Viper's Nest

by Shirley Raye Redmond

  “C’mon, then. I’ll take you up to the third floor.”

  “When did you first break into the annex?” Wren asked.

  “A couple of weeks ago. I’ve been poking around, taking pictures, helping myself to a few discarded bits of junk—er—artifacts. I thought I might find some old records. I haven’t been up here on the third floor yet.” Judith kept a good pace up the staircase. “Professor, do you think the staff was forcing patients to bear children in order to sell them? A cash breeding program of sorts?”

  “That’s not possible!” Wren declared.

  “Actually, it is possible,” Allan contradicted. “The Nazis sponsored a breeding program, encouraging their soldiers, particularly officers, to find suitable mates in occupied territories and have children by them. These women gave birth in Lebensborn homes. The Nazis wanted to breed perfect Aryans.”

  “But that was in Germany long ago.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago. Recently, an American couple placed an advertisement in student papers at several Ivy League universities, expressing their desire to purchase an egg from a healthy, intelligent, attractive young coed.”

  Judith’s gaze lit up. “Could you give me some of your sources of information on the Lebensborn program? And did you save a copy of that ad? I want to do further research for my book. Nazis make good copy. But the question is: why would anyone want to breed lunatics? I mean, some of the patients here surely had hereditary mental disorders. Why pass those genes on?”

  Allan felt a tickle of resentful apprehension.

  Wren was moving hesitantly around the room, poking at the piles of discarded junk. Had his mother suffered with the sort of mental illness that could have been passed on to her children? To him? Lost in speculation, he absently clicked a few photos.

  Wren appeared lost in contemplation.

  Her wistful expression moved him, although he couldn’t say why. “A penny for your thoughts?” he asked, stepping beside her.

  “I can’t help wondering now if Peter knew something about all this—about the babies born here and sold.” She surveyed the room with a sweeping glance. “He may have met someone as Judith did, someone who knew what had been going on. And if he did, why didn’t he say something to me?”

  Judith had disappeared somewhere, leaving them alone in the ward.

  Allan slipped a reassuring arm around Wren’s drooping shoulders. “Your husband was discreet. You said so yourself. A man in his position has to be good at keeping secrets.”

  Feeling the softness of her long hair against the back of his hand, he had to resist the urge to pull her close, to whisper a word of comfort that everything would be OK. A slow, niggling fear plagued him about that unexplained rifle shot. If Peter Bergschneider had known about the immoral baby peddling—having perhaps met one of those babies now grown to adulthood—then maybe his so-called accident wasn’t an accident at all, despite what the police believed. And what if Wren was now in danger of a similar fate? Allan couldn’t bear the thought.

  Wren froze. “Did you hear that?” she hissed. She turned to look at the doorway. “It sounded like a baby rattle.”

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Wren.”

  “No, listen,” she insisted. “There it is again.” She stepped away, moving to the open door. She paused to peer down the hall, first one way and then the other.

  He stepped up behind her, listening. This time he heard it too—the faint tinkle of something.

  Wren walked with determined steps down the long dark hallway. The third floor appeared darker than the others as most of the windows had been boarded up. There was more debris on this floor, too, everything from tipped over trashcans to crumbled newspapers.

  “Wait up, Wren.” Allan slipped his digital camera in his jacket pocket and went after her.

  She paused at the end of the hallway, where the next wing began. “I don’t know which way to go,” she admitted. “Left or right?”

  Before he could answer, Allan heard the rattling sound again, louder and more intense.

  Wren quickened her steps.

  Was Judith playing some kind of game with them?

  He frowned, feeling a surge of annoyance.

  “This way,” Wren called out, breaking into a slow run.

  “Be careful,” Allan warned, fumbling for his flashlight. Just as he flicked it on, he could hear the rattle again—noisy and teasing. His irritation flared into anger. “Hey, Judith, that’s enough. Cut it out!” His voice echoed down the lonely corridor.

  Wren’s shadowy figure was swallowed by the gloom.

  Allan’s blood froze when he heard her scream. He raised his flashlight just in time to watch Wren crash through the rotting floor.

  ~*~

  Heart pounding, Wren clutched desperately at the lip of the shattered floor. One leg had gone all the way through the hole. The gap was not large enough for her to fall down to the floor below. Thank you, Lord…

  Someone had used the sound of the baby rattle to lure her along the corridor just for this purpose—to cause an accident. But why? And who would do such a thing?

  “Wren, don’t move!” Allan hurried, mindful of the rotten floorboards. As the beam of his flashlight bobbed across the floor and bounced against the wall, a shadow moved in the corridor just ahead. Was Judith down that way? Or someone else?

  “I’m stuck,” she called, feeling a fluttery weakness. Shaken and more frightened than she cared to admit, Wren closed her eyes and prayed that God would help her stay calm and keep her safe. For Pippi’s sake, Lord.

  “Give me your hand,” Allan demanded, his voice strangely hoarse, and almost angry. “Take a deep breath.” He flicked the flashlight around. “Wren, I’m going to kneel behind you and pull you up out of the hole. Hold your left arm like this. Are you ready?”

  Wren lifted one arm, reluctant to let go of her tentative grip upon the damaged floor. Had she been the intended target or Allan? Did someone want to make sure he didn’t get his book done?

  Allan knelt behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. As his grip tightened, she leaned against him to get more leverage.

  “I’m going to pull now, Wren. Work with me,” he said, an urgency in his voice she’d never heard before. With a forceful yank, he pulled her backwards, releasing her leg from the hole. He knelt there, holding her securely.

  Wren, leaning heavily against him, was mindful of his labored breathing and the pounding of his heart. It seemed to be beating as fiercely as her own.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She shuddered and for one blissful moment permitted herself to relax against him.

  Judith, a looming, shadowy figure, came up with a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand. “Look what I found!” she declared in a triumphant tone. Then she took notice of them huddled together on the floor near the gaping hole. “Hey, what happened here?”

  “Don’t come any closer,” Wren warned her. “It’s not safe. I fell through a hole in the floor.”

  Judith shook her head. “You’ve got to be more careful, Mrs. B.”

  Allan said nothing as he slowly helped Wren to her feet.

  Her legs were shaky; her feet felt as heavy as concrete blocks as she tried to step away from the damaged floorboards. With trembling hands, Wren brushed the dirt off her jeans and the sleeves of her shirt.

  Allan turned to Judith. “Where were you?” he demanded. “Did you know about this?” He pointed to the damaged floor, his tone furious. Even in the dim light afforded by the flashlight, one could see his handsome face was distorted by anger.

  Judith seemed unfazed by his show of temper. “I didn’t know about it. How could I? I’ve never been up to the third floor before. What happened?”

  “I heard someone with a baby rattle, and I followed the sound,” Wren explained. It seemed stupid now.

  “A baby rattle?” Judith regarded her dubiously. “Did you hear it too?” She turned to Allan, her eyebrows arch
ed.

  “I heard something,” Allan admitted. “I can’t say for sure it was actually a baby rattle.”

  “Oooohhhhh!” Judith gave a mild snort. “The mystery of the haunted hospital—no, the haunted insane asylum. That would make a great headline for a news story about this place. Think I should use it?” Her voice deepened to a melodramatic tone.

  “It was a baby rattle,” Wren insisted. She wasn’t imagining things. “It was real enough.” And whoever had the toy wanted her—them—to hear it and follow the sound. She was certain of that. Her cheeks burned. “It wasn’t a ghost!”

  “Glad you’re both all right,” Judith quickly threw in dismissively.

  Allan ran a hand through his wavy hair. “So, what have you got there?”

  “Blank birth certificates,” Judith said, her voice triumphant with discovery. The reporter thrust the papers forward.

  “Why would a mental hospital have blank birth certificates?” Wren asked, even as the sickening thought of illegal activities rattled in her brain.

  Ignoring her question, Judith went on, “And that’s not all. Follow me.” She darted down the hall.

  Allan gave Wren a wry smile and indicated with a tip of his head that they should catch up.

  Wren took a fortifying breath. Her knees weren’t so shaky now, and she was curious about Judith’s discovery. The reporter’s eagerness was contagious: the discovery of the certificates intriguing.

  Judith led the way to a small office. One wall was lined with battered file cabinets. For the most part, they were empty, except for the occasional torn file folder or a wad of trash. There were dirty newspapers on the floor, and a crib mattress with tufts of cotton sticking out—evidence that mice and other rodents had helped themselves to available nesting material.

  “This gets stranger all the time,” Allan said.

  Wren only nodded.

  “I found the certificates in that top file drawer over there—way at the back,” Judith said. “I can’t believe they’ve been here all this time—twenty years or so, I guess. If we poke around some more, we might find other interesting stuff too.”

  Reluctant to go poking through bits of broken glass and discarded newspapers, Wren examined an old-fashioned glass ashtray on the corner of a scarred wooden desk. She hoped her tetanus shot was current. While Allan and Judith sorted through the debris, Wren tried to steady her breathing. Once or twice, she went back to the open door and peered down the hallway.

  She was still convinced someone lurked in the shadows. It hadn’t been Judith, because the reporter had appeared from the opposite direction. Someone else was in the building. She was certain of it. Wren blinked. There, a glint of light. The beam of a flashlight perhaps? Her heart racing, she blinked. It was gone. Was someone lurking there in the dark, watching her peering into the gloom, listening to Judith and Allan’s conversation?

  “Wren, everything all right?” Allan called, his voice somber, alert.

  “I don’t know—maybe it’s nothing,” Wren replied uncertainly. She turned to look at him and was surprised to see his expression of concern visibly soften into something harder to read. Her heart lurched.

  “If you hear or see anything, tell me. Don’t wander off. Promise?”

  “Yes, don’t wander off,” Judith spoke up. “Stay right where you are, Mrs. B. We need a look-out. This is a real treasure trove up here. I want to snoop around some more.”

  “What am I supposed to be looking out for exactly?”

  The woman’s flippancy annoyed her.

  “I don’t know,” Judith replied, jerking open another stiff file drawer. “Cops or administrative personnel. I wouldn’t be surprised if another reporter comes snooping around either. There might even be a homeless person or two camping out in here.”

  “Or kids doing drugs,” Allan put in.

  “Not to mention a ghost armed with a clanking baby rattle,” Judith added, giving Wren a teasing smirk. Then she sobered. “Or maybe someone armed with a .22 rifle.”

  Wren gasped and instinctively stepped back into the office, out of the line of fire.

  “That’s not funny, Judith. I wouldn’t have agreed to come here with you if I’d even thought that was a possibility.” Allan was angry.

  “Do you think it’s possible that the same person with the rifle is in here with us now—right this minute?” Wren asked, in a slightly breathless voice.

  Allan placed the blank certificates on top of the battered desk. “I don’t know, Wren. It’s possible, but not likely.”

  He stared over her shoulder into the gloom of the dark corridor beyond the open door of the office.

  Wren’s heart gave the sort of anxious flutter that then made her stomach feel queasy.

  10

  “Do you think Gorse had anything to do with what went on here?” Judith asked. “Maybe the shot fired that day was meant for him. Maybe some woman forced to give up her baby years ago is out for revenge—or perhaps the child of one of the mothers who gave birth here.”

  “I don’t know, but that’s an intriguing possibility,” Allan admitted. “But aren’t you jumping to conclusions? We don’t actually know what went on here,” he pointed out.

  “You’ve only spoken with one witness—and much of what she said could be dismissed as hearsay.” Certainly, something was going on now. Allan hoped it wasn’t someone armed with a rifle. He hated putting Wren at risk again. Judith was at risk, too, and didn’t seem to realize it. He’d considered the possibility that Judith had been playing tricks, but it couldn’t have been the reporter. She’d come from the opposite direction when he’d pulled Wren to safety. So, who else was in the annex with them? It seemed natural that an abandoned building would become a place of refuge for homeless people or illegal drug users. But why would they wish to cause intruders any serious harm? Had he or Wren actually fallen through the floor and been seriously injured, Judith would have been forced to call 911 and the building would now be crawling with paramedics and cops. Surely vagrants and druggies wouldn’t want that?

  “Wren, do you hear something? See anything?” he asked.

  She stood with an alert expression at the entrance of the office peering into the dark corridor. She shook her head.

  Miscellaneous papers were scattered on the floor and in the files. Judith had unzipped her thick canvas tote bag and shoved the blank certificates and other things into it.

  “Judith,” Allan said. “Should you be taking anything from here?”

  “The building is condemned and abandoned,” she answered, still jamming papers in her bag. “No one wants this stuff, and it’ll be destroyed. Besides, we’re already trespassing on private property.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “You’re having a crisis of conscience, now?” the woman asked as she sneered at him.

  If he called the comptroller, Allan would have to admit that they had trespassed. Wren, too. As his assistant, he was responsible for her. She had a little girl to take care of. He couldn’t allow her to be thrown in jail, even for a day.

  If the staff had wanted anything remaining in the annex, they’d have come back for it. Right? Surely, anyone participating in illegal activities would have covered their trail by destroying any incriminating evidence. And the annex building was to be demolished along with the asylum facility. So the contents really didn’t matter.

  Allan knew he was rationalizing his behavior as he followed Judith into the smaller office. He touched Wren on the shoulder as he stepped around her, giving her a quick, reassuring smile as he did so.

  She still looked a little spooked.

  And now they were lingering in a dark building with some stranger creeping through the hallways. Allan toyed with the idea of calling Torres or Reed for reinforcements, but if he did, he could be arrested for trespassing, along with Judith and Wren. The possibility of another accident—one with deadly consequences this time—made him feel uncomfortable. It was time to go.

  “
Judith, I think we should leave.”

  “Go if you want to,” the reporter said with disdain. “I thought you’d be excited to see what I’d found in the annex. I’m not done rummaging around. There could be a Pulitzer in this for me, and I won’t be rushed.”

  “Look, I think we all agree, there’s someone else in the building,” Wren insisted, from the doorway. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Why should it?” the other woman asked. “Dope smokers probably, or vagrants, who are bunking down in here at night. They won’t bother me if I don’t bother them.”

  “I agree with Allan. I think we should go,” Wren said.

  Allan could hear the unease in her voice and see it in her rigid posture. A discomforting urgency to leave washed over him. However, if he kept looking, if he poked around just a while longer, he might find something useful for his book.

  He flicked his flashlight beam into the corners of the small office to take one last look around before leaving. “Look at all this junk.” He kicked at a stack of old newspapers in the corner. “Why wasn’t all of this burned when they evacuated? There’s a huge incinerator in the food tunnel underneath the kitchen in the old building. I noticed it when we were down there last week.”

  “Somebody got careless or lazy,” Judith suggested. She tugged open each drawer in a battered metal desk. They were empty, except for one, which contained a small black file box. Judith flicked open the box and focused her light on its contents. “Might be some patients’ names in this,” she said, retrieving a few index cards from the rusty file box.

  “Please, Allan, let’s go,” Wren urged.

  Allan glanced at his watch, using his flashlight to take note of the time. “Another fifteen minutes, then we’ll go. I promise.”

  Judith gave them both a disapproving glare. “Just keep your eyes peeled, Mrs. B. We’ll be fine.”

  Allan picked up some of the index cards that Judith had tossed onto the top of the desk. Fanning them out, he could see by the beam of his flashlight that the ink was faded. The handwritten notes appeared to be written in some code or shorthand. Patients’ names and identification numbers had been typed at the top of each card. His heart jolted when he picked up one that had the name LEAH PARTNER at the top.