Correction

Max Wilson leant his forehead against the window as the rain ran down the outside panes, breathing out a long slow sigh, smoking up the glass before his pale blue eyes. The nondescript dark blue Peugeot pulled up to the gates of the house, and he saw the window roll down, a gloved hand emerging to press the call button.

The intercom buzzed and he blew out another long sigh.

“Max Wilson,” He spoke into the intercom.

“Jane Grey,” a precise voice told him, uncut with a soft Scottish burr of an accent. “From the Correction Institution. You wanted me?”

He turned to look at the four long shapes on the floor and felt his heart give another colossal wrench. He didn’t have to do this, he thought. He could just not open the gate, the woman would go away, he would never hear from her again... but then what?  He could live with this, but his wife, his unborn child... and when he died, was he going to have to pass this legacy on? He’d done everything he could for these boys, and they weren’t boys anymore.

He’d be damned if he’d pay for another man’s sins.

“Indeed I did Miss Grey. Come on in,” he replied, pressing the unlock button.

He checked the clock on the landing as he headed downstairs, pausing at the door of their bedroom. He could hear his wife’s soft breathing as she slept inside, and stroked the wood lightly. He swallowed, then forced himself to walk on, carrying on down the stairs. Max made it to the front door as there was a light knock on the other side, an almost genteel knock.

Max hesitated, then pulled the door open slowly. A lady, surprisingly young, was stood on the doorstep, a bright blue umbrella held over her head, matching the sparkling sapphires in her eyes. She wasn’t beautiful, Max decided, her skin was too pale, her face too broad, her lips too thin, but as she looked up at him from under her long black lashes, she had an almost regal presence. She had the allure of a general on the battleground, competent, calm, in command, and he felt himself relax, very slightly.

Had she dressed according to her name, or was it just apt? Her calf-length coat was the colour of graphite, her silk blouse the light silver of white gold, her sharp trousers with their ironed creases steel-grey, her Mary-Jane style shoes with their very slight heels the colour of the dark clouds above her head.

“Miss Grey,” He nodded to her.

“Mr Wilson.”

She smiled and held out a hand, sheathed in a grey kid glove. Her plain face lit up very slightly with her smile, sparking in her eyes, but it was only transitional over her hardened face. He took the hand and stepped back to let her in. She carefully shook out her umbrella, then left it propped up outside the door to dry off, stepping inside.

Another thing about Miss Grey, she was tiny, much shorter than you would expect, even with her heels, she was only just 5 foot 2 or 3, and a whippet build, muscle and bone. She almost looked like an errant gust of wind would blow her away, her fine dark brown hair falling in wispy strands around her face from her severe French pleat, held in place with a silver hair-clasp.

“So,” she turned to him. “Would you like to get straight to the matter in hand? You did state that time was of the essence, but if you’d rather take your time?”

Her voice was light, and her practical tone put him at ease. It was very clear that she did not judge him in the least, and he relaxed a touch more. He had to wonder how often she had done this, how long it had taken for her to gain her professional facade, and seem this unflappable. The woman in front of him could have been anywhere from 16 to 30 in age, deceptively young, but her manner made it perfectly clear that she was much older.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know how long they’ll be out for,” He stated. “I had to make a calculated guess.”

She nodded, reaching for her handbag. A no-nonsense black leather satchel-style bag slung diagonally across her chest, hugging her left hip.

“Then let’s ensure the peace of the situation,” Miss Grey agreed authoritatively. “Where are they?”

“Upstairs.”

“Show me.”

She kept easily up with him, moving with a silent grace, even the traitorous creaky floorboards condescending to be silent under her. As they entered the office, she swept the room with her eyes, covering the angles, wary. Her eyes locked on the 4 sprawled shapes, but she didn’t relax, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a long black case, setting it on the desk and flicking it open deftly. A hypodermic needle gleamed dully in the grey light from the rainstorm outside. She withdrew it and fitted a canister into it, tapping it lightly to dislodge air-bubbles.

“What did you use to knock them out?”

“My wife has prescription sleeping tablets for chronic insomnia,” he stated. “Temazepam, she was only on them for a short period before she...” he swallowed, stopping as his throat seemed to close over.

“I took those for a short time,” Miss Grey stated mildly, kindly ignoring his pause. “They’re not advised for use during pregnancy, you wife was wise to stop using them.” She turned towards the forms. “Well, they shouldn’t have any adverse reactions to this then.”

She approached the shapes. There were 4 men in various positions. The first was lying on the floor, face down, arms and legs akimbo, clearly having crashed from the entirety of his 6 foot height straight onto the floor. He was a bull of a man, a clearly defined triangle of a torso, broad shoulders, narrow waist, rippling muscles under his tight black t-shirt. His skin was patterned with scars, in fact, there wasn’t a square inch of him that was unmarked, his skin burned nut-brown. His hair was a shoulder length greasy tangle, covering his face.

Miss Grey carefully stroked his hair back and gazed at the face beyond. It could have been handsome once, but the nose was twisted, broken twice, his hard mouth twisted with a scar.

“This’ll be Jacob Henshaw then,” Miss Grey remarked, turning over his arm and sliding the needle deftly into the vein. “Over 20 counts of GBH, 3 counts of manslaughter, and one of murder.”

“Yes,” Max nodded, not that he felt that Miss Grey needed a response.

The body visibly sagged as the serum entered his system, all remaining tenseness flushed out of his system. Miss Grey checked his airway was clear, then returned to the desk, wiping the needle methodically with an alcohol wipe, then popping out the empty chamber and replacing it with another.

She walked over to the next nearest, hanging half-off the sofa where he’d slid slightly. His hair was as dark as his brother’s, but much better kempt around a pallid face. Like his brother, he had handsome traits, a high square forehead, sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, but there was such an almost weasel-like air from him, an unpleasant set to the upper lip and the curled up nose.

“Simon Henshaw,” Max supplied this time, hiding his revulsion with difficulty.

“Gettaway driver, con-man and general trixter,” Miss Grey replied absently as she injected him too. “One count of assault, manslaughter on 2 counts, both hit-and-runs, and God knows how much fraud, embezzlement, theft of a motor vehicle, not as dangerous as his brother, but more unpleasant.”

She reloaded the needle and turned to the next, giving a soft whistle.

“The ringleader, Ross Henshaw himself,” Miss Grey observed.

Max felt a shudder go down his spine. Ross Henshaw was closer to beautiful than handsome, his hair several shades darker than his brother’s dark brunette, almost black in long well-kempt waves, held up out of his face in a stubby tail at the nape of his neck. His face was almost feminine in it’s beauty, the wide eyes with long black eyelashes, arching black brows, a sharp nose with delicately flaring nostrils, broad smooth lips... androgynous and gorgeous. But what lay underneath the fine exterior was rotten to the core, an apple ridden with maggots.

“7 counts of indecent assault, 5 of rape, more suspected but never brought to court, GBH and murder,” She continued, tone matter-of-fact. “The known leader of the group.”

And she turned to the final man. He was huddled in a heap at the bottom of the wall, as if he’d slid down it. She lifted his chin, and he gave a weak moan. The right side of his head was a mess of blood and bruising, more staining the wall behind his head. His eyes flickered slightly, opened... then flickered back shut.

He was clearly a Henshaw, the same dark hair and eyes, the good looks, but this one looked much younger, slimmer, his hair short around his face. She slid the needle in, and he gave a soft sigh, head flopping forwards onto his chest again.

“Andrew Henshaw,” She recounted. “Petty theft, 1 count of arson. Not in the same league as his brothers.” She looked up at Max. “You didn’t drug him.”

Max sighed, leaning against his desk.

“They barged in, demanded food, booze,” he grimaced. “I drugged that, by the time they clocked, it was too late, but Andrew... he realized what I’d done and came at me. I don’t think he actually meant to hurt me, he was just desperate, but I punched him, he hit his head off the desk, managed to get back up, came at me again, this time with a knife and I kicked him against the wall. He hit his head again and didn’t get up.”

She nodded, accepting the story, then took a seat on one of the chairs near the desk.

“So, Mr Wilson, why would a respectable gentleman like you have the known criminal gang of the Henshaws in your house at this late hour, drug them, then call the Correction Institution, not the police?” She asked mildly, curious, not accusing. “You can trust me to be discreet.”

Max sighed. He was sure that he could, but trying to admit something like this after years of fearing it, denying it.

“My first crush Annabelle Henshaw was their mother,” He stated flatly. “And for a long time I believed that I was their father.”

Miss Grey’s expression didn’t change at the remarkable information imparted, she merely raised an eyebrow, face as serene as ever. He sat down heavily on the other chair, rubbing his face tiredly.

“I was 16, a raging tornado of hormones and she was 21, beautiful, clever and enough to turn any-one’s head. And to believe that she actually wanted me?” He sighed. “I was the classic fool, unable to believe that she’d go for me, flattered that she did and too much of a clutz to realise that she was after my father’s money.”

Miss Grey nodded.

“She got pregnant, told my father that I was the father and that she would tell everyone. I stood by her, I was trying to be gallant, the idiot that I was, and my father disowned me. My uncle was more sympathetic, and helped me get back on my feet, and after the kids were born - she had triplets, Ross, Simon and Jacob - I acted like a father, working all hours I could... and then I came home one day to find the kids screaming on the floor and her screaming on her back in bed. I was 17, I’d given up everything for her and here she was being screwed over by another guy. More specifically, Derek Stern.”

“Irish Mobster,” Miss Grey nodded slowly. “Unpleasant character all round, but clever enough to avoid convictions or intimidate the witnesses to get the charges dropped.”

“I walked out,” He stated. “I tried to get custody of the children, but she, and, more specifically, Stern, managed to pull more money together. A 17 year old boy against a beautiful 22 year old mother with an innocent manner and a beautiful face? Not a chance.” He blew out a sigh. “I couldn’t even get to see them. Then Annabelle appeared out of the blue. I’d just managed to get my business of the ground, I was doing fairly well for myself, and there was 3 children and a pregnant ex-girlfriend. She cried all over me, told me that Stern had been beating her up, that he was trying to induct the children into a life of crime... she played me perfectly. She lived with me for a few years, and then I realised, she and Stern were still seeing each other, and more importantly, they were still running scams, and they were using the children. They were 8 and they were stealing things, pick-pocketting, angel children with devil hearts. I gave her an ultimatum, stop or leave. And she left. I haven’t seen the children since, but of course, I knew. I watched their criminal career with horrible fascination, especially the bank robbery,” he swallowed hard. “They killed that guard. Jacob beat one of the managers to death...”

He looked like he was about to throw up. Miss Grey watched him impassively.

“The Police caught them. You can’t believe how relieved I was,” he said, then pulled a face. “And then they broke out, and drove themselves right back here. Ross remembered me from a child and thought that I’d be easy to play. I’d got my life sorted out, I was back on talking terms with my father, I love my wife, we’re about to have a child, and here were these murderers on my doorstep? And Jacob even had the nerve to taunt me with the fact that I wasn’t their father. That Stern had had a DNA test on them, that they were his.” He blew out a breath.

“So you drugged them and called us,” Miss Grey nodded. “Why us?”

“Because they’ve...” He swallowed. “I have lived with the guilt of them all my life, I have felt responsible for them and all their sins were at my door, and I even though I know differently, they are still my responsibility. They need to pay for what they have done, the lives they have stolen. They’ve already escaped from the Police, but no-one ever escapes from you,” He looked at Miss Grey. “My father supplied the resources to build the Correction Institute, he told me all about your work, how you take the most dangerous people, political prisoners, psychos, terrorists, and you don’t just lock them up, you make them pay. I can’t save them, I tried a long time ago to do that, but Stern killed that, this is the best that I can do for them. I will pay whatever it takes.”

“For them, or for your own peace of mind?” Miss Grey asked mildly.

He blew out a long breath.

“Both I imagine,” He said after a moment. “And the benefit of every other person on this planet.”

She nodded and got gracefully up, setting the needle back in the box and the box back in her bag, retrieving her phone and snapping it open. Her thumbs blurred over the keys, then she turned to the unconscious forms, then to him.

“Last time to back out,” she told him quietly.

“Will you inform me of their progress?” he asked her quietly.

Miss Grey raised an eyebrow.

“Not at first. Our methods are extreme,” She stated. “They have to be.” Miss Grey balanced back on her heels, thinking. “If we take them, they will probably never leave the facility alive. You may never see them again.”

He looked down at them, and nodded slowly.

“So be it.”

Her thumb clicked the send button with a horrible finality, and the intercom buzzed.

“So be it,” Miss Grey echoed softly.