The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  "So, you're finally awake, are you?" Marie, the day nurse, asked with a polite smile, wrinkling her face even more.

  "I need my sleep," Stephen replied sullenly.

  Marie laughed and fluffed his pillows for him. "What you need is exercise." She tucked the pillows back under his head. "That's what you need."

  Sly sat quietly in the chair next to Stephen's bed, ignoring the conversation and reading the morning edition of the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel. Marie reached around him and replaced the pitcher of water and glass from the night table with a fresh set. The tumbler was turned upside down and Sly's car keys lay next to it. Stephen was demurely reminded of a poem by William Carlos Williams that he had read back in his senior year in high school. "Nantucket," is what he thought it was titled. In the poem, however, the room was empty, and the key next to the tumbler meant the patient had been released and was going home. Stephen knew he was a little way from reaching that happy day.

  Not that he felt he was in that bad of shape anymore. Of course, the recurring headaches still plagued his otherwise peaceful evenings. His left arm itched madly, and though he became frustrated at times because he couldn't reach it through the cast to scratch it, he would tell himself that it itched only because it was healing. And that, like it or not, was the way it had to be. The bruise on his right leg from Randy's fiasco had almost completely dissipated, but the new bruise on his left leg kept him limping. He was down to taking aspirin for the constant dull throbbing of the entire left side of his body. But other than that, he thought, he was feeling just fine.

  Marie took his pulse and blood pressure, again didn't tell him what they were (he hated that), and left with a smile, saying she would return before her shift was over to see how he was doing. Sly turned the page of his paper and began to hum a tune that Stephen didn't recognize, nor did he care to.

  "If you're that bored," Stephen said, sitting up and adjusting the bed to his liking, "you can leave, you know. I don't need constant watching. You guys make me feel like an infant with the whooping cough."

  "Oh, now the girls would never forgive me if I did that," Sly replied without looking up from the paper. "Anyway, I am safe from our friend, the detective, in here. Even if he manages to slip past the front desk, he'll go straight for your jugular and not even notice I'm in the room."

  "Say anything in the paper about Dodsville?"

  "Nope." Sly pulled out the sports page and threw it nonchalantly on Stephen's lap.

  Stephen picked it up and immediately scoffed. The Brewers had lost again, this time in extra innings to the White Sox. "Anything happening on the outside that I should or shouldn't know about?" he asked, at length.

  "Nope."

  "Did they find any of the missing bodies?"

  "Nope."

  "Anybody ever tell you that you are a pleasure to hold a conversation with?"

  "Nope." Sly finished with his section of the paper and set it on the edge of the bed. "Done with the sports yet?"

  "Nope," Stephen answered.

  Sly sighed and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head for support. "Too bad you're laid up in here," he said.

  Stephen dropped the sports section enough so he could see over the top. "Why's that?"

  "I don't know if I should tell you or not." Sly sat forward and poured himself a glass of water from Stephen's pitcher. "Julie insisted that no one tell you."

  Stephen folded the paper and set it on top of his bed. "Now, you know you're going to tell me," he said while Sly drank from his tumbler. "So don’t mess with my brain and spit it out."

  "You promise not to tell the girls that I said anything about it?"

  "Of course," Stephen replied impatiently. "Now spill it."

  "Well, it's just that Julie, Melissa, Tabs, and I have been doing a little sleuthing on our own."

  "You're kidding. What can you amateurs possible hope to accomplish?"

  "We're heading out to the Klaus mansion tonight," Sly replied after taking another drink. "That is, if we can lose our tail again."

  Stephen sat up farther in bed. "You guys would do that without me?"

  "Like I said, the girls didn't want me saying anything to you. But I thought you'd want to know."

  Stephen glanced over at his roommate, who was fast asleep, and leaned toward Sly. "What type of investigating you been doing?"

  "Oh, this and that," Sly replied, with obviously forced nonchalance. "The past two days we've been following the lawyer around. See if he'd lead us to any bodies. We've talked it over at length, and he's the only suspect we can come up with." He broke out into a grin. "Other than you, that is."

  "Right," Stephen replied. "Did you have any luck?"

  "Nope. It has been difficult, though, with the police attempting to watch our every move. We manage to lose them every now and then." He chuckled. "And I'm sure they catch fire from Pierce every time we do."

  "Damn." Stephen slammed his good fist down on the bed. "I want out of here."

  "How long yet?"

  "Doc Werner says at least another week." He paused, and lowered his voice. "But I plan on escaping in a couple of days." He straightened the newspaper and set it on the floor. "Any chance you could postpone the trip to the mansion until then?" he asked.

  "No way," Sly replied emphatically. "You know Julie would never allow such a thing. And she would be right, too. In case you've forgotten, you've been in a serious car accident."

  Stephen rubbed his forehead with his palm. The bandage had been removed yesterday. "How can I forget?"

  "You know," Sly said. "You never did say exactly how it happened."

  Stephen again glanced over at his roommate, who was still fast asleep. Then, they kept him so heavily sedated that sleep was about all he ever did.

  "You won't believe it even if I did tell you," Stephen said with a slight laugh that was obviously forced.

  "Why? You think I won't believe that you’re not a infallible driver and actually made an error in judgment?"

  "Yea, all right. I'll give you that. I was driving too fast for road conditions." He leaned closer to Sly. "But it was what I saw on the road that made me lose control of the car."

  Sly poured himself another glass of water. "And what, may I ask, was that?"

  "As I was rounding that curve . . ." He hesitated, though only for a second. "A little girl was standing in the middle of my lane." Again a short pause. "And I could swear that little girl looked exactly like Clair Klaus."

  Sly leaned toward Stephen and motioned with his index finger for him to do the same. He looked around the room, as if to make sure no one would overhear, then whispered, "That knock on your head did more damage than the doctors think." And he sat back upright and laughed.

  "No, it's true," Stephen said, loudly. His roommate turned over in his sleep. He added, more gently, "There is no doubt in my mind that is what I saw."

  Sly took a deep drink, sighed a satisfying sigh, and set the glass back on the lamp table. "Of course not," he said, more serious now. "You just finished conversing with Meyer Klaus, and you, like the rest of us when we heard about Rhonda and Clair Klaus, were notably confused. When you saw a girl on the road, your mind simply got mixed up."

  "Then you tell me why any child would have been out in the middle of the highway, out in the middle of nowhere, out in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

  "Can't."

  Seeing that he wasn't about to convince Sly of what he had seen, the exact reason why he hadn't told anybody, Stephen decided to change the subject. "Where is Melissa finding all this time to run around searching for evidence? I thought she'd be back to work by now."

  "Ah, now there's a sad story," Sly replied. "Seems that those kind, understanding employers of hers heard about Melissa's involvement in the murders and gave her an indefinite leave of absence."

  "With pay, I hope."

  "Nope."

  "You're kidding?"

  "Nope."

  Stephen reflected for a minute
while Sly went into the bathroom for more water, taking the empty pitcher with him. As soon as he returned, Sly poured himself another glass. At length, Stephen said, "I don't understand exactly what you guys think you're going to accomplish by going back to the mansion. What is out there that we could have missed while we were staying there?"

  "Don't know for sure," he replied. "But Melissa told us about the room down the west wing and your closet upstairs. So, we thought we'd check the place out, see if we can come up with any evidence that someone broke in."

  "Don't you think the police would have already handled that job?"

  "It's a big house. Maybe they missed something." He took a drink. "Anyway, they don't know that someone had been there that last night."

  "So, why not just tell the police?"

  Sly shrugged. "They aren't doing such a good job, now are they? How many bodies are there missing now? Four?"

  "All right. I see your point." Then, after a pause: "How about running down to the cafeteria and bringing me back a burger? I hate the crap they feed me."

  Sly stood, as if he had been waiting for the chance to leave. "You want onions on that?"

  "Just catsup and pickles."

  Sly nodded and headed out the door.

  "Oh," Stephen called after him, "And some fries would be nice."

  "Fine."

  While waiting for Sly's return with the food, Stephen picked the paper off the floor. As he was just about to read the comic section a minute later, the door opened and a young woman in her mid-twenties walked in. Stephen hadn't been expecting her, but he recognized the face immediately.

  "Ann," he said, folding the section he held. "What a nice surprise. You don't work days at the motel?"

  "I heard you were getting better," she said after shutting the door and proceeding to his bedside. "So I thought I'd drop by and see how you were progressing for myself." She sat in the chair that Sly had just vacated. "And you do look a hell of a lot better than I thought you would after seeing the photo of your car in the paper."

  Stephen had seen that photo and had wondered himself how he managed to survive the accident. "Lady Luck was riding high on my shoulder that day, I guess."

  "Well, now," Ann said, smiling pleasantly. "If I remember correctly, you promised me a rain check on dinner the night you arrived in Dodsville. I hope you haven't forgotten."

  "As soon as I get out of this prison," Stephen replied, but not really believing he would go out with her. Not that he didn't find her attractive, but because . . . He didn't really know why, though he thought it might have had something to do with his increasing feelings for Melissa. But that was ridiculous.

  She apologized for telling Pierce about Stephen’s leaving the motel on the night of the Del Smith murder.

  “Don’t even give that another thought,” Stephen said. “If you would have lied for me, you’d be in trouble right along with me. They would have found out anyway.”

  Ann stayed for slightly over fifteen minutes. By then the conversation of what each had been doing for his or her life had worn down. "Oh my, look at the time, will you?" she said. "I have to be on my way. But don't think I'll forget about that rain check as soon as you're out of here."

  "I won't."

  After she left, Stephen picked up the paper off the floor again and turned straight to the comics. Julie came in before he had a chance to begin reading.

  "I'm getting off now," she said. Her eyes darted around the small confines of the room. "Where's Sly?"

  "Getting me a burger from the cafeteria," he replied. "What's this I hear about you guys going on a little adventure this evening?"

  Julie's face tensed. "He didn't tell you?"

  "Yea, but don't worry about it. My lips are sealed."

  "It's not your telling on us that worried me," Julie said. "We figured you might be mad at us for not waiting for you."

  "Well, you're right about that. But, then, what am I supposed to do about it?" He grabbed Julie's hand. "Be careful, though, huh?" He was suddenly reminded of the incident in the room down the west wing. "And watch out for Pierce. He would have an orgasm if he caught you out there."

  "It's not too difficult slipping the eye of his watch dogs." She grinned mischievously.

  "I heard."

  "Well, Stephen, I’ve got to run." She patted him on the top of his head, something Stephen hated, and left.

  "Good luck!" he shouted after her.

  His roommate groaned and opened his eyes. "Oh, sorry, Matt," Stephen said. "Didn't mean to wake you. "

  Matthew Hansen yawned, sat up, and reached down to where his right leg should have been. When he felt nothing but blanket, he dropped back down to his pillow with an exasperated sigh.

  Stephen had yet to see a visitor arrive for Matt, and often wondered about it, but didn't say anything.

  After a minute of staring up at the ceiling in silence, Hansen looked over to where Stephen lay in bed, reading the paper. "Well, how is your morning going, my fellow cell mate?"

  "Morning?" Stephen replied with a chuckle. "It's almost two o'clock."

  Hansen shrugged as if he could have cared less.

  The door opened hard, followed by the entrance of Randy Beliwitz. He took two steps into the room and stopped, grinning like a man who finally caught his wife cheating on him and now had the excuse to kill her.

  Stephen felt his entire body tense, and begin to throb.

  "What do you want, Randy?"

  "Well, it is true," he replied, the grin getting bigger. "You see what happens to certain persons who mess around with other guys' girlfriends. Too bad you weren't killed in the crash, though."

  "What do you want, Randy?" Stephen repeated, quite colorlessly.

  "Rumor has it you're a prime suspect in the murders that have been going on around here." His smile disappeared completely. "Don't surprise me, though. I knew you were scum the minute I laid eyes on you."

  Hansen adjusted his bed so he could sit upright. "Trouble, Stephen?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of Beliwitz.

  "It's nothing," Stephen replied. "Just a little disease that oozed in under the door. It'll go away soon."

  Randy walked over to Hansen's bed, and noticed the missing leg. The blanket just sagged down flat where his right leg should have been. "So what do you think you're going to do about it, Captain Hook?" Randy laughed. "Throw a wooden leg at me?" He threw back his head and laughed again.

  "Shut up, Beliwitz," said Stephen laconically as soon as Randy quieted. "Tell me what the hell you want and then get out."

  Randy's jaw dropped in mock sympathy. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." He walked the distance to Stephen's bed and grabbed him by the chin. "Nice bruise you got here on your face," he said, the mock sympathetic expression on his face turning to one of utter disgust.

  Stephen knocked Randy's hand away, but only stared back.

  "You may think you're in bad shape now," Randy said. "But this is nothing compared to how you're going to look and feel when you get out of here. That car accident is going to seem like a ride on the bumper cars. Just you wait."

  "And exactly what is it that my grandson is supposed to wait for?" An elderly woman stood just inside the doorway, her arms folded on her chest. "Huh?"

  "Grandma!" exclaimed Stephen.

  Randy brushed past her on his way out, but stopped at the door and turned around. "Reed got in my way," he said sullenly.

  "What the hell do you mean by that?" Stephen shot back from his bed, wishing he were well enough to jump up and get into his face.

  "Think about it," Randy replied, and left.

  Stephen's grandmother remained standing where she was. "Now who was that?" she asked.

  "That was a long story, Grandma," Stephen replied, hoping not to get into it. "What took you so long in getting here, anyway? Even though there really was no need for you to come."

  "No need for me to come?" she replied, with exaggerated shock. "I watched you grow up under my feet, and you think I
can stay away when you've nearly been killed in an accident."

  Matt Hansen cleared his throat.

  "Oh, excuse me," said Stephen, getting the hint. "Grandma, this is my fellow prison inmate, Matt Hansen. Matt, this is my grandmother from Milwaukee."

  Mrs. O'Neal nodded and said a polite hello. Hansen only nodded in reply.

  Stephen said, "Now what is this I hear? You couldn't make it up here to see me earlier because you were ill?"

  "Oh, that was really nothing," she replied, with a wave of the hand. "Had a touch of the flu, but I'm past that now."

  "Flu? In the middle of summer?"

  Mrs. O'Neal pruned a dead leaf off a plant next to the bed. "What's this I hear about you being involved in a couple of murders?" she asked, not looking him in the eyes.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Tabitha called me a couple of times since your accident, and I forced all of the details out of her. Sweet girl, that Tabitha Price. Now don't you go getting sore at her, either." She ceased fiddling with the plant and turned her complete attention to her grandson. "Now don't avoid my question."

  "It isn't anything at all," Stephen replied. "There's this inept detective who cannot find the real killer, so he has to pick on someone to get his superiors off his case. He sure can be a pain at times, though."

  "Well, this detective had better stay clear of you now that I'm here."

  "Now, Grandma--"

  "And don't you go telling me what I can and can't do, either," she added, interrupting him. She pinched his good cheek. "Because no one pushes my only grandson around. And that goes for that fool who just left, too.”

  Hansen laughed. This was the first time Stephen could remember him showing any emotion.

  "Now what was he doing in here anyway?" Mrs. O'Neal asked, settling in the chair next to the bed. "And don't think you can change the subject again."

  Stephen sighed. "A jealous boyfriend," he replied. "And he's way off on this one. Thinks I'm after Tabitha."