myself up and regain control… But all I could find was a resurgence of my earlier anger, which was now directed at myself more than anyone else. After a moment I simply gave in and allowed it to take over.
When I opened my mouth once again, my words were laced with venomous sarcasm. At this juncture, I knew the best I could hope for was a stalemate. Of course, given that I’d actually surrendered the game the minute she came into the room, hope and expectation were as always, two completely different things.
CHAPTER 4
I shook my head slowly and somehow managed to snort out a short harrumph. “Referring to ourselves in the third person are we?”
“Are we?” she replied.
“Well now… If this isn’t all creepy and spooky I don’t know what is…” As I spoke the words I was simultaneously wavering my hands in the air between us to pantomime the mystical. I stared at her for a moment and then huffed out a second heavy breath while struggling to keep a tight reign on my anger. Weaving more of a sardonic tone into my voice I spat, “And embarrassing too. I mean, what a surprise. I’ve been talking to Miranda this whole time. Whoops. How awkward for me.”
“Finally, the real truth comes out. You knew with whom you were conversing all along, little man,” she stated without pause.
“I actually suspected it while you were busy playing stare down with me. Then once you opened your mouth it was fairly obvious. We’ve met before, or don’t you recall?”
“Of course I remember.” She leaned back in her seat as far as her restraints would allow and then purred, “We have actually met more times than you know.”
“Believe me, I’ve got a pretty damn good idea,” I countered. “You aren’t exactly forgettable.”
“Of course I am not.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I didn’t mean that in a good way.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I enjoyed our times together very much.”
“Well, I guess that makes one of us.”
She feigned a melodramatic pout. “You really should not be like that. You see, if you are nice to me I just might keep you around when I take Felicity.”
There it was, the figurative dead man switch. The trigger she had been squeezing in her fist, just waiting for the right moment to let go. From the moment she walked into the interview room she had been steering everything to this point, and now she relaxed her grip so she could watch me explode.
No more had the last syllable of my wife’s name been pushed past her lips than I came up to my feet with a wildfire of rage consuming me from within. A sharp, metallic sound ricocheted from the walls as my chair toppled backwards and clattered across the tile floor. It was joined midstream by a loud smack echoing through the room when my left hand came down flat on the surface of the table. Propelling myself into a forward lunge, I thrust my right hand out, clipping her jaw in the process.
“You aren’t coming anywhere near my wife, you fucking bitch!” I growled.
I allowed myself to fall across the table as I brought both hands to bear on her. In a flash I had my left tangled into her hair, wrenching her head back as my right gripped her throat. I heard no sound coming from her as I dug my thumb into her windpipe, but she kept her eyes locked with mine. There was no mistaking the contented look they now held. The smug air only served to enrage me further, and I resolved to bring about her end, here and now.
My blindly stupid act, however, was terminated before I could follow through.
I heard shouting filtering in through the sound of blood rushing in my ears. It was faint but unmistakable. I felt my fingers being pried off Miranda’s thin neck, although there didn’t seem to be much sense of urgency behind her rescue. I suspect that given what she had done to his colleague, the corrections officer wasn’t overly concerned for her welfare. Eventually I heard a sharp gasp from Miranda as my grip was broken, but I saw no change in her expression. In fact, she didn’t even blink.
Several seconds later my left arm was twisted behind my back, then I was pulled backwards and restrained, even though my rational self had instantly kicked in and I was no longer struggling.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to end this interview, Mister Grant.” The voice belonged to Baker, the officer who had searched me prior to my entry into this room. He sounded almost apologetic.
I didn’t realize he had joined us until now, but it only took a quick glance for me to see that both he and Officer Bardwell were holding me back.
“Not yet,” Miranda said. “I’m not through with him.”
“It’s not your call, Devereaux,” he shot back, adopting a far more gruff tone with her than he had with me.
“Look, I’m sorry…” I stuttered.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied, softening again before grumbling. “But sometimes the job gets in the way.” Directing himself at the other guard with a jerk of his head, he ordered, “Bardwell, take Devereaux to the infirmary. I’ll take care of Mister Grant.”
I didn’t bother to correct him this time. I had far more serious matters to worry about than the massacre of my name. Of all the times I had found a way to screw up, if this one wasn’t the crowning jewel of them all, at the very least it definitely ranked among the top three. I simply stood there with my mouth shut. I knew there was nothing I could say to fix this, and unfortunately I didn’t believe in miracles.
A low warble sounded in the room, quickly increasing in volume. Officer Baker pulled a cell phone from his belt, glanced at the face of it, then muttered, “Hang on a sec there, Bardwell.”
The other corrections officer had just unlocked one of Miranda’s cuffs, so he clicked the restraint back into place and stepped back, keeping watch on the situation while he waited.
“This is Jeb,” Officer Baker said into the cell phone as he placed it against the side of his head. “Yeah… Yeah… I thought you might have…”
I looked away from him and centered my gaze on Miranda once again. She stared back at me with a satisfied smile perched on her lips. Her earlier grayish pallor was now flushed, a fact less obvious than the smile but still a visual cue that she was stimulated. Blood trickled from one corner of her mouth where my hand had made contact when I first threw myself at her, and a bright red welt was already forming on her neck.
She arched her eyebrow and then asked, “Feel better now, little man?”
“Not really,” I replied.
“I do.”
“I’m not surprised. You got what you wanted.”
“Not everything.”
“…Are you sure about this?” Officer Baker’s voice interrupted. He wasn’t actually speaking to anyone in the room, but the obvious change in his tone diverted my attention all the same.
I glanced over at him and saw that he was looking up into the security camera while still talking into his cell. “All right. You’re the boss.”
He closed the phone and stuffed it back into the holder on his belt before addressing me. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “Like I said before, you must be one hell of an important sonofabitch, Grant.” He turned to Miranda and thrust his chin at her. “I’m only asking this once, Devereaux. Do you want to go to the infirmary?”
“No,” she replied. “I do not.”
“So, am I to understand that you are refusing medical treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Bardwell, did you hear the inmate?”
“Yes sir, she is refusing treatment.”
Baker let go of my arm and took a few steps over to the toppled chair. He righted it, slid it behind me, then put a hand on my shoulder and somewhat forcefully guided me into the seat. As I sat down he said, “Psychological advantage, huh?”
“Apparently not,” I replied sheepishly.
