The asylum had a funny smell. It wasn’t pleasant. There were hints of body odor, urine, feces, vomit, disinfectant, sausage, eggs, bacon, potatoes, cantaloupe, a multitude of different body lotions, soaps, deodorants, colognes, perfumes, chocolate cake, tapioca pudding, and disturbingly, decay, all floating on the forced air currents that circulated through the long, disorienting corridors. While I understood that most of these scents were related to the people or the dinner meal, I couldn’t figure out where the smell of decay was coming from. Also, it seemed to come and go, as we wound our way around the building. I kept looking at patients, expecting to see bedsores or skin necrosis, but my eyes weren’t finding them.
“Cain, I need you focused,” Gabriel whispered to me.
“I am sorry, but I smell dead flesh and I do not know why or where it is coming from,” I whispered in return. Once you’ve smelled a dead body, you never forget it. With my nose, the smell was easier to detect, but harder to ignore than most other smells.
“I don’t smell it,” Gabriel answered.
“Maybe it is my imagination,” I shrugged and picked up my pace. We were following the director of the asylum to an unknown crisis situation. Gabriel hadn’t gotten many details, but since they requested us, I was guessing they had a multiple murderer in custody who was misbehaving.
“I doubt it,” Gabriel sighed. “Maybe she’s killed someone already and you are smelling that.”
“Who?”
“Helena Jones,” Gabriel answered.
“Who is Helena Jones?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel gave me a look that said he wasn’t entirely sure why we were here either. Hostage negotiation really wasn’t in our repertoire. We were more shoot first, ask questions later, kind of people.
“Maybe you should have asked,” I suggested.
“I did and the director told me that all would be revealed in good time.”
“How very Zen of him,” I snarked.
We turned a corner and the smell of decay was suddenly filling my nostrils. Instinctively, I reached for the peppermint balm, but didn’t find any in my pockets. My brain flashed up a picture of it sitting on the table in my hotel room, next to the Mountain Dew I hadn’t gotten to open this morning. I had left the hotel in a hurry to face a hostage situation, not a dead body.
After turning another corner, we came to a squadron of police officers and FBI agents. The FBI looked at us with frowns. The police kind of shuffled their feet. These were not good signs.
“US Marshals’ Service, SCTU, I’m Gabriel Henders. I was told we were requested,” Gabriel introduced himself to the FBI agent wearing the most expensive looking suit and the deepest frown lines. It was usually easy to figure out who was in charge.
“Marshal Henders, I’m glad you could join us, because I’ll be damned if I know what to make of the situation,” the FBI agent said.
“What is the situation?” Gabriel asked.
“Helena Jones was admitted here about six years ago, it was voluntary, but she never left. Her family began visiting a few years ago, twice a month. From what I was told, Helena has always been a good patient and welcoming of her family. Yesterday, when they arrived the visit was pleasant, like always, and then something set Helena off. She killed two patients, grabbed her sister and started dragging her into one of the rooms. Her brother went willingly. She broke the door and we can’t get it unlocked. About four hours ago, she started screaming for US Marshal Aislinn Cain.”
“Why me?” I asked, puzzled.
“I was kind of hoping you’d tell me that,” he answered.
“I do not know a Helena Jones.” I shrugged.
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t know you,” Xavier whispered.
“Well, her brother is a former SCTU member, Alejandro Gui. She’s taken him and their sister, Maria Smith, hostage. Do you know her now?” He asked me.
“No, and I honestly do not know Gui that well. He left shortly after I started because of an accident that disabled him,” I answered. There was a wheelchair near the door. The door was a big, heavy metal door with electronic locks. The exterior lock looked as though someone had set it on fire. “How’d she lock the doors?”
“We don’t know,” the FBI agent asked. “It looked like that when we arrived. I can’t confirm it, but I think the orderlies might have accidentally shorted out the lock. I think she had something shoved in the door and they tried to force it.”
“Can we see into the room?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, it has video surveillance,” the agent led Gabriel to a bank of computers. I followed. Alejandro was sitting on the bed. A woman whom I guessed was Maria sat next to him. Another woman paced and held a Taser. I was willing to bet that was Helena. In the waist band of her housecoat there was a large hunting knife. I noticed a second door in the room.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s a bathroom,” the agent answered.
“Have you been recording this?” Gabriel asked. His face turned a little darker than normal. I was guessing he had the same thought I did.
“Yes.”
“I want to see the entire recorded feed,” Gabriel said. Fiona sat down at one of the computers, her fingers working the keyboard as if by magic. The video began to rewind. Maria and Helena had both gone to the bathroom twice before Alejandro moved. To the surprise of Gabriel and Fiona, Alejandro stood up and walked to the bathroom. He had a small limp, but he was able to stand up and walk. “Reece!” Gabriel shouted for Xavier. I took a step back, letting the good doctor into my spot. The three of them watched it again.
“I’ll be damned,” Xavier mumbled.
“Not for that,” I smugly grinned at him.
“He might only be capable of walking short distances,” Xavier pointed out.
“Oh please, he is barely limping. If he walked a long distance, the limp would probably become more pronounced, but short distances and it is barely noticeable. He’s been practicing,” I snipped at Xavier. “I told you if I could do it, he could do it.”
“Do they know there is a camera in there?” Gabriel stopped us from bickering any longer.
“Helena does for sure. I can’t imagine the others don’t know it, but they also haven’t acknowledged it,” the FBI agent told us.
“How has she been communicating?” Gabriel asked.
“The intercom on the door.” The FBI agent pointed at a small box next to the door.
Within a few moments of him pointing it out, it buzzed to life. There was static for a second and then screaming. Since we had the video feed, we knew it was Helena doing the screaming. I sighed.
“Any suggestions?” I asked Gabriel over the high-pitched screeching.
“She sounds crazy,” Gabriel shrugged.
“Actually, she is crazy,” Lucas joined us. He had a manila folder in his hand. There was a big red tab on the side of it. “But not crazy like you think. She seems to have had some kind of mental breakdown and it has been accompanied by visions.”
“Visions of what?” I asked.
“A screaming woman, tied to a bed, while the house burns down around her,” Lucas pursed his lips. “However, this woman, who is never named, was chosen by God to die like that. She considers herself an instrument that God uses. It didn’t match any real house fires, but I would say it could be linked to the house fire of the witness that said Anita left with a tall man. The visions started about the time Gavin died. Actually, she told the counselor that the first vision happened the week before Gavin died.” Lucas looked up. “I think she might be the missing link we’ve been searching for. I think she killed Gavin because she witnessed him committing one of the murders and then she killed the witnesses so no one would know about it.”
“But Gavin’s dead and I didn’t imagine being attacked on the street,” I told Lucas.
“No, attacking you wasn’t Gavin or Helena, by process of elimination that leaves Alejandro and Maria, but looking at Maria, I don’t think she’s big enough to be the culprit. Her hands aren’t large enough to go around your throat.” Lucas said as the screaming stopped and the intercom went dead. We all looked at the computer screens. Helena was back to pacing. Maria and Alejandro were still sitting on the bed. If the screaming fazed them, they didn’t let their reactions be seen.
“Okay, I think I know what to say to her,” I sighed. “We need to work on that lock though. I am not sure we want Alejandro and her alone together after I say what I am going to say.”
“Suggestions?” The FBI agent looked at me.
“I am not a locksmith or good with electronics. I have trouble figuring out my smartphone.” I frowned at him.