One day, his health would fail him, but Vallejo had his plan to live on eternally. His legacy would last forever.

“I do so enjoy our time together,” Vallejo said sardonically.

“That makes one of us,” Claudia replied.

Vallejo laughed. It was a harsh, brittle sound for the stark, featureless infirmary.

Such a bold sense of humor for a woman who worked so closely with some of the most brutal men of their time. Some of them had to be strapped down before she worked, but Vallejo had never given her reason to command the guards to shackle him to an examination table.

“You must be so fulfilled,” Vallejo said.

“More so than you, I would think,” Claudia replied. “How is that box of yours? Boring as ever?”

Vallejo feigned hurt. In response, Claudia pulled the needle sharply free of his flesh, immediately pressing a cotton ball to the pinprick entry point.

“You wound me, Claudia,” he said. “One newspaper could do no harm, could it? How do you suppose I would hang myself with the funny papers?”

He looked from Claudia to Henry. Both shrugged. Vallejo was of no threat to them, not when there were uncontrollable mad men within the same confines.

That fact set Vallejo apart. When all his fellow convicts were unruly, snapping beasts, Vallejo was a moment of respite. It took nothing but a calm demeanor to win over the prison staff. They were all so desperate for some sensible conversation.

“Maybe some strings could be pulled,” Claudia said, looking quickly to Henry. It’s not my problem if you want to read some bad news.”

Vallejo’s lips pulled into a wide smile.

“It can’t possibly be worse than in here,” he said.

Even Claudia couldn’t argue with that. She gave Henry a nod and Vallejo stood, prepared for this oft repeated procedure.

They walked through the halls and Vallejo listened for the horrible cacophony of the other people. They were barely more than animals, operating on primal instinct alone. They had nothing to say with their violence. No ideas, no values, no nothing.

“I don’t miss it out there,” Vallejo said.

“I don’t blame you for that,” Henry replied.

The guard unlocked Vallejo’s cell once more.

“What do you say about that newspaper?” Vallejo asked. “Surely you have something lying around in the breakroom.”

Henry looked briefly conflicted before his heavy, masculine features returned to a neutral expression.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Vallejo smiled while Henry unshackled his limbs.

“You know, just something to keep me entertained until Agent Hunter decides to grace us with her presence,” Vallejo said. “Perhaps next time, you’ll accompany me to see her instead.”

For the first time since Henry first opened the door, he looked at Vallejo remembering what he truly was. He was a serial killer and the FBI had to collect 13 bodies before they caught him.