In The Company Of Monsters

Aftermath

ONE WEEK LATER

Dawn broke over Puget Sound, burning away the morning fog and giving Seattle a clear view of the Olympics. A ferry churned the water on its way to Bainbridge Island.

Downtown, Jack, Mitch and Lily were finishing up their first real meal since getting their clean bill of health and being released. Jack had sworn the best breakfast in town could be found at Lola, and it took little convincing to get them there. The waitress brought the check as Lily pushed her empty plate away.

“I don’t need to eat again. Ever,” she declared.

“Told you,” Jack said, pulling out his wallet.

“Yeah, ok. Best Eggs Benedict in town. You win,” she grinned. 

Mitch nodded, still holding a thick slice of bacon. “Got my vote.”

“A bet I am happy to lose, by the way,” Lily said.

Jack slid his credit card onto the ticket, and checked his watch. “Cops do know good breakfasts,” he admitted.

Lily frowned. “You’ve checked the time three times now. There somewhere we have to be?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact...” Jack said, looking over her shoulder. Outside, a black Jaguar pulled up to the curb.

“Our ride just arrived,” he told them.

* * *

Fifty miles away, the Shelton Correctional Center welcomed the sunny morning. The sprawling, forbidding concrete complex was the first stop for criminals in Washington state. After a few weeks of evaluation to determine their security level, offenders would be transported to the appropriate prison to serve their sentences.

Among the forty-nine inmates currently under evaluation was Victor Slade. Clad in orange scrubs, he walked down a long hallway, flanked by two guards. His wrists were cuffed together in front, and the metal scraped as he moved. The guards led him to a door labeled “Input Processing Room B”, and pushed him down onto a steel chair that was bolted into the concrete floor. They secured his cuffs to a thick ring at the front of the chair, then stepped out.

Victor had been to prison before and he knew the toll it took. The loss of freedom was horrible, but as the years ground on, even worse was the feeling of being conditioned to such a life. 

Waiting in the cold room, Victor realized he was sweating.

The door swung open, and a short, portly man blew in, thumbing through a thick folder. Victor’s life, as defined by the criminal justice system.

“Hello, Victor,” he said, settling down into the chair opposite Victor. “I’m Mr. Peterson, your case officer. Had quite the run, didn’t you?”

Victor glared at the balding paper pusher. The squat man hadn’t even bothered to look up at him yet. Head down, reading over Victor’s life, not a worry in the world. If he wasn’t chained to the chair, Victor would enjoy making him worry. The heat of comforting anger evaporated his previous fear.

“I dealt with the ones who got in my way,” Victor said, his eyes focused on the fat man’s neck. Wouldn’t take much to bring this one down.

Mr. Peterson allowed himself a little smile, like he knew a secret and was just bursting to let it out. He calmed his face and set down the file. His eyes came up to rest easily on Victor.

“Yes, Victor. I know you did.” 

The fat man wasn’t as intimidated as you’d think. A fact that made Victor wonder. Peterson? Do I know this guy?