by Amy Cross
A light sprinkling of rain had begun to fall as James made his way along the street and then took a left turn, heading toward the bus stop. He walked fast, determined to get home so that he could -
“Hey.”
Turning, he saw that the woman from the bar had followed him.
“What do you -”
Before he could finish, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as the woman pushed him back against the wall. She twisted the blade of the knife, tearing his heart in two, before pulling the knife out again and stepping back to watch as he slumped to the ground.
Six months ago
“Assistant to the Governor,” Grace muttered, as she clicked on the link. “Hardstone prison...”
She read the information and made a few notes, before pressing the button to start applying. She'd spent the evening looking online for various job opportunities, but there were very few around. Although she couldn't really imagine herself working in a prison, she needed the money and she figured that her life had already changed so much in the few days since her mother's death.
“Probably won't come to anything,” she told herself once the digital application had been filed. She tried to go back to the search page to look for more possibilities, but the browser timed out and she realized that her internet connection had stopped working. She tried a few workarounds before resigning herself to the fact that she might as well stop for the night. Leaving the lid of her laptop open, she looked toward the hallway.
Silence.
Every night, she felt as if there was some other kind of presence in the house. After checking that the door was locked, she headed upstairs, stopping for a moment to look over at the door to her mother's bedroom. She'd cleaned the room out, but since then the door had remained closed. Stepping across the landing, she pushed the door open and looked into the bare room, half-expecting to find that it had all been a dream and her mother was still alive.
She felt a wave of relief pass through her body as she saw that there was no sign of anyone.
“I'm sorry,” she said out loud, staring at the spot where she'd found her mother's body. “I know I should mourn you, and miss you, but the truth is...”
She thought back to all the fights they'd endured, even before the dementia had begun to turn her mother from a bad-tempered woman into a creature of pure rage.
“It's not my fault,” she continued, with tears in her eyes. “I'm not a bad person, I swear, I just... I couldn't live like that anymore, but I couldn't leave you. I was trapped. I'm sorry you died, but I'm not sorry that I'm free.”
She paused for a moment, before pulling the door shut and going through to her room.
Downstairs, a single pinging sound came from her laptop, as a response came through regarding her job application, direct from the head office at Hardstone Women's Prison. At the bottom of the screen, the laptop's taskbar showed the time: 1:13am.
Today
“You're up late.”
Glancing over at the door, Governor Windsor saw that Doctor Bell had appeared as if from nowhere, wearing a tight black dress that revealed enough cleavage to immediately send his blood pressure rising.
“I wanted to get some work done,” he blustered, trying very hard not to leer at her body as she made her way over to his desk. “I... I felt that I'd be disturbing Ruth if I went home and worked there, so I called her and let her know that I'd be -”
“Ruth's dead, Alistair.”
He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wife is dead,” she continued, “and you know it.”
“I most certainly do not know any such thing!”
“She died several years ago when a burglar cracked her skull open. It was in the papers, everyone knows, so don't try to maintain this pathetic charade any longer. I'm really, really not in the mood.”
“I...” He paused for a moment. “I see her.”
“I know you do.”
“When I go home,” he continued, his voice betraying a hint of panic, “she's there, every single night! She talks to me! She makes dinner! What am I supposed to do?”
“Move house?”
“And leave her behind?”
“That's what we're supposed to do with ghosts,” she told him. “Living with them is just tragic. We all have to move on eventually, not let them linger like bad smells.”
“What would she do if I wasn't there?”
“I don't know,” she replied, picking up the letter-opener from his desk and walking around the desk until she was right behind him. “Let's find out, shall we?”
With that, she reached around and sliced the letter-opener across his neck, immediately cutting his throat wide open. As he gasped for breath, she grabbed the top of his head and tilted it back until he was looking up at her, before using the blade to cut a little deeper into his neck, ripping through the layers of skin and fat. Pulling his head back a little further, she made sure that the slit in his neck was forced wide open, spraying blood not only across the desk but also onto the floor a little further away. He tried to get up, but she forced him back down into his chair.
“I was going to do this later,” she hissed, “but you've been annoying me, old man, and I've been starting to think that you're a liability rather than an asset. Do you have any idea how many of your mistakes I've been having to fix lately? I suppose it was a blessing, though, because I finally realized I don't actually need you anymore. I can complete the work from now on, and besides, I've had a very disappointing night and I need to take it out on someone. I'd have gone for a prisoner, but given that one of those pieces of human trash already died today, I figure you'll be easier to keep off the radar. After all, who's going to miss you? The ghost of your dead wife?”
He tried to say something, but all that emerged from his mouth was a faint gurgle, followed by a torrent of blood that began to ooze down his chin.
“Try this,” she muttered, digging the blade deeper into the hole in his neck.
Seconds later, a fresh burst of blood began to spray across the desk.
“Something unusual is happening in this prison,” she continued, struggling a little to keep hold of his head as he began to spasm, “and I fully intend to make it work in my favor. Do you remember all those ideas I explained to you? I know they seemed crazy at the time, but look now, turns out I was right on the money. But you?”
She paused for a moment, watching the look of desperation in his eyes as his spasms began to pass.
“That was always the problem with you, Alistair. You claimed you were on the same page as me, but you were too keen on getting that knighthood. It was all you could ever think about and it clouded your judgment. So you see, I had to get you out of the way. In fact, right now I'm even -”
She paused, staring down at his dead eyes, and finally she let go of his head.
“Typical,” she muttered, wiping blood from her hands onto the sides of her black dress, “just when I was going to tell him the truth about my plans, he goes and dies on me.” Making her way back around to the front of the desk, she looked down at the blood. “This is going to take a while to clean up, but I suppose I can get started. People will only start asking awkward questions if they come in here tomorrow and find big scarlet pools everywhere.”
Setting the letter-opened down, she made sure to align it so that it was exactly parallel to the edge of the desk.
“By the way,” she added, smiling at the corpse, “did you know that the process for finding a new governor is going to take at least two weeks once you're out of the way? In the meantime, they'll need someone else to run things, so I guess that as the senior staff member I'm going to be taking temporary charge. It's a hassle, but I figure it's the only way to get my work done to the original timetable. Then again, I suppose I could just say you've gone away for a while. That might be easier.”
Taking a step back, she took a moment to admire the scene.
“Okay,” she said finally, “I've had some fun and let my hai
r down. Now it's time to really start with the hard work. Two hundred prisoners should be enough to get this show on the road.”
***
“Revenge?” Amanda asked as she dried her face. “Do you really think that's what has been happening?”
“Think about it,” Robin called out from one of the toilet cubicles. “The little girl got her life wiped out, all her suffering erased from the record books, and she's mad about it. That's what's going on, she's trying to drag it all back into the light so that people know the truth.”
“Sounds like the plot of a horror movie.”
“That's because it makes perfect sense!” There was the sound of the toilet flushing, and moments later Robin emerged from the cubicle and began to wash her hands. “It's logical. The kid has been wronged, dude, and she wants it all put right. She wants everyone to know the truth about what happened to her, she wants restitution, and she probably wants us to find her body and bury it in, like, consecrated ground. Wouldn't you feel the same way?”
“I guess, but...” She paused as she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she couldn't help but notice that she seemed to have aged a few years in just a couple of weeks, as if her time at Hardstone had begun to drag her down. “Why would she want to kill Emma?” she asked finally. “That's what I don't understand. If she's really here and she really wants revenge, why go for the prisoners and why start with Emma of all people? It just seems too random.”
“Maybe she's just angry at the world,” Robin muttered as she headed to the door. “Maybe she sees all adults as evil, hell, maybe the little ghost is a little racist! I dunno, I haven't got it all figured out yet, but I will. If there's one thing I'm good at figuring out, it's this kind of thing, you know, mysteries and shit.”
“Emma had a sixth toe on her right foot,” Amanda said suddenly.
“She did?”
“I guess it's not important, but...” She paused for a moment. “I just thought it was strange, that's all.”
“There's a lot of little things about this place that don't add up,” Robin replied. “Do you ever get the feeling that you're just seeing little hints of something way bigger that's going on behind the scenes?”
“Here, or in life in general?”
“I'll get to the bottom of it,” Robin continued, “don't worry about that. There hasn't been a mystery invented yet that can outsmart me. Anyway, we owe it to Emma to find out why she died. That shit just isn't right, know what I'm saying? Something pretty fucked up is happening here at Hardstone, and I'm gonna find out what.”
Once Robin had left the room, Amanda finished washing for the night and then headed out into the corridor. Most of the other prisoners were already in their cells, and the guards were coming along to check on everyone. Reaching her own cell, Amanda found that there was no sign of Robin anywhere. After setting her toothbrush on the sink, she headed to her bunk and began to get ready. As she arranged her pillows, she heard Robin entering.
“I think there has to be more to it,” Amanda said, as she turned to face her cellmate. “I don't think Leonora Blake is -”
Stopping suddenly, she saw that it wasn't Robin behind her at all. Instead, she was staring straight into the dark, dead eyes of the little girl.
Part Six
Today
Sighing, Evans tried again, but the truck still wouldn't start. Figuring he was in danger of running late, he grabbed his kit bag, opened the door and climb out before making his way over to the dispatch hut. A light rain was already falling, and the weather forecast had been warning of worse to come.
“That heap of junk is dead,” he told his boss, Symonds, as soon as he walked through the door.
“Try holding the clutch down for ten seconds.”
“I tried that, it doesn't work. You need to get it serviced. This whole fleet is falling apart.”
“Fine,” Symonds replied, leaning over and grabbing another set of keys from the rack, “take number nine.”
“Nine? Did you get the brakes fixed yet?”
“I think you're a tight old bastard who cuts corners.”
“Of course I got the brakes fixed,” his boss replied, clearly exasperated. “Do you really think I'd send you out in a truck that can't stop properly?”
“I dunno, last time there was -”
“The brakes are fine!” Symonds hissed, sliding the keys to him. “Come on, get moving. There's a storm coming tonight so we've got no margin for error, these deliveries have to go out on time, so stop jabbering and get to work.”
“You'd better not be shitting me about those brakes,” Evans replied, making his way to the door. “I don't want to hit the pedal and suddenly find I can't stop, end up crashing into something.” With that, he headed outside.
“Yeah yeah,” Symonds muttered as he turned back to the spreadsheet on his monitor, “whatever. There was never anything wrong with those brakes anyway, they just stuck once or twice. I'll get 'em looked at next week.”
***
“So what's up?” Robin asked, stepping out into the corridor and blocking Amanda's way.
“Nothing,” Amanda replied, barely making eye contact as she slipped past. “Why do you keep asking? That's like the tenth time already this morning.”
“Because you've been acting weird ever since the lights came on,” Robin continued, hurrying after her. “Come on, Weir, you know you can't keep these things from me. I know you better than anyone else in here, which doesn't mean much, but still...”
“I have to get ready. Doctor Bell's expecting me at ten.”
“Screw Doctor Bell. That woman freaks me out anyway, there's something not right about her if you ask me.” Slipping back past Amanda, she stopped in the doorway that led into the bathroom. “Something happened last night,” she continued. “I can tell it from the look in your eyes, it's almost as if...” She paused for a moment, fixing Amanda with a determined stare. “You're scared.”
“I'm not scared.”
“Then quit acting scared.”
“I'm not acting anything! I just want to get to the bathroom!”
“Then say the password.”
Sighing, Amanda began to consider going to one of the other bathrooms.
“Say the password,” Robin repeated.
“What's the password?”
“Same as always. The truth.”
“There's no truth,” Amanda continued, “I guess I'm just having an off day.”
“It can't be the red visitor. You had that last week, not that it seemed to affect you much. Wait 'til I get mine in a week or two, I'll turn into a fucking ogre.”
“I just need to get ready for Doctor Bell,” Amanda explained, “and I have to do something else before that.”
“Like what?”
“Like...” She paused for a moment. “Like none of your business,” she added finally.
“You didn't see anything last night, did you?”
“No!”
“Like the spooky little kid? Did it come again? Did you look at her eyes this time?”
“I didn't see any damn kid,” Amanda hissed, pushing past her and making her way into the bathroom.
“You'd tell me if you did, right?” Robin asked, turning and watching as she hurried into one of the cubicles and pushed the door shut. “You'd tell me, yeah?” she called out again. “Amanda? If you saw Leonora Blake, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?”
***
“I thought he showed up every morning,” Amanda said an hour later, as the first visiting session of the day came to an end. She watched as various people filed out of the room.
“Maybe he got caught in traffic,” the guard replied.
“But he's been here every morning so far, right?”
He nodded.
“This is the first time since I arrived at Hardstone that he hasn't shown up?”
“Tragic, huh?”
“Then maybe...” She looked over at the empty seat where she'd expected to find Ja
mes waiting for her, and slowly a sense of sadness began to creep through her gut. “Maybe he finally got the message. Maybe he decided that there's no point coming anymore.”
“What's the big deal?” the guard asked. “You always jilt him anyway. The guy just sits there every time he comes, watching the door in case you decide to show your face. Why are you suddenly not being a bitch today?”
“Because...” She continued to stare at the empty chair for a moment. “Because I think today might have been my last chance to say goodbye.”
***
“All these metrics are good,” Andrew said as he studied the print-out. “You'll be pleased to know, Amanda, that according to the various tests we've run since you arrived at Hardstone, you're in the top group in terms of both emotional stability and personality control.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means that we don't need to enforce any special measures. Some of the women here have been in the prison system for decades, and that does something to a person's mind. I'm sure you've noticed that a few of them are a little unusual, so we like to keep track of these things and, in theory, deal with problems before they have a chance to get out of control. The psychological impact of incarceration can be -”
“Are we done?” she asked suddenly.
“Well, I -”
“It's just that I have things to do.”
“Such as?”
“Doctor Bell wants me to help her.”
“I see. And how are things going with Doctor Bell? She's told me that you're a very good worker, but I'd like to know how things are going from your perspective. I know the good doctor can be a little abrasive from time to time, so I'm sure you've had to adapt so that you can deal with her. Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”