by Chaz McGee
Parker immediately hunched down in his chair, trying to appear smaller, as if he were submitting to the orderly.
That’s when I knew Parker was making a run for it that night. There was no other explanation for why Parker would deprive himself of the violence he loved so much. He had to have access to the shower room and could not risk being confined.
The orderly stared down at Parker suspiciously. He knew Parker was up to something. But there was nothing more he could do, so he turned his attention to the gawky inmate sitting dazed on the floor and helped him to his feet, telling him to sit across the room and stay the hell away from Parker. The other patient looked frightened but obeyed.
I was the only one to notice that somehow, in the confusion of the moment, Otis Parker had slipped the plastic cuff restraints from the orderly’s back pocket. As everyone else watched the gawky patient shuffle across the room, Parker stuffed the cuffs into his pants and turned his attention back to the television set.
I did not want to know what he had in mind for those cuffs.
It would be hours before Parker made a move, so I left to check on my friends in the long-term unit, wondering if I could find a way to get a message about Otis Parker and his plans through to one of them. As I crossed the lawn, I saw cars traversing the roads in the valley below. There were far more cars on the highway than usual. Judging from the lack of extra guards in Otis Parker’s unit, Maggie had still not been able to convince Gonzales that Parker was involved, but the extra cars told me that she had convinced him that Eugene Mullins was involved and been given help looking for him.
The news that Adam Mullins had been arrested for the murders had clearly reassured the long-term unit staff. They believed the killer was in custody and they were safe. Doors locked as a precaution were now back to their normal unlocked state and the signing in and out procedures had been lifted.
The patients on the unit were not so complacent. Restless from being cooped up inside on a rainy day, they worked out their pent-up energy by roaming the halls, squabbling in the common room or erupting in erratic behavior. Lily was the only beacon of calm among their chaos. Always alone from the others, she stood sentinel at the window in the common room, lost in her dark world as she looked out into the twilight, seeking monsters.
Harold Babbitt was in full form. Fresh red and neon green ointment had been applied to the scabs on top of his head, giving it an Easter egg-like appearance. His helmet was nowhere to be seen. He kept dashing down the stairs to the front door every few minutes, clamoring to be let out. Invariably, he would be retrieved before reaching freedom and led back up the stairs with a promise that tomorrow he would be able to resume his daily walks.
But Harold did not live in a world based on tomorrows. Harold lived in the right here and the right now. Two hours later, while the staff was distracted by a bodybuilding patient whose near-catatonic state had given way to mania, Harold slipped out the front door and escaped into the night. I followed him outside and passed Olivia sitting in the visitors’ room, staring out a window at a world she was gathering her courage to rejoin. She noticed Harold leaving and followed him outside. I knew she wanted to sit by the waters of her beloved fountain.
Her step was strong. Olivia was getting better. She was starting to shed the guilt she felt over her daughter’s death and looking ahead to a life outside of Holloway.
I followed her to the courtyard and took a seat on the bench next to hers. She did not notice me. That was another good sign. She settled in to watch the water tumbling over the marble cherubs frolicking in the fountain. A few dozen yards away, obscured by the night, Harold was marching back and forth across the lawn chanting, ‘Harold Babbitt walks a fine line across the lawn. Harold Babbitt walks a fine line across the lawn.’
And in life, my friend, and in life.
‘Are you there?’
I was startled by Olivia’s voice. It was clear and lovely, ringing out in the night air.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m on the bench next to yours.’
‘Are you an angel?’ she asked. ‘Sometimes I can see you and sometimes, like now, I can only feel you near.’
‘I’m pretty sure I’m not an angel. That’s definitely above my pay grade.’
‘Then what are you?’ She faltered. ‘Are you real?’
‘I’m real,’ I assured her. ‘I’m definitely real.’
‘I’m going home,’ she said. ‘I told my therapist that I was ready to go home. I think I’m going to be OK.’
As she said it out loud, I realized that her recovery meant I would lose her. She was turning away from death and turning toward life. She would need to leave me behind.
She had been my only friend in this strange world of mine and I could not bear the thought of losing her. Tell her about Otis Parker, a seductive voice inside me whispered – tell her of his plans to flee and the stolen handcuffs. If they did not believe her, if the staff thought she was talking to invisible friends or taking wild rumors and turning them into fact, they would keep her here at Holloway, with me, a little longer. And if they did believe her, at least there would be more eyes on Otis Parker, maybe even enough to thwart his escape.
I could not do that to her. I could not risk the chance that her plans to start a new life might be blocked because of me, not after all the courage it had taken her to get to this point. I had to find another way to stop Otis Parker. And I had to let Olivia go.
All I could do was let her know how much her friendship had meant to me. But I could not find the words to express how I felt. She had been my light in a dark world and now she was going. I let the silence grow around us as I gathered the courage to tell her goodbye. The minutes ticked by and I felt myself fading from her world. I knew I needed to say something before it was too late.
‘I want you to know,’ I began – but then, just like that, it was too late. The link between our two worlds had been severed.
I was, once again, nothing but a watcher.
We sat, watching rain clouds roll back across the sky to obliterate the moon. More rain was on the way. It was a fitting backdrop for my mood.
Our peace was disturbed by Harold’s abrupt arrival. He came marching up the brick walkway, heading toward his building, repeating the same thing over and over: ‘Harold Babbitt did not see a rabbit. Harold Babbitt did not see a rabbit.’
At first, I chalked it up to Harold being Harold. But as he hurried toward the front door of his unit, faster than I had ever seen him move before, I began to wonder. He had not seen a rabbit, but he surely had seen something. But what, at this time of night? It was nearing ten o’clock. The staff would not change shifts for another hour. The grounds were deserted.
Could Otis Parker have started his journey out of Holloway early? Could he be hiding in the trees?
I thought of the way he had looked at Olivia. I thought of the way his hands twitched when he called out to her. And that was when I knew – Otis Parker intended to commit one final, horrific act of taking before he left Holloway behind forever. He wanted Olivia.
I was afraid. I sat on the bench, knowing I should move, knowing that I needed to find a way to alert someone to what might happen. But I had felt the power of Otis Parker over me and I feared what he could do.
Olivia had started to hum. It was a children’s song, one that held happy memories for her. But I did not want it to be her final song.
A distant rumble and a quickening of the breeze told me that the rain would arrive again soon. Soon enough to drive Olivia inside?
No. She lifted her face up to the sky and breathed deeply, finding freedom in the fresh air.
I felt a tremor in the night. Fear wrapped itself around me. I felt the urge to flee and fought it. Olivia needed me.
It took all my will to rise from the bench and confront what I feared. I would not be a coward now. I had spent a lifetime running from danger, afraid of both emotional and physical pain. I knew I had to change, that this could well be a test after a lif
etime of apathy, a time to choose whether I would finally take a stand for something I cared about.
Behind me, a night bird trilled and an owl answered. Crickets chirped and frogs joined in their song, happy for the moist night. All around, I could feel the new growth of spring waiting out the evening, suspended and ready for the warmth of the morning sun. The air smelled of fresh earth, green shoots and rain. The air smelled of new life. It was no time to die. I had to do something to save Olivia.
As I moved toward the grove of trees, the powerful darkness that hovered around Otis Parker grew stronger. It was a poison that wrapped itself around me, reaching down into my guts, grabbing all the joy I had collected in my wanderings and trying to squeeze it from me.
The breeze shifted directions and brought me the acrid odor of Otis Parker’s sweat. He was crouched inside the perimeter of the grove, his body obscured by shadows as he leaned against a beech tree and stared across the lawn at Olivia. He was excited by her helplessness, by the lack of barriers between them. He was savoring the moment, already tasting his power over her as he anticipated her anguish. Something ugly bloomed in him and demanded to be fed. His body vibrated with needs so dark I could not look at them further.
He moved away from the grove toward Olivia, slipping through the shadows. He had the ability to spot a patch of darkness and disappear into it, wearing the night as he melted from spot to spot. He was a trick of the shadows, here now and then gone, a predator at ease with his world.
The night grew still as if the crickets and frogs knew that death was near.
Up ahead, Olivia stood up suddenly. Parker froze. She looked up at the night sky, reluctant to leave it behind. An owl called to her from the direction of the distant front gate. She took a few steps toward it, curious as to where it might live.
No, I thought to myself, no, no, no. Go back into the building. Do not walk down that walkway. Go to the light, Olivia. Go toward the light. And by that, I do not mean go toward the light. Go toward the lights of Holloway. Run.
She turned away from the light. She took a few steps toward the front entrance and stopped to listen once again to the night sounds. Otis Parker took a few steps closer. His breathing quickened as he fought to keep his bloodlust under control.
The owl called again. Olivia stepped toward it.
I was close enough to see Parker smile. He froze, taking in the sight of Olivia posed in the night, her face upturned like a doe that hears an unexpected sound, never realizing it is the rustle of her killer coming closer, never knowing that the end will be swift and violent and sure. It was that pocket of peace that Parker longed to destroy. He lived for that single, overwhelming attack on the innocent, the moment when he annihilated the defenseless before they could react. It re-affirmed his power over what he saw as a clueless world.
I had to do something. I stepped directly in front of him and closed my eyes, willing myself to manifest, not knowing if I could do it. I had seen the shadow of his terrible black wings cast against a wall behind him. Perhaps I had the same vestige of being in me and I could use it as a show of strength. I imagined a hot, silver light in the center of my being and I concentrated on that light. I saw it flaring in my mind, growing in strength, taking hold, feeding on my will to protect Olivia until it became a conflagration.
Heat flashed through me and a dark hole of gravity opened at my core, as if I might tumble inwards on myself and disappear down it forever. Anger flashed through me as I thought of all the young girls who had died by Otis Parker’s hands, and of how he had left Vincent D’Amato sprawled obscenely by the fountain, and unleashed Eugene Mullins on Darcy Swan and on his psychiatrist. I thought of how men like Eugene Mullins would always follow men like Otis Parker, admiring their cruelty and coveting their power. But unless I took a stand, it would never end. The evil would live on and live on.
Otis Parker had no right to destroy my world and I would not let him go unchallenged. I stood up straight and felt as if I was being yanked in a thousand directions all at once, as if the center of my being was stretching and stretching outwards, as if I were a great searing light illuminating the world. I was incandescent.
Parker froze and stared at what he saw before him. He faltered and the air behind him trembled. I could not see him anymore. I was blinded by my light.
Parker emitted a sound, little more than a gasp and, yet, it was enough. Olivia heard it.
‘Harold?’ Olivia called out into the night. ‘Harold, is that you?’ Her voice grew louder as she looked about anxiously.
Run, I thought to myself. Run, Olivia, run.
She stood, frozen in the darkness, looking about uncertainly. The heat and light radiating from me faltered and I could not sustain the river of energy flowing out from my core any longer. I felt my essence shrinking until I could not move. Had it been enough?
Parker was looking around him, assessing his need to escape against his desire for Olivia.
And then I saw him, striding up the walkway from the main gate, tall and strong, his white hair gleaming in the night air, his holster and gun outlined against his hip – Morty, the beat cop, still in uniform, holding a bouquet of yellow roses for his lady. He was heading straight for Olivia.
‘What have we here?’ Morty called out when he saw Olivia by the fountain. ‘Surely, this is not the place to be at this time of night?’ He reached Olivia and smiled at her kindly. She recognized him and smiled back.
‘I just needed to feel free,’ she explained. ‘I needed the night air. Besides, they caught the man to be afraid of. Everyone is talking about it.’
‘There’s always a man to be afraid of,’ Morty said gently. He took her arm and started guiding her toward the long-term unit. ‘I’ve been out all afternoon and night searching for one.’ He glanced at the roses in his arms. ‘After days like this, I need to see her. I need a reminder that something beautiful still exists in this world. Do you ever feel that way?’
Olivia stopped and stared up at him, her eyes full of tears. ‘I do,’ she whispered. ‘I do.’
They reached the door of the long-term unit, and Morty pounded on it loudly. A harried aide opened it soon after, looking relieved when she spotted Olivia. ‘Oh Lord,’ the aide said. ‘I just noticed you weren’t in bed and it gave me a heart attack.’ She looked up at Morty gratefully. ‘You’re here mighty late, aren’t you?’
‘Better late than never, I always say,’ Morty said as he stepped into the hallway.
Truer words were never spoken, I thought to myself.
Behind me, Otis Parker stood frozen in the darkness of the lawn. He was looking right through me and I knew that however I had appeared a few moments before, I had been discarded as beneath his notice now. His confidence in his own power had returned. He stared after Olivia and Morty with such resentment and hatred in his heart that I suddenly feared for both should Parker’s escape plans change. Otis Parker liked to get even.
Above, a crack of thunder split the air and the heavens exploded in an angry, pelting rain. When I turned back around, Parker was gone. He’d left as quickly as he had appeared. I followed Olivia into the long-term unit. Morty was placing the yellow roses in a vase on the bedside table next to his sleeping lady friend and Olivia had already returned to her room, where she would find the solitude she craved. But Harold Babbitt was still marching up and down the hall, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms.
He was being scolded by a weary nurse. ‘It is past time for bed now, Harold. I don’t have time to look after you all night long,’ she said sternly, holding up the other half of his pajamas.
‘Harold Babbitt is a man of the night,’ Harold announced as he pushed away her attempts to help him. He began to put the top on himself. He wore real pajamas, light-blue cotton with dark-blue and red stripes, and they triggered a memory of my father. He’d had pajamas like that and wore them every Sunday, pretty much all day, in fact, even when he’d become enraged at me and my brothers for making too much noise and chased us out into
the yard, a beer in hand, his face beet red from alcohol and anger.
‘Your father did the best he could,’ Harold Babbitt said, staring right at me.
I froze.
‘If you talk to her, to the little one, she will be able to help,’ Harold said distinctly. He blinked and examined the buttons on his shirt as he concentrated on fastening them.
‘What are you going on about now?’ the nurse said kindly. She brushed imaginary lint off Harold’s shoulders. ‘You look very handsome, Harold.’
‘Harold Babbitt is a man of the night,’ Harold said matter-of-factly.
‘Yes, you are,’ the nurse agreed. ‘You most certainly are.’
THIRTY-SIX
Stunned that Harold had somehow penetrated my world, I returned to the common room. A few remaining patients still sat aimlessly, lost in their own worlds, following jumbled thoughts to the same private conclusions that had brought them to Holloway in the first place.
Lily had changed into a nightgown and was standing at the window, staring out into the night as if she were waiting for Peter Pan to come by. It was impossible to believe that this was the same child who had burned her little brother with lit cigarettes and killed the family cat with a kitchen knife. She clutched her teddy bear by the neck and her other arm moved up and down as if she were trying to fly. No one paid much notice. The staff did their best to look after Lily, all the while disapproving that she’d been parked here at Holloway among people many times her age. But when she was quiet like this, distracted by her inner world, they often left her to her thoughts and took the opportunity to check on other patients.
