Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller Read online

  “Good morning officer.”

  The trooper is desensitized to her smile and look of hope. As far as he’s concerned, she’s just another bitch who just broke the law.

  “Driving license and registration.”

  Only on his command does she remove her hands from the steering wheel and reach for her bag. A dangerous moment, with the cop ready for a quick draw. Eve pulls out and hands over her documents, with a smile that’s ignored.

  “We’ve had a spate of trafficking recently.” For emphasis the trooper glances to the back seats of the car, before looking back to Eve. “Is there any contraband in this vehicle?”

  A routine question. The trooper is only concerned if people don’t appear genuinely shocked, or laugh at the suggestion.

  “Hell no.” Eve’s nervous at this escalation in questioning. “Feel free to search the vehicle.”

  “You were speeding back there.”

  “Yes sir.” A rush of guilt, has Eve blushing as the words tumble out. “But it’s really a matter of great urgency.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m Dr. Eve Brown, and this is my colleague Dr. Jefferson Davies. We’re both psychiatrists at the prison, and have just received an urgent phone call. One of the inmates has become dangerously psychotic. The safety of the staff and our patient is paramount, the minutes really do count.” Eve’s aware that her hand is shaking as she hands over her official prison identification. Jeff holds his breath, looking up at the cop to see if he believes Eve’s story. It only takes a moment before the trooper hands the paperwork back to Eve.

  “Follow me, Ma’am. I will personally escort you to the complex.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The trooper walks back to his vehicle. Once inside he removes his hat and places it on the passenger seat, then fires her up. Pleased with herself, Eve turns to Jeff and gives him a wink.

  “You played that well.”

  “Of course, what else would you suggest a psychiatrist do?”

  Jeff’s proud of Eve, and yet feels wary of her manipulation: would she do that to him one day? Eve smiles to herself as she turns the ignition key. The trooper slowly passes, indicating that they should follow him. Within seconds the Camaro’s throaty voice is once again rising to full song. Eve tries her best to keep up with the Dodge in front.

  “He’s fast.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” A coyote pricks up its ears at this unique roar out on the highway. This cop gives Eve a run for her money, but she's hot on his tail, and it’s not long before she sees his brake lights as they approach the prison. They turn left towards the penitentiary entrance. The trooper turns his vehicle round: he’s no place nor authority here. Eve waves and smiles as she passes, then continues to drive up to the guard house.

  “They say a society may be judged by entering one of its prisons.”

  “And this prison?”

  “Society can’t be judged on this one.”

  Jeff feels intimidated as he looks around at this fortress of brick and steel. Eve confidently navigates her way through the security maze at the world’s most secure prison complex. Dubbed the Alcatraz of the Rockies, towers manned by armed guards circle the complex, whilst attack dogs patrol the twelve foot high outer perimeter razor wire fences.

  “Has anyone ever escaped from here?” Jeff now looks to Eve for reassurance.

  “No. These inmates are classified as a significant security risk to the United States. We isolate them in a sparse concrete cell for twenty three hours a day, and permit solitary exercise for one hour within a larger cell. The prisoner has no idea where he is, or even what time it is, and there’s no possibility of escape.”

  “You advocate these conditions?”

  “They are not your students, Jeff. These men are convicted terrorists and gangsters, motherfuckers so dangerous, violent and disruptive that a mere maximum security prison is deemed incapable of holding them. They alone have brought themselves here.”

  “Still feels like Auschwitz.”

  “Keep that shit to yourself. The system will not tolerate a sympathizer. The guards are respected, so show respect, they’re used to it, and call them sir.”

  “Call them sir?” Jeff isn’t one to put himself on a pedestal, however he’s an educated man. “I’m no inmate.”

  “Just do it.” Eve smiles as she parks the car. “For me.”

  Entering the building is reinforcement enough for Jeff to realize that fear is at the heart of the prison, and not just for the inmates. The guards view him with suspicion as he walks between sliding steel doors, scanners and detection equipment. He’s then processed, photographed, electronically fingerprinted and is under no delusion about his expected compliance. Here respect is issued through broken fingers, limbs or skulls. Jeff and Eve are escorted throughout the complex, where you can taste the testosterone in the air.

  “This is our office.”

  They walk into a small room with white walls, desks, filing cabinets, computers and recording equipment. With interest Jeff looks around.

  “It’s smaller than I expected.”

  “It’s big enough for an observation room. Through there is where the real action takes place.”

  “The interview room?”

  “Yeah, and we’re just in time, you’re on in a minute.”

  “You’re coming in with me though, aren’t you?”

  “He requested your presence only, so you'll have to enter the room alone. You’re physically safe, and the only fear you will have to face is your own.”

  “Thanks for that cheery note.” For the first time Jeff has real fear, flowing through his veins.

  “You’ll be fine, don’t be such a pussy.”

  “I’m not.”

  He stands looking at the grey steel sliding door in front of him. It will lead him into the interview room, and his first meeting with Mr. Casey Lee Jones.

  “Are you ready?” Eve keeps her manner matter of fact, casual, so as not to alarm Jeff.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll come out alive.”

  Jeff steps forward. He can feel the shake of adrenalin in his arms. Before imagination has chance to betray him further, the mechanism behind the steel door pulls it open. He steps forward, instinctively glancing towards the floor, a gesture that is taken as submissive, and as a bow of respect for the predator sitting at his altar. Casey relaxes with a glowing triumphant smile, as Jeff walks in and sits in the opposing chair.

  “I believe if we go on protocol I have to call you Dr. Davies.”

  “Mr. Jones, I am neither a prison officer, nor do I work for the government, please call me....”

  “Jeff, yes I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  Jeff smiles; he knows Casey’s is trying his hand at manipulation. However diverting, the question is simply evasion; he’ll soon show Eve what Casey really is.

  “May I call you Casey?”

  “First name terms, how very intimate. You are of course breaking protocol.”

  “I like to live dangerously.”

  “So I believe.” Casey smiles. He has to break Jeff, gently. “I would of course shake you by the hand, however it appears fate has been rather thoughtless.”

  “Would you like to discuss why you’re here?”

  “How very direct, I expected a little more rapport from you. But then again, it’s been a long time hasn’t it?”

  “Have we met before?”

  “One might say we are inexplicably linked.”

  “How?”

  “Later. You of course know my defense.”

  “Yes.” Jeff takes note of this pattern of evasion.

  “Your only logical conclusion is that I must be a sociopath, one who believes in his own delusions and lies, and that I will now try to coerce you into believing them.”

  “You put words into my mouth.”

  “I don’t h
ave to.” Casey raises his hands and interlocks them, a subtle gesture, the two becoming one. “You do know that she still loves you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Eve’s the reason that you’re here, why you have restless nights and your dreams become your nightmares. Do you honestly believe that you can’t live without her?"

  For a moment Jeff’s thrown. However, it’s quite a reasonable deduction for anyone to suggest that a man loves a beautiful woman. Casey looks up and smiles to the camera. Eve whispers to herself. “You bastard.” as she continues to watch the events unfold onscreen.

  “What happened to you that night?”

  “Oh please, a tad more foreplay, Jeff. Do you go straight for the act with Eve?”

  “If you’re going to play games with me then I’m sorry, I’m leaving.”

  Jeff stands to his feet. In the observation room Eve knows Jeff is bluffing. Casey raises his hand, then lowers it for Jeff to sit back down. Eve smiles.

  “It was a cold night, but then I knew it would be. They'd forecast freak weather conditions, blizzards. I wouldn’t have risked driving that night, but her line was down. My mother, you see, is proud, independent and old. I’m all she had.”

  “I’m listening.” Jeff’s pleased. He’s won the upper hand, and now dominates the interview. “Please continue.”

  “Black ice, isn’t that ironic? Thankfully the streets were clear, not many fools out in a blizzard. Yet there I was, and I just kept sliding until I hit that curb. I knew something wasn’t right from that moment on, but it was too late, I’d already blown a tire.”

  “Something wasn’t right?”

  “A knowing. I might sense hours, days, weeks or years before an event, or simply a few seconds, but I always know.”

  “A premonition?”

  “Yes, when you’re dreaming a dream, how do you know that you’re in the dream? What’s the difference between the dream and reality? How do we know we’re not in the dream now?”

  “We experience reality. Objects fall to the floor, lights come on at the flick of a switch. It’s our sensory organization and stability, our experience that is our basis for knowing.”

  “Incoherence in thought is then the difference between the dream and the waking state?”

  “Possibly.” Jeff’s heard these elementary arguments for years, even his students can whittle together a deeper display of intelligence than this. “But if I’m dreaming then you’re simply a figment of my imagination.”

  “I do love a man who enjoys philosophy. However, by the time I jacked the car up, and managed to unscrew the wheel nuts, my hands were numb. Rubbing them made no difference. I had the strange urge to run, to run as far as possible, away from that dark location. I was tired, cold, and like an animal, trapped.”

  “The urge to run?”

  “Wrong time and the wrong place.” Casey studies Jeff’s face, unsure if his skepticism permits him to believe any of this. “It didn’t take long for fate to show its true hand, when the cops pulled in behind me. I smiled as they shone that torch in my face.” Jeff notes Casey recalls this like a true memory. “But then my heart sank. This is what went down:

  '“Looks like we got ourselves a nigger stealing wheels.”

  “No sir, I just got a flat tire to fix and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you boy.”

  “Yes sir, I’m almost done here sir.”

  “What do you think, Bo, neighborhood going to shit these days?”

  “Good folks place their trust in us to keep them safe.”

  “Please give me a break, guys.”

  “A break, nigger wants a break.”

  “Best we give it to him then.”'

  Casey’s eyes are distant as he recalls the conversation, word for word. In any other circumstance, Jeff wouldn’t doubt this as the truth.

  Casey breaks off his reverie, meeting Jeff’s eyes again. “I remember coming round in the snow whilst they beat me. They had tasered me in the back.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Why? You could never understand what it’s like, ducking authority all your life. Innocent men behind bars, shot or beaten to death because of the color of their skin. I knew I would die, face down in that snow. It was me or them.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Déjà vu.”

  “Déjà vu?”

  “My life flashed before me, a movie of long forgotten memories, every single detail perfect. Then I saw myself laying beaten, panting like a dog, dying.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I reached for the gun strapped to my ankle.”

  “And then?”

  “Then it was raining blood and the snow lost its purity. The prosecution called it an execution, but they lay there twitching, wheezing, each breath spewed blood. You wouldn’t let an animal suffer, would you? It was for mercy that I put a bullet through their heads.”

  “I see.” Jeff welcomes the reinforced glass between them. He has no doubt that he’s dealing with a psychopath.

  “You don’t see.” Casey senses Jeff’s intuition. “It didn’t happen to you, it wouldn’t happen to you.”

  “I’m not the authority here, I don’t create the injustices of this world.”

  “Crazy cop-killing nigger.” Casey speaks with a lifetime of bitterness, and sadness in his voice. “Who’s going to listen to me?”

  “Give me a chance.”

  “We’ll see.” Jeff feels the irony, that it’s Casey who doesn’t trust him, if that’s really the case? “It's round about time for me to leave. It’s funny isn’t it? We don’t have long together, yet I have all the time in the world. It’s been nice talking to you.”

  Casey rises to his feet moments before the steel door opens and the guard walks in. He tips his hand up in farewell, with a smile, then turns his back. He walks a few paces and pauses, turns back round.

  “I almost forgot, I’m sorry about your work. Now that you’re here they won’t let you go.”

  “My work?”

  Casey smiles and walks out of the room humming softly to himself. Jeff stands, a puzzled expression on his face, then dismisses Casey’s parting statement as simply a terrorist plot of the mind. When he exits the room, though, he appears paler to Eve than when he first walked in.

  “He does hold court well, doesn’t he? Are you alright?”

  “Of course.”

  “First impressions?”

  “A classic psychotic. He feels persecuted by others, so he needs to be in control, no empathy for his victims. Shooting them in the head was his compassion.”

  “You’ll get used to him.”

  “I’d rather not.” Jeff needs to rule out Casey’s story. “Is there any evidence for his version of events?”

  “No, the reports say it's a complete fabrication. By the time they had a technical analysis of his blood, to determine the presence of narcotics, it was inconclusive. Investigators believed he must have been pulled over by the cops for driving on a flat tire, and then rampaged as they tried to help him replace it.”

  “That sounds plausible. It's like he wears a mask we can't see behind; he'll try to destroy our lives if we let him. Our vulnerabilities, values, everything we care about, anything we have an emotional attachment to, we'll have to guard. His lies are to misdirect and confuse.”

  “So now he has us both to play with, to try to untangle us as we untangle him?”

  “He has.”

  The drive back in the car leaves them both aware of the uncomfortable silence between them. Eve decides enough is enough.

  “Is there any truth in what he said to you?”

  “Which part?” Jeff covers his emotions, but knows what’s coming next.

  “Do you lose sleep?”

  “Do you still love me?” He can hear the expectation in his voice.

  “I asked first.”

  Eve’s giving nothing away. “See? He’s already initiated tension between
us. We have to be smarter, give him nothing to feed off.”

  “We didn’t in the first place. Any concern we display will play into his need for emotions. Any emotion will do as long as they are in response to his actions.”

  “And his knowing?”

  “There will be a rational explanation.”

  “Come on, let’s shake him off, I’ll take you to Al’s”.

  “Al’s?”

  “All American diner. They serve up a mean burger.”

  “And the onion rings?”

  “Deep fried 'n' crispy.”

  The all-chrome diner glistens like a beacon in the sun, a solitary oasis, a landmark. Al’s name is emblazoned by the side of the highway on a large red neon sign. The black Camaro turns in and gently rocks over the uneven ground, to pull up alongside the dusty old pickup out front.

  “A traditional diner way out here?”

  “He gets by with passing trade, plenty of land for trucks to park.”

  “And no competition to worry about.”

  “None, and the best thing is, they pull off some great food. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  There’s something Jeff loves about opening chrome doors, and walking towards a quintessential stool-lined chrome counter, with a checkerboard floor underfoot. He’s unsure at first if the diner has been outfitted with retro fifties red and white booths, or if they're original. The leather is worn, but not that worn. A Wurlitzer jukebox takes center stage, its multi-colored heart still with soul, solidly beating out a pulse. The walls carry classic prints of diners, muscle cars, motorcycles and the spirit of the American dream. The young waitress in her hot pink striped dress smiles as they walk towards her.

  “Hi Eve, how you doing?”

  “Cool, and yourself?”

  “It’s all good.” Angel pauses, unsure of who this handsome stranger is with Eve, can’t resist asking. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Jeff, this is Angel, Angel, Jeff.”

  “Hi Angel.”

  “Hi.” Angel smiles, then pauses and looks to Eve. “The Jeff?”

  “Yes.” Uncomfortable Eve shuffles slightly. Jeff realizes Eve’s spoken about him to Angel. So she must still possess feelings for him. Eve gives Angel a look of 'you’ve opened your big mouth', and Angel nervously smiles back. “Bring over a couple of burgers, fried chicken wings and onion rings will you?”