LIFERS Chapter Twelve

After relinquishing her stand, Jill took a step back to think a couple of things over. The first being Vicky, left injured and unconscious and locked in a cell with that unhinged mental-case-of-a-cop, who, sooner or later, will come to realise just how limited his options are and attempt to use Vicky as leverage to negotiate his way out.

The second being her new companion, a man she killed a little over two hours ago, and who could, at any time, become partial to the taste of her blood. So just how safe was she around him? How long did she have before he became thirsty? How long before she would have to aim and fire on him for real? And if it came to that, could she? The answer to this internal conversation was yes, if it came to it, she’d have no choice but to pull the trigger.

That said, Gregg had been the only one to offer any kind of help since their run-in with Hal. A vampire he may be; a Bela Lugosi, he is not. He actually had a handsome face, a face she felt she could trust, and on that, she retrieved his gun from the puddle and dried it before giving it back to him. After which, they agreed to go into the courtroom to discuss what they were going to do without Hal overhearing their plans. Something she felt reluctant to do if it meant leaving Vicky alone with that maniac.

The courtroom was similar in size to that of the stationroom, but with two boarded windows on the left and two on the right, and all with tendrils of what at one time may have been dark-green curtains. Down the centre of the room ran an aisle with six wooden benches on either side; in front of these were tables, one on the left and one on the right, and both with two chairs tucked underneath. The chairs faced a raised platform against the centre of the far wall where proceedings would be overseen by a judge who looked down on a wood-railed witness box. Under the windows on the right were two benches for the jury and to the left of the Judge’s seat stood a solid wooden door marked:

Private

They were at the end of the aisle between the two small tables where Gregg sat on one and stared at his feet whilst Jill sat on the other looking at him.

‘Any ideas?’ she asked.

He looked up. ‘Before the rain stops we need to get out of this place and get the authorities up here, because what ever it is that’s happening in Martinsville, it’s far greater than anything you or I can handle.’

‘We can’t if it means leaving Vicky here with that psycho.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of leaving her behind.’

‘In that case I’ve got a much better idea. Why don’t we just shoot the moron, get her out of the cell, take his car, and go? No one’s going to come checking in this weather, even if they do hear the shots.’

‘As much as that idea appeals to me, we can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m certain he knows where those missing girls are, and I need that information from him.’

‘And you think he’s going to cooperate?’

‘With me, no, but the FBI have their own methods of obtaining information from people like him. So we need to find a working telephone,’ he said, looking at the only other door in the room. He went over and tried the handle then tried to force it a couple of times. ‘Back in a minute,’ he said, heading for the stationroom.

When Gregg returned with the bunch of keys, Jill noticed a weird look on his face.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s the cop, there’s something odd about him.’

‘But Vicky’s all right?’

‘Yeah, Vicky’s fine, well, apart from…’ he said, starting through the keys. ‘It’s Hal, he’s stood there staring into space, in some kind of trance, didn’t even see me.’

‘The nightmare’s having a daydream?’

‘I guess so, he’s just standing there watching the rain come through the hatch, like he’s hypnotised by it.’

‘Probably contemplating what that Ella woman’s going to do to him when she finds out how he’s fucked-up. She sure as hell scared me shitless.’

‘Well, with a bit of luck,’ he said, trying a fourth key. ‘We should have someone out here before she or anyone else turns up. Damn it, these are no good. Fancy a trip out to his car?’

‘In this weather?’

‘We need a crowbar; there might be one in the trunk. I’d go myself but it just might cost me a face.’

Jill sighed. ‘Okay, give me the keys, and I’ll need your jacket, too.’

‘My jacket?’

‘Yeah … well you wouldn’t want me to come back looking like some bimbo from a wet T-shirt competition, would you?’

Silence.

‘Gregg?’

When she reached the stationroom, Vicky became her first port of call. Still unmoved from the position she found her in, her breathing looked steady, telling Jill she would probably be okay, at least for now. Hal, as Gregg mentioned, was indeed standing by the bars in silence and staring at the rain hitting the puddle. Even the sound of the gale-force wind coming through the hatch didn’t disturb him.

Perhaps he was hypnotised, and perhaps this could be her opportunity to get Vicky out. But then again, perhaps this was a ploy of his to get the door unlocked. She walked into the adjoining cell and stood on the opposite side of the puddle where she got a close-up view of his pock-marked face. She likened it to the surface of an old sponge, an old sponge you wouldn’t consider washing your car with.

His dark-red eyes were unblinking, and when she waved a hand in his face he still remained statuesque. She decided she’d go for it; all she had to do was unlock the door without making too much noise, reach in, grab Vicky’s nearest limb, and drag her out as quickly as she could then lock the door again. And if it wasn’t for the clap of thunder crashing through the hatch and disturbing him, that’s exactly what she’d have done.

Jill jumped in response to his movement and stepped back. And even though he looked a little unsettled, probably due to the situation he was in, he still found the temerity to smile at her.

‘You ain’t leavin’ here alive, missy,’ he said, pushing his face between the bars until the pock marks ovaled out. ‘You do know that, don’t ya?’

‘We don’t have to leave here,’ she told him. ‘As soon as we find a telephone we’re getting the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, the State Police, and fucking NASA out here if we have to. So you can kiss your sorry ass good-bye.’

He shook his head. ‘Ain’t hapnin’,’ he said, taking a last look at the growing puddle and cracking another smile before he backed away.
Jill hitched-up the too-long sleeves of the leather jacket and waited until he sat on the bench before she left the cell, a quick glance at him, a longer glance at Vicky.

As she made her way across the room, the wind was smashing the rain so hard against the sides of the building she swore she could feel it rocking on its foundations. She lowered the doorhandle only to have the door blown from her grip and slammed into the writing desk behind. A full-scale hurricane had hit town, and she was about to meet it head on.

She zipped the jacket up as far as she could and stepped out to feel the storm’s full force, and if it wasn’t for the bars over the window to her right, she’d have been swept away in an instant.

Across the street, and illuminated by intermittent bolts of lightning, she noticed a row of three unlit single-storey structures. The first one, far left, was “Gruber’s Hardware”. The centre one had no name and the one closest to her had been boarded over showing only half a sign that read, “Frozen Prod”. Left of these was a taller building, itself as wide as the three stores but she saw no clue as to what it was. Beyond that, and under a dull street lamp, which rocked like a metronome, was a tow-truck shaped sign advertising “Dill’s Garage”.

She turned to see the hood of the patrol car poking out about three or four feet past the corner of the building, and even though she clung to the last of the bars with little more than her fingernails, she still had a seven foot gap to cross before she reached it. She let go and hoped the wind wouldn’t send her over the car and into the trees beyond, luckily it didn’t.

Unluckily, her right thigh hit the left front fender with an almighty thud that sent a throbbing numbness throughout her whole leg. She managed to limp a few feet past the corner of the building where the wind wasn’t anywhere near as strong and rested against the car until the feeling returned to her leg. But by then her hands were so wet and cold they were becoming almost as numb.

In near black, she had to fumble with the keys to get the trunk open and felt around its interior until she found something. It felt like a small satchel, about the size of a paperback. It wasn’t a crowbar, but she took it anyway. She groped around some more until she eventually located what she came for, and now, with her foraging trip successful, all she had to do was get back.

This time when she reached the corner of the building the wind was against her, making it impossible for her to breathe without taking in more rainwater than air. So with her eyes shut and breath held, and keeping as close to the wall as she could, Jill gripped the corner with her left hand and used the crowbar in her right as a hook to latch onto one of the bars and pull herself to the window, then, doing the same on the doorpost, she managed to heave herself back into the room.

Wet, breathless, bruised and battered, she got the door shut and flattened down her hair and once more hitched up the sleeves of the jacket. Then, after checking again on Vicky and feeling sure that cheerful Hal, who was standing at the cell door watching her, was no immediate threat to her friend, she tossed the bunch of keys back to the desk and shook her head like a wet dog.

Rainwater spun-off in a wide circle and hissed as it hit Hal in the face. He raised a late arm as a shield but showed no acknowledgement of any pain it caused. She then gave him a knowing smirk before going back to the courtroom to find Gregg kneeling at the door with a credit card pushed in the gap.

‘Does that actually work?’ she said.

He sighed, stood, put the card away. ‘Only in the movies, apparently, did you find a crowbar?’

She tore down the remains of a curtain to wipe it before giving it to him. ‘Hal says we’re not leaving this place alive.’

‘Hal’s wrong,’ he said. ‘If we find a working phone behind this door we’ll have all the help we need up here within the hour.’

He rammed the crowbar’s straight end between the doorpost and the lock and pushed on it, five seconds later they were both standing in a narrow passageway. Gregg flicked a light switch to find another door at the bottom, the sign on this one read:

Chambers

Jill stood behind him moving wet bangs from her eyes when he turned to face her with another weird look on his face.

‘Now what’s wrong?’

‘Celia Brontrose.’

‘Celia who?’

‘Remember that lead I told you I was following?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Well, she was pretty vague about it, but Celia Brontrose said I would probably find what I’m looking for in chambers.’

‘So how would she know this?’

‘She’s a psychic.’

‘A psychic?’

‘Yes, a psychic. What, you don’t believe me?’

‘I just don’t believe there is such a thing, that’s all.’

‘So you believe in those blood-sucking vampires, and those Chupa-whadever-youcallems, but you don’t believe in psychics?’

‘I didn’t believe in either before meeting you and this sorry-looking bunch of misfits.’

‘Well trust me on this, okay? She’s a psychic.’

‘Okay, fine,’ she agreed. ‘But do we stand here debating this or are you going to open it?’

On the wall was another light switch, Gregg flicked it and pulled the door open, then had to step back as a thick wave of warm air escaped the room. Then another wave of air hit them, only this one was thicker, and riding high on its crest was the stench of rotting flesh.

Gregg covered his nose and mouth and Jill heard him muffle, “Oh Cheesus” into his hand. And as the putrid air reached her, she too covered up, but only to keep from vomiting as she ran back along the passageway to the relative sanctuary of the courtroom.