She looked over her glasses at Deborah. "You know these people often just wander off. I doubt whoever you're looking for is missing."
"Thank you for your expert investigative experience," Deborah answered. "Might I keep your name and number on file in case the FBI needs your assistance with anything? Say, maybe catching a serial killer or possibly defusing a bomb?"
The woman sniffed. "You don't have to snarky."
Deborah sighed. "Look. Let me talk to them, and then I'll be on my way. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes. No one here is suspected of anything and I'm not going to cause trouble. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but I don't really need your permission. Me explaining my business to you is a courtesy, nothing more."
The receptionist's face scrunched up tight as if she were sucking on a lemon. "I will need to call my director and get her approval." She pointed to a small waiting area. "You may wait over there in one of those chairs."
"Thank you," said Deborah. "Can I use your bathroom?"
She sighed in a longsuffering manner. "If you must. End of the hall to your right."
Deborah made her way down the hall and then began listening for voices. She heard children playing and found a room filled with youngsters. Some were gathered around a television showing a cartoon movie while others played with toys or blocks. A teenager reading a fashion magazine looked up at her.
"Can I help you?"
"No thanks," Deborah answered, closing the door and moving onwards. She opened several other doors until she heard a loud television behind a double-door towards the back of the building.
Entering felt like going into one of many low-end retirement homes she had visited over the years. Elderly men and women sat alone or in groups. Some were gathered around a television game show with the volume so high it made Deborah's eardrums cringe.
Now that she was here, she realized that she had no plan. She looked around the room and spotted an elderly woman sitting beside a dirty window. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Walking over, Deborah pulled out the most recent picture she had of her missing brother.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Have you seen this man?"
The woman jumped and turned to her with startled eyes as if Deborah had snuck up on her. Her frightened and confused eyes met the FBI agent's before clearing slightly and flickering to the picture.
Her voice was surprisingly clear. "Looks like my Tommy."
"Have you seen the person in this picture?"
The woman's eyes were welling up with tears. "He would have been thirty next week. Damn fool stuck too much of that poison in his arm."
Deborah backed away and turned to find a thin elderly man with penetrating eyes gazing at her.
"Can I see that picture please?"
Deborah showed it to him. "Have you seen him?"
He pushed the picture away. "Why are you looking for him? You're police, right?"
"I'm an FBI agent."
"What's Moses done?"
"So you do know him?" she asked eagerly.
"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," the man answered, crossing his arms.
Deborah heard loud voices in the hallway and suspected the receptionist had discovered she wasn't still in the toilet or patiently reading her magazine. "Look, Moses is my little brother. He runs off a lot, but it's been a long time since I saw him last. I just want to make sure he's okay."
"He did mention an older sister," the man answered, "but not that she was a cop. Guess we all got our little secrets we're not proud of."
"When did you last see him?"
The man tilted his head up to the ceiling in thought. "Must have been a couple of months ago. They took us together that same night."
"Took you together?" she asked. "Who?"
"Soldiers," the man answered. "But not really soldiers. I was a soldier myself in Vietnam, and these were a little different. Anyone ever tell you how hot it can get in the Mekong Delta? They say it gets hot and humid here, but they got no idea."
"What about Moses? What happened to him?"
The man shrugged. "They brought some of us here and took the others somewhere else. Not sure."
"What do you do here?"
"Pretty much whatever we want," the man answered. "We can even leave if we choose, but no one wants to stay gone for long."
"Why is that?"
"Because this is where the food and beds and clean clothes are at," the man explained. "Besides, they got cable. You stay gone too long and someone else might get your spot. This is a pretty good deal."
"So they're not giving you classes or making you work or anything?" she asked.
"Hell no," the man laughed. "Most of us would be gone in a minute if that were the—"
"Ma'am," yelled the receptionist from the door. "I thought I asked you to wait in the lobby."
Deborah nodded. "I think you did, too."
"My director says you are not allowed in here to talk to any of the guests without a warrant or a court order."
"A warrant is a court order," Deborah explained.
"Be that as it may, I doubt you have either," the woman said with a smile. "My director told me to inform you that if you do not depart the premises immediately I am to call the local police."
"I was just leaving anyway," said Deborah with a smile. "You have been most helpful, and this is quite a tight ship you run around here."
The woman's face clouded in confusion as if not certain whether she was being complimented or insulted.
Before she could speak, Deborah brushed past the small woman and walked down the halls and back outside where it had become dark. She climbed into her vehicle, pulled out a notepad, and began to make notes of what she had seen and learned.
Soldiers, she wrote and then crossed it out. Not quite soldiers, but almost.
Rounding up homeless people. Some are brought here, others go elsewhere.
Residents can leave if they want. Are not kept here by force.
Sounds like a free retirement home. How can the government afford that?
She thought for a few moments and wrote two more notes.
Where is the money coming from?
Where is Moses now?
Chapter 32
The unmistakable sound of a vehicle engine made Moses Mitchell freeze in the underbrush. He tilted his head and listened carefully, determining the sound was coming from the west of him. He headed in that direction.
Moses moved quickly but carefully. This was an unfamiliar part of the island and he had been about to end his day's exploration until he heard the sound. He crept through the woods until he came to a dirt road with twin beaten paths leading away to the south. He could hear the sound of the receding engine down the road.
What the hell do you think you're doing? asked Billy in his head.
Dumbass is trying to get himself caught, that's what, answered Nate.
"I am not," whispered Moses as he walked slowly south along the road, listening for any other approaching vehicles.
The lengthening shadows told him that there wasn't much more light left. Moses knew he should probably be headed back to his makeshift camp hidden deep in the forest, but he had
to find out about the vehicle.
No you don't, said Delores. All you need to do is get away from here. Nothing good can come of walking down this road.
He ignored her and kept going. Soon, he heard men talking, and he crept into the cover of the thick moss-covered trees along the side of the road. Once there, he carefully made his way forward until he could see the vehicle parked in front of an old wooden boat dock. Tied up adjacent to the dock was a flat-bottomed johnboat with an outboard motor at the back.
"A boat," whispered Moses in surprise.
"Hurry up," said one of the men to the other. "We're running out of daylight."
Moses looked carefully and saw they were two men from the Evil Dog Camp. Two of the ones who had been mean to him, Lyles and Fred. They were in a jeep without a cover.
"We're supposed to be running out of daylight," Fred told Lyles. "This is a job we do when it's dark so the chance of anyone seeing us is less."
"Put a sock in it," Lyles told him, lowering the tailgate. "I don't need you telling me what I already know. Just grab her."
Moses watched them lift a black plastic bag out of the rear. Two handles were on each end, which the men used to lift something that was obviously heavy and awkward.
That's a body bag, said Delores. You can guess what's in it.
And what they're doing to the body, said Billy. Lyles told you himself one night to try and scare you. They take a meat hook and pass it through the Achilles tendons of the bodies after they've stripped it down. They have a chain attached to the hook that is attached to a boat anchor. They take the body out to deep water and drop it. After a week, the fish and crabs will have picked the body clean.
"No," whispered Moses and shuddered. He'd had nightmares for several nights after Lyles had told him this story. The image of dozens of skeletons floating together at the bottom of the ocean still scared him shitless.
"Hang on a second," said Lyles, setting the bag back down. "This one was a looker, if I remember correctly." He unzipped the bag and a sheaf of blonde hair fell out from a beautiful pale face. The woman was naked inside the bag, and Kenny reached out and squeezed one of the dead woman's breasts.
"Gross!" said Fred. "That's sick, dude."
Lyles smiled. "You should try it. Give you something to think about tonight when you're coaxin the groundhog out of his hole."
"I don't even know what that means," said Fred, zipping the bag back up. "Let's hurry up and get this done so we can get back to camp."
"You're no fun at all," answered Lyles, picking up the other end of the bag. They carefully carried the body and laid it in the bottom of the boat. Then they came back, and Fred grabbed a heavy boat anchor from the rear of the vehicle while Lyles picked up a length of chain and a curved meat hook.
"It's true," whispered Moses.
Of course it's true, answered Nate. What do you think happened to all the people from the camp who disappeared? They sure didn't release them, and I ain't seen any graveyards around here.
He wanted to run away, but knelt there frozen and watching as the men unlocked a padlock attached to chain that secured the boat to the dock. Then they started the engine and pulled the boat carefully out into the water.
Now you can get out of here, said Billy.
Moses ignored him. That woman with the blonde hair was someone he had seen before. He thought for a minute and then it came to him. She had been at the pool of water when he'd been running from the camp.
So what? asked Nate. That dead white girl ain't nothing to you. Besides, she's dead. You couldn't help her even if you weren't an imbecile.
"Shut up," whispered Moses.
It's time to go, said Delores. They come back and catch you, it will be bad.
Moses stood, looked out over the water, and hissed, "Shut up, now."
I don't know what you're thinking, said Nate. All I know is that it's not good. You need to leave the thinking to us and do what we say. Now get the hell out of here.
"Leave me alone," Moses said and was surprised that none of them responded. "We have to do something. We have to find a way to stop them."
How? asked Nate. You can't do anything.
Not without help, said Delores. There's no help for you here. Not on this island.
Moses slipped silently back into the woods and made his way back to his makeshift camp.
Tears of frustration and grief fell unnoticed from his face.
Chapter 33
Dr. Xavier Simone frowned and shook his head at the big man. "You're going to get yourself killed."
"No, I won't," answered Charles, his eyes closed against the alcohol the doctor was rubbing into the gash on his brow.
"If you don't stop, you'll put them in a position where they will kill you."
"I know what I'm doing," answered Charles with a smile. "I've gotten smarter about it."
"Really?" asked Xavier, pulling out a suture kit to bind the gash. "That doesn't look too smart to me."
"But it's just stitches," answered Charles. "I've learned to not mess with the guards when they have anything in their hands like a baton. Fists I can take. The Tasers hurt like a bitch but also do no real lasting damage."
"This gash is pretty nasty. I've seen men maimed for life from just fists. This could have been your eye that's cut open."
Charles nodded in agreement. "I didn't notice one of them had a ring on."
"Stay still," said Xavier, injecting a painkiller into several key locations around the wound. "You would do better to cooperate and do as they say. That way, you can get out of here and go home."
"You still believe that bullshit?" asked Charles. "You see any indoctrination classes going on around here?"
Xavier ignored the question and inserted the curved needle under the brow.
"Have you seen Jack?" asked Charles.
The doctor nodded. "Three days ago. I passed on your message, but there's going to be a problem soon. His wounds are healing. Won't have much need to come here regularly. He may also need to get his ass beat regularly, I guess."
"We need a better way to communicate."
"Haven't I been saying that to you?" said Xavier with a heavy sigh.
Charles ignored this. "What about Heather or Amanda?"
The doctor froze in his stitching before resuming. "Haven't seen them."
The big man pushed the doctor's hands away and stared at him. "You're lying."
"No," answered Xavier. "The one girl, Heather…I haven't seen her in a few days. Sometimes they go away for a while before they come back."
"But they don't always come back, do they?"
Xavier didn't answer for several moments. "No, not always."
"Where do they take them?"
The doctor looked away. "I don't know for sure; besides, it is none of my business. I have to look out for my family."
"Do you really think they are going to let you leave this place and go back to your family? After all you’ve seen?" asked Charles.
"Yes," answered the Xavier fiercely.
"Have you spoken to your family?"
"I write them letters every week that they deliver for me."
Charles smiled sadly at him. "So they say. Have you gotten any letters or calls in return?"
"No, but that is for their safety."
"You're getting played, my little Haitian friend. They aren't delivering your letters, and your family doesn't know what has happened to you."
"That's not true," answered Xavier, trying to begin sewing up the gash again.
Charles pushed him away. "It is true. Use your head. This is a bad place; these are bad people. Tell me, where did they take Heather?"
Xavier didn't answer for several moments. "I don't know for sure, but..."
"But?"
"They say there is a laboratory nearby," Xavier said slowly, as if measuring the reaction of each word. "I've heard men talk, like they are experimenting or testing drugs on people."
Charles stared at Xavier. He wanted to
be surprised or angry, but part of his brain had already figured this out. Some of the threatening remarks the guards had directed at him made more sense now: Don't they need a black aggressive man down there yet? or Wait until they strap you down and have their way with you.
"Sometimes they come back," continued Xavier. "Sometimes they don't. I have no idea what happens to those who don't come back."
"We have to get out of here," said Charles. "You, too. They'll never let you leave this place alive. Help us."
Xavier knew he was in dangerous territory. He didn't want to believe what the big man was telling him, but the logic of it made sense. Xavier pushed Charles back down and started working on the gash again. His face was clouded with indecision and doubt.
Charles let him think and work in silence. When the doctor was done and bandaged the wound, Charles reached out and grabbed his arm. "What about Amanda?"
The doctor's face drooped. "She killed herself two days ago."
Charles' hand tightened on the man's arm. "Killed herself? That can't be right... You sure you know who I'm talking about?"
Xavier nodded sadly, pulled Charles hand away. "She was here. I ran an IV. She was terribly dehydrated and had stopped eating. I just stepped out for a minute and she cut her own throat."
The big man's eyes widened, and he looked around, realizing he was on the bed where she had died. "Here?"
The doctor nodded. "I'm sorry about your friend. The guards said her brother died in an accident earlier. I guess she took it badly."
"His name was Brian and it was no accident," said Charles. "They murdered him. Plain and simple, just like they are going to murder me and then you."
Xavier didn't protest this time, simply cleaned up his instruments. "You should go. The guards outside will start to get suspicious."
"You have to help us."
"I have been helping you," answered Xavier.
"You have to help us to get out of here. All of us."
"How?" asked Xavier.
Charles shook his head. "I don't know yet, but I'll figure something out. The first thing we need to do is find another way to communicate. You're right about that, and I am tired of getting my ass beat."