Prey Drive (7 page)

There was no delaying it any longer now. It was time to read Selene’s letter. If the perverted guards were still watching after he’d masturbated, at least they wouldn’t think that it was something in the letter that was getting him off. If they ever thought that, Joe was certain the letters would suddenly stop coming.

Joe ripped open the pink, perfume-and-pussy-scented envelope. Selene’s neat, elegant handwriting greeted him. Joe was aware that his isolation from the rest of the world was affecting his perspective. He was aware that he was grateful for any contact with a woman and writing letters to someone you couldn’t see or touch was different than having a conversation with someone sitting in front of you. Letters could be rewritten a dozen times to get just the right wording. In real life, people were rarely so thoughtful and eloquent. In real life, there were myriad distractions—work, friends, family, and other women. Locked up, there was no one for Joe to think about but Selene. She had his undivided attention. As a result, the amorous emotions he was developing toward her were highly suspect though no less profound. He had to work hard to suppress them, but it was getting harder and harder each day.

This was why so many lonely women wrote to men in prison. An inmate was a captive audience. There was no competition for an inmate’s affections. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Despite Joe’s attempts at caution, he sucked in a deep breath and his chest and face flushed with warmth when he read the first words of the letter. 

Dear Joseph,

I LOVE YOU!!! I know we haven’t spent much time together, but I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime. I still have the painting you did for me when we first met at the university and all the sketches you’ve done since (including the naughty ones. Tee hee!) You are such an amazing artist. So full of passion! It still blows me away that I could inspire that in someone. I wish it had been me (redacted). I would want nothing more than to feed your tremendous appetite.

I had a dream about you the other day. In the dream, I was lain out on a table and you were—(redacted)

I have been thinking hard about your request and I would LOVE to help. It’s funny, because I’d been trying hard to think of ways for us to be together and everything I could imagine was just … well … extreme. I’ve hired a lawyer to help. I never told you, but my family has a bit of money. That’s how I was able to come see you before they banned me. My dad gave me the money for the plane ticket. I just work as a model because I think I should make my own money. You want to know something funny? I have been getting more modeling jobs since I gained the weight. Beautiful plus-sized models are in high demand right now.

Anyway, my lawyer will be filing a motion for a new trial based on your public defender’s incompetence. That should hasten our reunion. I can’t wait to (redacted). You’re all I can think about. You’re my very own cannibal Casanova. I love you sooo much!

Love,

Selene

Joe read the letter three times. As much as it pissed him off that the guards had cut out so much of the letter, he could fill in the blanks. He grabbed the loose leaf paper he’d set aside to dry and began writing his response. He was hopeful for the first time since his incarceration. Freedom now seemed more than possible. It seemed inevitable. Even if he had to die to do it, he’d be free one way or the other. He began the letter with his usual sappy, overly romantic flourish. He’d always been a fan of Lord Byron and the longer he was incarcerated, the more he lost touch with reality and imagined himself as a Byronesque romantic hero.

My Luscious Dream Girl,

I miss you so much. The taste of you haunts my dreams. Every waking moment is spent dreaming of holding you in my arms and making you feel like the most desirable woman in the world. You are my universe now, my only connection with the world. You are my only hope for normalcy in a world of madness and chaos. No one understands me but you. I knew you were the one from the moment I painted your picture. The passion you inspired in me then, the hunger you inspire in me now, is every bit as powerful as what I felt for Alicia.

I can’t wait to see you again. I cannot wait. Even if the world stands between us, I will find my way to you. With your help, we will be together again.

Sincerely,

Your Cannibal Casanova,

Joseph Miles.

Cannibal Casanova sounded so ridiculous that Joe was happy he was writing it rather than trying to force the words out past his lips. He’d never be able to say it with a straight face. But he knew enough about women to know that Selene would be delighted he’d adopted her little pet-name for him, silly and embarrassing as it was. Joe needed her now, so he was willing to say or do whatever it took to further endear her to him. Besides, his emotions were out of control. He didn’t know what he felt. Isolation had made him needy, dependent, every bit the sappy romantic he was pretending to be. Selene elicited a confusion of emotions within him from lust to love to raw, carnal hunger. He didn’t know if he wanted to eat her, fuck her, or marry her. Worst of all, he still missed Alicia.

As long as Joe remained in supermax, his chances for escape remained hopeless, but if Selene’s lawyers could get him transferred to general population, he’d have many chances. The problem was his record for violence. Getting him transferred was going to be tricky.

Part II

Braised Buttocks in Wine Sauce 

2 ¼ pounds of gluteus maximus (buttocks), trimmed and skinned (female preferred) 

1 ½ cups dry white wine 

2 celery stalks, finely chopped 

1 carrot, peeled and chopped 

1 white onion, coarsely chopped 

1/3 orange with peel intact, thickly sliced 

4 whole star anise 

1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns 

2 tablespoons olive oil 

2 cups veal stock Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste 

2 tablespoons unsalted butter 

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar 

Place buttocks in a large bowl and toss with the wine, celery, carrots, onions, orange, star anise, and black peppercorns, making sure that the meat is coated in the wine. Cover and refrigerate for at least 8 hours. 

Remove the buttocks from the marinade, pat dry with a paper towel, and set aside. Strain the marinade into a small bowl and reserve. 

Warm the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Add the buttocks and sear for 2 to 3 minutes on each side, or until evenly browned. Add the marinating liquid and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes or until the liquid has reduced by half. Add veal stock; season with salt and pepper to taste. Bring to a boil once more, then reduce the heat to low and cover the saucepan. Gently simmer for 2 hours, or until buttocks are very tender throughout. Long slow cooking gives the meat an unctuous quality and rich succulent taste. Stir in sherry vinegar. Serve drizzled with sauce.

Nine 

There was an announcement over the PA system. “Inmate number 177252! Miles! You’ve got a visitor!”

It wasn’t lost on Joe that his prison number was the same as the late Jeffrey Dahmer’s. It was an inside joke between the inmates and the COs. Minutes after the announcement, Joe heard the sound of boots on the tier, heading toward his cell. There were only three people on Joe’s visitors list: Selene, his lawyer, and his cousin. Between the three of them, Selene was the only one he would have been excited to see. But getting out of his cell for even half an hour was reason for excitement.

“On your knees! Hands against the wall, Joe. You’re coming out.”

Joe did as he was instructed. He knelt down with his hands against the bare concrete wall. Two guards walked in and cuffed his wrists and ankles. One of the guards, a big, muscular black officer named Officer Belton was the same one who usually took him to see Professor Locke. He delivered Joe’s mail, brought him his meals, and took him for his thrice weekly showers and hour-a-day trips to what could loosely be called an exercise yard. In supermax, the guards did everything. There were no trustees to clean floors, hand out mail and library books, or bring the inmates their meals. The COs did that and they resented it. They often complained that they felt like servants to the inmates. Piss one of them off though, and you might not get your mail or a library book for days, and you might even miss trips to the exercise yard or even a few meals. Joe had seen inmates die in their cells because a CO refused to take them to see a doctor, tired of hearing them bitch and moan. The guards were your only lifeline and they could pinch it off at any moment and leave you in your cell to rot.

Joe felt Belton’s disgust and disdain radiating like heat from his skin. He hated the idea of doing anything for a serial killer. He believed in the Old Testament law “an eye for an eye” and Joe knew the man thought he should have been put to death for his crimes, not locked up and treated like a celebrity. Joe agreed with him; he should have been executed. This was much, much worse.

The other officer who walked in with Belton was a woman Joe hadn’t seen before. She was older than Joe by at least ten years and had a sad look about her, like she expected the world to hurt her. She reminded Joe of the school librarian from the college he used to attend, the one who had become his first victim, in spirit if not in appearance. She was pear-shaped with large hips and a plump ass, but breasts that were just barely discernible through her uniform. Not Joe’s usual type, but something about her triggered his appetite. He couldn’t stop staring at her. She had big, brown eyes that looked sad and wounded. Her skin was so pale it was almost the color of milk, but there was not a blemish on it except for a scar on her chin and one on her forehead that Joe assumed she’d gotten from fights with inmates. She had thick brown hair pulled back into a French braid and she wore glasses. Joe looked her over from head to toe, slowly, wanting her to see that he was appraising her. When he saw her watching him, he licked his lips and winked. When she blushed and averted her eyes, he knew there was something there.

“You’ve got a visitor, Joe,” Officer Belton said bitterly. His tone was filled with regret, as if he lamented the fact that Joe had any human contact outside of the guards.

“My lawyer?”

“No. A woman. Two women, actually.”

Selene?
Joe wondered. Had they lifted the ban and allowed her to visit him again? It seemed unlikely, but Joe could not stop himself from hoping. Maybe her lawyers had worked some magic to get the restrictions lifted.

“Are you new?” Joe asked the female officer.

“Huh? Umm, yeah. I just got transferred in.” She was blushing again.

“From where?”

“Pelican Bay. I just moved to Seattle.”

“Welcome. We can use a pretty face around here to brighten the mood.” Joe found himself easily slipping into predator mode, saying all the right things, luring his prey. He smiled and she smiled back. He was in. It was well-known that female guards were much more likely to fraternize with male inmates than male guards were with female inmates. Rumors of female corrections officers having affairs with inmates were common. Forty-seven percent of all sexual abuse cases in prison involved women employees and male inmates. Joe was well aware of the statistics. A lot of women are drawn to dangerous men. There’s a strong correlation between fear and sexual arousal. That correlation accounted for most of Joe’s fan mail. It also explained why many women were drawn to the job. Many of the women who worked in prison were lonely thrill-seekers and Joe knew that, if nothing else, he was pretty damn thrilling.

Officer Belton caught the exchange between Joe and the guard and cut it off quickly. “You shut the fuck up, Miles. Unless you want to wind up in a strip cell instead of seeing your visitors. You give Officer Addison the same respect you give me. You hear?”

“Yes, sir.” Joe nodded and turned his gaze away from Officer Addison, but not before giving her another smile. She smiled back sheepishly and giggled a little.

Officer Belton looked like he wanted to commit murder. He clearly did not approve of the flirtation. “Move!’

Joe shuffled forward with Officer Addison on one side and Officer Belton on the other. They reached a locked metal door at the end of the tier. Officer Belton pressed the intercom button and was buzzed through without saying a word. There were cameras everywhere and the officer in the control booth could already see who was at the door. Joe was led down a hallway into an elevator.

As he stood in the elevator beside the two officers, Joe allowed his eyes to roam again. The mousy new corrections officer was not bad looking. She wasn’t gorgeous by any stretch of the imagination, but she did have the sort of round, plump rear he liked. Her breasts, however, were a disappointment. She was barely a B-cup. Joe kept staring at them as if he could will them to grow. Beneath her diminutive breasts was the swell of a belly likely enlarged from childbirth. Even her pelvis bulged outward like a second stomach. She had well-rounded hips and thick thighs, but paradoxically, her arms and shoulders were thin. The one thing that almost tipped her over into beautiful were those big, sad, watery eyes, puppy-dog eyes. They were the eyes of a victim, the eyes of prey. A cologne of misery filled the air around her. It was obvious she’d been hurt before, probably many times.

Joe inhaled deeply of the pheromones wafting from Officer Addison. He could smell the sweat beneath her arms mixed with antiperspirant and rose-scented perfume, the moistness between her thighs, and something deeper, more primal, elemental, the scent of her soul. Her spirit was an echo of power, the faded remnants of some chaotic force like the smoldering embers after a forest fire with the potential to reignite into an inferno. The monster surged, roaring and raging to be fed. Joe wondered if the new officer was really as attractive as she seemed to him now or if it was just the long months of confinement without seeing a single female. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that’s nothing compared to what it did to the sex drive … or the prey drive.