Project Northwoods (46 page)

She impatiently jiggled her hands in an effort to get him to hurry up. She looked at the top of his head as he pinned her hands together. He wasn’t a particularly nice guard with his ludicrous mix of unabashed dickishness and sexism, which is why it was imperative she was seen being treated no differently. She had seen enough of Tim’s prison shows to know that if the guards liked you, no one else did. Once secured, Ariana stepped backward and showed the Enforcer that her hands were, indeed, restrained. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He swiped his ID card through an unseen electronic reader next to her cell. It beeped pleasantly just before the latch released and, with a hiss of a pressure lock, the door opened. She stepped out and turned in the direction she was always forced to march.

Ariana took the opportunity to finally sneak a look at the man in the cell next to her. For once, he wasn’t sulking out of sight, but leaning against the bars, his arms woven through the gaps. His dirty, unshaven face looked undeniably handsome in a rakish way despite his swollen nose, and he followed her movements with a pair of shining brown eyes. He smiled when they made eye contact, and with a pang of shock she recognized him immediately, snapping her attention forward in an effort to process the sight of Weston Marsh behind bars.

They passed by numerous cells, far too many to count. Villains on their beds would adjust to look at her with fatigue. Others glared from the floor of their cells as she passed. A mother in one cell was holding a young child, rocking him back and forth. She was worn down, barely registering that anything was going on outside her new home. Sometimes the cells would have posters on the wall, remnants of a life on the outside whenever a villain had managed to stuff some sentimental art into their duffel bag before being brought here.

They were finally nearing the guard station, the combination break room and security station that served as the gateway into the rest of the facility. Ariana imagined the freedom which lay beyond the walls, the freedom of knowing that the two men she cared about were safe and just around the corner.

“Ariana!” a rowdy, British voice beckoned, snapping her from her daydream. She turned to look at Jack Cleese, the older man sitting in an arm chair somehow squeezed into his cell. His confinement was purely that in name only: he had more books, art, and entertainment than anyone else in here. She suspected that he had bribed those who had come to arrest him to let him take as much stuff as possible. He was still dressed impeccably in a grey suit and tie, smiling with a semi-glazed sheen in his eyes, undoubtedly from a bottle of scotch he had sequestered in one of his trunks.

He pushed himself off the chair and strolled to the bars. She turned to her escort and smiled politely. “May I talk to Spitfire?”

The Enforcer let out a derisive cough. “Yeah, if we go back forty years.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he motioned Ariana to Cleese’s cell. “Make it quick.”

She walked toward Jack, who had taken to hanging out the cell door like Marsh had done earlier. With a smile, he turned his head to the side, presenting his cheek which she kissed. “Thanks for helping me.”

“I can’t say no to a beautiful lady.” He smiled. “Besides, your family has helped me numerous times.” His eyes flicked behind her as the Enforcer impatiently tapped his watchless wrist. “The help is getting restless. There’s no word from anyone regarding young Timothy.”

“Shit,” she said, fighting the urge to put her fingers to her temple, if only because it would mean slapping herself in the face with both wrists. “Shit.” Ariana turned away, her heart aching.

“Stiff upper lip, Ariana.” He reached up to put his hand on her cheek.

The Enforcer stepped forward and unhooked the baton from his belt. He smashed it on the bars. “That’s enough fraternizing after hours, Jack.” He grabbed Ariana’s arm roughly and shoved her away from the cell while glaring at the man behind bars. “Sit your ass back down.” Cleese did as he was told, smirking the whole time in the Enforcer’s direction. The guard grabbed Ariana again and shoved her in front of him. “Let’s go.”

“Your father is in D-Wing!” Cleese shouted from his cell. Ariana turned to run back, but was stopped. “He’s in a sleep chamber, but he’s alright!”

“Shut up, Jack!” The Enforcer shoved Ariana forward and toward the guard station. “Don’t you dare encourage him, Brown.” He stepped toward the door and swiped his card. The electronic lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. Impatiently, he shoved Ariana in and secured them inside. “From the sound of it, your old man is fine,” the Enforcer said impatiently. “Now, make with the goods.” He sat on a nearby chair, kicked up his legs onto the folding table which served as a communal lunch station, and grabbed a magazine.

Ariana was shaking as she reached for the coffee pot. The nightly custom had become second nature, and she let muscle memory push through most of the actions. Her mind was put somewhat at ease with the thought of her father being held in the same facility, even if it was in a sleep chamber. She had heard horror stories about the dreams the cells gave people, enough to make her stop paying attention to the water gushing from the faucet and into the now-full glass carafe.

“I think it’s full, sweetheart.” Ariana snapped back to reality and dumped a little of the water out.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just make your own coffee.” As if of its own volition, the water darkened to a thick black color. She set it back on the coffee burner, flipping the switch to turn on the heating plate.

He chuckled. “Right, I’ll just run to the store.”

She walked away, moving as far away from him as she could get. “It’s ready.”

Bending the magazine enough so he could see her and the coffee pot, he cocked an eyebrow. “Serve it to me, sugar.”

“Are you kidding me?” She held up her hands. “Please explain to me how this is supposed to work.”

He grunted. “You’re the one who wanted to be tied up.” The Enforcer resumed reading. Ariana’s face twitched in annoyance. She rose and grabbed a mug from the dish rack, obediently filled it as best she could, and walked over to him. He accepted it only after slowly folding the magazine in half around its spine. He looked Ariana up and down as he took the mug. “Anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like your mother?”

Ariana smiled courteously, yet artificially. “It’s been said.” She turned and went to her seat.

“Front and back,” the Enforcer said with a chuckle. Ariana stopped, shutting her eyes in irritation. “Shame she had to die.”

“She didn’t
have
to,” Ariana said, straightening. She moved immediately to her chair and sat, looking off into the distance.

“Suit yourself.” He took a long gulp of coffee. “She was a fine piece of ass back in the day.”

“Shut up.” Ariana was beginning to tremble. She looked up at him and saw that he was watching her unwaveringly.

“Never understood why she shacked up with your dad. Pencil-necked geek.” There was no aggression in his tone. He was merely doing this to get a rise out of her. He leaned forward. “If he couldn’t save her life, I bet he couldn’t even get her…”

“Please, don’t talk about my parents.” She could feel rage boiling inside of her, flowing over her like drunkenness. She knew his type, the people who used authority like a hammer, reveling in the minor bit of power they had. He would have been a perfectly fine hero on any other day of the week, but put him in charge of a powerless group and he became a tyrant.

He bit his lip and smiled wickedly. “Why? What are you going to do?” The Enforcer laughed arrogantly. “Get on your knees and beg?”

Ariana closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. There was no fear of ruining anyone’s drink… except maybe Mr. Cleese’s… but the very real fear of crying in front of Fuckwit the Enforcer was very, very present. “Just… don’t.”

He banged his coffee mug on the table. “Refill, Brown. Now.” She inhaled deeply and rose to her feet. “The thing I don’t get is how your daddy let it happen.” She grabbed the coffee pot and walked slowly toward him, her vision wavering with rage. “Was he too busy pissing himself to stop Arbiter?” Ariana was standing over him now. He brought up the coffee cup. “It was probably for the best. Let her die before she knew she married a sack of useless shit.” Ariana was trembling as she finished pouring the cup.

“Can I go now?” she asked, swallowing hard.

He took a long swig, not breaking eye contact. “If she was still alive,” he snorted, “both you and her would be calling me daddy.”

She swung the carafe as hard as she could against his head. The glass shattered on impact, ripping into his face and splattering him with coffee she had inadvertently made stupendously hot. Glass shards, flecked with blood, spun off into the air and clattered onto the floor as he collapsed off his chair, dropping his mug in order to clutch at his wounds. He was screeching as his skin turned an angry red, a color helped all the more by blood and coffee mixing. Ariana dropped what remained of the carafe, horror at her actions subduing any lingering rage.

“You cunt!” he shouted, flipping onto his back. She knelt beside him and yanked the keycard off his belt before bolting out the door. “Get back here!”

The guard station was right next to the entrance to the rest of the facility, a fact that temporarily rendered Ariana indecisive. Whether she chose the cells or the rest of the prison, all she knew was she couldn’t stay with the Enforcer who, very likely, was going to kill her. Her thoughts went to her father, and she sprinted to the metal door leading to the Fortress proper. She swept the key through the slot only to be greeted by a timer ticking off five minutes until the locks disengaged. “Damn it!” Apparently, the doors were only immediate when someone on the other side overrode the countdown.

“I’m going to fuck you up!” the Enforcer roared from the break room.

Ariana turned and ran back toward the cells. As she passed the door to the break room, the guard leapt out at her, managing to snag her legs as he finished his dive. Stumbling, she nevertheless maintained her momentum and continued forward.

“Ariana, what’s going on?” Mr. Cleese shouted as she ran by his cell. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was pressed against the cell, a glass of something in his hand. She didn’t stop to explain. She didn’t have the time, and more importantly, she didn’t have a plan. The prisoners that could see her began to shout.

“Someone’s free!”

“Run, girl!”

“Haul ass!”

Someone boomed above the others. “Damn it, Cleese!” She looked behind her as the Enforcer recoiled from Mr. Cleese’s cell. Fresh, dark liquid was dripping from his face. Ariana turned and motioned with her hands toward the guard. She focused through the adrenaline, mentally projecting her ability out of her fingertips. In response, he clawed at his eyes as the scotch transformed into coffee. He gave a short bark of pain, but he didn’t slow down. His path was shakier but doggedly forward.

Ariana turned back and ran as the assembled convicts started to chant and bang whatever they could against the cells. She wasn’t sure how they would feel when she retreated to her cell, locked it behind her, and cowered in the corner. Not that she cared. What mattered at the moment was safety, and there was only one place which…

The gunshot caught her off guard, making her instinctively duck down. The shot went wide, but she didn’t turn around. She neared her cell, maintaining hope that the guard wouldn’t shoot a defenseless villain behind bars.

Another shot and she practically dove for the card reader. She swiped the card when a figure infiltrated her view from inside the cell.

“What are you doing?” Marsh asked. He looked terrified. “Are you crazy?”

The wrong cell. The wrong fucking cell!
“Sorry!” she shouted, moving toward the right chamber. The Enforcer intercepted her, tackling her to the ground. He was heavy, the combination of gear and muscle squeezing the air out of her. The key card went skittering out of her grasp.

She watched it vanish from sight as the Enforcer rose, leveling his gun at her. He ejected the magazine and put it in a pouch before taking another one and sliding it back into the grip of the weapon. He shook his head. “No rubber bullets this time, bitch.”

The pop of locks releasing was drowned out by the now furious cries of her neighbors. The Enforcer’s baton was ripped off his belt by Marsh. Before the guard could turn to him completely, the actor smashed the weapon across the hero’s face. Due to adrenaline and acclimation to his skull being used as a punching bag, the Enforcer barely reacted to the blow. He recovered from the strike and brought the grip of his pistol down on Marsh’s head, sending the prisoner to the floor.

“I’ll get to you in a second, Marsh.” He turned back to Ariana. “Now, what to do with you?” He smiled wickedly.

“Start up the stove, motherfucker!” a familiar voice screamed. The Enforcer wheeled around just in time to see Tim leaping into the air, his hands interlocked above him. The guard brought up the gun, but the villain was too fast. Tim brought his fists down like a hammer, smashing the Enforcer’s head with a devastating blow. The gun hit the ground with a clatter, loud but barely echoing in the chaos. Ariana rolled out of the way as the two men collapsed, Tim ending in a crouch on top of the unmoving Enforcer. She looked at him, shuddering with relief and joy. Her friend, her lover, her companion, stood upright and offered his hand to her. “We gotta fry up some bacon, baby,” he said with a cocked grin.

She grabbed his hand and he yanked her upright, the momentum carrying her forward into his arms. She was crying and her hands were still bound and pinned between the two of them, but she didn’t care. “I thought I’d never see you again.” She buried her face into the nape of his neck. “I love you,” she gasped. “I love you so much.”

His hand, comforting and supportive, worked its way up to the back of her head. “I love you, too.” He heaved, slightly, her savior overcome with the same emotion.

“Not to be rude, guys,” Marsh said from his position on the floor. They looked at him as he rubbed his soon-to-be-swollen face. “But what’s going on here?”