"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God!"
- Ted Bundy
TWO
I WAS SO SHAKEN UP that I followed behind the old woman in silence. I didn't have to ask, I knew her name was definitely not Mirabel and the entire conversation had been a facade. It still blew me away.
We were walking through a dimly lit hallway that resembled the main hall decor. It was grim and the smell of sherry and hairspray was replaced with mildew and dust. Mirabel - or whatever her name was - tilted her head back to face me. "The State gave up on trying to maintain this place. No one has the compassion or time to give funds to a place like this."
I knew she couldn't see me but I still nodded. Talking proved too much of a chore. Once we passed through the hallway, we reached a dead end that was made up of three doors. One read Do not Enter, the other two didn't have signs on them. She pushed open the first door.
The inside was a different place altogether. It was a large room with white walls and several surveillance camera screens tethered around the room. There were men and women in uniform peering over the screens, some tapping in words and numbers into their monitor screens. Vaguely, I wondered how many prisoners were in this building to need so much security staff.
We walked past the room in silence and I noticed a flurry of activity at the other end. A man in an expensive suit talked animatedly to one of the workers. They pointed at a surveillance screen that reflected a woman crouched in the corner of what looked like a cell.
Heck, it could've been a cage.
The screen was dark, I couldn't really see.
Mirabel followed my gaze to the men. "That's the lawyer for Belladonna. She's on death row and today is her last day." She said it as though she had asked me if I wanted milk or sugar with my tea.
"Mrs Black—" she continued.
I cringed. Mrs Black was my mother. "Aria, please."
She waved a finger at my face, pulling my eyes from Belladonna on the screen. "Aria. Keep walking, curiosity doesn't sit well with this building."
Belladonna. Belladonna was here. She had beat her lover to a lick of his life and then stabbed him over 30 times, disemboweled him, slashed his throat and left him still breathing with a knife in his skull. The police found her with his fingernails, teeth and eyeball hidden in her purse at a nail salon. He had been dead thirty days since then.
Belladonna's crime hadn't even happened here. Why was she at Stockholm? Her name alone sent an icy shiver down my spine, I wanted to run but my legs were rooted.
"Aria?" Mirabel repeated, more firmly. "Are you OK?"
I jerked out of my trance and turned my attention back to her. "What? I'm perfectly fine." I intended for my voice to come out natural but the sharpness of my tone revealed my true feelings.
Mirabel only nodded and kept walking.
I followed her out of the large hall and into a much smaller office, with an empty desk. I assumed this was the job interview room and so when she gestured to the seat at the other end of the table, I sat down with a sigh.
"I'll be back with the person in charge of this section. Good luck."
She was leaving me?! I had already become used to her presence and it acted like a safety net for me. I didn't want to be alone in this place, even if the walls were clean and it smelled like citrus.
I blurted, "You're going? Like now?"
She smiled politely. "You'll be fine. You're safe here, don't worry."
She pulled open the heavy door, stepped out and slammed it shut.
Ten minutes later, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt sauntered into the room with steady strides. Even as he wore the most casual clothes, I could still sense the amount of authority he had here. He had the same striking grey eyes as Mirabel had and his dark hair was cropped short.
He stretched out his hand to me, a polite smile on his face. "I'm Frank F. Trellis, the second in command to the Superintendent. I apologise for my outfit—"he glanced down at his clothes and then at mine "—as I didn't expect to be here today. My boss had to leave for an impromptu meeting."
"Is it because Belladonna is on death row?" I couldn't help ask, remembering the men in suits.
His brows furrowed, but he shook his head. "No that's not the reason. It has to do with Tucker Ramon, actually."
"Oh, God." I mumbled.
Frank asked. "You know him?"
Shaking my head, I heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately." Who didn't know Tucker Ramon? He had terrorised Television screens with the nature of his crimes. He was infamously known as Baby Blue because he would murder infant boys, fourteen in total.
"You've got a lot of crazy people here." I leaned back on my seat. "I had assumed he was dead."
Frank only smiled at my first comment, as thought saying I know right? "He's on death row with Belladonna. He was taken from an asylum this morning because the defence failed. He's not mad. He's a murderer."
"You got that right." I nodded, feeling sick at the thought.
Frank clasped his hands together. "Anyway. That's none of our business. Like I said, I'm Frank. Underdressed but excited to meet you." His smile was gone but his eyes were still alight.
I leaned over to shake his hand. His casual demeanour was actually calming my nerves. "That's alright. I'm Aria Black. A bit overdressed and scared shitless." I gestured at his sweats. "Your casual fit is actually comforting. Makes me feel like I'm in a coffee shop, not Hell on Earth."
He didn't laugh but his smile became amused. "So Aria, you do know why you're here, right?"
"I read the job description, yes." I replied.
He leaned back slightly. "It wasn't very detailed so I'm guessing Rita didn't give you any more information regarding the specific details of the job?"
Rita, that was Mirabels real name? I shook my head, irritation clouding my senses. If I was told to kindly leave the premises because Mirabel had failed to do her job, I would be unbelievably upset. Mirabel might just catch these hands.
"If you mean asking me if I want to have a steamy affair with Jack the Ripper, then yes."
Frank shook his head, seemingly unsurprised. "I think she jus wanted to intimidate you. She tells me shes done that in the past so people would leave. Her relationship with the Prisoner Project is strenuous."
"It wasn't very intimidating. Just rude." I recounted her comments. She had mentioned some gruesome murderers but aside from that, her comments struck me as something someone spiteful would say.
Frank shrugged. "I guess. People perceive it differently."
Well, she was still on my bad side.
"Let me give you a run down of what this job wants you to do, Aria." He begun. His chair scraped along the tiled floor and he straightened, serious. "You will be required to interview, face to face, with a criminal offender. The reason for this is that we believe that women like you have the capability to delve into the minds of these people. You can reach elbow deep into their thoughts and retract information that the toughest interrogations have failed to attain."
I shifted in my seat.
Frank reached for my hand on the table. "Listen, we do not want you to find out if they're legally or morally guilty or innocent. You're not qualified for that. We want you to find out why they did it."
My palms felt sweaty.
He continued. "It could take a while. We placed two weeks on it but if you need more time, we could extend it. It's your move."
More time?
My move?
Face to face interviews?
I had to place my hand on my jaw to keep it from snapping off and falling through the tiled floor, the foundation of the building and six feet deep into Hell. Was this man serious? Did he honestly think this would work? This sounded wrong in all languages and all parts of my brain.
The first question I popped out stemmed from the feminist side of my brain. "Women like me? What does that mean?"
He remained unfazed. As though he had expected it. "The candidates you saw in the main hall were the few of those who our staff team had handpicked for this job. We assessed the background information for each of you in order to select the lucky thirty."
Oh. Why had I assumed the women like me phrase meant something dirtier. I still didn't budge. "I wouldn't go as far as calling us lucky." I placed my hands on the table, mirroring his. "What do you mean by background information? Elaborate please."
"Your past, your present and your possible future."
He dropped the bomb in the middle of us and I felt like I had been blown away by its impact. He knew my past? If he knew my past, why would he pick me then?
He continued before I could panic.
"We checked your education status and saw that you studied Sociology in University, came out with a first class degree at the age of 18. Very impressive. Congratulations."
I smiled, stiffly.
"We also checked your criminal records and they were clean. We checked other information like your physical and mental health records, your previous jobs and,marital status. All the information was taken into account before you were even considered as a candidate, Aria." He rubbed a hand over his mouth, and paused. "You qualified."
"OK." I muttered, immediately uncomfortable.
The facial expression he wore quickly turned flat. I rose a brow, had he really expected me to be overjoyed? You qualified — like it was a prize? I should have been grateful for the clean slate but I was still reeling from being under the same roof as Belladonna and Tucker Ramon.
I considered all the information they had of me and scowled. I knew they were part of the Police Department so I had expected some form of check - but this - this was as though they were actively looking for something wrong.
A reason to reject me.
I opened my mouth to speak and it was dry. "Could I get some water?"
"Of course." He stood.
I used the few seconds I had scored to think. Did I really want to do this? They seemed to be warning me off for some reason. First Rita, now Frank?
For rational reasons, I started feeling wary, and scared of my surroundings. My intuition was warning me away too, but I had little to no choice.
Frank returned with a small plastic cup of cool water. He didn't wait for me to drink it and continued. "The Prisoner Project advertisement only asked for women because the inmates who are involved are all male. Males tend to be territorial and wary of their own gender. It's harder for them to trust men. At least that's what we noticed from the inmates we have for you. Of course, there are some that do find it harder to trust women. Those ones are in another segment of the Prisoner Project in which men are used."
There were different segments?
I took a long sip of my water. "Has this Project been going on for long?"
He nodded. "This is the sixth year." I opened my mouth to ask a question but he stole it from me and answered before I could speak it. "Yes, this is the first year it is happening in Stockholm. It's my first year participating."
He was saying it like it was a flash sale or a moving circus that had popped up in Stockholm. This was dangerous, this was not something I had known I was going to be a part of. "How much am I getting paid again?"
"I was going to discuss that later but there's no need to wait. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and slid it to me. "know you might think it small but I promise we offer support from all—"
Frank had stopped because I was gaping at him. Holy fucking shit. The amount of zeros was more than I had ever imagined. I would be earning this every session? I couldn't help my whistle. "Damn."
He chuckled. "It's the least we could do. The government funds us."
At that, I cleared my throat and straightened. I didn't want to seem so desperate for money. "I'm taking a while to process this because it wasn't in the job advert but I have another question. The Job description asked for compliance and I'm not-"
"You're anything but docile and so you're wondering why you're here? Simple. We know enough of your background to gauge you, we read your adamant application letter, we watched your mock interview with Rita and I can see the defiance in your eyes. You're here because we have a prisoner that needs someone like you."
Defiance? Frank must be partially blind. It was fear in my eyes. I gulped.
I closed my eyes.
Everything was going so fast, and so much information was spinning in my head. The Prisoner Project wasn't just a fancy name they had called the job. It was real and it was staring at me hard in the face with a wicked grin. It was daring me to challenge it. It was daring me to take the job.
It mocked me.
"You could always say no. I know you might feel intimidated."
His patronising tone is what did it for me this time. I popped open my eyes and leaned forward. "I want the job." I was aware I sounded like I was speaking through a wad of cotton in my throat. "I do. There's high tech security and diplomatic immunity and the prisoners wouldn't be able to harm me so yes, why not? I'll take it."
As I spoke, I was reassuring my own damn self.
Frank stayed silent for a while, assessing me with his eyes.
"OK, Aria." He shook his head. "OK."
"You said that before." He was saying too many OK's for my liking.
Frank shifted in his seat. He glanced at something behind me and I realised it was a security camera. He nodded towards it slightly. Then, he leaned down and whispered. "Are you sure, Aria? I could arrange for them to give you a few days to consider our offer."
I'd need a few years but I nodded again. If I stepped out of this boxy room without affirmation, I would never agree to the job. "I said I'd take it. That's final."
Frank mused for a few minutes. Then after the silence got a little past the stage of awkward, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "Damn, okay Aria. But there's one last thing. Would you like to meet the inmate you will be assigned to interview if you happen to get the job?"
Meet! I couldn't help my squeak.
Frank left the room abruptly, not waiting for me to answer, and leaving me to let my imagination wander.
Would they actually being a prisoner out of his cage, cell or room to this place? I started saying a litany of prayers to myself. Oh God. Just take me now, don't let me die by the hands of some psychopath, I know my past is tainted but I'm a different person now. "Please." I whispered, blinking at the white celling.
Then the door pushed open.
And I held my breath.
But Frank walked in with a single thick file.
He dropped it on the table, and written in bold, capitalized, sans serif font was a name that I hadn't quite heard of. It was bizarre because I knew a decent amount of killers. I kept track because of my paranoia. Yet, this one was foreign to me.
It chilled me to the bone and kept me rooted in my seat for long minutes afterwards.
It read:
BANSHEE.
___
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