12. A reckoning

12

A reckoning

Harkins

M y head bobs, the exhaustion and need for sleep is finally taking over. Camila's screaming on the other side of the door and the prison siren have now become my lullaby.

"Who's there?" I hear an authoritative voice call out from the end of the hall.

Finally.

It's over.

I throw my head back against the iron door, the overwhelming need to break apart from the inside threatening to shatter at any moment. The bright glow of a flashlight shines at my face. "I said, who's there?" But I can't talk, can't make out words. I can only shield my eyes from the brightness.

Loud footsteps rush to me, and I hear a safety clicking.

I still say nothing.

"It's a civilian!" I look up to see three cops coming toward me, a few more running up behind them.

Multiple arms are underneath me, helping me up, the voices muddled as they ask too many things, shine too many bright lights my way.

"Camila." I point to the door, where it has somehow finally gone quiet.

I don't know if it's a good thing.

"We will get to her, sir. Right now, our focus is getting everyone out who shouldn't be here. We need to contain the prisoners." My head is swimming, every sound muted, dull, like there's a bubble around my head.

My voice breaks as I speak. "I-I can't leave without her." She can't think I abandoned her.

"Sir, you need medical attention. You're bleeding. We need to get you to the paramedics."

I'm in a foggy haze walking through the prison, guards and cops with headlamps everywhere, they're pulling out corpses and severed limbs into body bags like a clean-up crew. I hear someone retching behind me, and I turn back to see the upper half of an inmate still holding their iron bars.

I was his reckoning.

His legs are a few feet away, a clean cut through his midline separating his two halves. I feel a push between my shoulders, the guard's voice in my ear. "Don't look, son. I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again."

He guides me forward, one block after the next, until we exit the maximum security prison. There are paramedics outside, multiple vans tending to the fewer than ten survivors gathered. They're wrapped in blankets, some more soaked in blood than me, but they all have one thing in common: they're in shock.

"Come on, let's get you to the van." He points me over to an empty paramedic station and walks me half way before I stop him.

"My fiancée." It's the only thing that matters, the only thing I need.

He nods like he understands. "I'll go see what's going on."

I remove the jumpsuit, unzipping the middle and exposing the four-inch-long cut over my ribcage. The medic cleans it off first with alcohol, the burn intense, but I welcome it. Anything to distract from the panic that threatens to surface, to take over at the thought of being apart from her. The paramedic inserts the syringe of anesthetic at the gash, and the sting is quick, the medicine spreading as she pulls the needle and administers it across the full length of the wound. It's numb at the surface before she finishes, a dull ache lingering somewhat deeper.

I glance around at the few survivors, and I notice a familiar set of eyes. She's wearing one of the newer, still vivid orange jumpsuits now, like she stole it from someone else in the chaos. She doesn't belong out here.

Her eyes meet mine over a few dozen yards, her stare lingering like she recognizes me, but I know she can't see, not with the mask.

The same guard who got me out walks by. "Hey." I draw his attention. "No one has told me what's going on. Where's my fiancée?"

He sighs, dropping his shoulders and turning to face me. "They're having…issues getting her out of solitary."

I jerk to stand, but the medic patching me up holds me still. "What do you mean? What does that mean?"

My heart races, my palms bead with sweat.

"Look, count yourselves lucky you all made it out of there alive. Too many people weren't so lucky." He scratches his head, his expression like an old cop who has seen a lot of shit, but nothing like what he saw in there.

"Where is she?" I ask again, my stomach churning anxiously.

"I'll bring the prison's medical director to explain. I'm sorry." He shakes his head and walks away.

The only thing keeping me from flying off the handle is the needle currently sewing me up. The paramedic is antsy; she hasn't said anything to me other than explaining each step of her process. She finishes the last stitch, and I'm practically bouncing when she lets me go. She's yelling something about cleaning the wound daily and keeping it gauzed. I'm walking back toward the prison when I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I'm too jumpy from the night. I spin, grabbing for the throat of whoever touched me.

"Woah, woah!"

It's someone with a badge, so I release quickly, but it's her who throws her hands up in defense. "That's my bad. I should have known better than to surprise someone who just went through…that." Her eyes glance toward the building.

With a deep breath, I exhale loudly in an attempt to relax. "Sorry," I say, shaking my head.

"I'm Detective Hoss. I just need a quick statement so we don't have to call you down to the station later. You think you can do that?" She's a younger cop, maybe my age, if not a couple years my senior.

I nod slowly.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Hoss takes out her pen, her pad already in hand.

"My fiancée and I came for the tour. When the power went out, everything got crazy." Flashes of the night pass through my mind. "The cells opened, and that's when all the killing began. We tried to hide, but no matter where we went, they kept chasing us. I threw her into solitary confinement to keep her safe."

Her face turns pale.

"What?"

"N-nothing." She looks back down at his pad and continues writing.

"Why did you do that? Why did you look at me like that?" I don't know why, but my heart races again, terror filling my veins.

"The new solitary confinement cells are upstairs. The prison doesn't use the ones in the basement anymore." She's not looking at me when she says it.

She's not giving me the answers I want. "What does that mean?"

"The warden stopped using the basement solitary cells because of the haunted rumors. Too many inmates were being sent to the looney bin after a night in there." Hoss looks up from her pad, giving me the most unconvincing smile. "I-I'm sure it's just theatrics for the event."

"I just want to take her home. Tonight has been..." I don't finish; I just shake my head.

She glances toward the prison exit, as if she might come out any moment. "I'll need her statement before we can let her go—"

"Sorry, Hoss, you're not getting a statement out of that one." The guard who helped before is at my side again. "Orders from the medical director to send her to Sunny Valley Sanatorium."

I whip my head toward him. "What?"

"No need for concern, Mr. Harkins." An older woman's voice comes from behind.

I turn to face a gray-haired woman in a pale blue suit and a paisley tie. "Doctor," I correct her.

She disregards the honorary I spent nearly a decade working toward. She knows right here, right now, she's the one whose say matters. "Your fiancée was in a great deal of distress, not uncommon for someone who experienced such a…traumatic event." She adjusts her glasses at the top of her nose, choosing the next words carefully. "My team had to subdue and medicate her in order to remove your fiancée from the prison, and because of my team's unfortunate but necessary involvement, procedure does demand her transfer into a psychiatric care facility. For evaluation only."

I'm struggling to process her words; all I can hear is the heavy pulsing of my blood between my ears.

"It's only a hold, of course. No need to panic." She gives a nervous laugh, like she senses I'm on the verge of losing it. "Forty-eight hours for evaluation. Once she's calmed down, they'll be able to release her."

My stomach sinks.

There's no part of me that believes in the American health system, no part of me that trusts once she‘s taken inside that place, they'll just willingly let her go.

"Mr. Harkins?" The medical director calls my name, waiting for some sort of response.

That's when three men in white coats wheel a gurney out of the prison. I run, but two guards hold me by the arms, pulling me back. "That's my fiancée!" I shout.

I can only hear her muffled screaming, an agony that cuts my soul in half while they push her into view. I throw an elbow behind me, breaking away on one side and attempting to shake the other cop off me. I'm only able to get a quick glance before they lift her into the rear of the transport van. She lays on her back, her arms crossed over her chest in an X, dozens of leather straps securing her to the bed. There's a muzzle over her mouth with only her eyes exposed, burning into mine. When she turns her head, it's those same eyes that take the other half of my soul with her.

I'm hit from behind, knocked onto my knees when I feel a heavy body cole over me. "Stay down!" the cop screams in my ear, no shred of empathy left.

Shock courses through me, an ongoing current that feels never-ending as it runs from my back all the way down to my toes. It's like hundreds of hammers pounding along every muscle in my body, contracting uncontrollably from the electricity. It feels like a lifetime before the taser is turned off, before I can breathe again.

"Do. Not. Move," he orders.

I lift my head from the ground, watching as the only part of me that matters dies with the van driving away.