Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead Page 17

  Char shrugged. “If you don’t mind me eating while you talk?”

  Rebecca smiled. “Of course not.”

  A silence fell between them. Char figured if the priestess had something to say, she’d begin the conversation. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t much to say about anything.

  “I talked with the sheriff,” Rebecca said.

  “About?” Char knew better than to get her hopes up. The judge sentenced her to three years. The sheriff couldn’t get that overturned.

  “They are transporting you late this afternoon.”

  “They sent you to tell me?”

  “I received permission to give you a tattoo before you go. If a tattoo is what you wanted,” Rebecca said.

  “A tattoo? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Rebecca came closer to the bars, wheeling her case along with her. “I want to give you a dreamcatcher tattoo. I will bless the ink before I start. Prison can be a horrible experience. I believe the tattoo can help you, protect you from things you fear, give you something to draw strength from.”

  Char looked down at her meal. It was half gone. She could not eat anymore. “I’ve never had a tattoo.”

  “It hurts a bit. Won’t lie about that, but rarely is it as bad as people think.” Rebecca smiled. It calmed and soothed Char. Maybe it was the priestess’ face that chased away her anxiety. Char stared into Rebecca’s eyes watched the irises expand and dance around the pupil like solar flares off the sun.

  Char wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. “And the tattoo machine, it’s in that case?”

  “It is.”

  She took a sip of apple juice and set her plastic cup down on the tray. “Why do you want me to have a tattoo?”

  “I just—”

  “I mean, why do you care?”

  Rebecca stood in front of the bars and squatted down, so that they were eye level. “I’ve been to where you are going. I was not an inmate, if that’s what you’re thinking. I went to visit someone. I helped with some of the...mechanics of the operation. There’s no point in sugar coating it. The Cog is an evil and vile place. I was at the trial. I heard all of the testimony given and I think the jury got this one wrong. They don’t understand what it’s like outside of Arcadia.”

  “They heard how Broadhurst and his people kidnapped my friends! They heard that he drew a gun on us at the bar! I shouldn’t be in here.” Char did not want to rehash this every time someone talked to her about the case. If felt pointless. It didn’t matter if Rebecca disagreed with the jury. Nothing would change.

  “I won’t be coming to visit you.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to,” Char said.

  “Let me give you this tattoo. For courage, and strength, and to remember that you are not alone.”

  “But I am alone. I’ll be serving my time alone, and like you just told me, you won’t be coming to visit. I don’t want your tattoo. Thanks, but no thanks.” Char slapped her food tray off the edge of her bed. It rattled and clanked on the cement floor.

  “You’re going to clean that up!” The deputy was on his feet, pointing a finger at her.

  Rebecca stood up and turned around. She folded her hand on the case’s handle and started to walk away.

  Char needed to control her temper. Her anger was justified, but shouldn’t have been directed at the priestess. “Wait.”

  Rebecca stopped.

  “Where were you thinking of putting it?”

  # # #

  Char straddled a chair, facing backwards. She’d pulled her hair down to the side, exposing the back of her neck. Rebecca stood beside her.

  Char watched in silence as the priestess blessed the ink. The prayer of protection was poetic and impacting. Rebecca dipped the needle into black ink and told her to sit still.

  The tattoo gun vibrated and hummed. The needle was drawn across her skin. The pain was sharp and continuous. It hurt most when passing over the bone of her spine.

  “How are you doing?”

  “It’s not terrible,” Char said.

  Char stared at her toes and the cement floor and thought about as little as possible while Rebecca infused blessed ink forever onto her body.

  “You’re doing great. Just keep holding still like this and we’ll be done in no time, but if you need a break, let me know.”

  Char winced now and then. The outlining hurt more than the coloring and shading. That just felt like being scratched. Every so often Rebecca rubbed ointment over the skin, and wiped away blood with a paper towel.

  The pain came when they were nearly three hours into the inking, and Rebecca was still stretching sore skin to go over area that now felt bruised and raw. “We’re just about done.”

  When Rebecca finished she gave Char a hand mirror, and then held another up behind Char.

  Char angled her mirror so that she could see into the mirror in Rebecca’s hand.

  The dreamcatcher was big. Round. The web inside the ring was intricate and symmetrical. Coming off the bottom were three different feathers. They were grey and white and looked real.

  “The feathers?”

  “They are of an eagle. They symbolize freedom. The eagle is a predator. It is a bird known for being strong, courageous and cunning. There were many injured eagles held in captivity because they could not fly, or were unable to survive on their own after an injury. An eagle that can fly, that is capable of surviving on its own would never allow itself to be held captive for long. First chance it was given, it would soar away.”

  The words were not lost on Char. “I kind of wish we didn’t do it on the back of my neck.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I won’t be able to see it.”

  “You don’t need to see it for the powers it possesses to work. You know it’s there. That is enough,” she said.

  “Powers?”

  “You may find that times when you feel most alone, when you need to concentrate on happy things, the magic inside the ink will help you. It may lead you.”

  “Lead me?”

  “It takes time to get used to,” Rebecca said, “and the energy isn’t apparent to everyone. With you, I think the energy will be not just apparent, but obvious.”

  Char had no idea what the priestess was talking about. She kind of understood why Sheriff Huber gave the woman room. She was a bit more than slightly odd. “Thank you for the tattoo. It’s beautiful.”

  “I am going to bandage it for now. I am leaving you with some ointment. You apply it a few times a day. Do your best to keep it clean. This is blessed ink, so I know you will not need to worry about it getting infected.”

  “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday,” Char said, purposefully not saying when she got out of prison. Because it wouldn’t be in three years, and once she was out, there was no way she was coming back, not even to visit with the priestess.

  Chapter 24

  Sheriff Gus Huber and Deputy Chris Olek stood inside the holding cell with Char.

  “Turn around and place your hands behind your back, please,” Olek said.

  The cuffs rolled over her wrists and snapped into place, locking.

  “You do what’s asked of you, stay out of other people’s business and listen to the warden and his guards, and your time down there will fly by,” Huber said.

  Down there? “Where is the prison? I didn’t see one when we walked around town that one day I spent as a free person here.”

  “Be there soon enough,” Huber said.

  “This it? The two of you taking me?” She said, as they led her out of the cell and toward a door to the back of the City Hall building.

  “Deputy Olek could have handled it on his own. I hope you don’t mind that I am here,” Huber said.

  Char had secretly wished Ben had come, too. She hated that she felt that way. She was stronger than that, and he didn’t deserve her attention. “If I make a break for it?”

  “We’ll be forced to shoot you.”

>   She shrugged. “Might be the better alternative.”

  “Three years is the sentence. You be good, you could be out in a year and a half,” Huber said.

  “Be good?” She repeated what the sheriff said just to see if it still sounded as absurd. It did. “Yes, sir. I’ll behave.”

  “An attitude is not going to help you,” Huber said.

  “No? That’s too bad. An attitude is about the only thing Arcadia hasn’t stolen from me,” she said.

  “When you get to The Cog, you might change your mind,” Olek said.

  He walked behind Char. She couldn’t see his face, but she imagined a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She stopped walking, and threw her head back.

  The crunch made a distinct sound.

  “Son of a bitch. She broke my nose, sheriff,” Olek said.

  Huber grabbed Char’s arm with one hand, and backhanded her across the face with the other. She fell to the floor.

  Olek stepped forward and kicked Char in the ribs.

  “Enough, Olek,” Huber said.

  “But my nose,” he said.

  Char saw blood spill from between fingers as his hand cupped his face.

  “Why do you have to make this difficult, McKinney?” Huber said. “Olek, go see Dr. Debes. I’ll take the prisoner myself and check up on you when I get back. Charlene, get up. Come on, now. Get on your feet.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Olek said, stepped forward again, and kicked Char in the side. She grunted and rolled over. “I’ll see ya back at the office, I guess.”

  Huber bent down and helped Char to her feet. “I thought he might do that. I told you to get up,” he said.

  “Very thoughtful,” she said.

  “Don’t turn this on me. You broke his nose. You can hate me, hate Arcadia, but it’s not a bad place. When you were in the wild, you had to do what needed to be done to survive. I get that. This is a civilized town, McKinney. I warned the mayor about letting people from outside in. Everyone else here is living a pretty good, if not simplistic life. No one is bothering them. But they aren’t killing people, either.”

  “Broadhurst pulled a gun on us.”

  “I’m not going to re-argue your case.”

  As they started to walk down the street, Char said, “You have a car or are we walking there?”

  “You see any cars?” Huber had her by the arm, staying a safe distance to her left.

  She did not like the idea of being paraded around.

  “Remember how you and your friends asked the mayor about the power in Arcadia?” Huber said. When Char kept quiet, he continued. “The prison is called The Cog. It’s where we get the power. It’s down in the bowels of a mineshaft. There are multiple generators. They operate on a combination of converted garbage, the heat from the earth, which is called geothermal power, and manpower. I don’t know all the scientific shit, but it comes down to kilowatts if I’m not mistaken. We’ve got a gifted engineer who designed, built, and runs this thing twenty-four seven. As his reward, he’s also the prison warden.”

  “So it’s slave labor,” Char said.

  “It is prison labor.”

  “In a mine shaft,” she said.

  “One way in and out,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts of escape and wanted to thwart them on the spot.

  “Sounds claustrophobic,” she said.

  “It sure as hell is,” he said.

  # # #

  On the edge of town was a hole in a mountain. The wall surrounding Arcadia was built around it. Two prison guards with rifles stood by the entrance.

  “You’re shitting me,” Char said.

  “You think I was kidding?”

  “Kind of, yeah,” she said.

  “This is my last attempt at helping you. Do as you’re told. Keep your nose down, and fly under the radar. What’s below is like no prison you’ve ever seen before,” the sheriff said. He greeted the guards with a nod.

  “How big is this prison?” she said.

  “Huge.”

  Char sighed. “I meant how many prisoners?”

  “Prisoners? With you, fifteen.”

  “Fifteen? You have fifteen people running enough power to generators to supply this town with electricity?”

  “Yes, but not exactly.”

  “Not exactly, what?”

  “Those questions I will leave for the warden to answer.” Huber didn’t laugh, and he didn’t smile. He just led her forward by the arm.

  They entered the cave. It is what it was. A cave entrance. The sunlight did not penetrate even ten feet into the cave. The darkness would have been complete if not for a string of lights not much brighter than Christmas tree decorations strung along the ceiling.

  They stopped at a gated cube.

  “What’s this?” Char said.

  “Your ride down to The Cog,” he said.

  Char looked back over her shoulder. She could not see the cave entrance. She could barely make out the lights that were not immediately in front of her. If the sheriff was telling the truth about only one way in or out, and that one way being this elevator, she began to doubt her plan of escaping.

  She didn’t want to give up on the idea already, but as they stepped into the car and it slowly descended into sparse areas of complete darkness and passing areas of light, she felt hope slip away.

  PART III

  The Cog

  Chapter 25

  The elevator was a wooden plank platform with a mesh cage. It rattled as it descended. The view was of silt, clay, and grey rock with embedded crystals on all four sides.

  “Just breathe easy,” Sheriff Huber said. He stood stiffly, with one hand on the butt of his revolver and the other on the end of his long handled D-battery flashlight.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “The shiny rock is called Rhyolite. What you are smelling is sulfur.”

  “Are we safe down here? I mean, breathing that in?”

  “You will be given P.P.E.s once you get situated,” Huber said.

  “Yeah, I have no idea what that is.”

  “Personal Protective Equipment. A mask, gloves, and a prison uniform that will keep you safe from exposure to the elements.”

  “Mask?”

  “A full face piece respirator.” The sheriff mimicked putting on a mask. “They have acid gas cartridges that keep you from breathing in toxins. You’ll be safe.”

  “Has anyone sentenced ever been released from this prison, yet?” she said.

  Huber shook his head. “Not yet. No.”

  She couldn’t think about that. Not now. To survive she shew she’d need to prepare mentally. Positive thoughts. “How far down are we going?”

  “About two hundred feet.”

  Char sucked in a deep breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  She waved a hand in front of her face. “I might be hyperventilating.”

  “Breathe slowly, in and out. Nice and easy.” The sheriff put hands on her shoulders.

  The elevator rattled and shook.

  “We’re at the bottom,” the sheriff said.

  She sensed a change in his personality. He didn’t seem like the bad guy she’d thought. “I’ll be okay.”

  The elevator stopped. A guard stood in front of them. He held a rifle across his chest. His face was hidden behind the reflection in the face piece of his mask. The mask had a respirator cartridge on either side of his covered mouth and she could hear him breathing. He sounded a lot like Darth Vader.

  “That’s what I’ll be wearing?” she said.

  “That’s what you will be wearing. Are you ready?”

  The elevator gate rose and they stepped off the elevator. Lights lit the tunnel ahead.

  “I guess I’m as ready as I ever will be.” She wasn’t ready at all.

  “Take her to the warden, Officer.”

  “Wait,” Char said. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “This is where we part. I do wish you the best of luck. Try to remember ever
ything I told you, and you’ll be okay.”

  She didn’t want him to go. “Thank you, I will.”

  “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. She just nodded.

  # # #

  “My name is George Hermann. This is my facility, my institution. It is a prison, yes. We have prisoners and armed guards. There is one way in, and the only way out is when you’ve completed your sentence, but the Cog is more than a prison. If you take any pride in yourself, you will understand that what we do down here is even more important than reformation. We supply more than just a service to the community of Arcadia. The Cog is the heart of Arcadia and possibly its brain.”

  Char sat at desk across from Hermann; the guard with the gun stood behind her. The framed degrees from M.I.T. and Stanford were hung on the wall behind Hermann’s head and didn’t impress her. She didn’t think it was possible, but she missed Sheriff Huber. Hermann was not what she’d expected. When she thought of a warden she pictured a crotchety old man in a dark suit, with grey hair. Hermann couldn’t yet be thirty. He had a head of messy black hair. He wore glasses with black frames and lenses so thick his eyes looked twice as large as normal behind the prescription glass.

  “While you are here you won’t just spend time wasting away in a cell. Your work will be meaningful. You will be contributing, working to ensure that power and electricity is supplied to the town,” Hermann said.

  “How does that work?”

  Hermann stared at Char for a long minute. “I do not remember you asking for permission to talk, nor do I recall asking you a question. You are new. I will let it slide this once. The Cog is successful because we run on policy and procedures. Rules. You’ve just learned one of them. And, mind you, it is an important one. We don’t tolerate much of anything other than a hard work ethic down here. Want your time with us to be painless, then follow the rules.”