Corrections Officer Dominic Del Giorno walked down the row of cells, idly checking that they were secure as he passed. He did so visually; one or two of the women in this cell block would smear smelly little presents on the bars, and he didn’t want to risk catching something. Bad enough that he’d been loaned to the women’s correctional facility due to a freak combination of maternity leave, sick leave, and bereavement. He wasn’t about to do anything that might get him sued, sick, or attacked.
Corrections Officer Millie Jacobsen walked two paces behind him, providing backup and a witness should one of the inmates go ballistic. She also carried the paperwork on the prisoner. They walked in alert silence, but Dominic kept thinking about the oddity of the situation. In his experience, inmates in maximum security prisons didn’t normally serve their terms with spotless records. Anyone who did something that warranted max security didn’t have the self discipline to keep out of trouble.
He reached the prisoner’s cell. The Spartan emptiness of the cell struck him as incongruous immediately. On both sides, the prisoners put up posters, had a few approved books on small shelves, and generally made their cells as homelike as possible, giving in to the natural human instinct to make a residence a home. The prisoner’s cell had nothing but a standard bunk, table, and toilet. None showed signs of any use. The prisoner sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her forehead, arms wrapped around her shins, hands clasped to forearms. Dominic waited a moment for her attention, but she didn’t look up. He glanced at his partner, waved a hand at her. Jacobsen handed him a sheet of paper. He read it twice to be sure of the details before speaking. One detail stood out, and he leaned over to whisper to Millie.
“Officer Jacobsen, what’s with this one here?”
“Weird quirk, she won’t respond to anything else. She doesn’t get violent or anything, just doesn’t reply.”
“You let her get away with that?”
“She doesn’t do drugs, gangs, sex, or anything else that we can tell. For that, we cut her a little slack.”
Dominic shrugged. “Prisoner 126498, stand up and move to the center of the cell.”
The woman in the cell raised her head slowly, like a rusty hinge. Her eyes opened as she did so. She blinked owlishly at him, as if trying to place where she’d seen him before. No, her gaze marked her as worse off than that; he’d seen that look on pot smokers who managed to smoke themselves near comatose. Dominic leaned over to Millie, kept his voice low enough that the prisoner couldn’t overhear.
“Do you have much of a drug problem here?”
Millie didn’t look at him, but he didn’t expect her to. She kept her eyes roving as she replied, equally sotto voce.
“No worse than normal. That’s not it with her though. She’s got some kind of mental problem. She’s autistic or something. She just sits there, day in, day out. About once a week she leaves the cell for food.”
Dominic couldn’t help it; disbelief raised the tone of his voice. “Once a week?”
The prisoner watched them, awareness seeping into her eyes. Her mouth creaked open; a wordless wheeze came out. Lank blonde hair flopped listlessly as she coughed to clear her throat. When she focused on Dominic again, her eyes were augers, drilling into his skull. Her voice, harsh with disuse, whispered out through cracked lips.
“Release me.”
Her voice, breathy and near inaudible, carried a weight of need that made him want to open the door. He stifled a grin, masking it with his professional frown. “Prisoner 126498, stand up and move to the center of the cell.”
The prisoner frowned, a hint of a pout forming on her face. She blinked, once, slowly. Before Dominic could repeat his command, she rose to her feet. She didn’t clamber up, she didn’t leap. She unfolded with a slow, deliberate, grace, marred only by occasional hitches of pained atrophy. After she stood, she took a half step to the side. Centered in the cell, she inclined her head, as if granting them leave to enter her domain.
Dominic had to admit, she was impressive, in a skinny sort of way. Near as tall as he was, with high cheekbones, and big blue eyes. She’d be a knockout if she cleaned up and put on about twice as much weight as she had on her now. Dominic didn’t have a skeleton fetish. He stepped up to the cell door and unlocked it. He swung it wide and then met her eyes.
“Prisoner 126498, follow me.”
“I will.”
Dominic took a few steps away from the door. When he heard no footsteps behind him, he turned to face the prisoner. She stood, eyes closed, shaking. Dominic looked over at Millie. She shook her head minutely, indicating this wasn’t cause for concern. He raised an eyebrow, but waited. The prisoner began panting; gulping air in and blowing it back out. After a few moments, she leapt forward, shoving herself through the doorway. Dominic half raised his stun gun when she lunged, but the moment cleared the doorway she stopped. Much of the tension drained out of her along with a long, deep sigh.
Dominic heard Millie quietly ask the prisoner, “Are you ready to move?”
The prisoner nodded before opening her eyes. “Lead on, Officer.”
Dominic walked, listening to two sets of footsteps behind him. Eventually they came to an armored door. After identifying themselves to the guard beyond the door, it opened. Dominic walked through. Again, after a few steps he stopped. The prisoner had frozen in her tracks, staring in horror at the heavy plate steel door. After a few moments, she closed her eyes, hyperventilated, and tried to throw herself at the door. It was no use; she couldn’t seem to force herself through the doorway.
Her voice wasn’t commanding now. It was frightened. Frightened wasn’t good; frightened people did stupid things. Her eyes remained closed when she spoke to him. “Officer, may I ask you a question?”
If talking would calm her down, he would try talking. “Sure. Can’t say I’ll answer it, but ask away.”
Her voice remained frightened, which made her question that much stranger. “Have I kept correct count of the days? Am I free to go now?”
Dominic thought through his answer carefully. Inmates had screwed up their release before, some of them as late as the prisoner in front of him today. He lowered his voice, so it wouldn’t carry to the rest of the block. “You’ve got some paperwork to fill out; a few formalities.” Here he firmed up his voice, making sure he stressed things to her. “Assuming you follow all the rules today, you ought to be out real soon.”
“How many more metal doors must we pass?”
Dominic wasn’t familiar enough with this prison. He looked over the prisoner’s shoulder at Millie, who flashed him three fingers. He replied, “Three.”
The prisoner looked down at her feet. He’d watched enough people in his life to know she was near tears. She said something, but it was too low to hear. He said, firmly but not unkindly, “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
She spoke again, her voice quiet, but filled with a determination he’d seldom heard in someone who looked as beaten as this woman did. “I have a phobia about metal doors. Could one of you pull me through?”
Dominic stared, nonplussed. He’d heard a lot of weird shit in his career, but this came close to the top of the list. He looked at his partner officer and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. When he stared at her, Millie spoke, her voice as unconcerned as her face.
“Other than the eating, she’s been a model prisoner. There are no notes about her being a wrestler, and at her weight I’d put money on you anyway.”
Dominic sighed. He had to get this done, finish the shift and get to the other shift he had to cover today. He hated filling in like this, but he needed to save up some cash for a big Valentine’s Day gift for his wife. He thought a second. When he spoke, he enunciated each word carefully.
“Prisoner, you understand you have asked me to lay hands on you.”
The prisoner’s lips quirked in a self-deprecating grin. “Guard, I would ask you to carry me, were it not likely to get you in trouble.”
“Are you physically disabled?”
One eyebrow lifted. “Do I look like I am capable of walking far?”
“No, you really don’t. Step back against the wall.”
The prisoner complied readily, leaning back against the stone wall, huddling against the cinder block like her only source of heat in a freezing world. Dominic stepped over to Millie and divested himself of weapons, handing them to her one at a time as she secured them to her belt. When she had them secure and nodded her readiness, he stepped over to the prisoner.
“Prisoner 126498, you have requested I carry you to your destination. Do you understand this requires me to lay hands on you?”
“I understand. Why so hesitant?” She tilted her head and smiled coquettishly.
“Liability, Prisoner. Hold out your hands.”
She did, and he lifted her into a fireman’s carry. It wasn’t the most dignified way he could carry her, but he wasn’t about to dislocate anything catering to a prisoner, even a well behaved, polite one. She startled him with how little she weighed, but he stuck with his decision. When he carried her through the door, she tensed. For some odd reason, the hair stood on end on the back of his neck. Once through the doorway, she went limp and pliant against him again.
They advanced that way until they stood in the outer area of the prison. Here the doors were more Plexiglas than metal, although he set her before one made of wood. She dropped lightly to the ground. He opened the door.
“Prisoner, please advance to the window and collect your belongings.”
She cocked her head at him. “Is this it then?”
“You’ve served your sentence. As of…” Dominic paused, looked at his watch, “about sixty seconds from now, you’re a free woman as far as I’m concerned.”
Dominic saw a change come over the woman right in front of his eyes. If he’d had a weapon, he might have drawn it. He might have used it. The prisoner’s eyes went wide, her face got leaner until it reminded him of a fox, or maybe a snake. Her mouth twisted into a grin that he’d only seen on men who had just shivved a nemesis. Though her hands clenched, it seemed a gesture more of triumph than of violence. She hunched her shoulders and bared her teeth. Her teeth seemed longer, sharper than they really ought.
Then, quite suddenly, the violence and hate disappeared. The woman in front of him was the same one he’d carried out of the prison, but a kind smile replaced her weary grin. When she spoke, her voice retained all of the grandeur he first heard in the cell, and more.
“You have been most helpful, Officer. I will return the favor someday.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Be that as it may, I will return the favor. Never let it be said that Teresa Gelt did not pay her debts.”
***
Johnny Greco was not a happy guy. He’d had a rough couple weeks. First his best bud Tony turns out to be a Fed, some kind of deep cover guy. Then, trying to get that cleared up, he gets pulled into that thing with the freaky blonde chick. Worst of all, that little bitch of a cop collared him for a hit he didn’t even do.
Yeah, he was there when it went down, but he wasn’t the trigger man. Hell, he wasn’t even really involved. If he hadn’t bolted, he thought the crazy blonde might have offed him as well. When she forced the Fed to his knees, Johnny got nervous. A chick shouldn’t be able to that to a guy, just tell him ‘kneel’ and have him put his knees on the ground. She’d leaned over and whispered something to Tony, and he started shaking like a little kid. She’d played with him, rubbing the gun over him like it was some kinda fetish, and Tony never moved, except to shake and moan.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Johnny had seen Tony face down a half dozen Triad enforcers with nothin’ but his swinging dick and a bad attitude. No way was he afraid of some little ash-blonde chick, even if she did have that freaky nut job thing going on. Thing is, when she put the gun to him and shot him, he didn’t flinch or cry, but when she leaned over the corpse and sucked at the hole, Johnny swore he heard Tony screaming.
At that point he ran like hell and tried to forget about Tony or the freaky blonde chick. He felt like he’d got away unscathed when that little bitch cop came up and accused him of killing the Fed. It sounded like they didn’t know Tony was a Fed, though. It also sounded like someone saw the freaky blonde leaving the scene, so even the cheap lawyer the Family would supply a low level mook like him would get him free to walk.
So now all he had to do was chill and wait. He lay at one end of the row of cells, with nobody in the one next to him. The guy at the far end of the row of three cells was nobody he knew, which meant he was nobody. Johnny thought about doing some calisthenics. In prison he’d be able to get to a gym, but here in jail he had to make do.
“Nah, I’m not gonna be here long enough.”
The moment he spoke, the door to the room slammed open. The biggest guy Johnny had ever seen backed into the room carrying something at arm’s length. When he turned around, Johnny fell off the bunk.
The bitch cop followed the big guy into the room, darted past him, and opened the door to the middle cell. The big guy carried the hog tied freaky blonde chick into the cell, lay her down on the bunk, and backed out of the cell. He did all that one handed. He had a cane in his other hand. No way the big guy needed a cane. He looked twenty-something, in really good shape.
Before the bitch detective and the big guy left, she stopped in front of his cell and looked down at him. “Hey, Johnny. Looks like I was wrong about you. You’re not a murderer after all.”
“That mean I get to walk, meter maid?”
“Oh, no, Johnny. You still hit a cop, and we might even get obstructing justice to stick. But you’ll just get a nice vacation from your life of crime, not a short drop with a sudden stop.”
“You don’t scare me, meter maid.”
When she looked at him with real sympathy in her eyes, he thought he might snap and go for her through the bars. “Yeah, I know. It’s ‘cause you’re stupid, Johnny. That’s okay, though. I brought you company who can talk to you on your level.”
With that awful reminder, she left. Johnny stood, carefully avoiding looking into the far cell. Everybody knew if you spent too much time around crazy, you got crazy yourself. He was already getting a reputation for bad luck. If he got a rep for crazy, the Family might just hang him out to dry for a while.
Her voice was the creak of rotting wood. “John Greco. Turn around.”
Johnny didn’t want to. He knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t going to look at the crazy blonde chick.
Her eyes were deep ashen pits. In them he saw surcease of pain, for the dead do not feel pain.
“Oh, God.” The foreign thought, sliding into Johnny’s mind like a bloated leech, forced the unaccustomed blasphemy from his lips. Then again, it might not be blasphemy. It might just be a desperate prayer. Either way, it did no good. The crazy blonde chick spoke, and short of putting a spike through his ears, he couldn’t stop hearing her.
“John Greco. You helped them find me.”
Johnny felt his guts roll. He was gonna puke, he knew it. “No! No, I ain’t no snitch! She collared me, I told her to go to hell, and she left me cooling my heels here for a few hours. I didn’t talk to nobody, I swear.”
Something that should have been a satisfied grin spread across the bottom half of her face. Her eyes were death and dissolution. Her voice was entropy given form in sound. A strangled scream forced its way past his lips as the invading thoughts covered his own in viscous, burning slime.
“I believe you are innocent of betrayal. Your death will be so much sweeter, then.”
A desire to live welled up inside him. He fought, but he could do nothing but shudder. His voice was a pitiful whimper. “I can help you! I got connections!”
“How could you… Wait. Yes. You can help me.” Hearing speculation in that voice scared him more than hearing about his imminent demise. If she killed him, she couldn’t do anything else to him. If she didn’t kill him, she could do anything she wanted to him. Anything she wanted to do to him would be bad. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it with a bone deep certainty. His traitor mouth was already talking, already trying to feed her speculation.
“Yeah. I got friends; they can get you a lawyer. They can get you a crazy plea, easy.”
She frowned at him. Wet warmth filled his crotch, bile filled his mouth, but he didn’t care about either. He was a worm, unworthy of her attention. He whimpered, his mind burning as she forced her thoughts into it, but Belle’s voice lashed at him, driving him.
“You will attend me. There is a place in the south of this city. It is owned by a being known as Sammie. Do you know this place?”
He whimpered his reply. Deep within him, anger tied to spark, but found nothing dry enough to ignite. “No. I don’t know no Sammie.”
She stared at him, and he felt her inside his mind. She rummaged through his thoughts; they disintegrated as she touched them. After a while, the only thing he remembered from the past week other than the fear of her was confession this morning. She spoke again, and the bile rushed from his mouth in a wave.
“You will go to your place of worship. You will go south for one block and enter the alley. Take a right, then a right, then a left. Follow the line of people once you see it. Tell the Door Warden you are there to serve Belle.”
It was the word ‘serve’ that did it. Something inside snapped, his last reserves of blind courage came rushing forth. “Why am I gonna do that?”
Belle smiled at him, and his courage eroded like ice in rain. “Because your choices are that, or this.”
With that, she dissolved. Her hair went first, expanding about her head in a halo of dust. Her lips and nose and eyes were next, faint wisps of steam rolling from them as soft tissue let go of its water. Her skin flaked away, the muscles underneath dripped blood and fluids as they disintegrated. Neither the steam nor the blood hit the floor; it dissolved to steam too fast.
Just before the muscles dissolved completely, Belle’s voice slithered into his ears once more. “Remember, John Greco. You are mine. Now and forever more.”
Johnny’s bowels released, and unconsciousness reached out welcoming arms, but not before Belle’s skull shattered on the floor.
***
“So, Frank. What gave you the idea to pull that insane stunt?”
Matt looked down at her, a frown on his face. She hated making him frown, but couldn’t resist teasing him. It was a problem. Pits! She smiled up at him, and his frown softened. His soft voice rolled over her, filling the elevator and wrapping her in eiderdown.
“It wasn’t insane, Detective Miles. It was risky, but it was a calculated, controlled risk. As long as I could immobilize Belle before it realized what I was trying to do, I was relatively safe.”
He was too much. She couldn’t keep her disbelieving squawk contained.
“Safe? How is anything involving a Lord of Hell safe? Especially one that can unmake things with a touch?”
“Relatively safe, Detective Miles. It was the only way to see justice done. Besides that, there was a second string to my bow.”
She grinned up at him, pleased that he wasn’t as insane as she’d thought. “You had a backup plan? What was it? Holy water in a squirt gun?”
“No, Detective, although that would have been an interesting tactic. You.”
She looked up at him, waiting for the rest of his sentence. He seemed perfectly willing to let her stare. He was doing quite a bit of staring of his own. She didn’t mind, although the different color eyes would take some getting used to; one blue, one green.
The old elevator ground upwards. They’d started in the basement with the holding cells. They were headed for a spot just under Billy Penn’s hat. The trip took a while, and they’d have to walk the last bit. She always spent some time up close to the sky after she collared a major bad guy. She didn’t like to think about why.
It had been so long. She remembered everything she’d done in His service, but she was beginning to forget what His Presence had been like. She had words, but words didn’t describe the experience well. If she were honest with herself, most of them had been cribbed from Psalms and the Song of Solomon anyhow. The longing surged up in her, bringing a wistful tear to her eye.
She had no idea what Matt thought of her tearing up, but something changed in his eyes. He didn’t look away, but she could tell he was thinking, plotting something out in his head. When he spoke, she was surprised where his mind had wandered.
“Detective Miles, my inspection and investigation work is done pro bono, donated to the municipality by myself and my father. Would you say we have the same employer?”
He’s wondering about employment at a time like this? The moment the thought hit her, she knew she was lost, and more than a little anger coursed through her. Some of it was at Matt for being so dense. Some of it was at Mike for belonging in a pit. Most of it was at herself, for letting her guard down and wanting things, expecting things. This wasn’t a special time for him. He’d proven himself an excellent investigator, now he had to pay the rent.
Michaela dropped her eyes to her boots, wishing she knew what she’d done wrong to deserve this exile. She scuffed one toe against the floor, wondering what she’d done recently to deserve the change from the long-endured, burning cold of separation to the sharp spikes of torturous unrequited need.
Matt cleared his throat, and she looked back up to his eyes as he said, “Well? Do we have the same employer, Detective?”
She shrugged and wished the intensity in his eyes wasn’t related to his financial situation. “Does the city pay your bills?”
His voice warmed and soothed her. Even a single word made her toes curl up in her boots. Pits! “No.”
The elevator neared the top floor. They’d get out soon. She gave him an honest answer, because she’d never quite got the knack of lying. “Then no, you don’t work for the city, which means no, we don’t have the same employer.”
“Good.” Matt wasn’t fast, but there was a sense of implacable inevitability to his actions. With one hand he reached past her to the elevator controls. While she looked behind her to figure out why, he swept his other arm behind her thighs, lifting her up into the air. Her back was aflame. She spun back to face him, mouth opening to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing…
And he kissed her. Matt’s lips brushed against hers, his tongue teased at her mouth, and she tasted the clean, pure taste of him. Michaela had no idea what to do. She had no instincts for this situation, but the tingling of her lips and the ache between her hips dwarfed the burning along her spine. Before Michaela realized what she was doing, she kissed him back. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. They weren’t quite long enough for her toes to touch. She still had no idea what she was doing, so she mirrored everything Matt did with his lips and tongue.
They danced, sparred, and played with nothing but their mouths. Then Matt slid his hand up the inside of her unbuckled trench coat. Nothing stopped his hand from gliding over the smooth silk of her skirt where it covered the curve of her ass. His hand slid further, and a whimper escaped her when she realized his one hand spanned her entire back. Matt pulled her toward him, his palm pressed up against her spine.
Lightning struck along her back, racing from where his hands touched her to where her legs pulled her tight to him. She bucked up against him, her actions involuntary. Michaela pulled him tighter to her, the kiss turning hungry, demanding. She realized distantly that Matt mirrored her as much as she mirrored him.
When he pulled back, she teetered precariously between whimpering and lunging forward, demanding he continue. Before she resolved herself either way, his voice washed over her. Michaela felt the hunger in it, the need, but behind both, surrounding them, chaining them, she felt the strength of Matt’s self control holding him back. She whimpered. The lunging and forcing option looked more attractive by the second.
“Are you sure?”
Only a whimper escaped her. His huge, warm, electrifying hand pulled her away from him. She saw her eyes reflected in his, cinnamon mirrored in blue and green. “Michaela, are you sure about this?”
She forced her mouth to make words. If she answered his question right, his hand would stop pulling away, his lips would stop with all the talking.
“About what?”
“You don’t seem the type to have sex in an elevator. I don’t want you to have regrets. About this.”
She stared at him, her conscious mind warring against… Warring against just about every other part of her, it seemed. Her gaze tracked down his body to where her legs wrapped around him, to where her skirt rode up where she pressed against him. For a timeless moment, she shuddered with delicious agonizing frustration. Then she moved.
***
She stood in front of him, back to him, the belt on her trench coat cinched tight. Matt had done something wrong, said something wrong. A moment ago, the incarnation of perfection standing before him had clutched at him with arms and legs, inches from taking him right there in the elevator. He thought he’d read her right, thought he’d seen desire in her that matched his own. For a few incredible, insane moments it seemed that he was right.
Now she was all business, nearly as distant as when they first met. Then her distraction had been a murderer on the loose. Now he was quite certain it was him. His intemperate action had cost him his only chance with this earthbound angel. He let out a sigh as she toggled the emergency switch.
“I apologize, Detective Miles. That was presumptuous.”
Her voice acerbic, flaying him as she said, “Did you think I wanted you to?”
“I suspected you did. No, honestly I hoped you did.”
“Did I tell you no?”
Her questions tormented him, but he supposed he deserved it for taking advantage. No one could say he wouldn’t pay for his mistakes. “I don’t believe you did. I wasn’t listening too closely there for a bit.”
“Do you think you hurt me?”
Shock ran through him. He hadn’t paid close attention to his strength. He was usually so careful. “I… I didn’t think. Did I?”
She opened her mouth to speak, searched for a word. With a shrug she settled for, “Not in any way you’d understand.”
“But I did? Hurt you?”
Shaking her head, she waved him to silence. “Look, Frank. This sounds stupid, but it’s not you. It’s me. You were wonderful. I’ll regret stopping you as much as I regret letting you start for the rest of my life. Now, can we drop the subject?”
The elevator slid open, and Michaela led him to a small access door. She climbed the ladder above him. Climbing without looking up presented a challenge, but he managed. A handful of minutes later, they perched just beneath the statue atop the tallest building in Philadelphia. The city spread out beneath them, panoramic, peaceful. He watched the tension in Michaela slowly blow away on the wind. After a while, her only sign of discomfort was an occasional wriggle against the column she leaned against.
He knew then that she was letting him in closer to her than she had in the elevator. When he realized that, he leaned back, content. He was touched. Possibly touched in the head, but touched.
“Hey Frank?”
“Yes, Detective Miles?”
“What were you gonna say about your backup plan?”
Matt had to think about it for a while before he realized what she was talking about. “I said it. You.”
“I was your backup plan?”
He saw the tension gather in her once more, but he couldn’t lie, especially to her. “Yes, Detective Miles.”
“You realize I’d sworn not to touch her.”
Matt smiled. “Not unless she laid hands on someone in the club.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I was in the club when you took your oath.”
Michaela’s gaze swiveled around to him, disbelief writ plain on her face. Twice she started to speak; she stopped herself both times. When she finally spoke, it started as an outraged squeak and didn’t improve much from there.
“You’re insane. You’re off your rocker. You’ve got a death wish. You’re an absolute menace.”
He shrugged. He was what he was, and if she thought that was insane, there was little he could do. He stared off into the sunset. It was peaceful.
“Frank?”
“Yes, Detective Miles.”
“Call me Michaela.”