Archanum Manor

by Michael Pierce

  5

  Help

  I had landed on the floor of Mr. Gordon’s living room, though I still felt like I was falling. No one had followed me through the door. I had no connection to Desiree. Cias was dead. Kafka had my mother, which was some small relief after finding Richard’s corpse in our house when I’d returned to this plane.

  “Thank God you’re safe,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “We have to save Desiree,” I said, scrambling to my feet. There was no time to waste.

  “Wait a second,” he said. “What happened? Where’s Nicholae? He didn’t come back with you.”

  “I guess he’s still with Kafka and my mother.”

  “You saw her? She’s alive?”

  “Come on, Mr. Gordon! They have her and I don’t know how much time we have. We have to go. I’ll tell you more on the way. We need to get to her house,” I pleaded.

  He didn’t argue and we both bolted for his garage. He peeled out of his driveway and sped down the street, nearly plowing into a young boy on a scooter as we shot right through a stop sign.

  “Whoa!” I cried, petrified for the kid.

  “Don’t worry, I had at least two feet,” Mr. Gordon said.

  We made it to Desiree’s house in record time, the roads almost completely clear after the scooter incident. We pulled into her driveway, stopping a few inches behind her mother’s car.

  I made a mad dash for the front door, checked the doorknob, which was locked, and ran through the door without a second thought.

  “Desiree!” I yelled, taking the steps two at a time.

  Her door was open and I bolted in without any concern for my own safety. I had Mr. Gordon to back me up, so whomever I encountered would have to fend off both of us. But I was met with an empty room.

  I spun around in a full circle, looking for anything that could maybe help. She was gone. Her captors were gone. And there were no obvious signs that anything malicious had happened here, including any clues left behind as to where they’d taken her.

  Mr. Gordon barged into the room.

  “We’re too late,” I said, shaking my head, wanting to scream.

  “Are you sure they were here?” he asked as he surveyed the room for himself.

  “I recognized the posters on the wall behind her bed. She was lying right here.” I walked up to her bed, remembering how she’d looked through the tiny screen. The comforter was disheveled with the pillow teetering off the head of the bed. “They could be anywhere by now.”

  I didn’t want to believe that Eli could hurt her—directly or otherwise. But my hope was waning.

  “I think it’s time to go back to the camp. We’re not in control of the—”

  Mr. Gordon was interrupted by a crash and a muffled cry down the hallway.

  “Desiree!” I called and dashed past Mr. Gordon without a moment’s hesitation. The bedroom door at the far end of the hallway was closed, and I burst through the old fashioned way, forgetting about my abilities for a moment and regressing back to a regular boy deeply concerned about a regular—an extraordinary girl.

  The first thing I noticed was Melanie lying on the bed, tucked cozily beneath the covers so only her head was visible with a makeshift gag in her mouth. She looked like she’d been crying for hours and had been reduced to whimpering. The crash had obviously not come from her.

  Moaning came from the floor behind the bed and I rushed over to find Desiree’s mother tied to a toppled computer chair. Luckily, I could see in her eyes that she recognized me and I proceeded to pull her free of the industrial strength zip ties that bound her wrists and ankles. Deep red creases encircled her wrists where the ties had been pulled tight to secure her to the chair.

  Mr. Gordon had released Melanie and embraced the frightened young girl until she was called away by her mother. The two hugged each other and cried.

  “I think they took her,” her mother finally said. “I think they took my Desi. Do you know—how did you know—does this have to do with where she’s been all this time?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Gordon simply said. He removed his horn-rimmed glasses as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Do you know where they might have taken her? Did you overhear anything? Anything at all?”

  “I—I couldn’t hear much. Everything sounded so muffled with the door closed. I just heard something about a hospital and—and men named Cias and Alex. I’m not sure if they were their names or—”

  “I know where they took her,” I said.

  “I need to call the police,” Desiree’s mother said, retrieving her cell phone from her dresser.

  “Good idea,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “But they won’t be able to—” I started before Mr. Gordon cut me off.

  “A break in and kidnapping need to be reported,” he said. “We’ll get out of your way. We weren’t here.”

  “But you need to give them your statement, too.”

  “We were never here,” Mr. Gordon reiterated.

  Desiree’s mother’s expression changed, her demeanor and actions suddenly calmer. “Of course. You weren’t here,” she repeated.

  Mr. Gordon patted Melanie on the head, and she didn’t react to the contact whatsoever.

  Instead she turned away from us and said, “Mom, I want Desi.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart,” she said and dialed 911.

  Mr. Gordon and I slipped out of the room and down the stairs with the same sense of urgency as when we’d arrived.

  “Are you coming with me this time, or am I going alone?” I asked defiantly.

  “You can’t be sure that’s where they took her.”

  “You heard her—a hospital and a man named Alex. Alexandria. They took her to the asylum. I have to get her, with or without you. You don’t know what it’s like in there. I left—I left—”

  “I’ll make a call and get us some help. You are not going alone,” he said and drove us down the street to my house.

  Mr. Gordon pulled into my steeply inclined driveway.

  I got out and rushed through the side gate and then through the door to the laundry room. I held the door open for him, but Mr. Gordon hadn’t followed. I continued inside, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind me. A shiver ran through my body as I was overtaken by a moment by déjà vu or TJ’s ghost had found me again as I inched my way into the kitchen. I glanced over at the kitchen table and found all the chairs empty. I waited for a trigger click to break the silence as a barrel leveled to the back of my head, but I was alone in the house.

  The screen door opened and I reached for my gun concealed under my arm—reached for a handgun that was no longer there. Eli had taken it from me, along with my extra ammunition.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Gordon asked as he joined me in the kitchen.

  I nodded, scratching my back, trying to look natural. “Who’s coming to help us?”

  “Mattie—Matilda,” he said.

  “How about Nicholae?”

  “He’s working on getting your mother back. I got a hold of him, so don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I lied. “I know he can take care of himself...even against Kafka. And I know he’ll get her back.” I pictured her standing stiffly next to Kafka, the fear screaming from her eyes—the only parts of her that seemed to have an ounce of free will left. I wondered if she knew about Richard, if she had been forced to witness his final moment or spared his grisly demise. “So what now?”

  “We wait.”

  That was the hardest thing I could think of doing. I removed my jacket and flung it over the back of a chair tucked into the kitchen table. My empty shoulder holster felt loose and awkward without the weight of my handgun to hold it in its proper place.

  I wandered into the dining room and gazed out the sliding glass door into the backyard—the gazebo, the pool, and the all-too-perfect Southern California sky. I turned to face the living room and found Frolics just as Cias had left him, lying lifeless next to the coffee table, lifeless yet still alive
.

  “Mr. Gordon, can you do me a favor?” I asked, walking up to the warm statue of Frolics.

  Mr. Gordon entered the living room from the front entryway. “Of course.” He looked down at me knelt beside Frolics, stroking the fur on his neck and continuing down his back. “You want me to wake him up?”

  “No,” I answered. “I’m sure you remember the other Frolics—the one I used to have back...home.”

  “I do.”

  “Mom had shrunk him into a small stuffed animal for easier travel. Can you do that for him? I don’t want to leave him here—not like this. And he obviously can’t be left here alone in a normal state.”

  Mr. Gordon didn’t have to say anything further. He walked over and knelt beside me. Simply laying a hand on my still dog’s head started the transformation from full-sized golden retriever to miniature stuffed animal. I knew Mr. Gordon wouldn’t do anything to harm my dog, but I still couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  “Is he all right?”

  “As good as he’s ever been,” he replied.

  I held the small replica toy in one hand and eyed it closely, looking for signs of life beneath the manufactured exterior. It was as small as the tan cocker spaniel Frolics.

  “Perfect,” I said, placing the toy in my front pocket with the head sticking out. “Now he’s travel size, too.”

  Just when I was wondering how long it would take Matilda to get here, I heard the whine of the side door opening.

  Both Mr. Gordon and I rushed into the kitchen to meet her, knowing that every second counted. Desiree’s sanity, and quite possibly her life, depended on it.

  Matilda gracefully strode in through the laundry room with form-fitting black pants tucked into her leather boots that laced halfway up her calves. Her fiery red hair fell around her shoulders. She wore a dark blouse with long sleeves that flared out at the cuffs, partially concealing her wolf-head tattoo. Then out from behind her emerged Logan.

  “Hey,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I was the first person to successfully escape from the asylum. Why wouldn’t I come?” he said.

  Matilda and Mr. Gordon shared a quick, almost formal hug.

  “I brought him to help lead the way. I figured, between the both of you, you’d be able to find your way back,” she said. “From what you’ve said, Oliver, your memory of your time in captivity is a bit hazy.”

  “Yes, but I remember how to get there,” I said, slightly offended.

  “And so does Logan. Two heads are better than one.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t want you here,” I said to Logan. “Quite the contrary. I’m thrilled you’re here to help. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably still be in there myself.”

  “Nah,” he said, clapping me on the arm. “You would’ve found your own way out, too. It just might have taken a bit longer...and produced a few failed attempts like me.”

  “Well, it’s great to see you both, but we need to get moving,” I said.

  “Then quit talking and lead the way, Oliver,” Matilda said and stepped aside, clearing the path to the screen door.

  I grabbed my jacket from the chair and asked Matilda for a replacement handgun, knowing she wouldn’t even question my request. I knew Mr. Gordon wasn’t a fan, but having a weighted shoulder holster once again made me feel more secure.

  We all piled into Mr. Gordon’s car and I led him to the apartment complex, Heritage Villas, a half mile down Santa Clara. This was where Desiree, Anna, and I had walked through to reach the cemetery a few months earlier. The complex was the end of the road for driving, so Mr. Gordon pulled into a visitor parking spot. We followed one of the winding paths to the back end of the complex, where a perimeter chain-link fence protected the Heritage Villas residents from the large ravine with two sets of train tracks at its base. In the daylight, I could clearly see the cemetery on the far side; and in that cemetery, I knew was TJ’s grave.

  “We’re not walking through there,” Matilda said.

  I had anticipated some variation of the statement, and since we could see the destination, I knew we wouldn’t have to trek through the ravine. She could provide us a more efficient mode of travel.

  A wooden door like the one we’d found floating in her tent at the Provex City Fair appeared in line with the chain link fence. It opened inward and I could see headstones in the grass beyond.

  “That’s much easier,” I said and was the first to walk through the door.

  I appeared in an area to the left of TJ’s grave. I recognized the general area, but would have to look closer to find his specific tombstone. A few hundred paces away was the large tree with sprawled out, twisted branches where Jeremy had been standing, intentionally trying to scare us as we attempted to conjure TJ’s spirit. I could still picture Jeremy standing there in the dark with both girls huddled up to me in fear. I thought of where Jeremy had been buried. He didn’t deserve to be left there alone. He deserved to be closer to home—wherever home would end up being.

  “Seeing ghosts again?” Logan asked.

  “Always,” I said. “The guy who lived in my house before we moved in is buried here.”

  “That’s right. I’d heard that somewhere, if not from you.”

  I focused on the plane above and found the buildings I was looking for right away. It was as easy as seeing the image in a 3D puzzle that you’d already found. It appeared with little to no effort anymore.

  O.P.C. Medical Facility. Building 4C was the closest to us when the cemetery disappeared. It had been the maternity center, but the blue glow to the building was gone, making it appear dark and abandoned. The glass from numerous windows were missing and a deep crack rose from the foundation, jutting up to the third floor.

  An ambulance with siren blaring drove through the parking lot and disappeared behind the building. The parking lot was nearly filled with cars.

  “Where to?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “To the psych ward,” I said.

  “Building 8A,” Logan added.

  “I knew that,” I lied. My memory jogged once he’d said it, but I wouldn’t have remembered on my own. “I just thought mine was a better description.”

  “A better description than the number of the building?” Logan said with a chuckle.

  “Then how about leading us there instead of arguing semantics?” Matilda said.

  “It’s not a competition,” Logan said, wrapping an arm around my neck like Jeremy used to do.

  “I know.”

  We marched through the trimmed grass until we reached a winding sidewalk lined with two rows of ankle-high lights along the edge at each side. The path curved around the first building and into an open courtyard surrounded by several more buildings making up the medical complex. One more building within view was dark, but the others glowed a blue pulsing light like the sublime skyscrapers of Provex City.

  I remembered Nero guiding me the first time.

  “There,” Logan said, pointing toward the building straight ahead.

  “The psych ward—Building 8A,” I said, sarcastically emphasizing the building number.

  My comment did not go unnoticed and was met with three sets of eye rolls.

  “Thanks for clarifying,” Logan said.

  “Maybe we should have left Oliver home,” Matilda said to Mr. Gordon like I wasn’t even here. “He’s reminding me more and more of his brother.”

  I knew she didn’t mean it as such, but I took her statement as a compliment.

  “Don’t,” Mr. Gordon replied, shaking his head.

  6

  Building 8A

  We passed through the tinted glass of Building 8A’s main entrance, arriving in the waiting area. Several spread-out groups of people lounged in their own claimed corners of the room. The hallway-sized opaque door separating the patients from the visitors lay just ahead. One of the nurses at the admissions desk stopped her conversation and looked up as we passed.

  “May I help you?” sh
e asked, trying to get our attention. “You need to sign in.”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Matilda said without even so much as a sidelong glance in the nurse’s direction.

  “You can’t enter unattended,” the nurse said, her voice wavering.

  Matilda threw up a hand and the nurse was tossed from her stool and onto the floor. The other two nurses near her gasped and rushed to her aid.

  “You could have just shown them your tattoo,” I said to Matilda.

  “No time for formalities,” she answered curtly. “Just keep leading.”

  We passed through the opaque door like any other, even though it would have stopped other visitors who tried to enter the hallway beyond.

  A young male doctor in a white lab coat, walking while reading from a computer tablet, turned from the perpendicular hallway ahead. Our shoes slapping against the tile floor grabbed his attention away from whatever he was reading, and when he looked up from his screen, he looked noticeably agitated by our lack of a hospital chaperone.

  “Did you receive visitor badges from the front desk?” he asked as he approached our group. “If not, then you need to turn around and get one for everyone in your party.”

  “Yes,” Matilda said. “I have my visitor’s badge right here.” She lifted the sleeve of her right arm to prominently display her wolf-head tattoo. “I’m here to see my sister. Is she in?”

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Lorne,” the doctor said, stopping his advance and taking a step back toward the wall to let us pass. “I have not seen her today.” He stumbled over his words as his tone lifted half an octave.

  “Do we want his help?” Matilda asked.

  “No,” I said. “He won’t be of any help.”

  “I can be,” the doctor insisted. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “By not notifying Dr. Lorne of our arrival,” Matilda answered. “I’d like it to be a surprise.”