Joe surged awake with a violent jolt. His eyes fluttered and scanned the room around him in an effort toward reorientation. It was morning, but the dim, gray light of the cloud-covered sky offered little contrast to the dark shadows that trailed behind the room’s furniture. They were shadows that, on that particular morning, he could have done without. As far as bad dreams were concerned, Joe felt that the one he had just suffered would have been a sure shoo-in for the Stephen King Award for being scarier than Hell. 

​

Making sure to use his left hand to avoid awakening the pain in his right, Joe wiped away the cold beads of sweat from his face. The fingers found his skin sticky and damp. He wiped them on his pillow as he sat up in bed and let a fierce yawn roar from his mouth. His injured hand throbbed beneath the comforter around him. Raising it to his face, he pulled the short metal chain of the bedside lamp and examined the thick bruises that lined the back of his fist. They had faded from their original dark blue to a yellowish browh. What little swelling he had noticed over the previous two days had now disappeared. He could open and close the hand with more ease than before, but still winced as its flesh pulled tight around his balled fist. Joe found some comfort in the pain, hoping that its reminder of his mistakes would keep him from repeating them. Dwelling on this thought, he turned his eyes to the sliding glass door on his right.

​

Outside, he heard the thick, steady rain pound over the porch into the puddles that formed on his balcony. The land around the hotel was still barely visible through the thick veil of the storm. Behind a pale gray mist, he could make out the light outline of the surrounding hills. Joe stood from the bed and scratched the back of his head. Being careful to clear any obstacles in his path, namely the pile of clothes that had collected on the floor directly beside the bed, he stepped to the room’s small table and snatched his lighter and a cigarette with one quick swipe of his hand. Smiling with his proud victory over the temporary handicap, he pinched the filter between his lips and lit the cigarette. As he slid open the glass door that led out into damp air, he exited into the mess that had become Pine Haven, NC. The large puddle that had formed on the balcony was now two inches deep, but ended a couple of feet before meeting the side of the wall. It left adequate room for Joe to stay dry as he received his morning nicotine fix. 

​

Wiping the thick crust from the corners of his eyes, he stared in solemn silence at the dark clouds and the vengeful distruction they shoulted down on the surrounding landscape. The whole town would be a prime candidate for a flood. It seemed as if everything went downhill from each other, creating a series of large gullies that were perfect for collecting water. If it happened, it wouldn’t be a mild one. 

​

I am the plague.

​

The thought invaded his mind with a brutal, unwelcome precision. With it, came the burning feeling that a full-scale war was being waged inside of his head. He didn’t think that he would stay around town long enough to see which side would win. He planned to get out of town as soon as he was finished with Grady. His only prayer was that he wouldn’t have to carry the flag of defeat over his shoulders when he left. It was a fear that agitated him at all ends. Confidence, that once carried him through every situation, had fled his body at the first sight of those vacant, black eyes. Joe wondered if he was weak or simply human. 

​

‘That must be it,’ Joe reassured himself. ‘The fear is making you panic. Hence the bad dream and the feeling of detaching from reality.’

​

“On the other hand?,” he whispered as he dropped the remainder of his cigarette into the large puddle at his feet. There was a brief fizzle as the hot tip was immediately extinguished. 

​

‘On the other hand, I own you. Get used to it.’ The voice came to him in a soft hiss. From behind it, he heard the enchanted harmony of groaning metal. It was the same voice from his dream.

​

Closing his eyes, Joe rubbed his temples with both hands. When he reopened them, the voice was gone. As he reentered the room, he heard a faint series of taps from the door. Reaching for his slacks that lay draped across one of the chairs at the table, Joe called out to his visitor. “Who is it?” His voice felt dry and scratchy in his throat. Pulling the pants to his waist, he issued a deep grunt.

​

“I hear you’re looking for some action.” The feminine voice muffled through the thick wooden door and brought a broad smirk to Joe’s face. He knew the voice and its owner—both too well.

​

Restraining the chuckle that begged to be released, he buckled his pants and tiptoed to the door. With a quick turn of the handle, Joe threw the door open with his left hand. The woman in the doorway stood before him with a sheer radiance that Joe could have never hoped to put into words and dared not to try. Her eyes were dark and mischievously intelligent, smiling above the soft guilty curl of her lip. Despite the dripping strands of hair that fell across her back in a matted, tangled mess, the presence of the beautiful woman in her snug-fit blue jeans and red cotton t-shirt took his breath away. His lips pursed as he let a low whistle slide past them. Reaching with his right hand, he took her left and twirled her in a slow circle. For the first time since his meeting with Grady, he could ignore the pain that screamed from it. Watching every curve pass before his eyes, Joe felt a sudden heat wash over his body. It was a desire that didn’t come close to being quenched until her arms wrapped around his shoulders and the two of them had locked into a deep full kiss.

​

As Joe pulled his mouth from hers, he felt a sly smirk spread across his face. “Now what would my wife say if she saw us like this?” He could barely keep himself from erupting into laughter as he asked the question.

​

“I better be the only wife you’ll ever have mister!” Elaine Richards tried to feign shock. As she finished speaking, she broked into a short series of light chuckles. Pulling her face to the side of her husband’s, she kissed him on the cheek.

​

“God, I’ve missed you,” Joe whispered in the midst of a sigh. He stared into her eyes as he spoke. Every time he saw her, he fell more in love with her. He closed his eyes as he drew her fragrance in with a deep breath. To Joe, it was the distinct smell of perfection. “Has Brad left for camp?”

​

She nodded. “He was disappointed that he couldn’t see you before he left, but I think he understands more than he lets on. I mean, he has had to grow up with it.”

​

Joe’s smile changed to a frown. For the third time since arriving in the small town, he was forced to remember his father. Although he could never admit it vocally and had not thought of the possibilities before this trip, he understood why his father hadn’t paid much attention to he or his brother. He knew the drive and the aggravation of knowing that the world was never fully cured. It was the job. It had never hit so close to home than to hear it in the words of his wife. He knew she hadn’t meant to invoke the comparison, but his mind still made the instant connection.

​

Sensing the sudden change in her husband, Elaine brought his focus back to her and smiled. “So how’s the case going?”

​

“Well, we’ve just about got all of the pink elephants out of the way, but you know I can’t talk about that.” His smile returned, but his thoughts still nagged him from the back of his mind. As Elaine let her lower lip poke from underneath the other in a disappointed pout, he drew her into his kiss.

 

“What I can tell you is that I have a couple of hours before I need to be at the prison.” As he spoke, he let his lips rest behind his wife’s right ear and kissed it softly.

​

“I think we should do some serious catching up,” he pulled her waist against his, “and then get ourselves some breakfast.”

​

She moaned under his embrace. After a quick kiss to the side of his neck, she gazed into his light green eyes and held him for a long moment. “Joe, sweetie, that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while.”

​

*            *            *

​

Three hours after his wife surprised him at the door of his room, Joe found himself in the large conference room of the Shady Oaks Prison for Men. He was alone except for the shroud of discomfort that loomed over him like a strict teacher waiting for a sign of error. It manifested itself in the small of his lower back with a tight pain that pulled at his muscles as if he had been moving refrigerators all morning rather than reacquainting himself with his wife’s body. Despite the heavy air and the back aches, he wore a broad smile on his face. After all, his wife was in Pine Haven. There would be one less thing to crowd his mind. 

​

Joe snapped back from his thoughts as his ears caught the muffled jingle of chains approaching from the far end of the hall. With a jolt, Joe remembered his dream of the darkness. The tingling sensation of déjà vu tickled the back of his neck as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. There were no moans or groans of metal building, but when he heard the click of the door’s latch being drawn, it almost threw him from his chair. He would have to start over and make this time different. He was in charge. He was Joe Richards. Regaining his composure with a series of deep breaths, Joe squeezed his right hand into a tight ball. The pain was fading. He relaxed the hand and returned his attention to the door.

​

The large oak door was open and Grady Perlson’s massive shape stood silent in the wide space of the entrance. He possessed the same heaving mass of chest, the same greasy hair, and the same piston arms, though, something was different. The changes were subtle, but Joe noticed them all the same and found comfort in them. The realization brought a sigh of relief from his lungs.

​

There was a distinct slouch in Grady’s shoulders. The previous beast had possessed a flawless and mighty posture. It seemed as though this prisoner had been carrying loads of bricks over the few days that Joe had spent away. What settled his fears and self doubts the most were the eyes. Behind a worn, sad face shone two light-gray eyes that were calm and placid like a sky before a storm. There was a soul in Grady that might have actually been peaceful.

​

As Grady sensed the psychologist’s even stare, he hung his head low and walked to the chair across from him as the hispanic-looking guard entered behind him and closed the door. He walked slowly and watched the ground as he reached his chair and sat down. Between his legs, the chains rustled and dragged the carpet with the short amount of slack allowed at the connection of his hands and feet. His eyes never wavered, but kept their gaze as the scenery of the floor left his view and was replaced by the large mahogany table. Raising his head, he looked into Joe’s face and switched his gaze to the wall behind the psychologist.

​

“Grady?,” Joe began. “Do you know who I am?”

​

His voice was calm and soothing. He knew that it was in his best interest not to upset his patient..not with the other one as close as he thought he was.

​

Grady brought his full attention to the face across from him. A soft smile touched the corners of his lips and he nodded with the expression of a timid child. 

​

“Are you Doctor Joseph Richards?” The voice wasn’t as deep and brooding as it had been, but flowed with a South-sweetened drawl. It reminded Joe of the Louisiana chef on PBS late night that he would always pass as he flipped through the channels in the long hours he sometimes spent working on case files. Grady’s accent was lighter than that deep version of Cajun, but the long phonetics and tone were similar. 

​

Joe nodded with a quick smile. “Yes, I am. I’m here to help you. Did you write me and ask for my help?” Blinking, he paused for Grady’s response.

​

Grady paused for a moment and stared past Joe’s face as if looking for the answer somewhere on the wall. Swallowing hard, he started to speak. “I can’t read or write much. What I do know, Henry taught me. He always helped me like that. Taught me bits and pieces as I grew up.”

​

“Who’s Henry?”

​

“He was my brother.” He paused for a second and continued in a matter of fact way. “He’s dead now. They all are, but I’m still here.” He grunted and closed his mouth.

​

“Who is dead? How did they die, Grady?” Grady’s words disturbed Joe. He had heard it many times by many different people, murderers referring to their victims in matter-of-fact speech, but the words had never been spoken with such childish innocence. His right hand twitched under the table, but Joe barely noticed.

​

“He killed them. Jess did. Killed them all except for my father. Someone did that for him. Can you stop him?” Grady moaned as the last words passed his lips. He pressed his palms to the sockets of his eyes and fell silent. 

​

“I won’t leave you until I do. I can promise you that. But first I need you to tell me something, Grady. Where did Jess come from? How did you meet him?”

​

“I can’t remember. He made me forget a lot of things. He brought me the whirlwind. It owns me now. All the pictures it shows me are bad.” Grady’s face went vacant and hard as stone. His eyes stared at Joe without blinking. Joe and the guard might have thought him dead if his chest didn’t continue to rise in long, broad breaths.

​

Joe leaned forward with his elbows on the table’s edge, cautious not to get too close to the powerful prisoner. “Grady? Grady? What is the whirlwind?” He never got an answer.

​

Turning from the frozen shape of Grady Perlson, Joe stood and walked towards the mirror with his eyes fixed on his own image. He stopped less than a foot from the reflective glass and rubbed his hand across the thick, black stubble of his chin. He glanced to the side to see that the guard was regarding him with what seemed to be pity. Turning from the mirror, he brought his full attention to the uniformed man.

​

“Do you think that’s it?,” Joe smirked.

​

The guard shrugged lightly and, after reconsidering, offered a slow nod. “Unless you have some miracle up your sleeve, you won’t get him out of that. We had a guard beat him pretty hard when he did this before, but the boy never blinked. Warden was pretty pissed. Fired the guy on the spot.”

​

Joe smirked again and glanced back to Grady.

​

“Good for him,” was his only response as he drew himself into a contemplative stare. His only options were to continue and have the effect of talking to a brick wall or finish early and lick his wounds back to his hotel where his great and dearly missed wife would be waiting for him. Without anything more than a couple of minutes of thought, Joe dropped his hands to his hips and sighed.

​

“I guess he’s all yours then,” he smiled to the guard. 

​

The officer went to the table and stood Grady up, turning him slowly toward the door. He had to work at it at first, but after a moment the prisoner was moving blankly on his own as if the trance he was in only affected his face.  Stopping Grady at the door, the guard winked at Joe and freed one hand to pat his shoulder.

​

“Don’t let it get to you,” he reassured Joe before leaving. “He does this a lot.”

​

After the two were gone, Joe paced and fell into his seat at the table. Dropping his head back against the soft cushion at the top of the chair, he released a long, frustrated sigh. His eyes followed the lines of the ceiling for a few minutes as he let his thoughts gather in his head. He had blown it. It was the first day that he had gotten the opportunity to speak with the real Grady and had lost him. “Great job, Joe. You were absolutely amazing.”

​

Standing up, Joe grabbed his black notebook in his left hand and started toward the door. Before exiting the room, he caught a quick glimpse of himself in the large two-way mirror. He nodded a quick smile at his reflection and stepped through the doorway. Closing the door behind him, he muttered to himself. 

​

“Maybe you should just go back to school.”

​

   *            *            *

​

Before leaving the prison, Joe stopped by George’s office to update him on the day’s progress or lack of it. As he walked through the door leading into the familiar waiting room, he was greeted by the thin, slope-nosed  man he had seen leaving the office on his first visit. The short man smiled at Joe as he entered the room with a look of perplexity touching his brow. Betsy, the warden’s receptionist, barely looked from her magazine as the man extended his hand to the visitor.

​

“Dr. Richards. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Leon Westering, the assistant warden here. I’ll be serving as warden while Dr. Carmichael is on his sick leave. If you need any help, you only have to ask.”

​

As Joe shook his hand, the confusion rose higher in his mind. “Sick leave? Is George okay?”

​

“I’m not sure. His wife called in for him this morning and said he wasn’t feeling well. Just not up to par, I guess. If there is something I can do…”

​

Before he finished the sentence, Joe had thanked him and turned back down the hallway. Leon let a thoughtful frown brush his lips as he watched the back of Joe’s head turn a corner and disappear. Lifting his coffee mug from the receptionist’s desk, he took a quick sip and gazed through the window. It was his first real chance to be in charge of the prison and it came in the middle of one of the biggest storms that had ever met the state of North Carolina. 

​

“Luck,” he mumbled under his breath. “Pure bad luck.”