“Little Miss Sunshine is waiting in Interview One.”
“She’s secure?” Jonas asked.
“I strip-searched her myself. Her wrist-and ankle-irons are bolted into the new D-ring in the floor. Still ain’t safe, you ask me.” She caught Carmichael’s eyes for this comment.
“I’ve been duly warned.”
“She’s in a real foul mood tonight,” Bernice said, “even for her.”
Carmichael smiled. “Then any progress will be readily apparent. Would you take me back, please, Jonas?”
“Sure. We have some protocol, though. Gotta look through your briefcase, check your pockets. You saw Silence of the Lambs. Even a paperclip in the hands of one of these patients could be lethal.”
Dr. Carmichael submitted to a brief but thorough pat-down.
“Be careful in there,” Bernice said, once Carmichael got the all clear.
The man calling himself Dr. Carmichael brushed a strand of long, black hair off of his pale forehead.
“I’m always careful,” he said.
Jonas led Carmichael through another series of doors, and when those locks had shot home, took him down a dark, quiet hallway.
“She’s right in here,” Jonas said, gesturing to a red door at the end with I-1 engraved beneath a small window.
Jonas pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
“If anything happens, anything at all,” he said, “don’t hesitate. Scream at the top of your lungs.”
“I don’t scream much anymore.”
“It’s for your own good, Doc. Trust me. She’s as bad as they come.”
Carmichael moved past Jonas and pushed open the door.
It was a few degrees colder in the interview room.
Through the barred window in the back wall, he could see rain beading on the glass.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder dropped.
He closed the door behind him and looked at the woman seated at the small, metal table.
Alex Kork was classically beautiful. At least, half of her was. Her long blond hair hung over the side of her face, partially obscuring the pink, rubbery-looking scar tissue that spread from her forehead down to her chin.
The prisoner watched as Carmichael entered, following his movements while she remained perfectly still. She wore a white, unisex cotton top, sleeveless, with matching pants. The muscle definition in her bare arms was offset by her ample br**sts. On her feet were slippers with flimsy rubber soles. Her wrists and ankles were manacled, the chains hooked onto the iron ring bolted to the floor.
Carmichael removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair across from Alex.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked.
Alex said nothing. Her posture was neither tense nor relaxed, but she gave Carmichael her undivided focus.
Carmichael pulled out the chair and eased down into the seat.
There was the sound of the rain hitting the glass and nothing else.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Carmichael cleared his throat. “They tell me I’m putting my life at risk meeting with you in here.”
Alex’s mouth twitched, the non-scarred half curling into a smile. “Life is risk. More than a hundred fifty thousand people across the world will die today. You think they woke up knowing that would happen?”
“Do you think about death a lot…may I call you Alex?”
Alex leaned back, her chest stretching out the thin cotton smock. She wore no bra, her ni**les pronounced.
“I almost didn’t agree to see you. Doctors bore me. But then Jonas gave me your description.” Her tongue darted out, licking her scarred lip. “Pale skin and long, black hair is hard to forget.” More silence. “Sure,” Alex finally said. “You can call me Alex. And I think about death almost as much as I think about sex, which is constantly.” Alex raised an eyebrow—the only one she still had attached. The left side of her face looked like strips of bacon had been stapled to it. “So what do I call you? They told me your name is Dr. Carmichael, but that seems disingenuous.”
Now it was Carmichael’s turn to smile. “Call me Luther.”
“Luther?” Alex raised her cuffed hands and touched an index finger to her hairline. “You’ve got some black dye on your forehead, Luther. “
Luther’s dark eyes twinkled. “It’s not easy being me.”
He pulled a crumpled candy box out of his coat pocket, shaking some Lemonheads onto his palm. He offered one to Alex. When she extended her hands, she held his for a moment, her fingernails raking lightly across his knuckles.
“You like Lemonheads, Luther?” she asked, placing one on her tongue like a communion wafer.
“Fucking hate them,” Luther said, popping two into his mouth.
Alex shifted, sitting back. Her knees parted, then slowly opened, Alex watching his eyes, watching Luther glance down.
“You’ve been here quite a while,” Luther said. Now he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the cold, metal table. “You ever think about getting out?”
“Right now I’m thinking about getting off. A year is a long time for a girl to go without sex, Luther.”
“A year is a long time. You must really hate that cop who put you here. Jack Daniels.”
The coy dropped off Alex’s face, darkness replacing it. “Now why would you want to go and spoil my mood bringing up that bitch?”
“Daniels…interests me. I’d like to know more about her.”
“You thinking of paying the good Lieutenant a visit?”
“I saw her on the television. I’m wondering if she’s strong enough.”
“Strong enough for what?”
“Strong enough to stop me.”
Alex closed her legs, leaning forward. “Jack Daniels is mine. If something happens to her before I get out of this shithole, I’ll turn my attentions to the one that took her from me.”
“You honestly think they’re ever going to let you out of here?”
Alex stood up suddenly, her chains rattling. She leaned forward, bending over the stainless steel table, and put her lips next to Luther’s ear. “Why worry about the future? So much more fun to live in the moment.”
Luther braced himself, opening up his hands, ready to push her away. Then he felt her lips on his neck.
“Did you really come all the way out here to talk about Jack?” Alex breathed hot and wet on his cheek.
Luther swallowed and slowly filled his lungs with air. “I read all about you and your brother, Charles.”