Page 12 of Caretaker

Shane sighed and faced the wall.

When the guard was finished, he’d pulled thirteen weapons off Shane’s body, and both he and Cindy were laughing.

“I don’t blame you for trying,” Larry told Shane. “I wouldn’t want to go inside without my weapons, either.” He patted the holstered gun at his side. “Thank God I don’t have to.”

Cindy had grabbed a clipboard and cataloged each weapon as it was removed from Shane’s person, then handed him the form to sign.

Al and I were next, but neither one of us had so much as a blade on us. Cindy took our cell phones and asked us to sign the form as well.

Ten minutes later, we were finally on our way to see Angus, the two guards in tow. We picked up a third guard as we left that building and walked across a small enclosed yard.

A loud, raucous buzz sounded and the doors in front of us opened before we reached them. Someone, it appeared, was always watching.

And then we walked through those doors and entered hell.

The room was a huge, open area containing scattered tables and chairs, with stairs leading up to the second level. There was no sound, and that absence of sound was deafening.

Cells lined the walls.

“Incoming,” Cindy yelled.

And suddenly there was a flurry of movement as prisoners rushed to face the far walls of their cells. With their backs to us, they fell to their knees, leaned their foreheads against their stained brick walls, and waited for us to pass by.

The prisoners had absolutely no privacy, and a few of them, males and females alike, were naked. That made it easier to see their prominent bones and the scars that decorated their flesh.

Cindy, catching my look, explained.

“We take their clothes if they misbehave. It’s a punishment that’s really losing its effectiveness. What do they care if they’re naked or not?”

Suddenly, I didn’t like Cindy.

My throat hurt with the violent thickness of my tears.

The cells were tiny, holding only a mattress on what looked like a concrete ledge, and a filthy toilet. Nothing else. No pictures of family, no decorations, no books.

I walked past cell after cell, a lot of them empty, but some holding kneeling, silent supernaturals. I inhaled rage with every breath.

I felt them.

They hadn’t given up. They were just waiting. Waiting for a hand.

Waiting for a champion.

I became aware that Shane’s grip was about to break my fingers. “Ease up,” I said, my voice empty, despite the overwhelming emotion in my heart.

It took enormous effort to remain calm, to keep my face blank, to not fly into a rage and attack every human I came across.

And I did it. I let the rage come, but I tamed it.

It was a proud moment.

Cindy narrowed her eyes, and I saw the threat there. I saw the bully she was. I saw her. I shouldn’t have been surprised at her meanness. It would take a certain kind of person to work there. “What’s wrong, Sinclair?”

“Not a goddamned thing.” My voice was icy enough to burn my throat.

She widened her eyes and recoiled just the tiniest bit, because maybe she saw something in my face, something I was trying to hide. Something that scared her.

“Stone cold,” Alejandro murmured.