Prey Drive (17 page)

“Gentlemen, please. You can let him go now. He isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“This is bullshit! You said he was medicated!” Officer Belton yelled, jabbing a finger at the professor. His eyes were brilliant with rage. He appeared on the edge of physical violence. He was scared. Joe could see it as conspicuously as if he’d been wearing a sign. He could smell it in the man’s perspiration, a gamey odor full of adrenalin like that of a frightened doe. The man was terrified, even with more than half a dozen specially trained officers in the room, and that pissed him off.

Professor Locke turned to Officer Belton and looked down his nose at the angry corrections officer. It was clear that Belton wanted to strike him and would have if he didn’t know he’d lose his job because of it.

“He is medicated, Officer Belton. He isn’t resisting, is he? Perhaps you’d be interested in seeing these results as well?”

“What results? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come. Take a look.”

Professor Locke gestured toward the small booth where the monitors for the PET scanner were kept. Belton followed him along with Joe and two of the SORT officers. The professor pointed to a red, blue, and yellow image of what was clearly a brain on the monitor screen.

“This is your brain while I was showing you those images just now. It is the brain of an addict. Your brain shows the same changes one would expect to see in the brain of a heavy cocaine or methamphetamine user. Here’s what your brain looked like while I was showing you those photos. That yellow spot right there in the amygdala indicates increased brain activity. The amygdala is the part of the brain that’s critical for memory and emotions. It’s often called the rage center of the brain because that’s where our flight or fight emotions are stored. It’s also where our sexual desires originate from. For an addict, when something stimulates a craving, the amygdala becomes active. A cocaine addict, for instance, will show increased activity in the amygdala at the mere mention of the word or upon hearing sounds or seeing images that remind the addict of cocaine. For you, Joseph, this increased brain activity happens when you see women, particularly voluptuous women.”

“So, I guess the drug didn’t work. There’re flashes of yellow in the amygdala when you were showing me the pictures.”

“Yeah, you ain’t fixed shit, Doc,” Officer Belton added.

The professor smiled giddily. “But wait. I have something else to show you.”

The professor went to a keyboard and began furiously typing in commands. Another image of a brain leapt onto a nearby screen.

“I want you to look at this image. This was your brain a few months ago viewing those same images.”

The image on the screen now showed an explosion of yellow in the area of the brain the professor identified as the amygdala. It looked like Joe’s brain was on fire. Comparing the two images, that small spot of yellow on the first screen was like the flare of a match compared to an inferno.

“The drug works, Joseph. It works.”

Twenty-Two 

“Cannibal Killer Suspect Convicted!”

“Six Victims Identified in Cannibal Case”

The headlines were sensational, but the details of the murders were even more lurid. She read about the librarian whose cannibalized remains were found at Joseph’s old apartment, cremated in an arson fire; the body they’d found roasted on a spit, most of the flesh torn from its charred bones; the child-killer who’d been butchered and nearly filleted at the state hospital; the orderly with his throat torn out; Joseph’s father who was found beheaded and burned with Bible pages stuffed in his mouth; and finally Alicia, eaten down to her bones. Cindy didn’t know what she was doing. She had allowed herself to fall for another inmate, perhaps the most dangerous prisoner in the entire prison system.

Cindy knew that men never changed. All the promises, all the therapy, even incarceration didn’t change a thing. A bad man was always going to be bad. Still, there was something about Joseph Miles that contradicted everything she read. She remembered watching him cry when one of his victim’s family members came to visit. It hadn’t been an act. He’d been genuinely remorseful. And the things he’d said to her, the way they’d made love the last time. He’d promised her that he wouldn’t hurt her and he hadn’t. He could have killed her if he wanted to. She’d been a fool to sneak into his cell like that. It had been just as foolish of her to sneak him out of his cell the night before. She could have easily been another victim, but he hadn’t killed her. He’d bit her neck and it had hurt, but he’d stopped when she told him to stop and he hadn’t done anything close to what he’d done to the people in these stories. He’d ripped out that orderly’s throat with his teeth, but he’d let Cindy go. Maybe his treatments were working. Maybe he was changing.

Twenty-Three 

Joe had a visitor. He was allowed to shower and shave before being led down to the visitor’s room to receive his guest. The entire time, Joe hoped that it was Lana who had come to visit him again. He was surprised to find a tall, gray-haired man in a dark blue suit and light- blue pinstriped shirt waiting for him in the visitor’s booth behind the thick Plexiglas wall. The man had a lean athletic build, clearly the result of hours in the gym. His face was lean and hard and had few wrinkles. His eyes were battleship gray, hidden behind thin spectacles with lightweight titanium frames. He smiled and picked up the phone when Joe entered. Joe sat down and picked up the phone as well.

“Hello, Mr. Miles. My name is Jon De Salvo. I was hired by a friend of yours to represent you. I believe you are acquainted with Ms. Selene Cassaro?”

“Is she here?”

Joe stood and looked behind the lawyer into the hall. Mr. De Salvo gestured with a slight wave for Joe to sit back in his seat.

“Ms. Cassaro is not here today. She is still barred from visiting you.”

Joe slumped in his chair.

“I do have good news, however. I am very close to getting you moved back into general population.”

“Really? How?”

“It’s been five years since you committed the crimes you were sentenced for. You spent most of that time in the state mental hospital before being transferred here several months ago. They were able to transfer you to prison because they declared that you were now mentally competent and able to understand the difference between right and wrong and why you were being incarcerated. They declared you legally sane, in other words. Now, you are being kept in what amounts to solitary confinement because you are considered violently insane and a threat to your fellow inmates. They can’t have it both ways. Either you’re insane and should be returned to the state mental hospital or you’re sane and should be released back into general population. Since you have been incarcerated here, there have been no documented instances of violence toward either the guards or your fellow inmates.”

Joe was shocked. “What about the convicts they made me fight? What about the one I castrated?”

Mr. De Salvo smiled.

“As I said, Mr. Miles, there have been no
documented
instances of violence toward your fellow inmates. If the guards were engaged in anything as illegal as what you described, setting up inmates to fight one another, I don’t think they would be careless enough to keep reports on these events. Would you? On paper, you have been a model prisoner. Any testimony to the contrary would have to include blowing the whistle on the practice of cockfighting. I doubt the corrections department would risk such a scandal to keep one inmate in supermax. I have several noted psychiatrists prepared to testify that your crimes were the result of your mental illness and that you are now sane and therefore not a threat to yourself or others.”

“Will they let me go then? If I’m not a threat anymore, then why am I still locked up?”

Mr. De Salvo shook his head. His expression was one of genuine remorse, but Joe knew better. The man was a pro and his facial expressions were as calculated as his choice of suits, his haircut, and his words.

“No, Mr. Miles. They will not let you go. You have been sentenced to life in prison. That hasn’t changed. You still killed those people, sane or not. This is the best I can do for you.”

Joe balled his hands into fists, squeezing until his fingernails broke the skin of his palms and blood seeped out from between his fingers. He was leaving one cage for another, but at least he wouldn’t be locked in his cell twenty-three hours a day.

“I have one more thing to tell you, Mr. Miles. Ms. Cassaro wanted me to deliver a message. She said it didn’t work. She tried to experience what you experience, the way you experience it, and it didn’t work. She didn’t feel anything. She wants to know what she did wrong.”

Joe frowned. “What I experience? The way I experience it? I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Mr. De Salvo leaned forward, tilted his thin, titanium-frame glasses down to the tip of his nose, and peered at Joseph over them, locking eyes with him. There were few men who could so easily stare unflinchingly into the eyes of a killer. Mr. De Salvo had probably locked eyes with many such men throughout his years as a criminal defense attorney. Joseph wondered exactly who Selene’s parents were that they had required the services of such a man and could so easily afford them.

“I think you know what she means, Mr. Miles. There’s only one behavior of yours she would emulate that would require such clandestine discussion.”

The lawyer continued staring at him until his meaning sank in, then he eased his glasses back up onto his nose with his index finger, and leaned back in his chair.

Joe was stunned.
What has this crazy bitch done?
“You mean she— she killed someone? She ate someone?”

“These phones may not be completely private, Mr. Miles, and I’m only her lawyer. I am just the messenger in this case, delivering a message she is unable to deliver herself. I would prefer not to try to interpret the message. I am simply delivering it as directed.”

Joe thought about Selene killing someone and eating them. He wondered who her victim was. Some portly business man she’d picked up at a bar? A prostitute she picked up off the street?
Why would she do that? What was she looking for? What did she mean “it didn’t work”?

“Is she— is she in trouble?”

“She’s fine. She’s in no legal trouble, if that’s what you mean. Now, I was hoping you might have a reply to her query.”

Joe thought about it a moment more. She said it didn’t work. She hadn’t felt anything. She was talking about the ecstasy of the flesh. She was talking about orgasm.

“She didn’t feel anything because she’s not infected. She doesn’t have the curse.”

The lawyer smiled but his eyes showed obvious confusion and just the slightest hint of annoyance and perhaps disgust. It was there for only an instant before the calm, reassuring expression returned to his face.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Miles.”

“I had this theory— I
have
this theory— that what I am is the result of a communicable disease, a genetic retro virus like AIDS, transmitted through body fluids like blood and saliva. It’s like the vampires and werewolves in the movies. The only way to get it is to be bitten by me or someone like me and she hasn’t been bitten. She’s not infected.”

Mr. De Salvo nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Miles. You’ve been extremely helpful. Oh, and while I’m working to get you released from supermax, I’ll also be working to get Ms. Cassaro’s visitation ban lifted. Perhaps you two will see each other soon. Good day, Mr. Miles.” Mr. De Salvo hung up the phone, stood, and left the room.

Joe sat there a moment trying to collect his thoughts. Selene had murdered someone. It didn’t make sense. She wanted the curse? She wanted to be like him?
Why would anyone want to be a monster?

Officer Ramirez came to collect him. Belton’s shift must have ended. When he stepped outside the visitor’s room, Cindy Addison was waiting to help Ramirez escort him to his cell.

“Good to see you, Officer Addison.”

“Good to see you too, Joseph.”

Twenty-Four 

“But isn’t ketamine addictive?”

Joe nodded. He’d have to discuss that with the professor. Trading one addiction for another was not the type of recovery he was looking for.

“It’s better than killing people, though. Besides, people get addicted to Prozac. I would have to take it for the rest of my life anyway, so addiction would be a moot point.”

Cindy smiled, but she didn’t look convinced. Half the people in supermax were there as a result of drug addictions.

“That’s great, Joe.”

Officer Ramirez was silent as he helped Officer Addison escort the big serial killer back to his cell. Joe’s familiarity with Officer Addison was obviously bothering him.

Joe tried to bring the man out of his shell. He extended an olive branch. “What did you think, Officer Ramirez? The professor says he can cure me.”

Officer Ramirez looked up at Joe and scowled. He snorted derisively and shook his head. “I grew up in LA, in the gangs. There were lots of killers in my old neighborhood. Some killed because they had to for protection. Some killed for money. But some were like you. They killed because they enjoyed it. Those types of murderers don’t change. They get killed or they wind up in here. There ain’t no kind of miracle drug to cure you of what you are. You’re right where you belong.”

Ramirez let out a slight chuckle and nudged Joe forward, ending the conversation. Joe could tell Officer Ramirez was still haunted by many of the things he’d witnessed and perhaps even participated in on the streets of Los Angeles. There was no one in this place who had not been scarred by violence in some way. Joe thought it best to let the matter drop. He wasn’t certain himself if he really could change.

Finally, they arrived at Joe’s cell and Cindy called to the control room for the guard to open the door. Joe deliberately brushed against Cindy as he stepped into his cell, rubbing his bicep across her breasts. Her nipples became instantly erect.