Chapter 4
The guards yipped at her like feral animals starting first thing in the morning, keeping their distance, yet eager to touch her and test Elaine. She played the part of the victim, walking around in a daze, her head lowered, her clothes disheveled. The prisoners even seemed to know something was wrong—they seemed to console her with their eyes as she walked by their cells, and she knew, if she opened up their doors, they would do her bidding against the guards.
Something about the whole situation was terribly amusing to Elaine. Once she got over her fear at an inmate slipping into her room in the middle of the night, the ‘victim act’ was tremendously satisfying. Something about playing the part of another person made her feel superior, as if those around her were too dumb to figure it all out. She kept up the act in front of the other counselors, and was surprised at their reactions. Simon and Michael seemed to ignore her completely, Sarah seemed somewhat happy, while Oliver, whom she actually hated, seemed to be more compassionate towards her. As they sat for a meeting, he nodded gently in her direction. When they disagreed about how to proceed with the next stage of some prisoners’ counseling, he deferred to her judgment, allowing her as many victories as he could. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt she might have misjudged Oliver all along, and didn’t know why.
Finally word came from Todd that the prison was to relax its alert level. Elaine prepared to have group sessions again behind closed doors, and for most of the day prepared schedules and activities for her five groups. She was about to head down to the cafeteria for lunch, when there was a knock at her door.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Philip, one of the guards, tentatively came in. “What can I do for you, Philip?”
He came all the way in, one hand in his pocket, the other on the door frame. His baton hung low like his clothing – sloppy and disheveled. Thin like Michael, but with a little more conviction in his large, brown eyes, he had a pale aspect, with graying hair. Elaine rarely noticed Philip, though when she did, he was usually in the company of Blake and Isaac.
“I . . . I just wanted to see if you were alright.”
“What do you mean,” she asked, playing dumb, her voice sounding as if she might break.
“I don’t know. I guess . . . well, if you—if someone did something, to you, I’d want to help, to help you, that is.”
“Why would you want to help me?” she asked timidly.
“I dunno, you never messed with me. Some of the other docs pick on me, but never you.”
She always noticed Oliver and Simon picked on Philip mercilessly, as he was the weakest link among the guards.
“No, you seem like a good man to me. I don’t know why you associate with Isaac and Blake, but you seem nice, nevertheless.”
“Blake protects me,” he said, straightening up, and coming in. He closed the door softly behind him. “I mean, it’s us against them, and I don’t wanna be caught in a riot, with no one watching my back.”
In her time in the prison, she had many grievances against the conduct of the guards, but in that one issue, she completely understood. No matter what, the guards had to be united against the prisoners, or they risked being divided and conquered.
“I understand, Philip. Still, what would you do for me?”
“Well I’d—I’d,” he stammered, forcefully, “I’d hurt whoever hurt you – at least, if it was a prisoner! You just tell me what to do, and I’d do it.”
She smiled, feeling that same joy she felt earlier, with Frank. While she never thought of herself as a particularly morally upright person, a part of her was surprised at the joy she got from deception and manipulation. She scanned him with a cautious eye, one more time, debating whether or not to trust him.
“Well, don’t worry. Frank only came by, and talked. He’s a little like you, and doesn’t want to hurt anybody.”
Philip let out a long sigh, obviously relieved. “That’s good! But . . . don’t trust Frank. He’s a tricky one. One minute he’s all friends with you, the next, he’s squealin’ on you for any bit of contraband. I mean, he’ll be good to you for a while. But Frank’s got urges. He needs stuff. And he’ll do whatever he has to, to get it.”
“What does he need?”
“I’ve . . . I’ve said too much already,” he said, hurriedly opening the door. “I’m just glad to hear you’re alright. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’m just glad, that’s all.”
Elaine gathered a few notes, a pad, and went down to the cafeteria. Just off of the Hub, it was one of the few places where the guards would sit with the prisoners. In the cafeteria, everything else fell away, and all were only concerned with the food.
It was the two parts of her day Elaine enjoyed the most—lunch and dinner. She and the others may have to be confined within the prison for a year, but they never lacked for what appeared to be decent food. Today, she could smell the frying of meat, the sweet aroma of something baked and fruity. She knew it was all a simulation, that the food was really just protein mush supplied by OLMAC and mentally camouflaged by the Manipulator, but it still gave her some pleasure to pretend. Everyone was in a good mood as they leisurely made their way through the meal. She got in the food line, and took a tray.
The euals moved with a quiet precision, standing behind counters of food, dispensing leisurely and efficiently. Standing just over five feet tall, they were a dirty white, with thick blue lines crisscrossing their plastic and metal shells. It was easy to think of the ovular meta as just another appliance, dutifully doing what it was created to do. Sometimes though, even they could get irritated.
“Uh—gotcha!” jeered a prisoner in front of Elaine, as he shifted his tray at the last moment, making the eual drop the food on the floor. “Stupid piece of shit!” The inmate, a thin, skulking waste named Ian, was always getting into trouble torturing the euals. He started snapping his finger in front of the eual’s blue optical sensors, taunting it to do anything. “Bet you wish you could fight back! Bet you wish you could do anything but dish out this shit day after fucking day!”
Suddenly, Elaine noticed the eual leaned forward, almost imperceptibly. The other euals slowed in their movements also, seeming to bend their attention to Ian. No one but Elaine noticed them, and for some reason it sent shivers up her spine.
“Ian, just get your food, so we all can get ours too.”
He leaned over Elaine, with a wanton smile. “Maybe you should help me.”
Seemingly out of nowhere, Colin appeared, and slammed into Ian’s back with his baton, making a loud ‘crack.’ Elaine was always impressed with the stealth of some of the guards. Ian fell to his knees, grunting in pain.
“What is it about you, Ian?” Colin roughly yanked him up by his collar, and then quickly and deftly secured his wrists in cuffs. “Just ‘cause you’re low man in the cells, you think torturing some dumb-ass machine’s gonna make you look tough?” He held Ian’s head by his hair. “Now apologize!”
Ian hung his head low. “I’m sorry, Lainey.”
“Not her, stupid!” shouted Colin with a wide, stupid grin. “The eual!”
“What?”
Colin kicked him in-between his legs, just near his privates. “Need me to ask again?”
Ian understood the joke, and silently laughed at Elaine. He turned to the eual, and mockingly apologized. “I’m so sorry, my dear machine.”
The eual stared back, mute, in reply. Colin chuckled to himself.
“That’s better. After all, at least the eual actually does something.”
Elaine watched as he pushed Ian away, laughing riotously to himself. She moved in front of the eual, and watched as it deposited food on her tray.
Lucky bastard.
“Lainey!”
She turned, and it was Sarah, her manager, sitting at a table nearby with the other counselors.
“Come over here, when you’re done.”
“Alright, Sarah.”
She turned back to the eual, who looked as it always had. She noticed its serial number—MT-389.
“Three-eighty-nine, do you have any pacification protocols?”
“No,” responded the eual. Its optical sensors appeared as two blue lights, suspended in the black cavern that was its head, and those lights dimmed, for a fraction of a second.
“What would your course of action have been, if the prisoner had continued his negative activities?”
The eual’s head tilted slightly. “In worst case scenarios, we are programmed to protect OLMAC property. While I may not possess weaponry or offensive programming, I am in contact with . . . others, who would come to my aid.”
She glanced around the cafeteria, at the twelve other euals working silently.
“You would all act as one?”
“If necessary. Wouldn’t you?”
Elaine glanced back at the table of counselors. “I’m not sure we would.”
She got her food and sat next to Sarah. Next to Sarah, as always, was Michael. Simon and Oliver were seated across, making this or that joke.
“Not up for the chicken?” asked Michael, as he ripped away a chunk in his teeth.
“No, not today, I just feel like something light.” She had what looked like a small piece of fish on her plate, with carrots and asparagus on the side.
“Anything the matter?” asked Sarah, taking a little bit of food from Michael’s plate.
“No, I’m alright. How about you, Michael? I can barely see the bruise.”
“Yeah, the medics fixed me and Oliver up good.” He whistled, and shook his head in amazement. “Man, John really gave us a beating!”
“You should’ve known better than to try to get him out of that ‘superhero’ delusion,” scolded Sarah, as she took a long drink. “I thought we had a conversation about that.”
“Yeah, well, I just thought I saw some progress,” mumbled Oliver.
“And now, he and the rest of the prisoners paid for your carelessness.” She scanned them all with an angry intensity. “None of you make any snap diagnoses or treatments without my approval.”
As much as Elaine disliked Sarah, she had to admit to herself that she was a good manager. Simon, whom Sarah sometimes confided in, told Elaine how much trouble she had when she first took over the position of Director of Prisoner Rehabilitation. Todd gave her little to no respect, and none of the guards wanted anything to do with her. But somehow, and not even Simon knew how, she was able to earn not only Todd’s respect, but some of the guards’ respect as well. She was efficient and diligent, an able administrator and a realist when it came to the prisoners. She held no delusions of curing them of their violent impulses, worked under no assumptions that anyone inside or outside the prison would appreciate her work. Somehow, she reconciled it all within herself, and was able to do an essentially thankless job and do it well. When Elaine cared to think about it, she knew she disliked Sarah just because she was an authority figure and something within her hated any and all manifestations of authority.
Of course, there was also the matter of her not-so-secret affair with Michael. While some relationships were bound to happen, the fact that all counselors worked without the benefit of their memories before they began at the facility made affairs distasteful, as one never knew if the other was joined in the real world. There was also the indomitable force of gossip, the only activity that was shared equally by guards, counselors, and prisoners alike. The moments before or after a group were precious ones, when a golden morsel could be traded for a rough squeeze of flesh, or something tasty treat purloined from the cafeteria. And it was gossip, more than anything else that threatened Sarah’s reign.
Elaine sighed, and tried to dig into her food. It shimmered a little before her, and for a moment, she saw two lumps of protein mush where there was fresh asparagus, sautéed salmon, and diced carrots.
“Trouble with the Manipulator again?” asked Simon.
“Yeah, I always forget to take my pills before I come here.” Elaine reached into her pocket, and took out a bottle, finally swallowing two small pills.
“Damned OLMAC shit,” spat Michael, shoving his food away. “They make so much damned money—I’ll bet none of them have ever eaten any of this stuff.”
The word ‘OLMAC’ jogged something in Elaine’s memory, but she shrugged it off.
“Seeing it for what it is makes one almost lose their appetite.”
“Don’t remind me!” Simon playfully squeezed his eyes shut. “All I want to know is that I’m eating spicy fried chicken, cornbread, and sweet baked beans.” He dug into the pile of what looked like beaked beans to him. “As long as my mind doesn’t know any different, neither do I.”
“Just like you to like living in ignorance,” said Sarah. “How many years have you been in here?”
“Almost three, and probably will go for the full five,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You know what you get after five years? Full retirement. I won’t have to work anywhere else.”
“That is, if you last to five years,” said Michael. “I don’t know how you’ll do that with your attitude.”
“You’ve gotta be tough with these damned convicts!” shouted Simon, as a few prisoners around him looked his way. “I mean, we might be here to help them, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be scared of ‘em.”
Simon’s shouting drew the attention of Blake, who casually sauntered by the table of counselors, rapping his black baton in his hand. “A healthy dose of fear is a good thing.” He stopped, and bent down next to Elaine. “After all, one has to know when to just run away.”
“My hero,” quipped Sarah, sarcastically. “At least when you’re not dealing in dope for the prisoners. Should we start paying you protection money? Or is your government salary, plus what you steal from the prisoners enough?”
“Very funny, Sarah, very funny,” he said, standing up. Elaine could see how Sarah was able to stand up to the guards and prisoners—she had a strength that couldn’t be denied. “I’ll make sure to keep my deals away from your quarters. After all, wouldn’t want the noise disturbing your . . . activities.” He nodded to Michael, as he walked away. “It could ruin the mood . . .”
“He’ll get his,” she said, after he was a safe distance away. “Anyway, I have word from Todd that we’ll be starting groups again in private rooms. Michael—you and Simon will host on the first level. Oliver, you on the second, and Lainey, you on the third.”
“But I’ve been on the third for the past month!” protested Elaine. “It’s damned hot up there.”
“Lainey, stop your damned whining and just do it! There are challenges on each and every floor—at least you’ll have the fewest number of prisoners. Besides, since you and John seem to get along so well, I figured it should be you that welcomes him back, as he is still confined to the third level.”
“Fine,” she said, flopping back in her chair.
The next few weeks went by uneventfully, as the prisoners tried hard to behave. They still had deep wounds from what the guards did to them, and for a while it lay in their memories, keeping their impulses at bay. Elaine held several groups, and little by little her patients began to open up a little more, express their feelings. Even Richard began to draw more, though she couldn’t look at him in the same way after what Frank told her.
Richard sat in front of her now, sketching with aplomb, the charcoal stick vanishing rapidly into the paper. A house took form, actually, more like a mansion, with long, tall columns supporting three levels of architecture. He paused only briefly to delineate the details, yet to Elaine, it was all that was needed. When the mansion looked as if it was done, he colored a thick, black cloud-looking thing that surrounded the mansion, yet didn’t touch it. And in each of the windows, he colored in a black circle. In fact, he spent the most time on those circles, coloring them in again and again, trying to make them as black as possible. Elaine desperately wanted to ask him about it, but lately she felt she wa
s focusing too much on him, and that the rest of her group believed he was her favorite.
“So, let’s go around, and explain what we’ve drawn. John?”
John grinned dumbly at her. She recoiled ever so slightly now whenever she looked on him, so severe was his punishment from the guards. His face was still a dark shade of blue in several places, deep cuts running from his eyes down to his mouth, around puffed-up mountains of bruises. He shook a little when he spoke, and she knew he had suffered some brain damage. He held up the sheet of paper that had haphazard yellow and orange lines scribbled on the surface.
“What is it, John?”
“It . . .” he paused for a moment, nodding to himself, trying to focus on words. “It when I fly . . . when I go up—” He made a motion with his hand in the air, as if it were him, flying over the table. “—and over the . . . the sun!”
Elaine smiled at him, and glanced at his drawing.
“It’s very nice, John. It must be beautiful in the clouds, looking down on all of us. Now, Illint, what did you draw?”
Illint was one of those she learned of from Frank. Originally a High School grammar teacher, when the war came close to his town, and a state of emergency was declared, he herded his class down to the basement, inside the boiler room, and locked the door. It was a full week until the emergency was lifted, and as the parents came back to look for their children, they found few left alive and whole, and those that were alive would never, ever be the same after what he had done, what he had forced them to do. Elaine could no longer look him in the eyes—she focused just above his left ear whenever he spoke.
He held up a drawing of Elaine. Rough, yet with some merit, it seemed to show a younger version of herself. She was a little thinner, and much angrier, with her fists clenched on the table and her eyes buried in shadow.
“Why how nice!” she cooed. “Just don’t forget—you’re not allowed to do pictures of us. I’m sure they won’t mess with you about this one—thank you so much!”
“It’s . . . it’s of . . . Agilia . . .”
Elaine sat shocked, in total silence, for some reason petrified at his words.
“What did you say?”
Illint shook his head, back and forth, and then smudged away what he had drawn. “Nothing.”
She felt the life come back into her as he washed away the image. “Now you, Richard. Show us what you’ve done.”
He dramatically shook his head back and forth, like a five-year-old being force-fed creamed spinach. “No, I don’t feel like it today.” He gazed up into your eyes. “You’ve seen it, and that’s enough.”
Sometimes they could be like this—obstinate and frustrating, and it drove her to the outer bounds of her patience. She gritted her teeth, and mentally took a deep breath.
“Now Richard, all of you have spent a lot of time on your drawings, and you know they’ll be destroyed when you leave. This is the only chance you have to make sure it lasts, in the minds of others.”
“Like memory?”
“Yes, Richard,” she said, hoping for some vestige of a breakthrough. “Like memory.”
“And yet, memory can be so easily erased, and altered. I wonder if one’s soul changes, if one forgets who they were?”
Elaine had to shake her head, as it was a wide tangent to go on, even for Richard.
“Well, that certainly would be a fun discussion, but why don’t we focus on the drawings?” She knew she should move on, but a large part of her wanted to know what his drawing meant.
“For what is the soul?” he asked, flashing his blue eyes. “Are the soul and mind divinely connected? Or is the soul merely the essence of a man, devoid of knowledge about the experiences of one’s life. And if so, what would draw one’s soul to another, after death?”
“Is that what your drawing is about? Is it about souls?”
“And should we consider—”
Suddenly Colin, who was the guard on duty, drew his baton and advanced on Richard.
“Did you hear her?! Answer her question—answer it!” he shouted, turning his baton lengthwise and pushing it against the base of his neck.
“Stop!” cried Elaine, against her better judgment. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, ya dumb bitch!” Colin angrily slammed Richard’s head down on the table. “He thinks he’s so much better than us—fucking murderer!” He leaned with all his weight on Richard’s neck, bringing a stifled cry from a few of the other inmates. “Three thousand people you killed, you sick bastard. Ain’t no one cares what happens to you here!”
“Leave him alone,” said John softly.
“What’d you say?” demanded Colin, turning with wild eyes filled with fury. He pushed down once more with the baton and then stood up, slapping it against his other hand. “You makin’ trouble again Big Man?”
“No, you are,” he said grimly.
Colin sneered, and swung the baton with all his might against John’s head. John casually reached up, and stopped it inches from his face. Colin pressed harder and harder, sweat pouring off his face, as he tried to overcome John’s strength.
“You think you got it bad before? You don’t know what bad is, Big Man!” Colin kicked at John’s seat, and the chair fell out from under him. Colin jumped on top, managing to connect with a few blows of the baton, before John recovered, and easily overpowered him.
“Help!” cried Colin. “Hel—”
John punched him hard in the mouth, and then the rage overtook him. He lifted Colin high over his head, and threw him against a wall. The other prisoners cheered and rallied around him, slapping him on the back. Elaine slowly tried to stand up and get out.
“Now where are you going?” sneered Illint, blocking her way out the door. His face was shrouded in darkness and rage, pent-up from long years of incarceration. “You wouldn’t leave us now, would you?”
“Just back away, Illint,” she said calmly. “Just let me leave. You don’t want to get in any more trouble.”
“What more trouble could there be!” he jeered, bouncing from side to side. “We’re murderers and rapists, sociopaths and molesters. There’s nowhere for us to go, no way for us to leave, except for death. And maybe I’ve had just about enough of this place, and would like to leave. Maybe killing you,” he said, leering at her body, “would be the beautiful capstone to an exquisite life.”
“Don’t!” bellowed John. “Unless you want the same as I gave Colin.”
“Fuck you, you big piece of shit, fuck you!”
John stormed over to him, and Illich put up his hands in surrender. As he backed away, John put a hand on Elaine’s shoulder.
“Now come on Lainey, it’s time for you to leave.”
“What happened to you? You seemed so . . . distant before, and now you’re . . . focused.”
“I don’t know. Seeing Colin attack Richard, well, it seemed to bring focus back into my mind.” He chucked to himself. “Perhaps I got my superpowers back.”
Elaine smiled, almost to the point of tears. “You . . . you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No, I guess I don’t.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just somewhere nice to go, and sometimes, when I’m there, I don’t want to leave. But I feel like I need to stay here, at least for a while. I can feel changes are coming, and we’re all gonna hafta be focused, if we’re gonna survive.”
In that instant, she saw something more in John, something that transcended the mere meaning of man. She saw honor and dignity, faith and devotion, twinkle in his deep brown eyes. It gave her a kind of clarity to see the infinite in the eyes of a mortal. For all her time in the prison so far, she drifted lazily down a meandering stream, following the currents where they might take her, drained and drowsy in the cool certainty of a daily routine. To rise each day, at the same time, to see the same group of people, work in the same place, murdered what was special and unique within her. And unconsciously she saw it echoed in the faces, words, and act
ions of those around her. For some reason the prisoners seemed to feel it most of all, rebelling against it as if it were an invader that demanded to be repulsed. And in John’s eyes now she saw and felt the mighty roar of a lion, summoning her to action, challenging her to rejoin the hunt once again. But she had been dead a long time, and was unable to easily recognize the cacophonous grandeur of life.
“What do you mean?”
John slowly shook his head. “Not for you, or even me to know, right now.”
“What’ll happen to you?”
He shrugged absently. “More of the same, but I can handle it.”
She turned to leave, but curiosity drew her back. She felt as though she had lost something, that something vital and urgent and beautiful had slipped out of her hands, back into the sky, and she was loathe to accept it had gone.
“What did it mean, Richard? What did your drawing mean?”
“What is a body when the soul has left? Like a house without inhabitants; it is a dead place.”
Elaine shook her head, and swam back out into the familiar, cool waters of the stream.
She staggered out of the room, and was shocked to find Michael waiting for her. He threw his arms around her, despite her protests.
“You alright?! What’s the situation?”
“Colin’s down, and . . .” She wiped some sweat off her forehead. “And John’s to blame.”
“Oh, Lainey!” He held her again, though she tried to get away. “No, no, I know you need this,” he said, holding her tightly. “You’re lucky to have gotten out alive!”
Elaine learned very early in her tenure that Michael was a filthy opportunist, seeking to capitalize on every situation he could. She could only imagine how he ingratiated himself to Sarah. And as she was the only other woman in the complex, she always knew her time would come to be subjected to his advances. Elaine finally had to literally shove him away.
“How did you know about what was going on?” she demanded, straightening her clothes.
“Isaac was actually doing his job, and monitoring the surveillance cameras. He saw everything.” He took a deep breath and stood as tall as he could, forcing the meager vestiges of masculinity out of hiding from within himself. “Now, it’s time I put an end to this.”
“You?” asked Elaine, a little shocked. “Where’s Sarah?”
“Sarah doesn’t know everything,” he said bitterly. “I’ve been here longer than her – I’ve done more than her! Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” He switched on a comm unit. “Blake? We’re ready to go in.”
“Damn, Blake’s involved?” she whispered, with a pained expression. “Why couldn’t you have used Phillip?”
“‘Cause Phillip’s a little chicken-shit,” he spat. “Now don’t worry—let me handle it. Are you ready, Blake?”
“A-ffermative,” he replied, a little comically. “Big Man’s caused us his last bit ‘o trouble.”
Elaine pushed Michael against a wall. “You make sure of one thing,” she said, with a strength that even surprised Michael, “John is not to be killed! He’s the only one of them that seems to actually care about us.”
“He’s got a funny way of showin’ it! Do you know what he did—back out there, in the ‘real world’? Well neither do I. All I know is that a lot of people had to die, in a pretty damned foul way, for him to be in here. Fifteen years ago, before the end of the war, people like him would’a been shot in a second. Don’t worry, your precious John won’t be hurt too badly. Ain’t that right, Blake?”
“A-ffermative,” he said with a dark chuckle.
“Alright—move in!”
Michael opened the door and flipped off the lights, as Blake and Colin rushed in from the other entrance. Elaine could hear several screams, and the sounds of chairs being thrown against walls. She imagined John was putting up a hell of a fight, but after a few minutes, all was quiet again.
“Blake?!” shouted Michael into the comm. “Blake—you finished?”
“A-ffermative. It’s all done.”
Elaine snatched the comm from Michael.
“Is John still alive?”
“Barely baby. Illich ain’t so lucky, but your precious pup Dicky’s still kickin’. Least he was smart enough to hide in a corner.”
Elaine breathed a sigh of relief, that is, until she saw Sarah storming down the hall towards them with Isaac in tow. She knew instantly that things had just gone from bad to worse. “Hope you still know what you’re doing,” she whispered to Michael.
“What have you done!” she screamed, as Michael backed away a little.
“I . . . I handled a situation,” he replied anxiously, trying to summon his courage, “a situation I know how to deal with.”
“Without me? Without my authority? What happened in there?”
“Just doin our jobs, li’l lady,” said Blake, as he emerged from the room, his uniform spattered with blood and flesh. “Just made a couple of families breathe a little easier, now that Illich’s dead.”
“Dead? Dead?!” yelled Sarah. “In one of our counseling rooms? Do you have any idea what—” She clenched her fists, and tried to calm herself down. “Do you know how many fucking inquiries we’re going to have to answer?”
“Now, now, calm down.” Isaac’s voice was patronizingly sweet, and it made Sarah even more furious. “It’s all over. Illich was just a little fish, one no one will miss. Besides, your boyfriend has some choice contacts in the new government. I’m sure no one will come a knockin’, will they?”
“Nope,” said Michael with a silly grin, “no one’ll come.”
“See? No docs got hurt, no one’s precious babies got too roughed up,” he said gesturing to Elaine, “and we can all go back to life as usual. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for me to file a few . . . papers, reinforcing my support of this action.”
“No, it wouldn’t hurt,” said Michael, with a dramatic conspiratorial wink. “I’ll even stop by and help you file them.”
Sarah backhanded Michael across his face, the venom boiling in her eyes. Blake and Isaac both took a step back, each one poorly trying to muffle their laughter.
“Don’t you ever go above me again! Don’t you even think you can take responsibility for a pile of shit again, much less the lives of these inmates.” She whirled to Blake and Isaac. “And as for you two, don’t get any ideas about trading me in for a poorer, stupider model,” she said, pointing to Elaine. She grabbed Isaac by the shirt, and drew him close, speaking in a low voice. “I’ve got so much shit on you they oughta label you a damned landfill. I never forget, and what’s more, I make duplicates of whatever I write down. So have your fun with Mikey-boy, so long as you understand they all answer to me!”
Isaac brushed her hand off his shirt, and snickered. “You got it, little Miss Shitshine. This’ll be the last time we come to any of your docs’ rescue, without letting you lead the charge. I only hope Lainey here can take care of herself. Regardless, I think you’re gonna have to give Elaine another group. Most of hers are now, well, unable to function properly.”
Elaine gritted her teeth as Isaac guffawed, walking languidly away. The only thing that gave her pleasure was the look on Sarah’s face as Michael tried to make up.
Part II: Recognition