Fear Nothing (32 page)

“‘Make me,’ she said. Just like that.

“I thought that was it. She’d signed her own death warrant. Frankie wasn’t just going to beat the shit out of her; he was gonna kill her. For talking to him like that. For
looking
at him like that, like he wasn’t nothing but a poor pathetic loser, probably couldn’t even keep his dick up.

“Frankie gestured for Richie to open the cell door. Which he did. Then Frankie exploded into Shana’s room, all jacked up and ready to kill. I could see the whites of his eyes as he went for her. But she stood her ground. Then she smiled again. He faltered. You could almost see some very tiny part of his brain try to sound the alarm. Except it was too late. Frankie charged, and Shana shanked him right in the stomach. I still hear it, sometimes, in the middle of the night. This heavy wet sound. Followed by a sucking noise when she pulled the blade back out. It was a short blade. Maybe a sharpened comb? I’m not sure I ever found out. She must’ve stabbed him dozens of times, the happiest I’ve ever seen a person, while Frankie gurgled, then fell to the floor, and she kept going after him. Squish, squish, squish.

“Richie finally got off his fat ass and sounded the alarm. The response team arrived, all geared up for business. But Shana wouldn’t retreat. She stood over Frankie’s body and bared her teeth at them.” Christi turned unexpectedly toward Adeline. “You gotta understand. The whole place is going nuts. Sirens are going off. Women are freaking out. The corridor is filled with pumped-up guards wielding mattress shields and heavy batons. They’re screaming at Shana to stand down, drop her weapon, fucking face plant. But Shana won’t give it up. She was like some lioness, I don’t know, protecting her kill. Then, while they’re all yelling at her, she licked the blood dripping down her wrist. I thought two of the guards were gonna pass out cold.

“They took her down hard. And she fought them. To the bitter end, she was slashing and kicking and punching. I thought they might kill her. I almost yelled at them to stop. But I couldn’t. Even after what she’d done for me . . . I couldn’t.

“When they finally dragged her from the cell, she was barely recognizable. Nose smashed, eyes already swelling shut. But she turned toward me. As they carted her down the hall, she gazed straight at me and said, ‘I’m sorry, Adeline.’ That’s what she said. ‘I’m sorry, Adeline.’

“Two weeks later, she was out of medical. They moved her to solitary, where ironically enough, I gotta live across the hall from her again. Apparently, when I’d reported that Frankie had raped and sodomized me, the powers that be took that to mean I’d been consorting with a guard, so I needed reprimanding. I got sent to solitary, where Richie had also arranged to work. Mostly to keep his eye on Shana, of course. The things she knew about him . . .

“‘Gotta sleep sometime,’ he’d whisper through the slot in the door. And she’d just laugh and say, ‘
Back at you,
fucker.
’

“I don’t know how she did it. But one night, I woke up to the sound of whispering. A low, urgent mutter, almost like a chant. Shana was murmuring softly to Richie, something like, really important, over and over again. He didn’t talk back, but he also didn’t walk away. He kind of just stood there, right outside her cell, shaking his head, no, no, no. . . . Then she stopped. The place fell silent, and let me tell you, prison ain’t
ever
silent. It’s like everyone was listening. More we couldn’t hear, the more we wanted to know. But Shana didn’t speak again.

“Instead, Richie . . . sighed. Like . . . like the world’s most exhausted guy, finally setting down his load. Then he unlocked Shana’s door. I watched him do it. He opened her cell door and walked straight into her arms. You would’ve thought they were lovers. When she drove her blade into his heart, he didn’t even appear frightened. He was . . . grateful. He sank to the floor and she sat beside him, stroking his hair until central command realized a guard had disappeared from view, and more alarms sounded and once more the response team arrived.

“She didn’t fight them this time. She looked over their shoulders straight at me. Then lifted the shank and slit her arm, wrist to elbow. Zip. I might have gasped, but she didn’t make a single sound. She’d just switched her knife from her right hand to her left when the guards reached her, took her down before she got the job done. Otherwise . . .”

Christi’s voice trailed off. She shrugged, which appeared to conclude her story. No one else spoke. Adeline, D.D noticed, appeared nearly dumbstruck.

“And the third CO?” Phil asked at last. “What was his name, Howard?”

“Never returned to work. Heard he died months later. Ran his truck off the road. I don’t know much about it, but I bet you Shana does. Bet you, if he killed himself, it was because she told him to.”

“Who else knows this story?” D.D. asked.

The woman shrugged again. “I don’t know. I mean, I answered questions at the time. We all did. Bits and pieces. But did they hear? Did they care? You don’t know what it’s like. Inmates aren’t humans. We’re animals, baaing and bleating for all they care. Course they swept it under the rug. COs got their funerals, the widows got their pensions. We got new guards. Just another day in paradise.”

“And the superintendent?”

“You mean the boss? We never saw the boss. Not until Superintendent Beyoncé at least. She pretends to like us, even visits the units on occasion. But Boss Wallace? No way.”

Superintendent McKinnon, aka Beyoncé, had been at the MCI for only the past ten years, meaning Christi’s story had happened under her predecessor’s reign. Which might explain why McKinnon didn’t seem aware of all the grim details.

“You ever speak to Shana?” Phil asked now.

“Never saw her again. I got out of solitary while she was still recovering in medical.”

“But the guards,” Adeline spoke up, “Richie, Frankie, Howard, never targeted her? You’re sure about that.”

“Yep.”

“So why, then, do you think she chose to get involved?” Adeline asked.

“For Adeline,” Christi said. Her gaze focused on the doctor, expression openly curious. “You’re Adeline, aren’t you?”

Adeline nodded.

“You’re her sister?”

Another nod.

“You’ve never been in prison, though. You look too nice.”

A faint smile.

“I had a brother,” Christi said abruptly. “Five years younger. When I was a kid and our father had been drinking . . . I tried to make sure my father didn’t see Benny. Or if he did, then my father maybe got distracted, noticed me instead.”

“Did that work?” Adeline asked.

“For a bit. Then Benny turned twelve, started drinking himself, and it didn’t matter anymore. They were both mean-ass drunks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I loved my baby brother. The before-twelve Benny. I would’ve died for him. Coupla times, I nearly did. When Shana looked at me, when she whispered, ‘Adeline,’ I knew what she meant. She was really saying ‘Benny.’ She was saving you.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you worth saving?” Christi asked intently. “Or are you the same ungrateful piece of shit my brother turned out to be?”

“I don’t know. Like most sisters, our relationship’s . . . complicated.”

“I’m glad she killed Frankie. I don’t care if that’s wrong or not. He was just like my father. Different man, different uniform, same son of a bitch. Shana knew that. She saw him for what he was, and she used it against him.”

“How did she know all those things about him?” Phil asked. “His divorce, kids, dog. Was that all true?”

“I don’t how she knew, but after Frankie’s death, we heard the COs whispering. According to them, his wife had left him two weeks before for another guard. That’s why he started spending the night.”

“But you never heard the gossip until
after
Frankie’s death?” Phil repeated.

Christi shrugged. “Not that I remember. Shana knew things about Richie, too. Like, like his own private thoughts, innermost secrets. I think that’s what she was whispering to him that night. She was telling him that everything he feared the most about himself was true. That’s why he wanted to die. I mean, once you understand that you’re not just a worthless piece of shit, but the whole rest of the world knows it, too? Dying doesn’t seem such a bad option. He walked straight into her arms and she was . . . nice about it. Almost tender. Girl’s got voodoo. That’s what I think.”

“You tell all this to Charlie Sgarzi?” D.D. asked.

“The reporter? Yeah, he came sniffing around, coupla months ago. Working on some big ‘bestseller’ involving Shana.” Christi used the term
bestseller
mockingly.

“You answer his questions?”

“He offered me dinner,” Christi said, as if that should explain things, “at the Olive Garden. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.”

“He ask you about his cousin’s murder, Donnie Johnson?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t answer those questions. Shana never spoke about it. Never even heard her say his name.”

“But you knew what she’d done, right? Her case was a big deal back in the day. Surely other girls must’ve asked her about it,” Phil pressed.

Christi looked at him in surprise. Then she laughed. “You’ve never even met her, have you?”

“I have.”

“Yeah? And how many questions did you survive? You can’t just . . . talk . . . to someone like Shana. She’s serious fucked-up shit. Not the cute kind of cuckoo, or the lights-on-but-nobody’s-home loony. She’s really, genuinely, sold-my-soul-to-the-devil crazy. She don’t care about me or anyone else in the place. I mean, sure, she killed Frankie. And
maybe
she wanted to save the rest of us or whatever. But
mostly,
she just plain wanted to kill him. I mean, she stabbed him like a zillion times. Then licked his blood. I don’t remember Wonder Woman ever doing that at the end of an episode.”

“But then she called you Adeline,” D.D. pointed out, because she found that curious. That Frankie’s assault of Christi had seemed to trigger something inside Shana. She’d slaughtered him; whereas, the death of the second guard, Rich, had been much more subdued, almost gentle, as Christi said.

“She’s Adeline; ask her.” Christi gestured to the doctor.

D.D. turned to Adeline.

“Basic projection,” Adeline supplied, her voice sounding rough, not quite her usual composed self. The doctor cleared her throat. “Shana spent four years in an abusive household before moving to a series of foster homes that probably offered little in the way of personal security. For such people, a younger sibling often comes to represents the person’s own inner child. In trying to rescue a younger sibling, the older child is really trying to go back and save herself. Shana fixated on guarding me as a proxy for protecting herself. Likewise, in prison, looking out for younger, less experienced inmates would be one way of trying to preserve some sense of self.”

“Yeah?” Christi asked. “And where does the blood licking come in?”

“Genetics,” Adeline said, and there was a grim smile around her lips.

“What did Sgarzi tell you about his book?” Phil asked.

“Not much. Shana killed his cousin. He was writing about it and he wanted to interview her and people like me in order to get the inside scoop.”

“What did he think of this story involving the corrupt COs?”

“Honestly? He seemed a little shocked. I mean, if the guy’s gonna write a true-crime book, don’t you think he’s got to get a better stomach for gore?”

“Was it news to him?” Phil asked.

“Seemed like it.”

“He asked you about friends, fans of Shana’s?”

“Yeah. But that’s a short answer. She doesn’t have any.”

“You keep in touch with her?” Adeline asked. “After you were paroled?”

“Nah. I hardly ever talked to her when we were both still in the joint. Why would I talk to her outside of it?”

“But inmates can communicate inside the prison.”

“Sure.” Christi squirmed in her seat, looking at her parole officer self-consciously.

The officer got the hint. “How about I fetch us a couple of bottles of water?” Candace suggested brightly.

“Sure.”

The moment the PO was out of earshot, Christi leaned forward. “People pass notes all the time. Between cells, between floors. Inmate to inmate, guard to inmate. Sometimes, just to have something to do. Other times, in return for favors, you know. Chocolate, sex, drugs. Depends on the message, depends on the messenger.”

“But not Shana?”

“Guards don’t trust her. She killed two of them. And even if you weren’t a fan of Frankie or Richie, the
way
she did it . . .” Christi shivered slightly. “MCI’s own girly Hannibal Lecter,” she muttered. “You know she once cut her own finger and stirred the blood into her applesauce?”

D.D. and Phil shook their heads; Adeline didn’t.

“Now, maybe if she were into drugs,” Christi continued briskly, “then she’d have currency for bribing guards or paying for friends. Or if she weren’t so fucking scary, she could offer a quick BJ, something. But Shana is . . . Shana. Guards fear her. Inmates stay clear of her. Like hell anyone’s gonna pass notes on her behalf; they don’t even offer up a
Hi, hey, how you doin’.
That’s the truth of it, plain and simple.”

D.D. nodded. Sitting across from her, she could see Adeline’s strained expression. She wondered how much the doctor had ever fully contemplated her sister’s life behind bars. It was one thing to know your sister suffered from antisocial personality disorder. It was another thing to know your sister
suffered
due to her antisocial personality disorder.

“You think Shana’s smart?” Phil asked now. D.D. regarded him curiously, unsure where he was going with this.

“Sure.”

“Think she could catch a killer?”

“If she wanted to.” Christi shrugged. “But you probably wouldn’t get him back in one piece.”

“And she never spoke of Donnie Johnson?”

“Nope.”

“What about at night?” Adeline spoke up. “Did she suffer from nightmares, ever talk in her sleep?”

“Oh, I’m sure she had nightmares. We all do.”

“But did she say anything?”

“Only ever heard her whisper one name.”