Intercepts

by T.J. Payne

However, the light coming from the cell at the end of the hall was dimmer. It had a red tint, as if the sun had set in that room and that room only. It was the color of light reflecting off liters and liters of blood.

“There’s a camera. Hidden in the light. She’s staring at it right now.” Joe looked at his screen, still that dark, swirling red color. Suddenly, it was clear to him — that dark, swirling, red-and-white pattern wasn’t just any pattern. It was blood. A sliced-up eye-socket. The eye blinked.

She was naked, but there wasn’t an inch of flesh coloring on her. She had peeled off most of her skin, which hung from her flailing body in large shredded chunks. And she wasn’t done. Her hands continued digging deeper and deeper into her flesh, searching for that source of her pain, and pulling out anything that got in her way.

He loaded up the profile of the supervisor from that facility. He really liked her. She was a spitfire. Incredibly sharp and resourceful. West Point grad. Best supervisor that Aguirre ever worked with. He missed her. He looked at her photo. Her long dark hair and strong face. She was dead now. Her name was Claire Thompson. But Aguirre actually admitted that the name “Bishop” suited her better.