Prey Drive Read online

  Joseph had spent the first week following his transfer in the strip cell. The guards removed all of his clothing and kept him in a windowless room with the heat turned down to fifty degrees and the light on twenty-four hours a day. There he had begun his new workout regimen. He’d started by doing six hundred pushups and crunches a day. That number had gradually increased to a thousand and then to two thousand. Then he’d added squats and pushups against the wall from a handstand position. Not only did the exercises keep him warm, they got him more in tune with his body. When he wasn’t working out he masturbated, reliving every moment he’d spent with Alicia. He’d stroked his cock raw on several occasions. He’d even ejaculated blood once. That earned him a trip to the infirmary and his last night in the strip cell. But his new cell was no better than the strip cell.

  Unlike the normal maximum security prison he’d been housed in or even the state mental hospital, in supermax there were no group activities. No sports, no therapy sessions, no religious meetings. No work and no opportunity to finish his education and get a degree online or through the mail. The inmates ate isolated in their cells. The only time they were allowed out was for an hour of exercise every day in a room with high concrete walls and a chin-up bar. Joe was allowed a ten-minute shower three times a week.

  Joe spent his daily hour of exercise on the chin-up bar. Like his pushups, he was now able to do a thousand chin-ups in an hour. He was twenty pounds lighter than he was when he committed the crimes he was convicted of, but Joe’s endurance was now off the charts. He felt quicker, more agile, and a hundred times more lethal than he had even a week ago when he’d killed the big transvestite. His hulking, sculptured physique was like a piece of iron, forged in the furnace of his murderous will.

  For hours at a time he ran escape scenarios in his head, murdering guards, taking others hostage, and forcing them to open some doors and lock others to give him an unobstructed exit. He fantasized about all the ways there were to kill a man and pantomimed the murders as the very guards he was plotting against watched him on camera. Joseph ripped out imaginary throats, gouged imaginary eyes, and imagined his fingers piercing through to temporal lobes. He cracked skulls, hammering them into misshapen pulps with his elbows and knees. Ripped off testicles and bit through jugulars and carotid arteries. Then he imagined the feast, devouring the spoils of battle and ingesting the essences of the fallen, absorbing their power.

  He remembered the taste of every muscle, every organ, and put new faces to them. The meaty biceps now wore the face of the guard who brought him his meals in the morning. The quadriceps belonged to the guard who walked him the five hundred yards to the shower and back. The brain bore the countenance of the officer in the control booth, and the heart came from the tortured visage of the lawyer who’d been trying to get him transferred to a psychiatric hospital. The breasts and ass, those still bore Alicia’s face. They probably always would. But the hips, labia, clitoris, and nipples now accompanied the memory of the young model, Selene Cassaro, and her extraordinary gift. Joseph wanted more, so much more.

  Ever since his fight with the transvestite, the lust for human flesh had become a raging tempest inside him that was thankfully quelled somewhat by the serotonin inhibitors Professor Locke had placed him on. But he’d been needing larger and larger doses lately, doses that left him dazed and disoriented, made it difficult to focus his thoughts. As much as he wanted to cooperate with the experiments, he needed a clear head if he was ever going to escape imprisonment.

  Seeing Selene again was now almost impossible. She’d been banned from visiting him, and even if she did, in supermax, visitations were strictly “no contact,” with visitors sitting behind a Plexiglas window and speaking through a phone. For Joseph, seeing her without being able to touch her would be even more maddening than not seeing her at all. Phone calls were also limited and heavily monitored. Even Joseph’s conversations with his lawyer were now conducted through a Plexiglas window. The only one who’d been allowed to come into physical contact with Joe other than the guards was Professor Locke. Somehow he had been allowed to continue his research and treatment even while Joe was locked down, which allowed him a few extra hours a day out of his cell for therapy sessions consisting of the professor questioning him, taking blood and urine samples, and performing MRIs and PET scans in the prison hospital. Grant money raised by Professor Locke had purchased the equipment, which was likely one of the reasons he was allowed such access.

  Even books and magazines were denied in supermax unless approved by the COs. The televisions inside the cells were controlled by the guards and were invariably tuned to institutional programs and religious services. It was not unusual to have the TV come on unexpectedly, broadcasting a “worship and praise” marathon by some televangelist well into the night. It was another form of subtle, insidious torture the guards employed.

  Personal privacy was nonexistent in supermax. Guards monitored Joe’s movements by video cameras around the clock, and communication between prisoners and control booth officers was mostly through speakers and microphones. The lights and door locks were all controlled electronically in the control booth. If the officer in the booth was pissed off, he’d leave the light in Joe’s cell on all night.

  The cells themselves were eight-by-ten concrete dungeons with all sensory input limited to concrete, steel, the bare seventy-five-watt bulb in a cage on the ceiling, and the television on the wall that came on periodically to broadcast messages of hope and redemption.

  Joe was just about to begin his crunches when he noticed the professor standing at his door. A voice from the control booth ordered him to stand and place his hands on the wall in the back of the cell.

  “You know the drill, Joe. We need to get you shackled for transport.”

  Joe did as commanded, rising and walking to the rear of his cell where he knelt and placed his hands on the wall. The guards rushed in and efficiently cuffed his wrists and ankles, and then helped him to his feet.

  “How have you been, Joseph?” the professor asked, smiling warmly. He put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and patted lightly as the guards led the enormous man out of the cell. Even with all the weight he’d lost, Joe knew he still struck an imposing figure. Professor Locke tried to insinuate himself into Joe’s life as some sort of surrogate paternal figure, but Joe knew the man was secretly terrified of him. Joe’s real dad had never been scared of him. Not even when he’d ripped the man’s throat out with his teeth.

  “I’ve been fine, Professor.”

  “And how are your urges?”

  “Still strong, but manageable, sir.” Joe saw no reason to lie. He’d never denied what he was, not even at his trial. Everyone in the room knew that he’d murder any one of them if left alone with them long enough. There were no secrets here.

  “That’s good, Joseph. We’re going to try a new drug this week. It’s designed to treat patients with bipolar disorder, but I think it can help you as well. I need to do another scan of your brain first to see how the serotonin inhibitors are working.” “Okay, Professor.”

  They began walking out of the cell and down the hall. Joe was staring at the floor as they walked the long corridor. The reality of spending the rest of his life in this cold, lifeless dungeon was increasingly affecting him. He didn’t see how he could possibly survive another year in this place, least of all the rest of his life. “Professor?” “Yes, Joseph?”

  “Do you think I’ll ever be cured? Do you think I’ll ever be able to leave this place?”

  “I don’t know, Joseph. Even if I cure your pathology, there are still the crimes you committed. You killed a lot of people. I don’t think the state is going to forgive that. Let’s just concentrate on making you well, okay?”

  Joe nodded and looked back down at the floor. Lately he wasn’t so sure he would ever be normal again, and if Professor Locke didn’t have the solution to his disease then he would have to find it himself. And he couldn’t do that behind bars.

  Six
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  Joseph was led from his cell to the PET scan room in handcuffs, belly chains, and leg shackles.

  “You’re going to have to take those off him.”

  “No way,” the guard said. He was a large man, six feet, three inches and well over two hundred and fifty pounds. He looked nervous, terrified. “This guy eats people. There’s no fuckin’ way I’m taking these off him. He just bit the nuts off another inmate a week ago!”

  Professor Locke lowered his glasses and looked over them at the big corrections officer. “That inmate never should have been anywhere near Joseph. That was either a careless mistake or deliberate malfeasance on the part of one or more of your fellow officers.”

  The CO’s eyes went wild. His face turned bright red. He stepped forward so that his face was mere inches from the professor’s. “You saying that one of us set that guy up so Joseph could mutilate him? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Professor Locke held his ground, meeting the angry officer’s gaze calmly, unperturbed by his blustering outburst. “I’m saying it’s a genuine possibility.”

  “That’s bullshit!” The officer exploded.

  Spittle sprayed from his lips and dotted the professor’s glasses. Professor Locke calmly removed them and wiped them with a handkerchief he produced from his back pocket.

  “Well, that may be. It’s irrelevant in any case. What’s done is done. So long as it doesn’t happen again.”

  Joseph’s prior good behavior during transport had led to his being “promoted” from a Level I inmate to a Level II, which meant he no longer needed two guards to transport him from place to place, but he was still considered a danger to other inmates and was not allowed to leave his cell on his own or without restraints.

  Professor Locke looked down at Joseph’s handcuffs and ankle cuffs and shook his head. “I can’t have any metal near the PET scan. He shouldn’t even be in this room with those on. The warden promised me full cooperation.”

  The guard folded his massive arms across his chest and stared straight ahead, immovable. His arms were even bigger than Joseph’s. Still, it was obvious at a glance that Joseph was the more dangerous of the two.

  The doctor sighed. “If I drug him, will you remove the cuffs?”

  “I will if he’s out cold.”

  “If he’s out cold the test won’t work. Don’t you have any of those plastic cuffs?”

  The guard nodded. “I got ’em, but I don’t think they’d hold this monster.”

  “Don’t call him that. For Christ’s sake.”

  “But that’s what he is, isn’t he? He’s a fucking monster, a psycho killer.”

  “He’s sick and he needs my help.’

  “He should be on death row.”

  Joe watched the exchange between the professor and the guard with mild interest. Neither was desirable to him. Professor Locke was too old. His meat smelled stale and full of medications. Killing him would have been a mercy, culling the herd. The risk would not be worth the reward. Besides, he needed the professor. While there was even a glimmer of hope that he could be cured, he had to keep the professor alive.

  The guard, on the other hand, was young and strong. His life force was like a furnace bristling with raw power. The smell of the man was thick and musky, full of male pheromones. The blood, sweat, meat, and adrenaline were intoxicating. But there was danger there. He was strong and aggressive, and Joseph was in chains. Besides, Joseph preferred women, though he was not picky when the hunger was upon him. Lately the hunger had not been as strong. The Prozac they’d been giving him in higher and higher doses dulled his appetite for flesh … slightly. It had made his hunger less urgent, less insistent. That left him free to be more selective, and right now he could not get his mind off the model.

  She’d brought him her flesh. Her nipple. And since he’d tasted her, he couldn’t think of anything else. She was sweet, delicious, and willing, eager to be consumed by him. Even with the letters heavily edited, cut to Swiss cheese by the guards who censored all his communication by excising any controversial words, the subtext was clear. She wanted him. She was offering herself to him.

  Even though she'd been permanently banned from the visitors’ list and had been fined and jailed for passing him that succulent morsel of herself, she still sent him pictures. The guards didn’t censor those. However, Joseph suspected they kept the more erotic ones for themselves and passed along those that were slightly less provocative, though even the ones he received were fully nude.

  She had been fattening herself for him. Her hips, ass, thighs, and breasts were thicker, rounder. He wanted her so badly he could still taste her flesh on his tongue. He wanted to fuck her while he devoured the rest of her lovely breasts. He wanted to make love to her bleeding carcass as he consumed it. He imagined ripping large chunks from her breasts, arms, thighs, ass, tearing out her beating heart and swallowing it. Feeling the warmth of her flesh and her wild, uninhibited spirit, spreading through him, filling him. He wanted to express his love for her luscious physique, his appreciation for the skin, muscle, fat, and organs that comprised her, to marry it to his own.

  Joseph closed his eyes and let out a low moan of soul-deep desire.

  The professor misinterpreted it. “Are you okay, Joseph? Are you feeling poorly?”

  “I’m okay, Professor. The shackles just hurt my wrists.”

  Professor Locke finally won his battle with the officer and Joseph was given a sedative. He watched with mild interest as he was injected. The professor waited for several minutes for the drug to take effect before asking the guard to remove the restraints.

  “It doesn’t look like he’s sedated to me. He looks the same.”

  Joseph could smell the fear wafting from the CO’s pores. The man was so full of adrenaline he was like a meth addict on a binge. Joseph had little doubt the man would order the SORT team to gun him down at the slightest provocation.

  “I’ll give him a stronger dose.”

  The professor made eye contact with Joseph. He didn’t say a word. His expression didn’t change in the least. Still, Joseph knew what the professor wanted him to do. This time, when he was injected, Joseph let his eyes droop and his body slump.

  “There. Happy now? Can we get these manacles off him now?”

  “Sure, but I’m calling some more guards in here first. Just in case he decides to get squirrelly.”

  Joseph didn’t know why the doctor hadn’t given him a real sedative. He suspected it was just what the doctor said. A real sedative would have screwed up the tests. And the tests were all that mattered to the professor. That gave Joseph an idea. He let his eyes slump further until they were mere slits, and then he began to drool for added effect.

  “He doesn’t look so dangerous now, does he?” the big CO said.

  There were four more guards in the room now, SORT officers in riot gear, the penitentiary version of SWAT. They looked eager for a fight, like fighting dogs tugging at their leashes. Joseph knew he couldn’t take them. Those guys were trained to be quick and efficient. When Joseph killed, it was messy, sloppy, crimes of passion. He would stand no chance against them. Still, he continued his act. It may not help him this day, but one day Joseph knew that letting them think he was helpless would give him the element of surprise, and that might be all he needed.

  Joseph stumbled along as he was led over to the PET scan and laid on his back. He was given a pillow and a blanket, and then what looked like virtual reality goggles were placed over his eyes.

  “I’m going to be showing you some pictures,” the professor explained. “I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to look at each picture while I take a scan of your brain. Do you understand?”

  Joseph nodded.

  “It’ll just take the scanner a few minutes to warm up.”

  The professor pressed a button and the big machine began making a series of loud hums and clicks. A few minutes later, the professor pressed another button next to the platform upon which Joseph lay a
nd it slid inside the big machine. Joseph felt his shoulders roll inward as he slid into the long cylindrical machine. It was almost too small for him and the walls of the machine pressed tight against his sides. In moments, pictures began to flash in front of him.

  At first the images were simple. A baby smiling, a kitten playing with a toy, a puppy, a fireman, then a woman with large breasts in a bikini, then a naked woman, then a dead woman who’d been eviscerated, breasts cut off, abdomen cut open, then a piece of bloody meat, then a woman in red lingerie, then a woman’s headless torso, and then a woman bound and gagged, and on and on. Joseph watched with interest. He was just as intrigued to discover what aroused him, what repulsed him, and what elicited no response at all. He was learning more and more about himself, but he knew none of this would cure him.

  The image of a voluptuous woman with breasts like beach balls flashed on to the screen and Joseph thought immediately of Alicia. He missed her, but her memory never brought him sadness. Quite the opposite. Remembering the beautiful zaftig Spanish woman who’d traveled with him to Seattle in search of a cure for his curse, the woman he’d eaten alive over the course of several hours and then completely consumed in a matter of days, always aroused him, and now was no exception. He reached into his loose-fitting, prison-issued pants and began to stroke his hardening penis, mindless of the officers and the professor watching him.

  More images of large naked women and dismembered corpses flashed before his eyes. Joseph jerked and tugged on his turgid flesh, licking his palm and rubbing the swollen head of his cock, feeling the orgasm build slowly within him. Then the images changed.

  The next photo was of the librarian, his first victim. It was a picture of her at a party wearing a low cut dress. The next photo was of charred bones on an autopsy table. He could only guess that they were the librarian’s remains. The next photo was of Frank, the masochistic homosexual Joseph kidnapped and dragged with him halfway to Tacoma to use as a snack. It was a crime scene photo of Frank’s body, still smoldering, still on the spit where Joseph had left him after devouring his meatiest parts. Joseph continued to masturbate, aroused by the memories the photos were allowing him to relive.