|This item needs some work. Its a little random writing that I did and not one of my longer projects. Please enjoy just the same.
Psych followed the girl down the narrow stretch of the hallway. Keys jingled eerily from her belt, and her boots clicked on the glassy floor. He glanced around nervously at the high concentration prison cells. They were tightly shut and as he struggled to read a captive’s thoughts they seemed to be blocked out by the steel gated door.
“Don’t bother,” Kay-C said flatly. “These walls are immune to your powers.” She stopped in front of a door.
Locks clothed it from top to bottom and steel bars were planted in front of them. Inside the bars, another iron door, with its grayish color stood. It looked impenetrable, yet he could steel sense a wave of anxiety come from Kay-C.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Her soft, stern voice was hardly more than a whisper.
Psych glanced around the prison, then finally fixed his gaze on Kay-C. “I’m certain,” he said.
She nodded, pressing her hand onto a scanner on the wall. The machine scanned her quickly, identifying her, and it unlatched the iron sealed over the bars. She grasped an iron lock and turned it, to reveal another door.
“I see everything is done manually,” observed Psych.
“We prefer it that way,” explained Kay-C. “The technology is very advanced but,” she shot him a glance with a hint of worry as she searched for the right words, “It can be easily manipulated.” She finally came to the last lock. The scanner scanned her iris and it slid open.
Psych held his breath, uncertain of what he’d find. He suddenly felt the urge to run, the fear coming off of Kay-C was unbearable and he peered inside. Inside, the white walls were frightening. He felt like he was suddenly in a psychiatric clinic. Then finally, he forced himself to lay his eyes on the person inside.
Pushing his nerves behind him, Psych placed his hands on the door. This was what he had been dreading for months. Memories brought him back to what it was like before. When loyalties mattered.
Kay-C placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him from the painful memories that still haunted him. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” she whispered.
Psych smiled. “Thanks, but no.”
“Suit yourself.” Kay-C shrugged, patting him lightly on the back. “I understand. It’s personal, right?”
Psych gripped the cool metal of the handle.
“Tell me how it goes.”
Psych watched as Kay-C strolled back down the colorless penitentiary hallway. She turned back one last time. “But I wouldn’t expect too much from him.” She turned a corner and was gone, the clicking of her heels fading to still silence.
The prison cell door opened with a shrill hiss. Psych heard footsteps growing louder behind him. Two officers in navy blue uniforms marched by carrying stun guns at their sides. “Psych, shouldn’t you be reporting to Sector 5 by now? These aren’t your quarters,” One called.
“Aw, don’t sweat him,” Psych heard the other officer mutter under his breath. “He’s probably visiting you-know-who.”
There was a pause. “Sorry, Psych. Guess I’ll see you during intermission,” the first guard called.
Psych clenched his fists and then jammed his finger against a silver button. The wall slid out before him, revealing an entryway. Psych stalked down the long corridor. With his last step a second door slid open. He willed himself to meet who was inside.
“David,” a cool voice said. “It was only a matter of time.”
Psych recognized the man’s stone-cold voice instantly. It was chilling more than welcoming. A thick glass was all that stood between Psych and his old friend, Memora. The man sat stooped in a chair, his eyes staring distantly past Psych. Even now, caged like an animal, Memora still seemed to have a commanding and superior presence. The pasty white room was made mostly of cement-the hard and solid kind. The walls had padded material across them. A small cot was closer to the ground, held up with iron beams. A television was raised higher off the ground but Psych was pretty sure Memora hadn’t used it. He never did like television.
“Please.” The graying man motioned towards a chair. “Take a seat, David.”
Psych narrowed his eyes darkly at the man. “I’d rather stand, thanks,” he said sharply. “I don’t answer to you anymore.”
Memora’s gray eyes pierced into Psych’s, reminding him of two pools of burning cinder. They glowed sharply and Psych managed to stifle a gasp. “As you wish,” Memora said.
Psych felt a wave of panic shoot through him like a merciless current. Hadn’t Kay told him that all cells contained even the greatest power? That’s right, Psych thought. Why would his eyes glow?
Psych stared at the glass. It was the only thing that kept Memora from attacking him. But would he?
“Why have you come?”
Psych’s reflection appeared at the glass. He stared into his own eyes. Psych could think of a million reasons why he came and even more why it was a bad idea. Truthfully, he almost missed Memora. Or who he thought Memora was before…Before everything changed, Psych answered himself.
Memora’s level stare met with Psych. Again the eerie feeling that Memora was still in control-that his powers could not be contained. Again Psych felt the same words running through his head: This was a mistake.
“I want answers,” Psych said finally.
Mary Ruth had been alive for one hundred and two years. She knew things she shouldn’t know. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut.
“We have to talk to this woman.” Officer Boone slid a photo across the coffee table. She had agreed to meet the lead detective in the oddest of places; his house. Now he sat on his living room couch looking like he’d just come out of the shower. His robe and socks were not what she would call presentable but Officer Boone had the sense to keep her mouth shut. She stood over him with her arms crossed and a stone-faced expression. “What do you think?”
Detective Slate took the photo in his hands and drew it closer to his face. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “What do I think,” he echoed. “What…do I think?”
“It’s a simple question, Slate.” Officer Boone raised an eyebrow. “Her name is Mary Ruth McGuire. She’s a very old woman; the oldest in Denver County. She’s got no kids that we know of and her husband, Garret McGuire is deceased though we have no records that he even existed.” She repeated the question. “What do you think?”
Slate kept a level stare with Officer Boone for a moment. Then, he stood, shaking his head. “Gena,” he said. Officer Boone didn’t flinch, though she wasn’t used to anyone calling her by her first name. She practically lived where she worked.
“I’m retired,” he said. “And I’ve told you that. I mean, look at me, Gena.” He spread his hands out. Then firmly he said, “I’ve moved on.”
“Please leave.” He placed a hand on Officer Boone’s shoulder. Then leaning in he said, “The orginzation can go on without me. I appreciate everything they’ve given me. I do. But I have a family now.”
“It’s a dangerous job.” Officer Boone said. “But you made a commitment.”
“And I’ve followed through with that. What else do you want from me? Because you certainly aren’t going to endanger my family.”
Officer Boone’s eyes narrowed. She could feel her eyes grow hot but people like her didn’t cry. They couldn’t afford getting sidetracked by emotions. “Ok then.”
“Fine.” She jerked away. “You have fun with your family.” She closed in until her lips were close enough to kiss his ear. “You don’t forget about what you’re leaving behind.”
Officer Boone snatched the photo. She had barely closed the door before her pager beeped.
Status on the old detective guy?
She rolled her eyes, moving the black government granted watch to her closer to her. “Yeah, well, old habits never die. The old fart’s too afraid to help us with this one, Arty. You got a plan B?”
The voice crackled with static then filtered back clearer. You know I always got a plan B.
“Good. Then show me.”
Through the window the home, the curtains drew back as a man watched from inside. Slate peered after the officer, a smile crossing his lips. He held a phone to his ear and spoke. “She’s finally gone.”