Lifers 30

Gregg’s head fell against the closed door to Chambers,
it was over, he’d failed them, let them down. And the misery he'd seen within, told him as much. He only hoped Jill hadn’t seen it, but the retching coming from the courtroom belied those hopes. He went to see.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked on reaching her.

Jill was leaning against the wall by the door; her hands were on her knees as she calmed her breathing. ‘Of course I’m not okay,’ she shot back at him. ‘Unlike you I don’t get to smell that kind of thing everyday.’

Her words told him she hadn’t seen, but the tension in them was palpable, and although he didn’t want to, Gregg heard himself shouting back. ‘Luckily for me I don’t either, and even if I did, do you really believe it’s something you get used to?’

Jill sighed, stood, then touched his arm. ‘Yeah okay, I’m sorry, Gregg. I didn’t mean-’

‘Never mind,’ he said, interrupting her apology. ‘I need you to wait here while I go check something out.’

Jill nodded.

Gregg left to go back into Chambers, it was something he’d rather not do, but he needed to know for sure if Alicia Vincent was one of the suspendid corpses in there.

The walk back along the short hallway didn’t feel so short this time, in reality it felt anything but, and the stench that escaped the room only seconds before, hung in the air like the cloak of death it was. Before re-entering, Gregg stood at the door taking deep breaths in order to get as much oxygen into his bloodstream as possible, he only hoped he could keep it there long enough.

After closing the door he surveyed his surroundings. The room looked to be around twenty-feet long, by just as wide, and apart from its occupants, the place was empty. Nothing on the walls, not even windows. The roof-space was open, with four thick wooden beams traversing the gap between two of the walls. The wind howled round the corner of the building but a more immediate noise invaded his ears. The sound he heard when he first opened the door was now apparent. Flies, literally thousands of them, black, blue, green, some even purple looking, and each one the size of a California raisin.

Before Gregg had time to think, they were on him, his hands, his face, his neck, every inch of exposed flesh crawled with them. His lips, even though pressed together in one thin line, felt the thrummimg of tiny feet. One hand he used to pinched his nose, but not because of the smell, the other hand he used to bat at them, but that was a futile act, and one he soon ceased just to keep the more inquisitive ones from invading his ears.

And now he needed to breathe, but if he did, he was sure they wouldn’t *taste* like Californian rasins. Gregg didn’t possess a handkerchief, so pulling his T-shirt up to use as a mask was all he could do to filter out the flies along with the acrid fumes. When he did this, another wave zeroed in finding easy access to his back. Aimlessly they crawled around, each one, running like a misguided bead of sweat, creating its own batch of goose-bumps and sending an ice-cold shiver through him. But there was little he could about it. Being able to breathe was far more important than reaching an itch you couldn’t scratch. And above all else, he had a job to do.

He looked at the carnage before him trying not to feel sickened by it, he needed to stay focussed, to keep his mind on the job. But the burning bile at the back of his throat seemed to have other ideas. He’d witnessed a similar scene to this some years earlier, and as those images of his days as a rookie flashed before his eyes, he forced them from his mind, but knew this visual refresher wouldn’t keep them buried long enough.

Before him, and hanging upside-down from the four wooden beams, were six naked bodies, each suspended by one leg or the other. All six corpses hung from a large, rusty meat hook pushed through the gap behind their Achilles tendon, and swung by only their ankle bone. A narrow line of blood seeped from each of these wounds, indicating that this happened whilst they were still alive. And that sickened him even further.

There were also a dozen more hooks hanging from the beams, but these were empty, although traces of past use still clung to them, as did many of the flies.

Each of the corpses had suffered deep, multiple bite marks to their inner forearms, inner thighs, torsos, and necks. Some of them had their ears, nose, and lips bitten from them. It brought to Gregg’s mind visions of a feeding frenzy, like sharks attacking a shoal of tuna. These poor innocents looked like they were set upon by four or maybe even five attackers each, and were alive at the time.

All of the corpses were young white females, so he knew Alicia Vincent wasn’t one of them. He reckoned they hadn’t been there very long though, a couple of days, maybe four at the outside. And he wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as he could. But he still had a job to do. So his feelings, no matter what they were, didn’t really matter.

His thoughts turned to Celia Brontrose, and how her information had been bang on the money. It was the first time he’d used, or, for that matter, even met with a psychic. Miss Brontrose contacted him and mentioned the use of Chlorofom, one piece of information the police hadn’t released to the press. Larry, on the other hand, had told him not to bother. As far as he was concerned, she was just some crank with nothing better to do than to waste her time and theirs by sticking her nose in where it wasn’t needed, and certainly wasn’t wanted, and something about a psychic and his ass was mentioned.

Gregg tried to remember the girls, but could only recognise two of the corpses from the CNN news footage he’d seen, and they were the only two who still had a full face. He couldn’t remember both their names, but he did remember one of them. Shanon McLean, she was only fourteen, and had been abdudcted two days before Alicia.

Below each of the bodies were small droplets of dried blood. It seems these monsters wasted very little indeed. Some of that blood was black with age, having been there for quite some time. It was more than obvious to him now, this had to be a regular occurrence.

Walking among the corpses, he noticed an iron ring in the centre of the floor. The ring was around the size of a womans bangle, much thicker, but bangle-size nonetheless. The hatch it was attached to, looked to be about four feet wide and deep. He looked a little closer at it. There wasn’t any dust trapped in the seams, and a bolt either side had been released, evidence of recent use, he was sure.

Another thing he was pretty sure of, if he opened it now … he’d find a pit full of corpses, probably dating back years, but he had to know. Crouching before the hatch, he fingered out the ring from its shallow pit and lifted it open. As the gap widened, a cool gust of air brushed over his face sorrounding him with the scent of damp earth, a welcome release from the perfume of death he currently breathed.

Refreshed, but still pestered by flies, he opened the hatch to its maximum, where it rested on a rusty chain a shade over 90° vertical. He was confronted with a staircase leading down into darkness, now he needed a flashlight.

After leaving the room and its misery, he used his back to close the door, rolling left and right over the wood and feeling the remaining stowaways squash against his skin, allowing yet another shiver to ripple through him.

He entered the courtroom to find Jill sat at one of the tables facing the judge’s chair. She was emptying a leather satchel on to it. A box of bullets for Hal’s gun, and some gun oil was all it contained.

She walked over when Gregg entered. ‘Was it as bad as it smelled?’

Gregg nodded. ‘Yeah, six young girls. Been dead three or four days. The heat and the humidity’s aiding their decomposition. Which is why the ammonia was so strong.’

‘So it was like she said? Your psychic lady I mean?’

‘Yeah, kind of,’ he said abscently, he didn’t see the point in going into gory detail. She didn’t need to know.

‘Was the girl you’re looking for one of them?’

‘No. If she’s here, they must be keeping her somewhere else. Which means she might still be alive.’

‘Breeding!’

‘Breeding?’

Jill nodded. ‘Yeah, Breeding. That’s what that boss lady, Ella, said about Vicky. She told Hal to see to it she isn’t harmed any further. That’s why I think she’s still alive now. I was supposed to be hooked up, whatever that means.’

He hoped she’d never find out. ‘Listen, we need to find a flashlight, I found a cellar in that room, but I don’t know what’s down there. There’s no need for you to come, you stay up here and make sure Vicky’s all right.’

Just then, and uncannily on cue, Vicky started screaming, both Gregg and Jill did a double-take before running into the station room. Vicky continually shouted for Jill until she got there, and Hal was sitting on the bench covering his ears in a bid to quell the noise she was making. Vicky stood at the front of the cell holding the bars. It must have been the furthest point from Hal she could find. Her top lip looked swollen, and the blood from her nose had congealed, but still looked wet and sticky. Her left eye had started to blacken, and the cut below it looked deeper than it actually was because of that.

When she noticed Jill running through the courtroom, she screamed out. ‘Get me the fuck out of here, Jill.’

Gregg left Jill to it and opened the wooden cupboard by the station room door looking for a flashlight, inside were some woollen blankets, and an empty green, plastic first-aid box, but there were no flashlights.

Jill moved to the bars and put her hands on Vicky’s hands. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

She nodded speaking softly. ‘But you’ve got to get me out of here.’

While Jill thought about what to do, she looked over Vicky’s shoulder at Hal sitting on the bench. She now knew exactly how to get Vicky out. Or so she thought.

‘Avez-vous encore à vous souvenir de votre cours de français?' ‘Do you still remember your French classes?’

Vicky looked at her, puzzled. ‘Oui.’

‘Then trust me, Vicky.’

Taking Gregg by the hand, Jill pulled him back into the courtroom; she needed to explain what she had in mind to get Vicky out of the cell, and without risking Hal getting free.

A few minutes later they returned to the station room where Jill stood by the cell door. ‘Vicky, ne regarde pas rond, gardez les yeux sur moi.’ ‘Vicky, don’t look round, keep your eyes on me.’

Vicky nodded.

Jill continued. ‘Sous le banc derrière vous est le bétail prod.’ ‘Under the bench behind you, is the cattle prod.’ ‘Quand je reçois le gros gars de venir en barres,’ ‘When I get the big guy to come to the bars,’ ‘L’obtenir et l’utiliser sur lui.’ ‘Get it, and use it on him.’ ‘Quand il redescend Nous allons obtenir, votre liberation.’ ‘When he’s down, we’ll get you out.’

Backing up, Vicky nodded once more, and when the bench hit the back of her knees she sat down in the corner furthest from Hal. Now all Jill had to do was get Hal over to the front of the cell. She gave the nod to Gregg who walked up behind putting his hands in his jacket pockets. Jill’s eyes widened with apprehension on feeling his touch, the small of her back tingled as he placed his lips close to her ear.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m just getting my gun from the pocket.’

Gregg also backed up until he reached the desk, when he did, he sat on its edge.

Jill calmed her breathing as she stood mid-way between the desk and the cells. She folded her arms and slouched on her left leg with her head titled to the right. She was about to grab Hal’s attention when the station room door flew open once more.