Prey Drive (20 page)

Joe motioned for her to lean in closer. Cindy looked around to make sure no one was watching them and Joe did the same. The inmates were watching TV or begging nurses for painkillers. The other nurses and doctors were busying themselves with other patients.

“Do you love me, Cindy?”

Cindy giggled nervously then wiped her eyes again as fresh tears welled up in them. She nodded her head vigorously.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I do, Joseph.”

She covered her mouth as another sob escaped and the realization of what she’d just confessed hit her.

“I love you too, Cindy. I want to be with you forever. I want to make you happy.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

Joe gestured for her to lean in closer. Cindy checked her surroundings again before obliging.

“You have to get me out of here, Cindy. You have to get me out before they kill me. They’re going to kill me, Cindy.”

Thirty 

The trip to the state penitentiary was a long one. The Mercedes E-Class devoured the road in quick gulps, bringing her ever closer to the man she loved, the only man capable of giving her the ecstasy she desired.

Since her parents’ death, Selene had slowly begun to re-accustom herself to the luxurious accouterments of wealth. Her modeling career had been put on the back-burner now that the investigation into her father’s “mysterious” death had been concluded and his millions had finally transferred to her. She ran her hands over her voluptuous curves, squeezing her hips and breasts, imagining they were Joe’s hands, caressing her, appreciating her as no other man could. She closed her eyes and squeezed her nipple. She could see Joe’s mouth close over her breast, his savage teeth biting through the supple flesh to remove the tender nub. It would be a worthwhile sacrifice to have his gift.

Selene remembered her own experiment with cannibalism with a shudder. She’d been a fool. Hadn’t he told her his unique proclivities were the result of a curse? Didn’t he explain to her in his letters how he had been assaulted by Damon Trent as a child, how his father had murdered more than thirty young boys and girls, and how this disease had been passed along to him through his bloodstream? That’s why he murdered both of them, trying to put an end to his curse. Now he thinks the curse originated with his grandfather and he wants to get out of prison so he can hunt the man down and murder him. His idiot cousin, Dirk, had filled in that last tidbit. But Selene didn’t want the curse to end; not until she could get herself infected.

All the money in the world couldn’t purchase the ecstasy she craved. Only Joseph could give her that, but her money could get her closer to him. Selene’s lawyer had spread liberal donations and campaign contributions around in her name to secure her a few conjugal visits with her “Cannibal Cassanova,” and she was going to make the most of them. She was determined to experience the pleasures of the flesh, the all-consuming ecstasy burning inside Joseph Miles, even if she had to tear the curse from his bleeding corpse.

Thirty-One

When Professor Locke came to visit him, Joe was poking at his stitches, trying to determine the extent of his wounds. He had refused a dose of dilaudid. He didn’t want anything clouding his mind or dulling his pain. Pain provided necessary information about the health of his body. What he felt now was tolerable, and after three hours without pain killers, the nurses had assured him all the narcotics were out of his system and the pain wouldn’t get much worse than this.

“Good morning, Joseph. How are you feeling?”

It was the professor’s standard greeting. Usually it meant: “How are the treatments affecting you? Still feeling like killing and eating people?” But today there was a hint of genuine concern in his voice.

“I’ve had better days, Professor.”

The professor took a quick glance at his bandages.

“I heard you were in a pretty vicious altercation.”

Joe shrugged.

“I guess so.”

“You broke the guy’s leg, tore some muscles in his shoulder, and he stabbed you a few times.”

Joe nodded.

“But you didn’t bite him.”

“No, sir. I didn’t bite him.”

The professor stroked the whiskers on his chin, and then looked over his glasses at Joe.

“That’s progress, Joe. I’m sure you could have ripped him apart had you wanted to.”

“Oh, I wanted to. I just didn’t. I didn’t want to get sent back to supermax.”

“Still, that’s progress. I don’t think you’d have been able to exhibit that sort of control even a few weeks ago. Do you think the ketamine is helping?”

“I don’t have the same urges. Not as often or as intense as before.”

The professor nodded and then scribbled something in a small notebook he carried.

“May I ask you a question, Joseph?”

“Of course. Anything, professor.”

The professor continued staring at Joe for a while before speaking. His eyes were like microscopes, studying Joe on some subatomic level where all his pretensions and affectations became transparent.

“I watched you in your cell, before you were transferred out of supermax …”

Joe’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.

“Yes? And?”

“And you were doing some sort of shadowboxing routine …”

Wincing, Joe sat up in bed. Clearly interested now in what the professor was about to ask him.

“Is this what you were training for? This type of thing?”

“In a manner of speaking, you could say that.”

The professor nodded, but his face did not look entirely convinced.

“I met a man the other day, a mixed martial artist. I told him about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Joseph. He said you’d probably make an excellent fighter. What do you think about that, Joseph?”

Joe shrugged.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, I think that might be a good career for you if you ever get out of this place. It would be a way to channel your natural aggression.”

Joe shrugged.

“Maybe. I don’t think they’d let me take ketamine before fights though.”

“Maybe you won’t need it. There’s a sea sickness drug that affects the glutamate receptors the same way as ketamine. It’s non-addictive and I don’t think any state athletic commission would have a problem with it. In the meantime, I found a new drug I’d like to try with you called Riluzole. It is specifically designed to modulate the glutamate receptors just like ketamine.”

Joe cocked his head and smirked at Professor Locke, searching the aging scholar’s eyes for whatever was motivating this talk.

“Professor, do you want me to fight?”

Professor Locke took a long, deep breath.

“Joseph, I am just considering all the possibilities.”

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think fighting would help me control my urges?”

“I think it would help you channel those violent impulses. Now that we know you can protect yourself without losing control. It may be something to look into.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment before he responded. He thought about his fight with the big transvestite and his destruction of Armondo.

“I don’t really enjoy fighting, Professor. I don’t want to be violent anymore. I want to be cured.”

Professor Locke nodded and patted Joe on the shoulder.

“I understand, son. I am merely trying to present you with options.”

The professor handed Joe some pills and a cup of water.

“Is this the Riluzole?”

“Yes. The ketamine might cause a bad reaction with the other pain killers you’re on. This should be safe.”

Joe palmed the pills as he pretended to take them and drink the water. He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue so the doctor could see that the pills were gone. Professor Locke nodded and turned to leave then turned back around and looked at Joe over the top of his glasses.

“Joseph?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“If you don’t enjoy fighting, why do you spend so much time in your cell practicing fighting moves?”

Joe suppressed a grin, but not before the professor caught it. They stared at each other, reading one another’s thoughts as clearly as if they had been written in the air between them.

“Those are just exercises, Professor.”

They both knew he was lying. Professor Locke opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it and turned to leave again.

“Take care of yourself, Joseph.”

Professor Locke patted Joe on the leg and smiled warmly before walking down the hall and exiting the infirmary.

Joe stared at the closing door for several long minutes before he slipped the pills into a book he was reading, Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein
. He then closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. The sights and smells of the hospital ward were awakening all of Joe’s predatory instincts. The smell of blood was overpowering. The sick, injured, and elderly lined both walls. Even injured, Joe knew he could have taken down any one of them and fed until his stomach burst. It had been more than a week now since his last ketamine injection. Not since before his injury. Its effects had worn off and his prey drive was at full throttle for the first time since his incarceration. Every instinct within him was calling out for him to feed the monster, but it wasn’t time yet.

His eyes were closed and he was breathing in slow, measured breaths when he heard and then smelled the man standing above his bed. He smelled like Skittles and cigarettes. Joe opened his eyes and looked at the wild-eyed man smiling down at him. He was dressed in a blue trustee’s uniform and carrying a mop. He had brown eyes and hair and was wearing thin, rectangular glasses. Joe recognized the man. He’d seen him around mopping the floor, changing bedpans, and bringing mail to the patients. He always had some sort of horror novel sticking out of his back pocket. Today it was something about zombies by an author named Nate Southard that Joe had never heard of. The trustee was just under six feet and soft in all the right places. Joe felt his stomach growl and the monster slowly unfurl in his pants, awakening, mean and ravenous.

“You’re Joseph Miles, right? I read all about you. Damn, you really do look like Clark Kent! Well, like a twisted, evil version of Clark Kent, like Superman after a dose of red Kryptonite. But I bet you look just like him when you’re all cleaned up.”

Joe continued to stare at the trustee, watching his carotid artery pulsate along the side of his neck. He could feel his self-control slipping. He needed to feed. It was the only way to heal his injuries fast enough. The doctors would take weeks, but Joe knew that a fresh kill, devouring the living energy of a vibrant soul, would make him stronger.

“There was a girl here to see you a couple days ago.”

Joe paused.

“A girl? Lana?”

The trustee shook his head.

“She said her name was Selene. That’s what the guards told me. They tell me everything. People trust me around here.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

The trustee grinned and blushed a little.

“They said she was here for a conjugal visit. It was unusual. That’s why they told me. She had permission from the warden and everything. They don’t usually allow conjugal visits in this prison. Not even for married inmates. That’s what was so unusual. The trailer they used to use for conjugals is just used for storage now. She isn’t even married to you. I’d have known if she was. I’ve read all about your case. How you ate that librarian alive and then roasted that guy alive on a spit. That was so sick! I couldn’t believe it when I read about it.”

The trustee leaned down and whispered in Joe’s ear. Joe had an almost irresistible urge to bite a chunk out of the man’s face as he leaned in close.

“I tried it. After I read about what you did. I tried it. I’m in here for attempted rape, but they don’t know about the others.”

The man stood back up, puffing out his chest, waiting for Joe’s approval.

“Is she coming back?’

“Who? The girls I …”

“Selene. Did she say she was coming back?”

“Yes. She said she was going to stay in town and she wasn’t leaving until they let her have her conjugal visit. She wants you bad, man.”

He leaned down and whispered in Joe’s ear again.

“I can get you out of here.”

Joe looked at the man in surprise. The trustee was smiling and nodding.

“I help take out the inmates that don’t make it. You know, the ones that die. I put them in a pine box and stick them on the truck and the state takes them away and cremates ’em. I can put you on that truck.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed.

“Why? Why would you do that for me?”

The trustee’s smile widened.

“Because you’re my hero. I read all about your case and then when I found out you were coming here I couldn’t wait to meet you. But they put you away in supermax where no one could see you.” His voice dropped even lower. “Then I heard you mutilated that piece of shit Luscious.”

Joe couldn’t place the name at first and his confusion must have shown on his face because the trustee quickly refreshed his memory.

“That big, black fucker with the braids that you were in a cockfight with. He used to try to hurt me. He said he was going to fuck me in the ass. That’s just how he said it. That crude bastard. If he’s going to try and rape me, you’d think he could at least be a little nicer about it. Try a little romance or something. I was scared to death of that big sonuvabitch. I heard rumors about what he did to people. Hell, I even saw some of them come through here with their anuses prolapsed from that big, black bastard’s cock ripping up their insides. And he wanted to do that to me? No, thank you. My asshole is strictly exit only. I made a shank just in case he tried anything, but I didn’t really think I’d have a chance even with a shank. But you fixed that. He ain’t gonna be hurtin’ nobody no more. Not without a dick.”

Joe nodded.

“Then, that Mexican guy you ripped apart? He was going to shank me because I wouldn’t give him my cornbread. He asked me for it in the cafeteria and I was hungry and they don’t usually have cornbread. It might be a year before they have it again. So I said no and he tried to stab me. I climbed up on the table and was running around the cafeteria trying to get away from him. Then the guards grabbed him and threw him in a strip cell. Next I heard, he was in a fight with you and got his face ripped off. You’re like my guardian angel. It’s like you were helping me out and you didn’t even know it. Like we were destined for each other. I’m not a homo or anything. Don’t worry. I just like reading scary shit and you’re the scariest of the scary and you’re real. I can’t even believe I’m talking to you! It’s like having a conversation with Jeffery Dahmer or Ed Gein. What a trip!”