Jeremiah by Kris Michaels
Chapter 1
Several years ago:
The cold, hollow sound of a cell door clanging shut no longer sent a chill of dread down Dr. Jeremiah Wheeler’s spine. He’d grown accustomed to the sights, sounds, and smells of the penitentiary in the past three years. Working with the inmates of the supermax facility had hardened his senses to the now-familiar drill of entering and exiting the prison. He’d deposited his wallet, cell phone, and all contents of his pockets into his locker prior to entering the first of the many secure gates and holding points he had to work his way through to reach his office and group therapy room. His small piece of real estate sat crammed into the far corner of the medical wing. It was the last office before the main exit for the doctors and nurses who worked with the inmates. The space they allotted him was precious and far too small for his needs, but with the overcrowding that was systemic in all prisons, they had scaled everything back to make more room to accommodate more prisoners. He made it work.
The first order of business was an inspection of the room they used for the group. He searched it morning and night. A knifing when he first started working at the prison initiated the practice. The shiv left for the inmate was tucked under one of the old chairs he’d acquired to make the sessions a little more bearable. Now he had metal chairs bolted to the concrete floor, but he always checked. With a glance at the clock, he sat down at the drab gray metal desk and turned on his old computer. The thing wheezed and sputtered, but the tech people at the prison had kept it on life support. He wasn’t allowed to bring in his own laptop, so he waited for the dinosaur from the1980s to belch and hiccup its way to life.
Grabbing yesterday’s paper coffee cup, he navigated through another secure door and waved to the guard in the bird’s nest. The overwatch for this area was normally a senior guard that was winding down toward retirement. Today, Eddie Fastal was in the bird’s nest. He lifted his coffee cup and Eddie nodded with a thumbs up. Jeremiah smiled and headed for the coffee machine. He filled two new paper cups after tossing yesterday’s worn-out cup into the recycle bin. He detoured to the nest on the way back and Eddie buzzed him in.
“Damn, thanks, man. I’ve been jonesing for a cup for the last hour, but we’re short-manned again today.”
“That’s getting to be an everyday occurrence, isn’t it?” Since the state had outsourced the manning at the facility, the staffing had diminished.
“Eh, today it’s because Harper’s old lady had her kid. Thomas is still out with pneumonia. We’re at minimum manning. We go down anymore and there will be gaps in coverage, but we can handle everything right now.”
Jeremiah sat down and kicked up his feet on the long console of monitors and camera feeds. “How’s the wife and kids?”
“Doing good. The youngest just got accepted to State on a full ride. So damn proud of that kid. He struggled there for a while, but he got himself together. Wants to be an engineer. He’s a wiz with math. The oldest is doing good. She called last week and told us she was pregnant with number two. Good thing her husband works from home. Two under two is going to be a rough go for a while.”
Jeremiah laughed. “Did Louisa ever tell Shelly what causes babies?”
Eddie snorted as he took a sip of his coffee and the guard coughed so hard Jeremiah reached over and patted him on the back. “Damn, Doc, you got to warn me before you say shit like that. And the answer is I don’t know, and I don’t care. I taught Eddie Jr. to wrap it up tight and that no means no, period. What the women discussed between themselves isn’t my business.”
”That’s a tad old-fashioned, isn’t it?” He took a sip of his coffee before an escort on the monitor caught his eye. “What’s going on?”
“That’s Macmillan.”
Jeremiah sat up. “Shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. That monster isn’t supposed to come out of solitary, but he’s been throwing up and had blood in his piss. They’re bringing him up for Doc Freeman to examine.”
“Make sure they keep him locked up.” Jeremiah rubbed his chin. That man was the reason he pumped iron and had started mixed martial arts training. Jeremiah watched the shackled man hobble between two guards with another acting as overwatch from the rear.
Eddie’s eyes snapped his direction. “Damn, that’s right, he damn near got you when you first started, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. He saw a newb, and he went after me.”
“Well, thank goodness he didn’t kill you. You’ve been doing good here, Doc.”
“For some.” He’d acknowledge he made a difference to those who weren’t so jaded that they wouldn’t ask for help. “I need to get back. I’ve got two one-on-one sessions before group. Tell Louisa I said hi and Eddie Jr. that I’m happy for him. Congrats on grandbaby number two!”
“Will do, and I’m too young to be a grandpa. I keep telling everyone that, but nobody listens.”
Jeremiah turned after the door to the nest shut and held his hand to his ear and said, “What? I can’t hear you?”
Eddie flipped him the bird before they both laughed. Jeremiah meandered back to his office, not really seeing the drab gray hallways, rather thinking of his one and only experience with Macmillan. A convicted serial killer with seventeen confirmed kills. The police believed Macmillan had killed many more and were constantly requesting time to question him about his crimes or others that were similar to his. The man was the clinical definition of ASPD, antisocial personality disorder. Macmillan ticked all the boxes. He was a textbook example of egocentrism as he acted to appease his own sense of self-gratification, not at all bothered with inconsequential things like the law or societal norms. The man lacked empathy or remorse, breathed hostility and deceitfulness, was manipulative and callous—and he was a psychopath. Not all people with ASPD were psychopaths, but Macmillan doubled down. Ted Bundy had nothing on this guy when it came to the charming department. Cyrus Macmillan had a captivating way of talking that was magnetic and engaging. Many people had underestimated the evil that thrived under that pleasant exterior. Jeremiah had, and it had almost cost him his life.
When he first took on the job here at the penitentiary, he’d accompanied two FBI agents to one of Cyrus’ interviews. He observed and took notes, completely enthralled by the way that Cyrus played with the agents. With regal aplomb, Cyrus ended the interview and stood up, shuffling toward the door where the guard waited. Only leaving wasn’t on his mind. Jeremiah, busy writing his notes, failed to see the man lunge. The pen in his hand became Cyrus’ weapon. He stabbed one agent in the chest and grabbed Jeremiah, using his shackles as the means to attempt to choke him to death.
The other FBI agent and the guard hauled Cyrus off him, but it was a close thing. Another fraction of a second and Macmillan would have killed him.
It took a week after that close call to build the nerve to come back to the penitentiary. He started bodybuilding and took self-defense classes, resolving to never be defenseless or intimidated by another human. Yet that caution—no, fear—had always stayed with him. Years later and he wasn’t sure he’d processed the event. Perhaps he never would, but today he knew how to protect himself, how to deal with inmates, and how not to put himself at a disadvantage.
His first one-on-one session was forty minutes of instruction on how to live inside the pen, although, being honest, Jeremiah knew the young man he was seeing shortly wouldn’t last in here. He was young, pretty, and stupid, a triple strike. He’d be someone’s bitch before long or join a gang hoping to prevent it from happening, only to be used by the inmates of the gang. The kid shouldn’t be here; hell, two out of ten of the people who walked through that door shouldn’t be here, but this young man killed a family of five on the interstate by driving the wrong way while stoned out of his mind.
The second session was one of his regulars. Chuck Dawson had robbed a store, and the shopkeeper had pulled out a shotgun. Chuck used the knife he was wielding and sliced the guy’s arm wide open. Caught as he was leaving, Chuck was doing time for robbery and attempted murder. The man was trying to pay for his wife’s cancer treatments. There was no insurance and no way to pay, so he’d tried to steal the money. His wife died a year ago, after three years in remission. Chuck admitted his crimes and was a model prisoner, but when his wife died, his remorse had turned to hatred of the police and the system that he now blamed for taking him from his wife’s side. Was his sentence too harsh? Perhaps. But there was nothing Jeremiah could do about sentencing, much to many of his one-and-done session participants’ dismay.
He annotated Chuck’s file in the ancient computer and glanced up at the clock that rested in a cage of metal wire. He had time to slip down for another cup of coffee before his first group session. Perfect.
“Hey, Remi. How you been?” Kyle Snyder, a nurse in the medical ward, greeted him as he exited his office.
“Hey, man. Doing well. Heading for more coffee. What about you?”
They meandered down the hall. “I’m grabbing a soda, but caffeine is caffeine, right?” He slid his ID through the slot and deactivated the lock. Jeremiah let the man go through and let the door shut because he had to process through via his ID so the guards had an accounting of where people were. He slipped his ID into the slot and frowned. He tried it again, but the light flashed red.
“What the––” A loud, sharp alarm blared throughout the medical block. Red lights flashed and in one instant all the doors that opened with identification cards sealed, locking everyone where they were. Both he and Kyle turned to the bird’s nest. Eddie was behind the glass, yelling into the phone as he turned and saw them. The fear in the guard’s eyes said more than his words ever would.
“Get somewhere and hide,” Jeremiah yelled at Kyle, who nodded and sprinted toward the back of the hall. Jeremiah hesitated for just a second. If asked why he’d never be able to explain, but he turned back to where Kyle had run.
Macmillan was in the hallway.
Blood drenched the man’s orange and white striped inmate uniform.
The serial killer smiled at Jeremiah and entered the room where Kyle had ducked. Jeremiah slammed against the door and screamed at Eddie to let him in. The only thought in his mind was to help Kyle. After years of training, he was strong enough now. He had the skill to kick that murderer’s ass. A blood-curdling scream filled the hall on the other side of the locked door as Macmillan dragged two people, Kyle and one of the secretaries, from the room. He threw Kyle against the wall and grabbed the woman.
“Stop! Don’t do this!” Jeremiah screamed and beat on the door. “Leave her alone!” Macmillan sent him another smile and then laughed as he shoved his hand in the woman’s mouth, wrenching down, breaking her jaw. It flopped against her throat, attached only by skin. Macmillan held her up when she passed out from pain. He let her drop to the ground after using his fingers to slap the woman’s jaw, sending it flapping back and forth.
Jeremiah pounded on the door. He turned and looked up to beg Eddie to let him in. What he saw sent horror through him. There were three inmates in the bird’s nest. Blood and brain matter splattered against the window.
He turned his attention back to Macmillan, who now stood directly in front of him at the door.
“Let me out or they both die.”
“I can’t. The door is locked.” He shoved his ID into the slot over and over, letting the man see what he said was the truth.
“Too bad.” Cyrus shrugged and turned, making his way back to his two victims at a leisurely stroll.
Jeremiah dashed back to his office and picked up the phone. “Come on! Damn it!” When it connected, he yelled, “This is Doctor Jeremiah Wheeler. Macmillan and three inmates are loose in the medical wing. Three inmates are in the bird’s nest and Macmillan is in Medical Hallway B4.”
“Are you safe?” a disjointed voice asked.
“For now. Once those assholes figure out how to open doors, I’ll be dead.”
“We’ve taken the controls offline. They shouldn’t be able to unlock anything. We’ve got our Rapid Response Team gearing up and the locals are sending their SWAT team and hostage negotiators.” He heard the guard over the phone. “Doc Wheeler, can you see the inmates or any staff?”
“Hold on.” He pulled the old phone as far as the cord would allow and then stretched out the door.
“I see two inmates in the bird’s nest. There is a lot of blood spattered on the window. I don’t think Eddie made it.” He turned his head and met Macmillan’s eyes as he stood in the hallway with a phone against his ear. “Cyrus pulled one of the secretaries’ jaw off. I don’t know what her status is. She passed out because of the pain or is shocked out.”
“Which secretary, Doc? We’re trying to account for as many people as we can.”
“The one that works over near HR, brown hair, about fifty. Kyle Snyder is unconscious in the hall. Wait, Cyrus is talking to someone on the phone.”
“That would be us. He says he wants to talk to you. They’re going to patch him through, but we’ll have people on monitoring the calls. You need to stall him, Doc. There are guards down all over the place and a full-on riot in Cell Block C. I’m thinking this wasn’t a coordinated effort, but Macmillan capitalized on it, just like the other two in the bird’s nest. The techs are ready to patch you through now.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Jeremiah stared down the hall, making eye contact with Macmillan.
“Do your doctor thing, man. Just keep him talking as long as you can.” The line clicked several times, and he knew the second someone connected him to Macmillan. He could hear heavy breathing across the connection.
“You wanted to talk to me?” He held the phone to his ear as he stared at Cyrus.
“What a very fortunate turn of events for you, Doctor.” Cyrus’ head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed. “You know, I thought you’d left the penitentiary. We haven’t visited in years.”
“I learned my lesson, and you satisfied my curiosity.” Jeremiah glanced up at the clock, noting the time. How the fuck long did they want him to stall this man?
“Which is particularly interesting because you did nothing but tweak my curiosity. In fact, over these past years, I have done nothing more than run that scene in the interview room through my head. The mistakes I made, such a shame. You should be dead. I should have snapped your neck instead of trying to strangle you.” Macmillan cocked his head. “Did the FBI agent die?”
Jeremiah leaned against the door jamb. “You know the answer to that. If he had, they would have charged you with another death.”
Cyrus laughed, “Oh, Doctor, what difference would it make? I have only one life to serve and seventeen life sentences. Executions are on hold in this state. They’d bang the gavel and then march me back to my box to live in solitude. It’s a shame, you know. FBI Agent Docker and you, Doctor Jeremiah Wheeler, are the only two victims I tried to kill who are still alive.”
Jeremiah blinked at the man’s words. Docker, yes, that was the man’s name, but Cyrus would have only heard it once when they were all introduced as he entered the interview room. “Sorry to disrupt your plans.”
Cyrus smiled at him. “Disrupted? No. Delayed? Perhaps. That depends on what happens here today, doesn’t it? I’m bored. The woman is going to be my distraction. I want you to watch. If you don’t, it will be so much worse for her and the man.”
“You don’t want to do this.” His hand shook as he held the phone tight to his ear.
“Oh, but I do. I assure you I do,” Cyrus chuckled. “If the morons who run this establishment hurry, she will not have to suffer long. Ten or twelve hours if they take their time. I have coffee and snacks. I’ll be fine.” He held up the metal door guard of the vending machine. “Sharp stuff, but dull, too. It will make jagged cuts. Don’t you love jagged cuts? I do, but not as much as the sharp straight ones that bleed freely. I wonder if I can strip her skin from her. Strange, I’ve never tried that, and I have plenty of time. Remember now, you will watch. If I see you aren’t, I’ll move on to the man and torture them both. Your choice, Doctor. Eyes wide open.” Macmillan dropped the receiver and moved back to the woman.
“Please tell me you have someone coming in.”
“Doc, we’re trying,” the guard’s voice echoed in his ear. “We have cameras on him.”
Jeremiah held his breath as Cyrus stripped the woman. He flipped her onto her stomach and…
* * *
She lasted nine hours. Cyrus drew pictures on the wall with her blood. Jeremiah dropped the phone three hours into the ordeal and tried to watch but not see. It was impossible. The screams, the pleading, and then finally Cyrus’ soft singing as she died haunted him.
Kyle fought when Cyrus pulled him from the closet where the nurse had been shoved while he was unconscious. Cyrus laughed and used the metal sheet to slice through Kyle’s Achilles tendons. Macmillan flipped Kyle onto his stomach and began the process again.
Startling him, he heard a loud whistle from the phone. Still staring at the bastard, he picked it up and listened. “Doc, we’re ready to breach. Distract him.”
Jeremiah stood away from the wall and walked to the door. He knocked on the window.
Cyrus popped up from his work and looked over his shoulder. He smiled widely. “Doctor! How wonderful of you to join me!” Cyrus stood and looked down at the blood that soaked his body. “A glorious day, isn’t it?”
Jeremiah crooked his finger in a beckoning motion. Cyrus damn near skipped to the door. “Do you want to see better? Should I pull him down here?”
Jeremiah shook his head.
Cyrus frowned in confusion. “What do you want then? I’m a busy man.”
“Nothing.” He spoke for the first time in ten hours, and the word grated as if the insignificance of its utterance lived at a cellular level.
The back hall door blew off its hinges and a storm of armored men flooded the hall. Cyrus gave them a cursory look before he turned around and stared directly at Jeremiah. “I didn’t want these two, but I want you and Agent Docker. You will be mine, Doctor. Remember what you see, what you will feel when I peel the skin off your body. I will bathe in your blood. Then I will pull your intestines out and choke you with them.”
Jeremiah watched as they hauled Cyrus through the flow of blood. The heavy doors muffled his maniacal laughter, but Jeremiah heard it. Several men swarmed in and placed Kyle and the woman on stretchers. A guard jogged to the door. “We’ve got to clear two more areas, Doc. We’ll be back for you.”
He nodded and turned around, going back to his office. With care, he picked up his phone and put the receiver back on the cradle and placed it on his desk. A sense of detachment settled on him. He sat down in his chair with the distinct purpose of looking up the woman’s name. Ellen Daily. He’d never forget her name or any of her screams. If he lived a thousand years, he’d be able to recall in finite detail what that bastard had done to her and to Kyle. He pulled out a few pages of paper and wrote exactly what had transpired. Every detail. When a guard knocked on his door, he lifted his eyes.
“Doc, we got to get you out of here now.”
Jeremiah nodded and lifted the paper. The first ten pages were his account of what happened. The last was his resignation. He signed them both. “You okay, Doc?” The guard asked as he approached his door.
Jeremiah blinked at the young man. “No. I am not.” Exiting his office, he and the guard walked to the main door which worked when he presented his ID. A police officer stopped him. Without missing a beat, he handed the ten-page statement to the officer along with his business card. “My contact information if you have any further questions.”
His boss, the deputy warden, rushed toward him. “Jeremiah, I don’t know how to apologize––”
He held up his hand, a weird sense of displacement still driving his actions. “I tender my resignation.” He handed the stunned woman his letter, ending his contract with the penitentiary.
“I’m not accepting it. Not right now. Call me in a few weeks. Take some time to consider this. Please.”
Jeremiah stared at the woman and nodded because he wasn’t capable of higher thinking. Now that he was out of his office, his one and only goal was leaving the prison and never, ever setting foot inside one again. He went through the motions of gathering his gear before he turned and handed his badge to the security checkpoint. “I won’t be needing these any longer.” He dropped his badges off and walked out of the door. The slap of hot air replaced the smell of the prison. The sound of an ambulance siren turned his head. He watched as not one but two ambulances tore out of the parking lot. How many had died or been injured today? What caused the riot? How had Cyrus roamed the prison without chains or shackles? Jeremiah’s eyes swept the thirty-foot fences and the strands of Constantia wire, the guard towers, and massive security surrounding Cyrus that kept humanity on the outside safe.
It wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
