Maniac Menagerie, page 14
Chrissy tried to act nonchalant, despite her heart beating a hundred times a second. For a moment, she really had feared the worst had happened. “Okay, no problem, but could you just call them on your radio for me, please? I’m worried.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I just spoke to Nealy. He said everyone is fine.”
She nodded. “Okay, well, if they aren’t out in a few minutes…”
“I’ll call again. Right, follow me and we’ll wait for everyone outside.”
Chrissy and the orderly followed Gibbons through the automatic exit doors. It was raining hard, and Chrissy immediately pulled her collar tight to avoid her T-shirt getting wet. “Do we have to wait out here like this?”
“I should grab us a buggy,” said the orderly. “We’ll get drenched otherwise.”
Gibbons nodded and pointed towards the Keep. “I saw one parked around back. You want to run and get it?”
“Sure. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Chrissy watched the man rush off through the rain, but by the time he returned, she would be soaked through. She let out a groan.
“Sorry about this,” said Gibbons. He stared out at the sea in the distance, almost like he was looking for something.
“No problem. As long as everyone’s safe. Where are the rest of the staff?”
“On their way. Just sit tight. Everything’s going as planned.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Why did you come to this island, Ms Wise? Why would you want to see a bunch of sick maniacs up close? I don’t understand the attraction.”
There was something accusatory about his tone, and it caused her to frown. “Well, I didn’t know what I was coming here to see. Nealy was very secretive about it all.”
“Offered you money, I’ll bet?”
Chrissy shrugged. “Where is Nealy? I want to talk to him.”
“Oh, he’s going to be busy. You can talk to me.”
“Um… no thanks.” She looked towards the Keep, urging the orderly to reappear.
“You okay?” Gibbons asked, a slight smirk on his face.
“Just cold. I need to get under shelter. D-Do you think he’ll be long?”
“He sure is taking his time, isn’t he? I should go check.”
Chrissy nodded, liking the thought of him going away. There was something off about this guy. The way he spoke… It was like he hated Chrissy. But why would that be? She’d never even met him.
Gibbons walked away. Chrissy let out a sigh. Maybe she could sneak back inside the Keep and search for Sim herself. It made no sense that they were the only ones out here. If there was a fire drill, then people should’ve been spilling out by now.
Gibbons turned back. “Actually, you’d best come with me, miss. Nealy will go mad if he finds out I left a guest alone out in the rain. Come on.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait.”
He waved a hand insistently. “Don’t be silly. Follow me and we’ll get out of this rain.”
She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t think of a reason. “Um… okay, then.”
She caught up with Gibbons, and the two of them headed around the side of the Keep. It was not an area meant for guests as there were crates and boxes stacked up everywhere, as well as a huge skip full of rubbish. There was, however, a buggy, just like Gibbons had said. At least he’d been telling the truth.
No sign of the orderly, though.
“Where did he go?” asked Chrissy.
Gibbons frowned. “Not sure. Get in the buggy and I’ll go find him.”
Eager to be out of the rain, she complied and got in, sliding onto the rear bench and shrugging off her wet denim jacket. From the looks of the sky above the sea, the weather was only going to get worse. The rain was already biting.
Just as Gibbons was about to leave, the orderly reappeared. It caused Gibbons to pull his gun and yell. “Stop!”
The orderly put his hands in the air and yelped. “What the hell, man?”
Gibbons lowered the weapon and apologised. “You shouldn’t jump out at me like that.”
“I didn’t. My keycard wasn’t working, so I went to test it on the side access door to see if it was just a problem with the buggy. It’s not. I can’t deactivate any of the locks with my card.”
“Really?” Gibbons chewed the inside of his cheek. He reached into the chest pocket of his vest and pulled out his own keycard. “Let me try mine.” He swiped the card across a sensor on the buggy’s dashboard and the electric dashboard flickered to life. He popped the card back into its pocket.
“Huh,” said the orderly. “Why is your card working and not mine?”
Gibbons shrugged. “Probably because I deactivated every card of level three or lower.”
“What? Why have you done that?”
“Because my card is level four, so if I deactivated anything higher than a three, my card wouldn’t work either.”
The orderly folded his arms and looked pissed. “Yeah, but why deactivate anyone’s card? You’re not making sense.”
Gibbons chuckled. “I’m just messing with you, mate.” He raised his gun and shot the orderly in the face.
Chrissy screamed.
Gibbons turned to her and put a finger to his lips. “Shush now. Don’t want to make a scene, do we?”
“Wh-Why did you do that? Why?”
“Because he was a sodding orderly. Lowest paid monkeys in this place. It’s people accepting pitiful wages that allow monsters like Nealy to become so powerful. I got no time for people who don’t stand up for themselves.” He reached in and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her along the bench. “Let’s see how you do.”
Chrissy screamed and struggled, but if she wasn’t careful, she would end up without a scalp. So she begged. Begged to be let go.
“Come on now,” said Gibbons. “I just told you I like people who stand up for themselves. I don’t want to hear any begging.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone has to. This place is evil, and you’re a part of it.”
She slid off the bench and fell to her knees in the mud. “No, I’m not. This place has nothing to do with me.”
“It’s a temple of worship for serial killers. Seems like you built something similar online.”
She got to her feet but was still being controlled by her hair. “Let me go! Let me go, you fucker.”
“That’s more like it.” He yanked her hair and sent her sprawling against the wall of the Keep. Unlike the front facade, the side was just a featureless brick wall with air con units and various entry points. Her elbow scraped on the wall’s rough surface, sending a pang up her arm. The pain made her angry, and she lashed out with a kick that struck Gibbons right in the knee. It hurt him, but she knew it was a lucky shot. She couldn’t fight back for long.
So she ran.
“Hey, bitch, get back here.”
Chrissy screamed as she ran, never having ever been so terrified. What the hell was going on? Who was Gibbons and why was he doing this?
He’s crazy. Oh my God. Is he one of the inmates? Has he escaped and disguised himself as a guard?
No, the orderly knew him.
Chrissy screamed louder as a gun fired behind her. The shock caused her to miss a step, and she staggered sideways against the wall. Desperate to keep moving, she groped along the bricks, almost paddling herself along. But it was too late.
Gibbons caught up with her and held her at gunpoint. “Nice try. Points awarded. Game still lost.”
“Please…” She was out of breath. “Please.”
“Too late for that. No one is leaving this island.” He reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulder of her jacket. She tore at his wrist, trying to struggle free, but he spun her around and grabbed her from behind. She continued to fight, but all he did was laugh, the gun pressed against her temple. “Keep fighting,” he said. “I won’t tell you when I’m about to pull the trigger, so just keep going until oblivion sets in. There you go. That’s the spirit. Any second now…”
She fought desperately.
He’s going to kill me. He’s going to shoot me in the head.
Frantic, she clawed behind herself, trying to reach her attacker’s face. Instead, her fingers clutched at something else, something lower down. When she pulled her hand back, she realised she had snatched the keycard from his breast pocket.
Ahead of her and to the right was a door. Beside it, a magnetic scanner.
It was her only chance.
“Let go of me!” She threw her head back and felt something brittle give way. Gibbons cried out in pain, cursing at her. Chrissy knew he would pull the trigger as soon as he recovered enough to aim.
She had seconds.
Chrissy threw herself forward, landing on her knees in front of the door. She pressed the keycard against the sensor and yipped hysterically when it turned green. She dared a glance back and saw Gibbons clutching at his face, blood between his fingers. A hundred times she had researched serial killers and asked why the victims hadn’t fought back harder. Now she knew that fear was a paralytic, and it made every movement clumsy.
She clambered to her feet and grabbed the door handle.
“You bitch!”
“Fuck you!” She yanked the door open and leapt through the gap.
A gunshot echoed off the brickwork.
Chrissy fell forward, the door swinging closed behind her and clunking as the lock reengaged. Panting and screaming, she rolled onto her back and waited for Gibbons to follow. But he only banged on the other side of the door, swearing to kill her.
He can’t get in…
Chrissy lifted her right hand and saw that she still held the man’s keycard, effectively locking him out. Its shiny plastic surface was stained with blood.
My blood. I’m bleeding.
She examined herself and spotted a bloody hole right below her collarbone on the left. She’d been shot.
I’ve been freaking shot!
Wooziness washed over her – her vision tilted all over the place – but she couldn’t stay where she was. What if Gibbons found another working keycard, or bashed the door in? She had to get out of there.
Feeling numb rather than being in pain, she slowly dragged herself up off the floor and staggered down the corridor she had found herself in. Several doors led off of it, all with magnetic locks. She picked one at random, pressing the card against the sensor.
And then she entered a staff room with pool tables and a kitchenette. Unable to stay standing, she slumped against the wall and vomited for the third time that day.
This is a nightmare.
How is this happening?
Sim, where are you?
A door on the other side of the room burst open and a gun was aimed at her once again. She was too beaten to scream, so she just stayed where she was and waited for it all to be over.
But this time it wasn’t Gibbons standing behind the gun. It was the other security guy.
What was his name? Palmer?
Palmer frowned upon seeing her and lowered his gun. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Gibbons,” she said, and then slid to the ground. Before she passed out, she saw an angry scowl cross the man’s face, but it didn’t seem to be directed at her. “It was… Gibbons,” she said again as she faded. “Shot… me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sim and his terrified companions staggered down a corridor and entered the first door they came across. They had hoped to find help, but all they discovered was some kind of utility area with a sink and drain, along with a wall full of shelving and lockers. Jason immediately grabbed a mop from the corner and unscrewed the head, leaving himself with a makeshift staff. It was better than nothing. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing else of use.
“Help me move something in front of this door,” said Mike, and he started dragging a nearby locker. It wasn’t fixed to the wall, so Sim went and helped him, and together they slid it in front of the door. It wasn’t impenetrable, but it gave them a little extra safety.
Sim leaned back against the locker and took a moment to catch his breath. He could already hear the maniacs outside, getting free. “D-Did anyone shut the door behind us?”
Everyone looked at each other.
“I was only focused on getting my ass out of there,” said Jason.
Sim grunted. “The maniacs are out then.”
They must have realised the door was open immediately after Sim and the others had passed through. The magnetic lock must have failed to reengage. He would have to feed that back to Nealy.
Other feedback includes closing this entire place down and sending the inmates back to wherever they came from.
Sim scolded himself for even entertaining the idea that this place could work. As Gerry had said from the start, it was folly.
“We’re trapped again,” said Jason. “Great!”
“But safer,” said Gerry, and then pinched the air with her thumb and forefinger. “A little.”
The fiery-haired psychologist was rattled after what had almost happened to her, and it was obvious she was doing her best to keep herself together. Nobody needed to guess what the Brisbane Brutalist would have done to her if Feral Fred hadn’t shot him. The Australian’s moniker had come from more than just the damage he did with his fists.
But Fred saved us. Even after the wretched life he’s lived, he knows right from wrong. At least, his version of it.
“We can survive this,” said Sim. He lifted his head, even though it took great effort, and he looked each of his companions in the eye. “In this room are three experts of the broken mind. Together, we can survive this.”
“How?” said Mike. “I’m asking as someone who is very much not an expert.”
Sim chuckled. He could see the man was terrified, perhaps for the first time in his life. This wasn’t Texas any more. It was somewhere adjacent to Hell.
“We survive by using our expertise. Jason and I have studied almost every killer in this place. Gerry, you know how madness operates. There are buttons we can press, levers we can pull.”
Jason nodded, appearing enthused more by Sim’s confidence than by his words. “Plus, they ain’t all bad. Feral Fred helped us.”
“Yeah,” said Mike. “Where did that little guy learn to shoot? He would make one hell of a Texan.”
“I’m thinking it was as much luck as skill,” said Sim. “But Jason’s right. Not every killer in here will be a threat. They all have their own MO, and some of them will be more focused on escaping than anything else. Some might even stay in their cells rather than risk what’s outside.”
Mike was following along, scratching at his bald head as though he wished he could cover it with his palm. “So things might not be as bad as we feared? That’s good to know. Also, a few of the bad ones are already out of the way, right? That mad Australian and the Columbian fella?”
Sim nodded. “Escoban would have been a problem. We’ve had plenty of luck on our side so far. We just need it to continue a while longer.”
“I still can’t believe help hasn’t arrived,” said Jason. “Where the hell is Nealy?”
Gerry huffed and leaned back against the shelves with her arms crossed. “Somewhere safe, I would bet. The few guards in this place are probably protecting him rather than coming and getting us.”
Mike shook his head. “Nealy wouldn’t do that. Even being cynical, he would see our deaths as a massive liability. If he can get us out of here, he will.”
“Then where’s the cavalry?” Jason asked, lifting his arms and letting them flop at his sides.
“He hasn’t hired enough people to run this place,” said Sim. “It’s obvious. I think this place is over budget, and I’m sure most investors don’t want to touch the Keep with a bargepole. That’s why Nealy’s turned to a pair of YouTubers like me and Jason. We’re not exactly high profile.”
“Hey,” said Jason, but then he reconsidered and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Whatever guards are in this place likely have their hands full.” Sim shook his head and grunted. “We already watched one die, and we know that another was responsible for unlocking the cells. For all we know, half the security team could be in on what’s happening here.”
Mike growled. “Corporate terrorists. Had to deal with a few myself over the years. Had to stop my orca shows because of them. Set fire to my place in Martha’s Vineyard and almost killed the maid.”
“Tragic,” said Jason.
“So help might not be coming,” said Gerry. She raised a foot and rubbed at her grubby sole. Her shoes hadn’t made it out of the cell block. “Magnifique.”
Sim rubbed at his eyes and realised he’d been crying at some point. When he blinked, his lids stung. “We’re going to survive this. I’m going to find Chrissy and get down to the docks. Then we’re getting off this island. I’ll sail the ferry back by myself if I have to.”
“You keep on saying that,” said Jason, flapping his arms again. “But how do we get out of the Keep? What’s the plan?”
Sim held the keycard up. “You need these to enter certain doors, right? All we have to do is get through enough of them to put distance between us and the inmates. Meanwhile, we remember one thing: serial killers are not supernatural. They are flesh and blood, the same as us. If it comes to a fight, they have no advantage other than our fear. If we face them head on, we have a chance of surviving. Mike, you’re a big guy. With you on our side, we can make them afraid of us.”
Mike chuckled and smacked a fist into his palm. “My football days are long behind me, boy, but I think I can probably crack a few skulls.”
Jason tapped his staff against the ground. “And I’m ready to go full Morgan Jones on whoever comes at us.”
Mike frowned. “Who?”
Sim nodded to his colleagues and smiled. “We can do this. The hard part is over.”
Everyone let out a sigh, steeling themselves for what was to come. It was little more than a self-empowerment exercise, but sometimes belief went a long way. If they behaved like victims, they would be done for. The one thing serial killers did not expect was for their prey to bite back.
