Knife through the tendons, between the joint, just like boning a chicken. There. Nice work. All blood is gone, no muss, no fuss. A fitting epitaph? Burn in hell little man.

What’s this sensation running through me? Is this freedom? Freedom! You’re free at last, little girl! Ethan said you couldn’t do it.

“Ethan, you colossal prick, I’ll survive to see you rot. It’ll take a hell of lot more than you to kill me.”

ONE

* * * *

Genpath Laboratories, Southern California, 2000

* * * *

Joe wasn’t happy. The neuroscientist’s plans for a relaxing evening with his girlfriend were just ruined by Lydia Loy, his boss. Slamming the door to Lydia’s office, he stalked down the hall to the security desk where a beefy, young red-haired man sat eating Chinese ramen soup from a Styrofoam cup.

“Where’s the sergeant?”

The guard looked up, broth and undulating noodles dribbling down his chin, at the tall, dark, angry man in front of him. “Upstairs.”

“Get him down here.”

“He’s got rounds.”

“Get him the fuck down here, now!”

“Yes, Doctor.” The guard picked up the phone and hit a button. “Sarge? Kramer here. You’re needed. Nah, she’s the same. One of the Docs… I’ll tell him… ” The guard looked up at Joe. “He’ll be down in about twenty minutes.”

“It’s imperative I see the female subject immediately. Tell him now or I’ll report him to Dr. Loy.”

“It’s real important Sarge… Right, I’ll tell him.” The guard hung up the receiver. “He’s coming.”

Joe set down his briefcase and medical bag, rapping his fingers impatiently against the gray granite desk. He glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. Shit, he was supposed to be at Jean’s place at eight. He’d never make it. Why did he have to go in there tonight? He was exhausted from setting up the new lab all day. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with that thing in the cell. He wanted to be fully alert when he went in there for the first time. On top of that he felt a migraine coming on.

The elevator dinged and slid open. A huge sandy-haired man dressed in a khaki uniform and heavy black boots stood there with an annoyed expression on his pugnacious face. The Gulf War Vet’s face held remarked distaste. Joe supposed he looked too much like the enemy to suit him.

The sergeant growled in a deep bass. “You wanted me?”

“I’m going in to see the female.”

The sergeant paled a moment, pulling at his bushy mustache in consternation and nodded. “Right, follow me.”

Joe scooped up his belongings from the counter and started down the gray-carpeted corridor behind the sergeant. “Dr. Loy says she attacked Rider. She’s restrained?”

The sergeant grunted, “Sedated too,” and strode to a door marked Broom Closet. “But we gotta take extra precautions.”

Fumbling in his pockets he brought out a key ring to unlock the door. It swung open, revealing a neat little arsenal of rifles, tazers, clubs, cuffs and dart guns. Enough dangerous toys to keep the security boys happy, Joe reflected. The sergeant selected a high-powered rifle and loaded it.

“Is that really necessary?”

The guard looked at him oddly. “Doc, trust me on this one.”

Joe’s heartbeat accelerated. Rider, the psychiatrist, ended up with a dislocated shoulder and fractured pelvis when he attempted to interview the subject. Apparently, she didn’t take to him and decided to take him a few rounds. Now he was given the unsavory duty of trying to examine her. This wasn’t exactly his specialty, but Lydia was convinced the violence had neurological significance.

Take a look— talk with her— see what you can make of it. Maybe you can calm her down.

The sergeant offered some unsolicited advice, “Listen pal— it ain’t human.”

Joe corrected him. “Doctor.”

The sergeant’s face worked as he digested Joe’s comment. “It looks like a nice little girlie but its every instinct is to kill. Don’t let down your guard for a minute.”

At the end of the corridor another guard, a young, open-faced, African-American, sat in a chair between the doors leading to the two cells, also clutching a large caliber weapon in his hands.

The sergeant nodded to him. “Any change?”

“Howlin’ like a banshee when I checked on her ‘bout half-hour ago. Pitched a real fit at chow time. Turned the intercom off so’s we didn’t have to hear. “

Joe frowned. “Chow time?”

“She wouldn’t… eat. They transfused her,” explained the sergeant. “We’re going in. Get on the horn— have three more men stand by.”

“Three?” Joe asked. “You’ve got to be kidding?”

The guard and the sergeant exchanged looks. A trickle