Lights Out (8 page)

His friend shook his head, wiped a hand over his face. “Because we had four more murders yesterday, Darren, and the bodies from the night before are now missing. Is that a good enough reason for you? I can pull a few more out of my sleeve if you think those weren’t up to par.”

So Ron was going to play it like that. Darren shook his head, turned away. He couldn’t believe his friend was doing this, making them confront each other this way.

“If you keep these men bottled up...There’s a lot of tension out there already. It’s only going to build, when you add in the rumors and the hearsay--”

“How is there going to be hearsay? How is there going to be a rumor mill when the prisoners can’t even see each other? I don’t see how that can be a factor. We can control information this way. We can keep everything straight and calm until we find out who is behind this.”

Darren rolled his eyes. “Don’t play naïve with me. I’ve been here almost as long as you have, and we both know a lockdown doesn’t stop communication. Word still gets out, and it even gets twisted around more than usual. Things are going to get blown more out of proportion now than they would have if we’d done nothing!”

Ronald stepped away from his desk and moved to look out the one window his office allowed him. “I’m trying to deal with a real clusterfuck of a situation here, Darren. I don’t have to remind you that this is my prison and not yours, right?”

“I know whose prison it is, Ron. I also know who has to live in it, and I know how they get through their days. This isn’t going to make that any easier.”

“It’s prison. It’s not designed to be easy.”

“And it’s not designed to make men kill each other, either.”

“No, most of them did that on their own. That’s how they got here in the first place.”

“And letting them murder each other isn’t the answer. If these men end up going stir crazy because of a lockdown, that’s exactly what’s going to happen once you open the doors. Aren’t we supposed to be rehabilitating?”

“Yes, we are. And once we’re done catching a murderer, we’ll get right back to doing it.”

“And how difficult can that be? Don’t we have surveillance in solitary?”

“Yeah, there’s a camera in there. It’s old, though. Shit, most of the equipment in this prison is about a day short of ancient. The picture was just about worthless--a grainy mess. If we see a blur running around, we can be sure that’s our guy.”

“So we’ve got nothing.”

“And you’d rather just let them wander the halls like what? Bait?”

“I’m not saying that. You know I’m not. Maybe if we let them mingle, though, we can keep an eye on them. We’ll see who talks, and it’ll give us more clues than we have right now.”

Timms frowned. “No. We’ll get our answers after the prisoners have sat in their cells for a few days.”

“So the lockdown’s an interrogation technique?”

“No, it’s a precaution. Look, they’re dusting the cells in solitary. They’re dusting the morgue. We’ll have somebody come in today to do autopsies on the new round of bodies. We’ve got those locked up in cold storage. That’s the best I can manage right now.”

Darren stepped forward until he was touching the warden’s desk. He shook his head, placed his hands flat on top of the desk. “But locking everybody up? It’s like we’re trying to keep them safe by punishing them.”

Ron plopped down in his chair. “What would you rather have me do? Want me to get all the prisoners into a big room and say ‘Somebody’s killing a bunch of you, but we have no clue who it is or how they’re doing it. Enjoy your lunch?’”

“At least that might build some trust! Do you think anybody out there with information is going to bring it to you after this? And what about with the leaders? I promised them there wouldn’t be a lockdown, and they agreed to a truce so we can finish this! Is that going to stick around now? Are they going to lay off each other and let you complete an investigation? I sure as shit don’t think so!”

Ronald paused long enough to sip at his coffee. He looked tired, and Darren thought he might even look a little regretful.

“Peace would have been nice, but you ought to know these men by now. Ribisi, Sweeny. Diggs and Marquez, too. They don’t give a shit about anybody but themselves. They didn’t plan on keeping that truce any longer than it took them to leave your office. If you think otherwise, you’re kidding yourself.”

Darren watched Timms for a long moment. The office was silent, save their breathing. He spent the time fighting the urge to scream at one of his best friends. When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured.

“Fuck you, Ron.”

The warden’s eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you condescending asshole. I do good work here, and you know it. I work every day to not only satisfy the spiritual needs of these men, but also to improve life inside this shithole in any way I can. While you sit in this office and pore over your papers, sipping coffee and examining budgets and planning lunches with the Governor, I’m out there with
them,
getting to know
them.
And if I
am
in my office, nobody has to go through a secretary to see me. They can knock on my fucking door. So don’t you dare tell me I haven’t built a relationship with them, because you haven’t gotten out from behind your desk long enough to take a look.”

“Darren--”

Albright didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest.

***

Morrow walked along the highest level of Cellblock C. He remained alert, his eyes constantly searching for trouble. His arms swung at his sides, and his steps were casual, but sure.

“Hey, Officer. When the fuck are they letting us out?”

He gave the prisoner, a white guy with graying hair and glasses, the slightest of glances. “Wish I could tell you.”

“This is bullshit.”

“Just sit tight. Jerk off or something.”

“You’re bullshit too, Officer.”

“Long as you keeping calling me Officer, I don’t care. Enjoy your stroke.”

The prisoner grumbled something unintelligible as Morrow walked away, not that he gave a shit what the con had to say. You had to pay some attention to these assholes, or else you might not see them coming until it was too late. Paying too much attention, though, would drive you crazy real quick.

There was a fine line a good correctional officer had to walk. You had to balance being fair with being smart and being firm. You had to form relationships with your prisoners, get them to trust you so they wouldn’t try to stab you in the back, but you could never have faith in them. You could never get close, though. Close was only inches away from receiving a shank between your ribs. Morrow thought he walked the line pretty well, better than most of the younger guards, the John Wayne’s who thought the prisoners were their private whipping posts, at least. Their behavior made him sick.

He walked past three more cells. At the fourth, he came to a stop.

“What are you doing in there, Hollis?”

Bobby, a computer fraud con in his mid-thirties, looked up from his bunk. “Me, Officer Morrow? I’m not doing anything, just minding my business and all.”

“Good to hear.”

“Officer,” Bobby said, rushing up to the bars, “Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?” he answered. He stepped closer to the cell, remaining casual.

“Well, I was just wondering who I have to talk to in order to get the new Flight Simulator installed on some of the computers in the library.”

“Flight Simulator, huh? You want to be a pilot or something?”

“I just like the game, man,” Bobby answered as he slipped the folded bills between the bars. “It relaxes me. It’s not like I’m practicing to do an Al-Qaeda when I get out or anything like that.”

“I don’t know.” He took the cash and pocketed it, retrieving the small glass vial at the same time. He pressed it into Bobby’s palm, and it disappeared. “I can ask around a little, see what I can find out. How’s that?”

“That would be great.”

He looked down his nose at Hollis. “You want me to come back tomorrow, let you know if I’ve found anything out?”

The con flashed a stupid, enthused smile. “That would be awesome.”

“Fine. See you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait, Officer.”

Morrow watched Bobby shuffle back to his bunk and slouch into it. He turned away and started walking, made it three whole steps before he heard the snorting sounds. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore them. He had other deliveries to make. Lockdown wasn’t an excuse Ribisi was going to buy.

Ten years, he’d been working in Burnham. Ten years climbing the shit-smeared ladder. Ten years in the palm of Anton’s Ribisi’s hand.

His heels clicking on the walkway, he continued on his rounds, trying not to hate himself.

***

Maggot spent the day on his bunk, curled in as tight a ball as he could manage. His eyes stood wide open, and he stared at the walkway outside his cell. He shivered, and his heart refused to slow to its normal pace. Every now and then, he would cry without making a sound, tears rolling down his face until his eyes ran dry. Whenever he cried, he saw Dr. Wilson lying twisted on the floor with the other two men, their blood spattered around the cold morgue, and he would quake harder. His body’s movements made the entire bed shake, and after a moment his cellmate--a large man whose name Maggot could never seem to remember--would tell him to cut it out before he beat Maggot’s ass three different shades of blue. He did it, too. Twice. And after each beating, Maggot just curled back up onto his bunk and stared out at the walkway again.

Meals came and went, and still Maggot refused to leave his bunk. The guards tried to make him, but he told them he wasn’t feeling well. They asked him if he wanted to go to the infirmary, and he told them he would be fine if he could just lie still for a while. The guards believed him, and they left him alone. Even Nicholas only gave him a brief glare before leaving, banging his nightstick against the cell door on his way. The clanging sound almost wrenched a scream from Maggot’s throat.

Shortly after dinner--another meal he skipped, instead letting his cellmate take the simple peanut butter sandwich and apple--lights out finally arrived. Darkness folded over the cellblock, and Maggot’s cellmate wasted no time in raping him. Maggot just laid there through the ordeal, listening to the man’s hushed grunts, too frightened to be thankful it wasn’t Officer Nicholas inside of him. He watched the walkway, and when his tears came again, he thought he saw Dr. Wilson and the others again. Only this time they weren’t lying twisted and bloody on the floor. They were moving through the shadows, their forms hunched and their movements fast and mean. For the first time that day, Maggot made a sound. From deep in his throat a whimper crawled up, and it took all of his remaining sanity to keep it from becoming a scream.

Nine

The next morning, the bodies of Dr. Edward Wilson, Aldo Italiano and Chale Jiminez had disappeared.

PART TWO

One

“Good thing we went to lockdown. Really kept the rule-breakers in line.”

Darren watched Ron, waiting for him to acknowledge the remark. When his friend did, giving him the most cursory of glances before shaking his head and turning back to the trio of open freezers, he was shocked at how haggard and hollow the man looked. It appeared as though the events of the past few days had turned the warden into an old man before his time. His back had even grown the slightest bit stooped. Darren shook his own head. Seeing his friend this way did nothing but sadden him.

“It’s bullshit,” Ron said. “All of it is bullshit.” He turned away from the freezer doors that either hung from twisted hinges or lay discarded on the tile floor, dented and scratched, and looked back and forth from Darren to Morrow and back again. A flashbulb went off in the background, the forensics team getting shots for the ensuing investigation. “This whole place is falling down around my ears.”

“Get over your self-pity for a minute. Some bad shit’s happening, but you’re doing everything you can.”

The warden rubbed a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Am I?”

“What else is there to do?”

“I wish I knew, Ron. Truly.” Darren gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. “Something will turn up. There’s no way these bodies could have gotten out of the prison.”

“Unless they walked.”

He turned to face Morrow, and he was sure Ron did the same. The correctional officer looked spooked, and his eyes zeroed in on the damaged freezers.

“Ray?” Ron asked.

“What? Look at those goddamn things! Somebody didn’t pull those off and then go stomping on them for jollies or whatever. Those things were busted open from the inside! I can’t be the only one here who’s thinking it.”

“You are, Ray, and you might be crazy for saying it out loud.”

“Come on, warden!”

“Those bodies were dead. You were there with me, and you saw them. All three dead as goddamn doornails. They couldn’t have torn those
locked
doors open from the inside.”

“Maybe they’re stronger when they wake up.”

Timms frowned. “Don’t you say another word, Ray. Not one.”

“The original ones disappeared, too. Do I have to spell it out?”

“For the sake of your job, you’d better not.”

“My job? You’d fire me?”

Timms nodded. “If I have reason to think one of my officers is unstable.”

“Unstable? I’m just… What other theories do we have? What other theories could there possibly be?”

“Could be a prank for all I know. Could be some asshole stashing bodies and pulling shit like this in order to turn the whole place on its head. Whatever theories we might have, they’re part of an official investigation, and I don’t have to share them with you.”

Morrow turned to Darren. His expression was a desperate one. “Father, come on. You see what I’m getting at, don’t you? It’s not crazy. You’ve got to know that!”