Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  CHAPTER 2

  “While inside the interview room you should remain seated until it is time for you to leave or unless there is an emergency. If for some reason you need to terminate the visit before the end of the allotted time simply inform the stationed officer. Do not engage in any physical contact with the prisoner. You are not permitted to give anything to the prisoner and you may not accept anything from her either. Do you understand?”

  I nodded to the corrections officer while adding a vocal “yes” to back up my visible acknowledgement of the strict instructions. It hadn’t been all that long ago that I learned audible responses were considered mandatory while inside prison walls. I didn’t know for sure if this applied to visitors as well as prisoners, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. I couldn’t afford for anything to screw this up, least of all something stupid like me not following a basic procedure.

  The simple truth was that this meeting held far more importance for me than it did for the case investigators from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit who had called me in. I’m certain they were well aware of that fact, but I doubted they knew exactly why. Only a small handful of individuals were privy to that answer, and even some of them didn’t actually understand the explanation; they merely accepted it because they’d known me for so long.

  “It’s not like I have anything to give her anyway,” I commented purely out of nervousness. “They had me put everything I own in a locker when they searched me out front.”

  “Then that should make this relatively easy. Raise your arms and hold them out to the side, sir,” the officer instructed.

  “I just told you they searched me out front,” I said, somewhat confused.

  “Yes, and I’m going to search you again, Mister Grant. It’s procedure when dealing with this type of inmate visit.”

  “Gant.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Gant. G-A-N-T. No R.”

  “Sorry. Raise your arms and hold them out to your sides, Mister Gant,” he replied, stressing the pronunciation of my name this time.

  Without further objection, I did as I was told, and he began to pat me down. This second search was no less thorough than the one to which I’d been subjected upon my arrival. In fact, it may have been even more comprehensive, which took some doing since I was literally walking in with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. Still, given the intense level of scrutiny, I couldn’t have felt more naked even if it had been a full-out strip search.

  “Turn toward the wall,” he said and then continued to pat me down once I’d complied.

  “I thought this place was less a prison and more of a medical facility,” I ventured.

  “It’s a medical facility for federal inmates,” he answered without missing a beat. “Patients here are convicts, plain and simple. That makes it a prison.”

  “Minimum security though, right?”

  “Medium, with a few exceptions that lean toward maximum.”

  “Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”

  “Good,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s not something you want to lose sight of while you’re inside, especially if you’re a visitor. Okay, all done. You can relax and turn around now.”

  I let my arms drop to my sides and shuffled around in place as I added, “I’ll keep that in mind. The prison thing, I mean.”

  “You’d better. This may be a medium-security installation for the most part, but we have our problem children, and you’re here to see the worst of them all. Considering her history, your life could depend on staying alert and sticking to procedures.”

  “I guess that’s why I had to spend almost thirty-minutes reading and signing release forms, huh?”

  “That all? Thirty-minutes is nothing. Either way, like I said, this one’s not your normal inmate. I’ll be honest; we’re not really set up for her type. If you ask me she belongs in a supermax, but when they’re crazy, sometimes they send ‘em here. Either way, she’s bad enough that there’s a whole special set of rules just for her,” he explained. “She’ll be staying in restraints for the duration of the visit, and as I mentioned before, an officer will be stationed in the interview room with you at all times, so I don’t anticipate there’ll be any problems. Still, I cannot stress to you enough, Mister Gant, just exactly how dangerous this prisoner is.”

  I glanced at his name badge and let out a half chuckle. “No offense intended, Officer Baker, I know why she’s in here, but isn’t that overkill? I mean, so far everyone has been making her out to sound like that serial killer from those movies who ate his victims with fava beans and Chianti.”

  “She’s close enough in my book,” he replied. Then he regarded me with a skewed stare before asking, “They didn’t tell you, did they?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “A couple of months ago she went monkey-shit crazy during a one-on-one therapy session. Then, when the doc called for help she really lost it. Clawed the living shit out of an officer’s face. Ended up taking five of us to restrain the bitch, and pepper spray didn’t even faze her. Neither did the needle full of sedative they hit her with once she was in restraints.

  “Worst part is that before we could pull her off she somehow managed to break the officer’s jaw, gouge out one of his eyes, and bite off most of his right ear. But unlike our friend from the movies, she spit the ear back out.” He stopped talking and stared at me for a moment then added, “And that, Mister Gant, is why she has her own special set of rules. Still think it’s overkill?”

  I can’t say that Annalise having done this came as a great shock. Still, only just now hearing about it blindsided me quite a bit, and I felt like an ass for making the comparison. I paused briefly then answered him with noticeable hesitation in my voice, “No…they…didn’t tell me about that.”

  “Yeah, well it’s not exactly something we publicize,” he told me. “If all that wasn’t enough, when we finally pried her off him she was moaning like a twenty-dollar whore. Crazy bitch rolled around in her cell for the rest of the day and more than half the night acting like she was gettin’ laid, and I mean hard, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “I do.” I nodded and then offered. “Actually, I doubt she was acting though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She’s a sexual sadist. She literally derives carnal pleasure from inflicting pain. What she did to the officer most likely brought her to a very real and very physical orgasm, which she then perpetuated by reliving the event in her mind. That’s actually part of her signature where her kills are concerned. Beyond that…well…it starts to get a little weird.”

  “Like that isn’t weird enough?” he asked then issued a thoughtful grunt before adding, “Like I said, crazy ass bitch.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I agreed. “So…how is the officer doing? The one she attacked.”

  “Learning to live with a glass eye and spending a lot of time with a plastic surgeon and a shrink.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he grunted. “On the bright side they finally unwired his jaw and let him start back on solid food about a week ago.”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so I continued with my apology. “I’m sorry about the movie reference too. I didn’t mean…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He cut me off, underscoring the words with a shake of his head. “You aren’t the first one to make it, and I doubt you’ll be the last. What it comes down to is that I’m simply trying to warn you, Mister Gant. This woman isn’t one of the run-of-the-mill head cases we get around here. She’s psycho bitch insane.” He wagged his finger in a spiraling loop next to his own head. “Insane inmates are unpredictable, and unpredictable inmates are the worst kind of dangerous.”

  I restrained myself from pointing out that Annalise Devereaux was even more dangerous than he imagined—but in a completely different fashion and for reasons he wouldn
’t begin to believe. Nobody on this planet knew that better than I.

  Instead, I replied, “I appreciate the heads up,” and left it at that.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his expression stoic. “Don’t take it personal, but I’m just doing my job. I don’t know you from Adam, so your problems are yours, not mine. But, you get hurt or killed while you’re in there on my watch, then it is my problem. Doesn’t matter what they had you sign, it’s on me. And, I’ve still got seven more years before I can start collecting a pension, so I don’t need a dead civilian on my hands fuckin’ that up.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  In the wake of his comment he looked me over, one eyebrow cocked upward in a questioning arch. With a quick thrust of his chin toward me he said, “I have to admit I’m a bit curious about this whole square dance though. The way they fast-tracked you isn’t exactly what we consider normal around here, if you get my meaning. Especially for an inmate like Devereaux.”

  I nodded. “I think I probably do.”

  “Rumor is you just flew here from Saint Louis a few hours ago.”

  “Well, rumor is correct. I did.”

  “Must have been an early flight.”

  “Too early.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, as if chewing on that bit of information before swallowing it. A few seconds later he added, “Also seems like there’s a whole lotta other red tape gettin’ cut real quick like.”

  I shrugged and then built upon his metaphor. “I guess the FBI uses some pretty sharp scissors when they have to.”

  “Yeah, guess so,” he grunted. “So mind if I ask what your story is? You a big shot criminal psychologist writing a book about freak jobs like Devereaux or something like that?”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m just a consultant.”

  “Consultant, huh? Well, you seem to know an awful lot about what makes this one tick.”

  “Yeah… Unfortunately she isn’t exactly a stranger to me… But, I’m afraid ‘consultant’ is still pretty much the only real label for what I do.”

  “So what exactly do you consult about?”

  I’d been under this spotlight before, and I knew better than to mention the occult. References to the paranormal generally caused people to look at you like you had lost your mind or simply dismiss you out of hand. I furrowed my brow and gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “Special circumstances. That’s about the only way I can think of to describe it.”

  “Yeah…okay.” He gave me a quizzical look. “So what you mean is you consult on crazy fucks.”

  “It gets a little more complicated than that.”

  “It always does… Well, all I can say is considering the strings that got pulled around here the circumstances must be pretty damn special.”

  I sighed then muttered as much to myself as to him, “You have no idea.”

  “I probably don’t want to,” Baker replied, then without any further questions he returned to an explanation of procedures. “Okay. So with her history and restrictions, this should actually be a non-contact visit, which means you’re supposed to be talking to her through a pane of reinforced glass.”

  “I know. But for reasons I really can’t get into, I need to be physically in the room with her.”

  “That’s some of the other red tape I was talking about,” he said with a quick nod. “Now, under these circumstances we’d normally bring her in first and secure her before letting you into the room, but again, we have a change in procedure. On high said to do it the other way around. Is that your understanding?”

  “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  “Psychological advantage.”

  “And if she goes monkey-shit before she’s locked down?”

  “I’m pretty sure they had me sign something to cover that possibility.”

  “Yeah, well like I said, it’d still end up being my ass in a sling, so let’s hope you’re right about this whole advantage thing.” He shook his head then turned and unlocked a heavy door. After swinging it outward on its hinges, he pointed through the opening and offered a new set of instructions. “Have a seat on this side of the table. I’ll let them know to bring her in.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a nod as I moved past him.

  “Thank me when you’re back on this side of the door in one piece,” he replied as he gave the door a push.

  The barrier thumped closed behind me with the dull finality of a coffin lid slamming shut. I don’t know if it was a product of the eerie sound or simply because I had a very good idea what was coming next, but at that exact moment every hair on my body stood painfully at attention.

  * * * * *

  Some nightmares are measurably worse than others. In my personal estimation, on a scale of one to ten, the terror sitting across the table from me at this very instant was at the minimum an eleven. Of course, I’ll admit I was biased. After all, she had tried to kill me on more than one occasion. But, she wasn’t the first, and I suspected she also wouldn’t be the last. The thing that truly colored my perception of her was the psychological scarring she had left on my wife. That was my personal line in the sand, and she had crossed it without apology.

  The all too familiar thud of my otherworldly headache was continuing to pound out a painful rhythm at the base of my skull. However, the prickling gooseflesh that had accompanied me into the room was finally dying down, not that such turned out to be a true reprieve. One pain had simply faded away only to be replaced by another, that being my intestines twisting into a knot as bile churned deep in my gut. It seemed my body was just full of involuntary responses tied to my current struggle to maintain composure, and apparently it was determined to give them all a chance at an audition. Lucky me.

  I tried to ignore the discomfort and focused my attention on the woman opposite me. Even up close and personal, as we were now, Annalise Devereaux’s resemblance to my wife was a full three steps beyond uncanny. The fact that they shared the same father and their mothers had been identical twins made it a bit easier to imagine from a genetic standpoint, but even then the doppelganger effect was still at best a one in a billion occurrence. Extraordinary as it was, they were almost as indistinguishable in physical appearance as their biological mothers had been; and as we had found out through intensely trying circumstances, their DNA was very close to being just as eerily mirror-like.

  Still, the carbon copy outward appearance was under the best of circumstances. The past few months spent as a guest of the federal corrections system had been less than kind to Annalise, effectively blurring those similarities in the worst way. Instead of a smooth, ivory complexion, she was tainted with a drawn, grey pallor. Her hair was cropped short, and though apparently clean, its once vibrant auburn was lackluster. Instead of bright, jade-green eyes like my wife’s, hers were dull and lifeless. They were staring at me now from deep, darkly rimmed sockets.

  While she was still the spitting image of Felicity, she appeared now as a frail and sickly version of her, which triggered an automatic surge of sympathy deep inside me that was hard to quell. I struggled with the new feeling for a moment, letting out a slow, quiet sigh while closing my eyes. When I reopened them nothing had changed—not that I’d expected such. Still, it was worth a try.

  For all intents and purposes, Annalise Devereaux looked drained, both emotionally and physically. She was used up—for lack of a better expression. She appeared as if she’d had no rest at all for untold ages, and while appearances can sometimes be deceiving, this time it was dead on. I also had a better than sneaking suspicion that it was not just the incarceration that had done all of this to her. A good portion of it was due to the parasite she had invited to set up residence in her body.

  Miranda.

  Unholy wasn’t a word I used often, but in this case it was the perfect descriptor for the brimstone-charred spirit that inhabited my wife’s heretofore unknown half-sister. Miranda was
the unfortunately immortal soul of a sadistic murderess from another century, brought back to life in the here and now by proxy—all because the woman sitting in front of me played with magick she didn’t truly understand.

  Of course, Annalise’s already well-ingrained proclivities had served to fuel the spirit possession, turning her from a professional dominatrix who already walked a bit close to the edge of unbridled cruelty and into a perverted serial killer in her own right. Truth be told, if I believed in Hell then I would say the two of them were a match forged in its darkest bowels.

  But, a trail of mutilated bodies wasn’t the only horror their ethereal union had left in its wake. Felicity and I were the scarred and still bleeding proof of that fact. In the end, that was my primary reason for being here in this room now—to close a final gaping wound and put an end to Miranda, once and for all.

  Whether or not that was actually possible remained to be seen.

  I shifted in my seat then locked my fingers together and rested my hands on the table in front of me as Annalise continued to stare. Not a single word had been spoken by either of us since she was brought in and handcuffed to a circlet mounted on her side of the metal table. After another languid span of time had passed, I glanced at my empty wrist then remembered my watch was in a personal effects locker on the opposite side of several secure doors. I let out a much more audible sigh than before and then glanced around the room in search of a clock, but I found none. Just bare walls, save for a security camera mounted in an upper corner out of easy reach. Finally, I brought my gaze back to meet hers but remained silent.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer I could play this game. I knew her muteness was intentional, and in my mind it was a foregone conclusion she would win this staring contest hands down. She was just as stubborn as my wife, which was of no surprise. If genetics played any part whatsoever in such things, she had inherited the family trait honestly. Besides, she also had insanity in her corner, even if it was by proxy. However, even with those almost insurmountable odds stacked against me, I waited, all the while my brain wrestling with my tongue in order to keep it still.