Prey Drive (15 page)

Time passed with little to mark its progression. Joe had a hard time distinguishing night from day. In supermax, there were no routines to mark the passage of time except breakfast, lunch, exercise time, and dinner. Joe could not remember how long it had been since Cindy brought him his dinner.

The TV in Joe’s cell was on, another televangelist station blared an unending torrent of anti-intellectual bullshit designed to leech as much currency as possible from the legions of true-believers. Joe missed the lectures and discussions he’d participated in at school, arguing politics, religion, psychology, and sociology with his professors and fellow students. Even though they all thought he was weird and creepy, the discussions had been amazing. It was during one such discussion in Professor Locke’s abnormal psychology class that he’d first developed his theory of homicidal impulses as a symptom of a communicable disease. But, there was no arguing with the television. The dogma spewing forth hour after hour from the 13” TV screen embedded in the wall and covered by a steel cage was completely one-sided. Joe growled and snarled and paced in his cell. After months of this type of aural assault, it was beginning to get to him.

A black preacher in a four thousand dollar suit was talking about how God didn’t want anyone to be poor and how tithing generously would increase your economic fortunes. He was asking for everyone to donate 10 percent of their income to the church. When he spoke, he waved his hands in large grandiose gestures that displayed the platinum Rolex and diamond rings God had given him by way of his congregation’s generous tithing. Obviously he selectively ignored the part in the Bible where Jesus said a rich man has as much chance of entering heaven as a camel has of passing through the eye of a needle. Joe wasn’t sure how he managed to reinterpret that into believing God wanted everyone to be rich, but obviously his congregation had made the same cognitive leap. He wondered how many of his fellow inmates believed the same thing and how many were here because of their effort to claim their God-given right to luxurious wealth.

One thing was evident—the prison was dominated by Christians. That’s why Joe thought it was odd that they pushed religion so hard in supermax as if it were some kind of panacea for crime when obviously it hadn’t kept anyone from committing the offenses that had brought them here. It seemed odd that the prison officials expected it to work the second time, but the evangelical stations were some of the only stations they allowed in supermax. It was either religious programming or prison programming that consisted of announcements from the warden and “educational” programs on anger management and literacy, and some basic entertainment channels, primarily news, game shows, soap operas, and sitcoms. Since the guard in the control booth operated the TV, game shows, sitcoms, and even the news were rare treats. The programming on most days were never-ending streams of religious propaganda followed by patronizing videos on how to avoid conflict and other anger management tools.

The religion and race of the CO in the control booth could usually be determined by the TV programming. If Officer Belton was in the control booth, Benny Hinn and Creflo Dollar would play nonstop. If the big, red-headed CO, Officer Bruce Finley, was in the control booth, Joe could count on Joel Osteen or Robert Schuller dominating the TV for six to eight hours. The only time he was permitted to watch regular programming was when Cindy was in the control booth. Today, it was obviously Officer Belton’s shift.

Joe dropped down and began cranking out pushups, trying to drown out the preacher’s fanatical diatribe with sweat and pain. The preacher was railing against everything from homosexuality to violent video games to the president of the United States. His answer to everything was prayer and money. The more the televised minister droned on the more Joe’s enmity toward Officer Belton increased. He wished it was Belton rather than Cindy being set up for the kill.
Set up for the kill? Is that what I’m doing with Cindy? Setting her up?
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that but didn’t see a way around it.

“Lights out!”

It was ten o’clock. Lights out. The shouts of “Allah Ahkba!” from the jihadists, imprisoned for various acts of terrorism, competed with screams and angry shouts for the “screws” to turn the lights back on so the inmates could finish reading or to turn the TV back on or to let them use the telephone or for things like new toothbrushes or toothpaste or washcloths. This was the same din that filled the prison twenty-four-hours a day. It was just easier to tune out the madness with the television on. Now the darkness resounded with rage, fear, desperation, and despair. The vicious super-predator, Joseph Miles, clamped his hands over his ears as he began a series of lunges and squats that would last for nearly an hour, past the point of fatigue, until he’d taken his muscles to total failure.

One thousand squats and five hundred lunges later, Joe collapsed onto his cot in exhaustion. The dreams came almost immediately.

Joe was ten years old again. His father was angry. He could hear him upstairs in the bedroom. Each footfall sounded like a small explosion. The elder Miles was not a small man. Joe’s father rarely turned on the lights so the house held a constant crypt-like gloom that darkened gradually into a solid fortress of night as the sun disappeared. He said it was to preserve energy, but Joe always suspected his father simply enjoyed the darkness, that he felt more at home in the shadows. Soon the grim pall of night enshrouded every corner of the room. The lone light in the entire house came from the exhaust hood above the gas cooktop and Joe concentrated on it. Staring at that one ray of light as the roars and shouts increased. His father’s shouts of anger seemed to shake the house to its foundations. Little Joey knew his father would come downstairs with the belt and the pain would begin. If he was lucky, the belt was the only thing his father would use.

He heard the first thunderous footstep on the stairs and Joey began to tremble and wet his pajamas. He wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. He wasn’t certain his father knew either. He was certain it wouldn’t matter either way. His father was drunk and angry and Joe was there. His mom had left again and gone to live with her mother. She would be back. She always came back but, in the meantime, Joe was left alone with his father’s explosive temper.

His father reached the bottom of the steps and Joe screamed as the big man came for him, only it wasn’t his father anymore, it was Damon Trent, the fat, teenaged, child-murderer who’d kidnapped him when he was young.

He wasn’t in his own home anymore. He was back in Damon Trent’s basement, in the rusty, blood-filled tub. The basement windows were painted black and nailed shut. He was duct-taped and bleeding and Damon was coming to hurt him again.

“No. Don’t hurt me. No. Nooo!”

Joe awoke in darkness—screaming. He looked around and for a moment expected to see Damon Trent coming to cut him and drink his blood. When he remembered that Damon Trent was already dead, that he had butchered the murderous pederast, vivisected him in his bed, Joe was filled with sudden and overwhelming joy and relief. Then he remembered where he was, locked in a cage, and was overcome with a sudden soul-crushing malaise. He had to escape. He was dying in here.

Twenty

It had been dark for several hours when Cindy finally came for him. Joe was in the midst of another nightmare when his cell door unlocked and Cindy stepped in. He leapt to his feet when the door opened and took a defensive stance, expecting an inmate to come through the door for another cockfight. He was relieved to hear Cindy’s voice.

“I turned off the camera in your cell. No one can see us.”

She rushed into Joe’s arms then pulled away and reached for her neck.

“You won’t bite me again will you?”

Joe smiled, but in the dark, the expression went unseen.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. It had just been so long since I was with a woman. I couldn’t control myself. I’m okay now. I won’t hurt you again.” He stroked her cheek and heard her gasp. Cindy trembled beneath his fingertips.

“I wasn’t going to come. I was afraid.”

Joe nodded. “I know. I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you again. I promise.”

There was a flurry of motion and the sound of cloth rubbing against cloth. She moved closer to him, pulled his hard body against her soft flesh. She had removed her clothes and the feel of her smooth, warm flesh put steel in his manhood. The monster roared awake, but Joe quickly suppressed it. He would not lose control again.

She kissed him, deeply, passionately. Her tongue probed his mouth and he met it with his own. He nipped at her lips and then sucked them lightly. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her chin, her jawline. He kissed his way down her quivering neck and heard her breath quicken in fear as he nipped at her throat. His hands caressed her narrow shoulders. He circled her throat with his fingers and then squeezed gently before pulling her forward into another kiss.

“Your body is incredible,” she whispered.

“So is yours,” Joe replied as he reached around to cup her large buttocks in both hands. He knelt down and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. Her breasts were small but the nipples were large and erect. Joe flicked his tongue over them and sucked harder, drawing her entire breast into his mouth, just barely controlling the instinct to tear it off her chest. He kissed, sucked, nibbled, and bit his way down her chest to her stomach and from her stomach down between her thighs.

Joe still held Cindy’s voluptuous ass in both hands as he knelt between her thighs and wriggled his tongue inside of her, luxuriating in the acrid, tangy, sweet taste of her sex. Her thighs shuddered as he sucked and lapped at her clitoris. She grabbed the back of his head, put one leg up onto his cot, and pulled his tongue deeper inside of her, grinding against his face. Joe eagerly lapped at her sex and the steady flow of juices as she quivered on the precipice of orgasm. He swirled his tongue around the engorged nub of her clitoris, bringing her to a convulsive climax. As she came, Joe stabbed his tongue deep inside of her. He licked the walls of her sex, swallowing the deluge of juices as orgasm after orgasm shook her to her core.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, God! OH GOD!”

She plopped down onto his bunk, her legs still trembling, struggling to catch her breath. Joe stood, dropping his pants to his ankles as he rose from between her legs. Cindy took Joe’s massive endowment into her mouth and sucked on the very tip of his cock. Her tongue circled the rim of his gland, sending delirious bolts of pleasure down the shaft. Joe grabbed Cindy by her hair and eased his length further into her mouth until the head of his cock brushed her tonsils and she gagged slightly and pulled away, withdrawing his cock from her mouth abruptly and gasping for air.

“I can’t take it that deep. You’re too big.”

She dragged her tongue down the length of his shaft and then cupped his testicles in her hand and sucked each one. Joe let out a low, rumbling growl while Cindy stroked his cock and licked his testicles. He could feel himself nearing orgasm.

“Suck it, Cindy. Suck it again. I’m so close.”

Cindy took Joe’s cock in her mouth again and grabbed him by his buttocks, slowly easing him deeper and deeper until she’d swallowed every inch and his full length throbbed deep in her esophagus. This time, she did not gag, even when Joe threaded his fingers into her hair and began rocking his hips forward and back, gripping her skull tight and fucking her throat. A growl reverberated low in his chest then came roaring out as he ejaculated thick gouts of warm semen, filling her mouth, spilling out over her lips, and dribbling down her chin. She licked her lips and lapped the semen still spouting from Joe’s cock as he twitched and spasmed with what felt like an endless orgasm. In his mind, the monster roared too.

When Joe looked down at Cindy, who was smiling up at him with lips glazed with his seed, he saw her through the monster’s eyes, her features distorted by its voracious hunger. What he saw was meat, bones, blood, and food. He saw sex and sustenance combined into one glorious, voluptuous, scrumptious delicacy.

Drool hung from Joe’s mouth in long ropes as he stared down at Officer Cindy Addison and she looked up at him with an expression near reverence. His face betrayed the war within him, and he watched Cindy’s face change from ecstasy to terror, seeing the murderous appetite contort his features.

She stood and wiped his semen from her lips with her fingertips and then sucked each digit clean.

“Okay, I think it’s time for me to leave before you lose control again. A little at a time. I think that’s best. The more you learn to control your urges, the more of me you can have,” Cindy said.

Joe seized her by the throat and kissed her, tasting his own sex on her lips. His hands trembled. Joe could feel her pulse beneath his fingers and he wanted to crush it. He felt her swallow deep and he squeezed a bit harder. He could have easily snapped her neck like a twig.

He let her go and backed away. “It’s okay. I can wait.”

Twenty-One 

It was Cindy’s day off. Joe spent the morning doing push-ups and crunches until his arms and abs burned with lactic acid and began to cramp. He couldn’t get Cindy out of his mind.

Professor Locke sent the guards to fetch Joe for more tests. The professor wanted to try a new medication on him. Joe shuffled along the tier in chains escorted by Officer Belton and Officer Ramirez, a short, skinny Mexican guy who’d been there longer than Belton. They walked without speaking except for the usual commands:

“Stand here.”

“Turn here.”

“Keep going straight.”

“Stop at the end of the hall.”

There was a surliness to Belton’s demeanor today that was even worse than his usual air of unpleasantness. He seemed almost hostile, and Joe was thankful for the presence of Officer Ramirez. If Belton had been alone with him, Joe was certain the man would have taken the opportunity to take his aggression out on Joe while he was chained and helpless. The only thing preventing him from doing so now was Officer Ramirez and his own fear of the massive cannibal killer. Belton had seen what Joe did to the big Mexican, Armondo, and he’d no doubt heard about his castration of the big transvestite they’d thrown in the cell with him. Joe was sure every guard in the prison had watched the tapes and none of them were exactly eager to experience the same.