Page 183 of Brainwashed

Things between me and the East Wing doctors are tense. I know Manuel Blanco trusts me, and will let me stay on board here as long as I want to…

But then I also have to think about the funding.

He’ll never admit that it’s a problem, but it obviously is. Alabaster Penitentiary is quite visibly falling apart. You can barely walk a corridor without a chunk of concrete almost hitting you in the head. The servers are the only things updated, and even those aren’t bulletproof. I heard that right before I got here, a big storm almost took them out. Wiped out the power. I mean… these are all serious things the Warden doesn’t seem to be thinking about.

Meanwhile, he’s paying me a small fortune to sleep with one of the inmates. I can’t imagine this will be able to continue for much longer.

Maybe I could suggest staying on at a lower salary? It’s not like I need money out here. Even if I need to start paying for my own supplies, that can’t cost much. If I’m not paying rent or a mortgage, then it’s a piece of cake.

But then that brings me to the other part of this… Am I really going to stay here?Just for Felix??

And if so, for how long?

My brain is running a mile a minute. Seeking to shut it down, I focus on Felix’s breathing, the little puddle of drool he’s making on my chest and his peaceful heartbeat rapping on my stomach. Gazing down at him, I watch his eyelids flutter. He must be dreaming…

What I wouldn’t give to be inside his dreams with him. To see the kinds of twisted shit a serial killer dreams about.

I brush my fingers through his silky soft brown hair, admiring the beauty of his face, without his glasses on. He’s gorgeous either way, but I do love being able to admire his contours. My index finger runs along the slope of his nose.

But then a ringing phone stops me.

I let out an annoyed sigh, ignoring it. Once it stops, it starts up again and I roll my eyes.If this shit wakes him up, I’ll be pissed.

Gently, I slide Felix off of me onto the couch, standing up and rushing to grab the phone. It’s Callahan again.Jesus, what does this guy need??

“Hello, Dr. Callahan,” I grumble, exasperated, into the phone. “What can I do for you?”

“Love… Finally,” he breathes, sounding stressed. “Look, we’ve got a problem.”

I pause. “Okay… what is it?”

“It’s Trevel,” he says, and my stomach flops out onto the floor. “He killed again.”

This time I’m on the beach.

Just at the shore, sitting with my butt in the sand. I must have been sitting for a while because my ass cheek is kind of sore…

Lem is driving a jet ski around, and I’m watching him, smiling. I’ve always wanted to ride on one, but I never got the chance. I got arrested before I could do so many of the things I wanted to try…

I’ve never traveled. Dad took us to Disney World once when we were little. But Mom was so insufferable, they fought the entire time. We never went anywhere after that, and I always dreamt that I would get to travel on my own someday… Or better yet, with someone I loved.

We’d go to London, or Italy… Australia, or Spain, or Ireland. Somewheredifferent. Don’t get me wrong, I love New York, but the world is a huge place.What kind of life is it spent sitting in the same city forever?

Many nights I dreamt about hopping on a plane, jet-setting to various beautiful locales, trying their food, exploring their culture. But truthfully, I was neveralonein these little fantasies. I was always holding the hand of a guy…

I couldn’t picture him exactly. At first, I thought it was Cameron, but after a while, I had trouble remembering exactly what he looked like. So every time I met a new guy, I would insert him into the fantasy, like photoshopping someone into an image that already exists. Any of them could be it, though deep down, I knew they wouldn’t be.

After Emmanuel, my plan was to kill them, whether I told myself differently or not. I never truly intended to sip champagne in first class with them, explore the beaches of Jamaica or Ibiza or wherever, smiles on our faces, bellies full of exciting new cuisine, fingers linked the whole time.

They were objects to me. I can admit that now…

Now that I’ve found the person who belongs in those pictures.

Lem is jumping waves on the jet ski and I’m cheering for him. I’m having such a great time, but when I look down, I notice that I’m still in my prison jumpsuit. And my wrists are cuffed.

Glancing back up at Lem, I see him smiling at me while he whips around. He doesn’t seem too worried about the fact that I’m handcuffed, so maybe it’s not a big deal. I peek over my shoulder. The Ivory Mansion is there… but the prison isn’t.

My brow furrows as I look around for it. But I don’t see it anywhere. Alabaster Penitentiary is no more.