Prisoner 22 Has Escaped

March 23^rd. Prisoner 22 had been detained, finally. Her room was ready, had been for a while. High-security, at least one guard present outside at all times. The guard needed a second guard to open the door, which hermetically sealed the room. An airflow came from a vent in the ceiling, too high and too small to get through. They could control everything. This bitch wasn’t getting out any time soon. They’d break her. They’d get to know exactly what her secrets were.

The short, slight woman was carried into the room by her underarms, her hands and feet shackled together, head lolling. The jumpsuit she wore was plain, dark grey in colour and baggy. The guards holding her sat her on the bed. An injection to the throat had made sure she wasn’t going to run. Because she was slippier than oil, and harder to pin down than water. It would take a couple of hours for her to come around, but this time they were ready for her.

She knew she’d messed up as soon as she’d stepped into the dark warehouse. This had been where she’d planned to capture the insurgent group’s leader and teach him or her a lesson no-one would forget. She knew there’d be at least one police officer there, maybe even five… but the entire police force? That had been a surprise. She cursed inwardly as the warehouse was flooded with light and about twenty voices roared at her to put the guns down. She sighed and held up her hands, dropping the guns. With a roll of her eyes, she conceded defeat and allowed two officers to detain her. Her weapons removed, her body fully-searched by two female officers, she was locked up in the back of a van and carted off to some undisclosed location. They’d knocked her out fairly soon after, and when she woke up she was in a single room, a white-walled room with minimal furniture and a window so high up she wondered what the point of it was, other than to regulate her circadian rhythm.

Looking around the place, she gave a small smile. They’d obviously gone to great lengths to ensure that she was unable to get out. They’d gone to such lengths and still managed to underestimate her. It was cute. Sweet. Endearing. She wondered how much money they’d spent on it. As she sat up, she learned that they were watching her, because shortly after she’d stood up and tested her limbs out, the door buzzed loudly and opened.

“You’re awake.” A tall man stepped inside. He was pin-neat, a white coat over a white shirt and a light blue tie. Three pens sat in his chest pocket, and a watch on his wrist gleamed silver. His hair was pin-neat too, combed over and neatly parted. His glasses perfected his face. His patient said nothing. “Excellent. I’m Dr Carter.” He gestured to the bed. She understood she had to sit. So she did. And she pulled the blankets around herself. He pulled out a folding chair and sat. “Can you tell me your name?”

“I think you know who I am.” She kept her face impassive.

“I know what you’re known as on the streets, yes. But I’d like your real name.”

“That is my real name.” She stared at him. “Say it.”

“It’s in both of our interests if I don’t call you… that.”

“Say it.”

“Your real name, please.”

“Say it.”

“Alright. Karma. Please may I have your real name?”

“No. You can call me Karma.” She gave him a smile.

“Alright then.” Carter made a note of something on his clipboard and sighed. “I presume you know why you’re here.”

“I presume you’re here to figure out what makes me tick? What makes me… me?” She mused. “And I assume you’re here to understand what makes my mind work?”

“I’m here to assess you and understand why you’ve done the things you’ve done.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not one of them, as much as you like to pretend.” She smiled sweetly at him. “You’re a psych. Dr Cory Carter… the handsome young clinical psychiatrist who graduated school early due to a brilliance Harvard has never seen before in the field… and yet, instead of devoting your magnificent mind to science, you’ve chosen… criminals.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Baffling, really.”

“How so?”

“Mmm, you’ll have to do more than that if you want your answers. Be smart, doctor. Be clever. I don’t give anything away for free.” Her eyes glinted as she spoke. Carter wrote something else on his notepad.

“I’m here to assess you. To see what help you need before the judge sentences you to death, shortly. And to understand how a criminal mind works.”

“And you’ve come to the best, I assume?”

“Certainly the worst.” Carter wrote something else on his notepad. Her curiosity wasn’t piqued. He stood after a moment. “I’ll see you daily. It’ll be in your best interests to be honest with me. You get three meals a day, and you’ll have the opportunity to use the bathroom twice per day. The toilet three times. Everything about you will be monitored. Everything.”

“Well, I hope they’re ready for a good show.” She grinned at him, and lay herself down. “Off you go.”

Day 1 – “Karma”

Patient 22 displays immediate self-assuredness, narcissism, and high levels of confidence. Initial blood tests show normal cortisol levels, suggesting an ability to work under extreme levels of stress. Neither blood nor urine samples show any drug use. 22 is incredibly healthy, although her body is covered with scars. Some suggest evidence of self-harm, others reminiscent of battle. No information given yet. 22 appears to be completely at-ease in her current surroundings.

The door buzzed loudly again. She remained as she was, lying in her bed. The spring nights were drawing out. Carter stepped inside.

“Good evening, Dr Carter,” she smiled, making no effort to move.

“Good evening, Karma.” Carter unfolded his chair again and sat himself down. “How about a name?” He’d acknowledged several differences in Karma each time he’d seen her. But still, her name was a bone of contention.

“Hmm… what about… Oak?” she looked at him. “I’m getting a little restless, doctor. You’re the only one who comes in and speaks to me… the guards aren’t so nice.” He made a note. “But you… well, you’re as tall as an oak, and if you gave me a chance and let those psychologist’s barriers down, I’d climb all the way to the top.”

“So I can safely assume you’re heterosexual?”

“Sweetheart, pleasure is pleasure.” She winked at him. “And you know, the best sex you’ll have is with a woman who desperately wants to feel empowered… try a politician’s wife. They’re usually left out to dry…” she ran her tongue over her teeth.

“Hmm.” Carter wrote something else on the clipboard. She’d been there for three weeks, and he knew virtually nothing about her, still. “Tell me about your parents.”

“Both dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. Neither of them were any good. Always shouting, always yelling at each other… I think half the time they forgot I existed. They soon remembered when their darling little angel daughter took a knife to their throats as they slept.” She grinned at whatever memory was passing through her head. “I guess I’m the reason they say don’t have kids…”

“You killed your parents?”

“What else was I going to do? Sit there and suffer? I was nine years old and they left me unchecked, watching true crime documentaries half the time. You learn.”

“What did you learn?”

“Wear gloves when handling anything at a murder site. Burn it all afterwards. If there’s time, have fun with the police. A bloody footprint here. Make the victim hold the weapon… falsify some finger prints and send them on a wild goose chase…” she laughed. “Oh – and never, EVER let anyone know what the plan is.” She tapped her temple. “That’s rule number one.”

“So no-one ever knew your plan?”

“Nope. Not until they had something to do. That way, they’d never know where anyone else was up to.” She looked at him. “Only I know all the details.”

“Alright. I think that’s enough for today.”

“You’ve been here eight minutes. Is that all I’m worth?”

“No. You’re worth much more… but I know when you’re playing games out of boredom, and I know when you want to co-operate.”

Day 22 – “Karma”

Still no given name. Detailed description of how her parents died. Seems likely that 22 has abandonment issues, control issues, anger issues and has been the victim of neglect. Some digging online reveals no education history, yet her crimes infer extensive knowledge and understanding of science – biology and chemistry prevailing over physics. Her spoken word is still flawless. Her behaviour in her room is not in line with the usual behaviour we see from other patients in the same situation. Mental resilience especially strong.

Day 48 – “Karma”

Detailed description of all the places someone can be shot or stabbed without killing them. 22 gave a detailed account of the two people she did both two. Both victims were known paedophiles, both had a history of abusing and grooming children. One took fifty-seven different stab wounds before 22 executed him, the other took 37 carefully-aimed gunshots. 22 therefore demonstrates a high aptitude in physics, to complement her biology and chemistry knowledge.

Still no sign of mental breakdown from confinement.

Day 107 – “Karma”

22 informed me that she is here of her own accord, and that being captured was her own plan. I am yet to understand why. She was reluctant to speak today. She continually asked me for the time when I asked her the questions given to me by the police. When I gave her the time, she simply laughed and shook her head. Her reply was ‘not yet’, and then she said nothing else.

Carter stepped into the room, but this time he didn’t give her any pleasantries. It was approaching her fourth month in confinement, and she still hadn’t given him anything to work with, aside from that she had a magnificent engineer brain and a thirst for killing people who deserved it. And yes, even with his own ethics, he understood why she killed who she did.

“Karma, I need your actual name today.” He tapped the side of her face as she slept. They’d chosen a different tack today. Get her while she was sleepy. Carter was also armed with a new syringes of ‘medication’, to make her feel sick and then to alleviate that. The Feds were getting sick of her now – they wanted answers.

“Five more minutes.”

“No, now.” Carter reached into his pocket for one of the nausea drugs, but he couldn’t bring himself to administer it. His own personal ethics had a lot against drugging a vulnerable woman, even if he did have the antidote to it, and even if he was being very carefully watched by three of his peers through a camera system.

“Ugh!” She sat up, rubbing her eyes in the harsh light. “What?!”

“Your name. Now.”

“Fine! My name’s Rose!” she leaned against the headboard and yawned widely.

“Thank you.” Carter had already unfolded his chair. “Rose. That’s much better.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because it’s time for our little chat. People are still going missing, Rose, and we need to know how you’re getting information to the outside.” She merely smiled.

“Oh, sweet boy,” she murmured, yawning again. She stood from the bed after a moment and stretched. “Did you not believe me when I told you that this was my plan all along? I don’t need to be out there right now. It’s too dangerous… and the police need to look good, after all.” She laughed and straddled him, making the small chair groan. “Ask me what you really want to know about.”

“Well,” Carter murmured. “I need you to tell me about the flayed body we found in warehouse six, on the west-side docks.” He looked a little green around the gills. She grinned.

“Ah… yes… had the embalming worked?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Not so much. Unfortunately… no. I gave you a way to identify him, after all.”

“People are still going missing.”

“Of course they are. It’s all part of the plan, after all.” She stroked the side of his face. Since they’d found the body in the warehouse, packed inside a wooden crate, standing freely, they’d all felt a little sick.

“So it was you, then? Who did that to him?”

“Yes. It was me.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I had to send a message the right people wouldn’t ignore. And it worked. You’ll notice that the crime rate since March has dropped… fifty-three percent? Well, when the leader of the insurgent group decided to fuck with me, I fucked with them. I always did want to see what would kill someone first if they didn’t have their skin. We removed the variable of infection. Everything was disinfected and sterile at all times… only three people knew about it… what do you think killed him?”

“I don’t think I’d like to know.”

“It was actually mental. See, we kept his heart-rate constant. But as soon as we stopped pumping him with pain relief… well, you can imagine how it must have felt to have every single nerve ending not only exposed, but effectively cut at the end…” she started to laugh. Carter nearly threw up. “His heart almost exploded. Fascinating, really.”

“That… that’s sickening…”

“Yes, it is. But someone has to do this shit, otherwise the world would be one big ball of crime and there’d be no safety. You ought to be thanking me, really. Those guys were going to commit several terrorist attacks all over the country…” she shrugged. Carter fought back the urge to vomit.

“So that’s your goal? To stop crime? You’re some vigilante who gets off on killing people imaginatively?”

“Well, when you put it like that… yeah.” She grinned. “Now, when are they sentencing me? I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not getting out of here.” Carter lifted her off him.

Day 200 – Rose “Karma”

22 is baffling. She is unpredictable and sometimes uncontrollable. I would say the cracks are starting to show, but there has been no linear breakdown in her mental clarity, despite being detained in confinement for six months. She appears to do well entirely alone. Brain scans while sedated appear to show abnormal brain activity, much higher than usual. Psychiatric evaluation is ongoing. I am leaning towards labelling her a savant in the field of science.

Day 250 – Rose “Karma”

22 is somehow getting information to and from the outside world. She has been scanned several times for some kind of communication chip, but nothing has been found. Guards are being interrogated to ensure they’re not working for her. Eight months in, and she still appears normal, for her baseline. 22 confided in me that she’s fallen in love with one of the guards working her day shift. He brings her lunch each day, but he doesn’t smile at her. She thinks she killed his sister one time, but cannot be sure. I didn’t give her his name, but she seems hell-bent on getting information out of me.

Day 300 – Rose Whitfield, “Karma”

22 gave me her surname today, although I cannot believe it is her real surname as online databases returned no hits. She informed me that she was born in Colorado, but this doesn’t explain the British English twang to her voice.

She asked for more food for her breakfast. Further blood tests suggest that her various levels are decreasing below what is optimal, but as she’s for Death Row, there’s no chance of her meals being changed so late. Another two months of observation, and I will have enough for my final thesis. Her mind is a work of art.

Day 330 – Rose Whitfield-Baker, “Karma”

22 appears to trust me. Her mind is magnificent. She can recall facts with dizzying detail, and her problem-solving and planning skills are unparalleled. We focused on some computer-based tasks today, under heavy supervision. She excelled at all of them. She gave us the name of her gang. When I asked her why, she told me that she needed to get rid of them because their time was done. I informed the police, but their search efforts were in vain. The evening guard informed me that she’d asked him to tell me I was ridiculous for believing her. Have I learned nothing about her?

Day 356 – Rose White, “Karma”

22 is unpredictable. Today, she appeared shaken. She confided in me about a nightmare she’d had. According to her (somewhat unreliable) baseline, I believe she’s telling the truth. Mental resilience is still sound, and she is still able to function normally alone. I asked her how this is possible. She informed me that her thoughts are interesting enough to keep her from noticing how painfully slow time goes.

“It’s almost been a year since I was in here, you know. Two more days.” She watched him from her seat on the floor.

“You’re keeping track of the days.”

“I’ve kept a mental count of them, yes.” She shrugged. “I’ll be leaving soon. It would be nice to have you around. I’ll miss you, otherwise”

“Around you? Out there? Don’t be silly, Rose.” Carter smiled at him. “I’m your psychiatrist. I’m here to uphold the law, not help a patient break it.”

“Don’t talk like one of them. You’re not one of them. You’ll join me.” She smiled at him. Carter ended the session. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps he ought to have suggested they shackle her to the bed that night…

Day 365 – “Karma”

Patient 22 has escaped.