Ashes Beneath Her: A Northern Michigan Asylum Novel

by Erickson, J. R.

  “I have to, for Orla,” she whispered.

  He pulled her away and kissed her.

  “Do you want something for protection, Hazel? If this guy’s as bad as you two think…”

  Abe waited impatiently but didn’t argue.

  “Don’t give her anything that will get us into trouble,” Abe snapped.

  “No, Calvin. I’ll be okay. Whether or not we find anything, we’re calling the police.” She didn’t look at Abe but spoke loud enough for him to hear.

  She kissed Calvin a second time, gave Bethany a hug, and followed Abe out the door.

  * * *

  Hazel

  “What are we looking for, Abe?” Hazel asked, following him on the trail at Elder Park.

  “I want to see if there’s disturbed dirt…”

  “Like what? A fresh grave?” Hazel asked, horrified, and also irritated with Abe’s insistence on searching.

  Abe glanced back but offered nothing to reassure her.

  They scoured the woods for an hour. Abe stopped every time he noticed a bare spot in the grass or a decaying log.

  “Abe, there’s nothing,” Hazel said.

  She watched him digging, his hands deep in the muddy earth, sweat speckling his forehead. He looked frantic, his eyes intent on the hole.

  “Abe!”

  “There might be,” he muttered, not looking at her.

  “Abe, it’s time to stop.”

  He grabbed a handful of mud and flung it back down hard. It splattered his face and clothes. When he glanced at her, she saw his eyes glistening, as if he’d been on the verge of tears. He replaced the look with a scowl and stood, brushing off his pants, which only smeared the mud across his thighs.

  “I don’t need your help, Hazel. Here.” He dug his keys from his pocket and tossed them to her.

  She didn’t catch them, and they landed on the ground near her feet.

  He returned to his knees and reached deep into the hole flinging the mud away.

  “Fine,” she said. She picked up the keys and walked angrily back down the trail.

  In her mind, she argued with him, unleashed her opinions on his dogged searching. Why hadn’t they called the police? What could they do if they found something?

  Gazing at the trail, she skimmed over the grass, the weeds rising on either side.

  She almost missed it - a ridge in the otherwise untroubled earth. She scrutinized the ground, walking closer. A pattern emerged, a rough circle, as if someone had dug up a piece of the grass and then dropped it back in place.

  “Abe,” she called. When he didn’t respond, she yelled louder.

  “Abe!”

  He appeared on the trailhead, wiping his hands together and shaking off the dirt.

  He didn’t ask why she called for him, but jogged to where she stood and squatted in the grass. He pushed his fingers along the ridge and lifted. A large chunk of intact earth pulled away revealing, recently tamped soil.

  Abe reached into the loose dirt.

  Hazel stepped back, breath catching as she watched him pull something loose, an edge of familiar fabric - a pair of red and orange floral-patterned shorts. Orla’s shorts.

  “No,” she murmured, turning away into a web of branches. She screamed as the branches caught in her hair. She fought them away, a sob erupting in her throat.

  “Whoa, it’s okay. Stop moving.” Abe braced a hand on her shoulder. With his other hand, he untangled her hair. “Maybe you should go to the car.”

  “Is she in there? Is Orla in there?” Hazel pleaded.

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. I need a pair of gloves and my camera. I want a closer look, and then we need to call it in.”

  “Call it in?”

  “The police.”

  She tried to follow his words, but beyond him, Orla’s shorts lay crumpled and dirty. Her stomach rolled and cramped.

  “I think I might be sick.”

  Abe glanced behind him, and then stepped into Hazel’s view, blocking the clothes. He steered her back toward the car, one hand resting on her back.

  Images swarmed in her mind. Orla in those shorts the last morning Hazel saw her, smiling, long black hair like a silky stallion’s mane down her back. Why hadn’t Hazel grabbed her friend and asked where she was going, given her a hug, suggested they sit together and have coffee instead?

  The image was accompanied by visions of her mother those final days. Her mother’s sunken, feverish eyes, and hands more like claws gripping Hazel as if she might hold on and not be pulled from the world. Hazel remembered, in her sleeplessness and grief, a momentary terror that her mother would grasp so hard she’d take Hazel with her, down and down into the darkness.

  I can’t, she thought. I can’t go through this again, and yet she was. Death comes for us all, her mother had said days after the initial diagnosis of stage four cancer. But still, we never know his face.

  “Hazel,” Abe spoke her name.

  Hazel snapped her head up, realizing she’d stopped on the trail. “Just a few more steps.”

  He settled her into the car and started the engine.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he told her, grabbing his camera and disappearing into the woods.

  * * *

  Abe

  Abe left Hazel in the car, air conditioner blasting, though she looked more cold than hot.

  He returned to the woods, snapping pictures along the way. He took shots around the perimeter of the hole and of the clothes themselves.

  Wearing gloves, he dug deeper, but found no other evidence, no clumped dirt that might imply blood, no tangles of hair or bits of bone. He patted the clothes and reached his fingers into Orla’s pockets. In the left pocket, his finger struck something hard, and he pulled the object out. At first, he thought he held a tiny stone, but when he lifted it closer, he realized he was staring at a tooth.

  “Damn,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

  The tooth did not bode well for Orla’s fate.

  46

  The Northern Michigan Asylum for the Insane

  Orla

  “I have good news, Orla,” Crow announced when he swept into the room.

  He held a bag of oranges in one hand and a pair of women’s jeans and a t-shirt in the other.

  “You’re going home.”

  She swallowed and glanced toward Ben, who stood in the corner avoiding her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Crow arched his dark eyebrows and smiled.

  “Jaded, are we? I understand. People with mental illness rarely believe it when good things come their way. We have one final journey together. Remember that neat little place in the woods? I need you to walk there with me. No funny business, okay? Today is a very important day. You can eat as many of these as you’d like, and this afternoon, after a few other doctors witness your extraordinary abilities, you get to put on these brand-new clothes and go home to your family.”

  “How can I trust you? After everything you’ve done to me…”

  He laughed and shook his head, as if she’d made preposterous claims.

  “What I’ve done to you. I’ve merely been treating you, my dear. But let’s not waste our last few hours together arguing semantics. I have a very special object for you today. I want you in tip-top shape for the presentation. Benjamin, help me unstrap her.”

  Before Ben could move to the table, Crow stuck his hand out, catching him in the chest.

  “On second thought, let’s wait a few more minutes. Dr. Frederic is joining us. He’ll accompany us to the chamber to ensure we don’t have any problems. But we won’t, will we, Orla?” He stared at her.

  She thought of Ben’s words from the night before - go along with it. But what if she went along with it, and Ben couldn’t save her? They’d do the electro-shock and whisk her to another asylum, and perhaps another after that. How many were there? Could they keep her in captivity forever if they chose?

  * * *

 
The forest was muggy, and Orla fought the urge to break free and run. Her eyes were blindfolded, her arms strapped to her body. Ben held her on one side, Crow on the other, and Dr. Frederic moved along behind them. Orla felt his eyes on her back, on her body.

  The blindfold slipped down. She glimpsed a towering Willow tree and woods in every direction.

  “The key, please?” Frederic said.

  Crow jerked Orla to as stop, and she stumbled, steadied by Ben’s hand on her back.

  She tried to see the entrance to the chamber, but Frederic appeared to be reaching into a large bush.

  Suddenly, she was moving again, being pushed through leafy branches into the damp quiet of a tunnel.

  The coolness of the chamber was a relief, though Orla would have preferred the humid forest to the dank stone room.

  Crow thrust her into a wooden chair, removing her blindfold.

  “Strap her,” he commanded Ben, who quickly knelt by the chair and secured leather straps to Orla’s wrists and ankles.

  Crow gazed at her proudly, as if he’d accomplished some great feat and expected heaps of praise for his efforts. She glared at him.

  “I’d like an orange now,” she told him.

  He shook his head.

  “After the presentation,” Crow stated, checking his watch. “Dr. Frederic, I have two patients to see, and then I’ll return. Ben will prepare the room for the brotherhood. If you could keep an eye on our patient.”

  “My pleasure,” Frederic told him, scooting a chair close to Orla.

  Ben opened a black leather bag and took out a small metal safe. He set it on a bench, and then removed a series of unrelated items - a stethoscope, a bottle of pop, a book.

  Frederic’s fingers brushed Orla’s knee, and she cringed away from him.

  “Pity you won’t be with us anymore,” Frederic whispered, leaning close to Orla’s ear so his breath moved hot against her skin. “Though I visit the sanitarium in Pennsylvania regularly.”

  Orla looked up, desperate, and saw Ben watching them. He quickly looked away, taking something else from the bag. He shuffled behind them and Orla could no longer see him.

  Frederic stood and Orla saw his eyes flicker to Ben.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped.

  “Dr. Crow asked me to sweep before the meeting,” Ben stammered.

  Frederic sneered and slid a syringe from his pocket.

  “A little sleep in preparation for your debut,” Frederic murmured, sliding a needle into Orla’s neck.

  “Ben,” she cried out, and Frederic’s eyes widened in surprise as Ben smashed the handle of the broom into his temple. Frederic pitched forward, but stayed on his feet. The doctor stared at Ben, shocked, with a fury in his eyes that chilled Orla. If Frederic got the upper hand, Ben would die.

  Helpless within her restraints, Orla rocked the chair, pounding her feet into the stone floor and bucking backwards. Ben took another swing at Frederic and missed. The doctor lunged, and Ben jumped out of the way, but Frederic caught the collar of his shirt and ripped him backwards off his feet. Ben landed on his back with a thud. Frederic spit on the floor, and Orla saw blood and something small and white, a tooth. He took a step toward Ben, but the impact against his head was catching up with him. Orla noticed a trickle of blood from his ear.

  Ben didn’t wait. He rolled to the side and kicked the doctor’s legs out from under him. The man crumpled to the ground, head smacking the earth, and lay still.

  Ben bent down and put his fingers on the man’s neck.

  “He’s still alive,” he told Orla, relieved.

  Orla stared at the doctor, unmoved.

  “Ben, he gave me a sedative. There’s not much time.”

  Ben stood, a confused expression on his face.

  “We’re almost there, Ben,” she asserted. “Unstrap me.”

  He gazed at Frederic for another moment before turning to Orla and fumbling the straps from her arms and ankles.

  “This way,” he said, gesturing to the dark tunnel at the mouth of the room. They hurried into the corridor lit by flickering torches. As they neared the entrance, a shaft of light suddenly split the darkness.

  Ben’s arm shot out, plastering Orla against the stone wall.

  Voices floated in from the entrance door.

  “Dr. Crow, hold on,” a man said.

  “What is it?” Crow asked his voice impatient.

  Orla’s heart beat against her ribs. She felt Ben trembling beside her.

  “Your patient on Floor Five is having a seizure. The nurse is asking for you.”

  “Right now?” Crow spat. “Fine, fine. There’s still time.”

  The door swung closed, the light vanishing. Their voices grew smaller, quieter, until Orla and Ben were left with only their breath.

  “Oh God,” Ben mumbled.

  Orla heard the fear in voice. He was questioning his choice.

  “Ben,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Please, please help me.”

  His hand shook, and he didn’t move. Finally, heavily, he turned and pulled her toward the opening.

  Thick, dark clouds marred the brightness of the day. Rain was coming.

  Orla’s legs buckled as she stepped into the shady forest.

  “Ben,” she mumbled.

  He was walking ahead, starting to run.

  She dropped to her knees, her head swimming. He turned back as she fell forward onto her hands, straining to focus on the grass beneath her, but it blurred.

  “It’s hitting me,” she mumbled, and her eyes drifted closed.

  47

  Abe

  Abe stood on the sidelines as police searched the park. They’d cordoned off the trails and blocked the parking lot. They hurried in and out of the woods like ants compiling rations for winter.

  Abe snagged Deputy Waller as he walked by.

  “This is your guy,” Abe told him, thrusting a sheet of paper with Ben Stoops’ name on it.

  “The guy with the truck?” Waller asked, folding the sheet and sliding it into his pocket. “How do you know?”

  “A car that was just spotted at the latest abduction is literally in the guy’s bedroom. I’ve also seen him at this park multiple times, and -” Abe dropped his voice to a whisper, “Orla’s roommate saw one of her earrings through a window at Ben’s house. This is the guy. If you want any chance of finding the latest girl alive, I suggest you nail him now. Not in an hour. Right now.”

  “An earring isn’t a body, Abe. You understand if I haul him in and he’s innocent-”

  “He’s not innocent. You saw those clothes in the woods, right? Those are Orla’s clothes. Look in the pockets of the shorts.”

  Waller sighed, flicking the holster on his gun opened and closed.

  “Save me the shock and tell me what I’ll find.”

  “A tooth.”

  Waller grimaced.

  “Okay. I’m going to bring him in. Hopefully, he’ll spit the whole story out, and no one will ask about probable cause.”

  Abe took a quick step away as Detective Moore pulled up, jumping from his unmarked car.

  “Get him, Waller,” he murmured, and slipped behind a row of squad cars.

  * * *

  Abe dropped a tearful Hazel at home and stopped at a payphone to leave a message for his dad. His nerves were frayed, muscles jumping beneath his skin.

  He got in his car and drove to the diner, but pulled back out. He couldn’t stomach another cup of coffee.

  Back on the road, he decided he’d go up the Peninsula. What could it hurt? If Ben had the girl captive, perhaps Abe could find her.

  As he pulled from the diner, a black-and-white turned onto the road behind him. The police car approached fast before slowing down, on his tail. The red and blue lights flicked on.

  * * *

  Hazel

  Hazel opened her door to Liz bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “Did they get him?” she asked.

  Hazel looked beyond Liz into the s
treet, expecting the world outside to reflect her turmoil. But cars ambled by, kids raced on bikes, birds continued their antics in the sky, and Orla… Orla, what? Hazel saw the vision of her friend hovering at the edge of an abyss. She feared to look deeply at what had become of Orla.

  Hazel shook her head.

  “I don’t know. The news is on. Abe sent a deputy to pick up Ben. There’s a reporter at Elder Park, but nothing new.” She didn’t say more, but backed into the house.

  Liz followed her to the sitting room, where Calvin waited on the couch.

  He opened his arms to Hazel, who snuggled back into his side.

  Hazel turned up the volume, and they listened to a reporter comment on possible clues related to the missing women while gesturing at the caution tape strung along the trailhead.

  “Abe said you found Orla’s clothes?” Liz started. “How did you know where to look?”

  Hazel ran a shaky hand through her hair and gazed at the yellow tape sagging as officers stepped back and forth over the flimsy barrier.

  “Abe saw a shovel in Ben Stoops’ truck. He-”

  “Ben Stoops?” Calvin asked, surprised.

  Hazel turned to him.

  “Do you know him?”

  Calvin nodded.

  “Yeah, he comes into the bookstore all the time. He’s a nice guy, quiet, but nice. Are you telling me he’s the guy?”

  The disbelief in Calvin’s face made Hazel squirm away.

  “We found Orla’s earring in his room,” she murmured.

  “How did you get into his room?” Calvin demanded.

  “It’s a garage. It wasn’t hard,” she snapped, looking to Liz for backup.

  “Calvin, Ben Stoops was at the park where Orla’s bike was found. He obviously buried her clothes. He had her earring,” Liz offered.

  Calvin frowned and glanced at the television.

  “He came into the store one time with an injured chipmunk in his coat. Its leg was broken, and he nursed it back to health. He sat and read his book and fed that chipmunk sunflower seeds for two hours.”