As I heard Jack re-bolt the door behind us, there was a loud metallic grinding, sounding like a rusty beast as the gate began to open. It slowly revealed four men standing on the path inside; 3 guards with heavy calibre rifles held in front of their chests ready to fire, and a man in a suit. The suit had an expression of grim death on his face. He stepped forward, looked at us with contempt in his eyes, then beckoned us to follow him without uttering a single word. Steph looked at me, raised her eyebrows and followed Warden Thomas toward the main building standing before us.
“What club?” I asked as we walked.
“Ball room dancing. And never mention it again,” she whispered back.
3.
It was a dark and poorly lit hallway, with no windows; a single light globe trying to illuminate the passage. The air was thick with the smell of some sort of decay, like wet leaves. I tried not to breathe as we walked to whatever room we were being taken to. It wasn’t a bad smell as such, but rather the smell of bad. I could hear muffled groaning from a room somewhere further into the building, and insane laughter from another further still.
The warden stopped next to a door, turned and paused for a moment, waving us inside. He gave a quick nod to one of the armed guards that had tailed us and then followed us inside, closing the door behind him. It appeared to be an interview room with a table and 3 chairs, a small barred window sitting high on the far wall. There were two lamps fixed to the ceiling, light emanating so bright that I was unable to look directly at them. I was thinking that a doctor would be able to perform surgery in this room as I sat in one of the chairs. Steph sat next to me, leaving the one chair on the other side of the desk for the warden. He didn’t sit in it, plopping his butt on top of the desk, one foot left firmly on the concrete floor. He was tall, even taller than me, close to six eight at a guess. He had an intimidation about him that didn’t need introducing.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on out there, folks, but I can tell you that I have had everyone from the groundskeeper to the God damn premier of this great state on the phone asking me whether Lucifer is locked up. The public is exactly a bee’s fart from panic and some fucking psycho thinks he’s the Devil. Do you people even have the slightest clue about who might be doing this?”
“We are doin-” Steph started, but he didn’t stop.
“Because I sure as hell am not going to be the target of everybody’s finger pointing when the proverbial hits the fan. No Siree.”
“Mr. Thomas,” I began, trying to sound sincere, “we are here to speak with Harry Lightman. If that’s OK with you, Sir?” The room fell silent for a long time, Thomas only looking at me with eyes that appeared to blaze with anger. Steph shuffled in her seat a little and his attention was drawn to her.
“Do you think he knows? Who the killer is, I mean?” I wasn’t sure whom he was asking but decided to answer, anyway.
“We don’t know what to think right now. What I do know is that the killer is making no mistakes and the only person who can shed light on it at this point in time is Harry Lightman.” The warden sat for a moment longer, then nodded slightly.
“Phillips!” he barked at the door, his voice projecting around the room with such a boom, that my ears flinched. There was a shuffle out in the hallway and then the door opened, the guard popping his head in.
“Sir?”
“Bring Lightman.”
“Yes, Sir,” the guard said and closed the door, his footsteps clapping down the hall.
“You have our full cooperation. Whatever you need. Just get whoever is doing this so we can go back to doing what we do here. All the excitement isn’t good for the good order of this prison.” He didn’t wait for a response, standing then walking out of the room without so much as a glance back. When he was gone, I turned to Steph.
“Certainly, a warm chap.” She ignored my comment.
“You sure you want me to stay?” I wasn’t sure whether she really wanted to stay, but I figured now that she was here, she may as well listen in.
“Do you want to stay? I really don’t mi-” but that was when the door opened and I heard the unmistakable tinkle of chains. I felt a chill race up my spine and could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. I didn’t need to turn around to know that he had entered the room, feeling evil in the air. His footsteps sounded heavy, his prison boot-heels dragging on the tiled floor in slow, laboured scuffs. His footsteps stopped next to my chair and I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head. Steph’s eyes were looking at him over my shoulder, into the face of Lucifer. His footsteps resumed, Lightman walking around the back of the table. The guard padlocked his wrist chains to the metal loop that was welded into the top of the metal desk. I was still looking at Steph as I heard the padlock click loudly into place, then watched as the guard walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The room fell silent except for the heavy and laboured breathing, coming from the man seated opposite us. I turned my head and found the eyes of
