Marcus Pelegrimas - The Breaking

“Hell no. The bad night came later. I was still buzzin’ after that bj in the car when I took her out for a night on the town.” Lambert’s sunken features brightened as he said, “Big thick burger with all the toppings. Ice cream shakes at a drive-in. Snuck into a movie.”

Cole felt a warm rumble in his stomach, and his fingers scraped against the floor a little harder. “Sounds classic.”

“It was, man. It really was. We topped it off with her blowin’ me again in the alley next to a tattoo shop.”

So much for classic.

“Does your cell have markings on the floor?” Cole asked.

“Uh-huh. Walls and ceiling too. Ain’t very good reading, though.”

“Do you know what they mean?”

“Probably left by someone that was here before.” Lambert craned his neck to look above him and all around. “I think maybe this prison’s been here a long time. At least the building has. Dunno if it was a prison the whole time. Think these marks are some kind of writing. Could just be graffiti for all I know. Some of these gangs tag with dragons and others use Chinese letters. I bet that guard with the stick put some of them there. Or maybe Waylon. They mean something to him. Touches them every time he opens or closes the door.”

Cole had revealed half of the symbol on the floor by now. He hadn’t learned enough to decipher it completely, but it was definitely similar to the ones carved into the wall on the main floor of Lancroft’s house. He ran his fingers along the rune but didn’t get his hopes up. As suspected, nothing happened. Most of the runes were put down like a circuit designed for protection or defense, and only a few were activators. If he had time, he might be able to remember enough to figure something out. He winced at the notion that he might have all the time he could ever want. Anxious to distract himself, he asked, “Who’s Waylon?”

“Dude who runs G7.”

Cole nodded, pulled himself up from where he’d been squatting, and grunted at the pain of his insides shifting within the constricting tendrils wrapped around them. His stitched incision wasn’t exactly tickling either. “Serious looking guy who dresses like a high school principal?”

“That’s the one. Usually carries a clipboard. Anyway, this gal with the sweet mouth I was tellin’ you about was wearin’ a tight little skirt,” Lambert mused. “Know what I did after I blew my load?”

“Nope.”

“I set her up on some boxes, stepped up and …What are you doin’ over there?”

Cole had stood up and walked over to the wall on the left side of his cell. The solid sheet of rock was smooth and covered with runes that were so faded they could barely be seen. Scratches marred the wall’s surface, but the runes were either too deeply imprinted to be broken or simply unable to be interrupted by something as ordinary as a set of claws or sharpened piece of metal. He thought about the symbols he’d seen in Henry’s room at the Lancroft Reformatory, which had remained intact even after a werewolf scratched at them. Plus, there was no reason to think any activators would be inside the cell with a prisoner. More than likely, the runes were meant to seal the cell, strengthen it, or whatever the hell else a witch doctor might do to keep his subjects in line.

Since Lambert had drifted away from Memory Lane for a moment, Cole tried to steer him back on course by asking, “Did you tell Sweet Lips you loved her?”

“Nah. I hiked up that skirt, pulled them hot little panties aside and ate her out right then and there.”

Nodding while forcing half a smile onto his face, Cole said, “Nice one.”

“It sure was. She didn’t even need to ask me to go downtown or nothin’. That’s how I knew it was love. You got anyone like that on the outside?”

Even if he’d known the guy well enough, he truly didn’t want to talk about Paige. Just thinking of the last time he’d seen her caused him to twitch. She insisted he hand himself over to the authorities so they could help him. Apparently, the plan had been for those men to try and remove the Nymar tendrils, but that went real bad real quick, and Paige was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she truly didn’t know what had happened, but that didn’t make him feel much better.

Anxious to divert his attention, if only for a moment, Cole leaned against a wall, crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “So you and Sweet Lips had some breath mints and lived happily ever after?”

“Even better, man. I took her by the hand and led her into that tattoo shop. She said somethin’ somewhere along the line about likin’ ladybugs, so I got them inked on me. And since I already kissed her in all the right spots, I thought I’d commemorate that too.”

Cole realized that his guess about the lip marks hadn’t been exactly right, but it was close enough.

“That’s some good work on your neck,” Lambert said.

Cole took another look down at the markings. They were the same as last time and still hadn’t moved. That was a little bit of good news.

“You got any ink on yer ribs?”

“No,” Cole replied. “At least, not since the last time I checked.”

“Ha! Gettin’ inked there ain’t easy, I can tell you that much. The buzz I was on lasted for about the first five minutes or so and then it was just me and that prick with the electric needle in his hand. I got it done, blazed through a chunk of credit I had on my Visa, and then went out to show my new lady with the magic mouth. Know what she said?”

A slight young man in hospital scrubs approached the pair of guards at the far end of the hall without a word of acknowledgment and then stepped into the elevator. “What did she say?” Cole asked.

“She told me that Sarah ain’t spelled with an H. You ever hear of that? All that hell I went through, all that ink I got drilled into me, all that lickin’ I did outside the shop, and she tells me I spelled Sarah the wrong way. I demanded that bitch show me her driver’s license just to make sure she wasn’t giving me a hard time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Tracing his hands along the ribbon lettering, Lambert finally slapped his ribs and winced as though the ink was still fresh. “She was right. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Sara. Right there in black and white. No H.”

“Did you try to get the tattoo fixed?”

“Nah. I stole the bitch’s purse and ran like hell.” Grinning from ear-to-ear as he situated his jumpsuit and sealed it up, he added, “Made it all the way to the mountains.”

“Is that how you wound up here?”

“Hell no! I was dragged away after reading the minds of some rich folks in Aspen.”

“Were they thinking anything interesting?”

“Don’t recall,” Lambert said with a shrug.

“More weed and Jim Beam?”

“Nah. I just don’t remember. This night, though,” he said, while patting the side where his Sweet Sarah Sunshine resided, “is one I won’t never forget. I dream about those lips of hers. So what about you? What’s your story?”

“I killed a building full of vampires in Denver. They framed me for killing cops and made sure I was caught for it.”

Lambert’s eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Now that sounds like a helluva good day!”

“Not really, but maybe you should put a good word in for me at my parole hearing.”

“Parole hearing?” Lambert grunted. “What’s that? Nobody on this floor gets to see the outside again unless it’s by an act of God. Come to think of it,” he added while rolling his eyes up to look at the low ceiling, “maybe that’s what the G in G7 stands for.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Can’t remember. The more mind readin’ I try to do, the more of my own crap up here gets wiped clean,” the other prisoner said while tapping his forehead.