On Sat, 18 Jan 97, S.T.M.Newman wrote: Dear Chris, Andrew etc Here's #22 - sorry about the long wait! Hope you enjoy it. CHAPTER 22 Cliffhanger: > Thursday 17th November 1983 >Myra: "Okay, what gives?" > Lynn: "It's Leach. I need your help. She'd trying to use me to get information >on you..." Chapter 22. Saturday 19th November 1983 01:12hrs, WENTWORTH DETENTION CENTRE. Officer Cynthia Leach checked on the new prisoner in Solitary - convicted murderer, name of Bev Baker. Ugly looking bitch - seemed to be sleeping soundly. Cynthia shut the viewing slit on the cell door, and headed down the stairs towards H-Block. The women should all be asleep by now. It was time for a treat... She stopped at the door to Lynn McFadden's cell, unlocked it, and went in, glancing over the darkened cell with its single bed. The noise and light woke McFadden, who sat up in bed, blinking, her too-large pyjamas slipping from her right shoulder. She flinched back fearfully as she caught sight of Cynthia, who advanced menacingly, speaking: "All right McFadden, time for your body search. Strip." McFadden shook her head, her eyes wide. Cynthia was amused: "Stupid little slut - if that's how you want to play it..." She leant close over McFadden, grabbed the front of her pyjamas and pulled them open, the buttons popping. Cynthia's leer was grotesque in the half-light. Then McFadden lunged - her left hand shot out, grabbing Cynthia's short hair, pulling her head back, while her right hand came out from under the covers, holding a gleaming kitchen-knife, its edge razor-sharp, holding it to Cynthia's throat. Cynthia had been too shocked to even react - now it was McFadden's face which seemed twisted in hate, mixed with febrile triumph: "You bitch you're gonna pay gonna kill you..." She pushed Cynthia back, getting to her feet, her fingers holding tight to Cynthia's hair and the black plastic of the knife handle. Cynthia remained silent, even as the knife pressed against her throat, drawing a bead of blood. McFadden spoke again, calmer now: "But first you're going to help me - us. Take me to Myra's cell." * * * 01:22hrs Myra and Reb were waiting, fully dressed, when their cell door opened and Cynthia Leach was pushed through, McFadden right behind. Myra gave Cynthia a look of disgusted contempt, Reb ignored the officer and turned to McFadden: "Good work, Lynn." She spoke with a degree of unaccustomed warmth. McFadden shrugged, slightly embarrassed at the younger woman's praise. "S'okay - thanks for the knife. You put a good edge on it..." Then she shuddered, delayed shock kicking in, remembering that she was half-naked, and remembering why. Oh Christ... Myra gently took the knife from her hand, keeping guard over Cynthia as Lynn sat down on the nearest bed, shivering, knotting the ends of her pyjamas together in a makeshift tie. Cynthia meanwhile had recovered her equanimity at the sight of Myra - Myra was known to be a soft touch, wasn't she? "You fool, Desmond - think this will get you anywhere? Give it up..." "Shut it, you bitch!" Myra hissed. She really, really hated this woman, this creature that epitomised all that was wrong with the System. Myra didn't know if she could kill Cynthia in cold blood, but she suspected Lynn could - and with good reason. Reb spoke, tugging up her collar, as Lynn got to her feet: "Okay, let's go. Leach, you're taking us to the armoury, then to your car. You're driving us out of here." Cynthia suppressed a grin - she didn't drive. And these morons thought they were so clever... she decided to let them find that out in their own time. * * * 01:31, Armoury. Cynthia found the right key after what seemed an age, and the armoury door swung open. Myra pushed her in, Lynn followed. Reb entered last, glancing over the shotgun rack, the truncheons, and the pistol locker. Myra kept the knife to Cynthia's throat as she opened the weapons locker, then pushed her aside. The women hurriedly armed themselves, Myra taking a big old Colt .45 semi-automatic, Lynn nervously selecting a smaller .38 revolver. Reb scanned the assortment of pistols - the reliability of some looked highly doubtful. A few obviously hadn't been touched for years. "Miss Leach, is that you?" - A man's voice - Cruickshank! Reb and the others whirled round in panic as Officer Dennis Cruickshank appeared in the doorway, his expression turning from curiousity to amazement. What on Earth...? Reb grabbed for the nearest pistol, Lynn yelped, and raised her revolver at Cruickshank - and Cynthia struck, her left elbow smashing into Myra's face, her right hand tearing the .45 from Myra's grasp, fumbling for the trigger, as Myra staggered against the wall, blood streaming from her nose. Dennis froze for a second, then as Lynn turned to see what was happening behind her, he threw himself towards Reb, who was bringing up another revolver from the locker... for a split second Reb had a clear shot at Cruickshank - then he reached her, grabbing her right wrist with both hands, wrenching her arm up, her grip on the gun loosening... Behind her, Lynn saw Myra incapacitated, Cynthia raising the big .45 to fire... Lynn pulled the trigger. The revolver kicked, the noise deafening in the cramped armoury. Blood appeared on Cynthia's jacket. She'd been hit. Lynn fired again, another loud report, another bullet thudding into Cynthia, more blood on her jacket. She staggered back, grinning as she raised the .45... BLAM!! Myra shook her head, fighting against the red haze. To her right Reb struggled with Cruickshank - an unequal struggle, he had knocked the pistol from her hand, was twisting her arm behind her back... to Myra's left, now, she saw Cynthia, swaying, three bullets in her, red stains marking stomach, chest and left shoulder. McFadden leant against the weapons locker... leant? Myra could see her eyes staring blankly, the ugly black hole making a third eye in the centre of her forehead. Myra became aware that she was still holding the kitchen knife. Cynthia saw it too, and twisted round, trying to aim her pistol. She was making an odd gurgling sound, there was blood on her lips - but her eyes blazed. For Cynthia, this was the moment she had always been waiting for... "NO!" Myra screamed, throwing herself forward - knife against gun. She seemed to be watching herself from a distance - did she mean 'no' to McFadden's death, or to her own? She watched as Cynthia's finger tightened on the trigger, as the shot went wide, as her knife plunged deep into Cynthia's chest, and blood gushed. Dennis struggled with Reb, trying to subdue her. She was fighting like a wildcat. His head ringing from the gunshots, he saw Myra plunge the knife into Cynthia Leach, saw them fall together. Then he gasped in pain as Reb's left fist thumped into his groin. His grip on her arm loosened - but not enough. Before she could strike again, he shoved her against the wall, winding her. By 'eck, what the Hell was he going to do now - bludgeon her unconscious? She could have killed him... "That's enough, Mr Cruickshank. Step away from her." Myra was pointing the Colt .45 at him. Would she shoot him? Her voice was surprisingly firm - blood was still flowing from her noise, mixing with the blood that soaked her shirt. Cynthia's blood. Dennis stepped away from Reb, raising his hands. Damn. Reb slumped against the wall for an instant, then recovered, tugging up her collar. The old wound in her thigh was throbbing - had it been torn open? She looked at Myra, looked at the body of Lynn McFadden. Because of her, another person was dead. She looked at the body of Cynthia Leach, the kitchen knife jutting from her sternum. Shit. The Department wasn't going to like that. Dennis spoke, trying to sound persuasive: "Look, the guards outside will have heard those shots - they'll be here any minute. Why don't you just give it up now..." "Save it," interjected Reb. She glanced at Myra, who seemed eerily calm. Reb retrieved the revolver she had dropped, looking up at Dennis. Why hadn't she shot him? Didn't matter. She spoke: "Sorry, Cruickshank." Her voice was quite soft. "But Myra and me, we don't have anything much left to live for anymore - nothing in here, anyway." She glanced down at Lynn's body - Lynn had had something, someone worth living for. Maybe if Cynthia hadn't killed her, they'd be surrendering right now. But as it was, there was no longer any point. She went on: "Chances are the gate guards won't be too sure of what they heard, just yet. So there's still time for you to drive us out of here in that nice car of yours..." Her voice hardened as she waved the pistol in his general direction. "Savvy?" Dennis tried again: "Look, I don't know why you want out so badly, but can it be worth spending the rest of your life in here? Like you say, there's nothing for you here..." This time it was Myra who spoke, sighing: "That's okay, Mr Cruickshank. One way or another, I don't think we're coming back." She gestured to the door. "Now, let's take that car ride..." * * * "He used to give me roses..." -Okay Andrew, your turn again! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Prisoner Cell Block H Mailing List. He used to give me roses....... pcbh@chewy.demon.co.uk http://www.chewy.demon.co.uk/pcbh/ Team AMIGA --------------------------------------------------------------------------------