“He’s doing fine. I stuck my head in on him earlier, but you’ll probably be allowed to come by yourself later today. Like I said, everything seems to be wrapping up around here.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll see you in a half-hour.”
“Half-hour, bye,” Torrie said and hung up.
Ed spent the next half-hour nursing his Coke and chewing on his straw. The half-hour turned into forty-five minutes and Ed ordered another Coke. At fifty-five minutes, Ed asked for a menu. Torrie walked in five minutes after that.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Torrie said as she hurriedly walked in, sat down next to him and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“At least you’re consistent,” Ed teased.
Torrie scrunched her face at him. “So, you remember that call I got this morning from Nurse Trish?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, one of my patients was found dead this morning.”
“Oh my God, Torrie!”
“That’s only the half of it. She was found in her room . . . now get this . . . her hair had turned solid white, her mouth was frozen open in a scream and she’d torn out her own eyes. Sound familiar?”
“A little too familiar.”
“If you weren’t with me last night, I’d have some serious questions for you.”
“W-Who was the patient?”
“It was the one they brought in last night, the one who was terrified by that little Chihuahua.”
“Jeez-Louise. Are they blaming this on you?”
“No, but everyone is pretty nervous about it. I mean, a patient, in a mental hospital, is allowed to commit suicide. It doesn’t look too good from a litigation standpoint, if you catch my drift. I was drilled by the administrators for several hours this morning about everything that happened yesterday. Thank God Dr. Austin concurred with my diagnosis and recommendations on her.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“Am I at least forgiven for being late?”
“On the condition that you make it up to me later,” Ed said and kissed her.
“So, how was your morning?”
“I spent the morning at the police station doing a little research on something that might be related to your patient.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
“I went to the police station to pull the case file on that body I saw when I was seven years old.”
“The source of your nightmares.”
“Yeah, probably, but anyway, not only did I find that case file, but I also found seven more case files where the deceased was found in the same condition. Your patient makes nine of these cases in Edge Key alone in the past forty years.”
“Are you shittin’ me?!”
“Also, before I got the call that Uncle Kane was in the hospital, I was up in Gibsonton, Florida writing an article about this strange discovery of a dead circus midget.”
“And let me guess. Your circus midget was found with white hair, mouth frozen open in a scream and his eyes clawed out.”
“Give that girl a cupie doll. That doesn’t even include this article I read on the internet describing a similar discovery out in California, or this story Uncle Kane told me about-”
“Ed, honey, what have you stumbled into here?”
“Hopefully, the biggest story of my career.”
“But if what you’re alluding to is true, then there are identical dead bodies all over the country . . . and that can’t be a coincidence.”
“That would be a reasonable conclusion.”
“So, somebody has been getting away with murder for at least forty years?”
“Somebody . . . or some-thing.”
Torrie stared back at Ed wide-eyed for several seconds before she finally looked away. “I lost my appetite. And I’m scared.”
What scares you? WHAT SCARES YOU?!
Ed flinched when the thought entered his mind, spilling the remainder of his Coke in the process. Ed grabbed for some napkins and Torrie got up to leave.
“Torrie, wait.” She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Torrie, don’t talk to anyone about what we discussed here today. Something is going on and until I’ve had enough time to piece it all together, please just stay quiet about it.”
Ed didn’t want to tell her that it might be dangerous to let someone know about his theories. He’d already sprung enough on her for one day. Torrie nodded without turning around and then walked out of the drug store. Ed was left alone with the mess in front of him on the counter—and alone with the mess he’d uncovered in the last couple of days.
CHAPTER 13
“Get the facts first, then panic.”
—unknown
“What do you mean there was a reporter here requesting copies of these case files?!” Captain Nash asked Stacy.
Captain Nash was the highest ranking officer on the Edge Key Police Department. At the moment, he was having a hard time controlling his temper. First, there’d been that business down at Ivory Rock Clinic this morning and now, he had some nosey reporter from some trashy tabloid poking around in his files.
“We don’t just allow reporters to rummage around through our case files, Stacy.”
“With all due respect, sir, there are laws that allow anyone access to closed case files,” she answered. “You’re not suggesting that I should have broken the law, are you?”
“No, but there are procedures that need to be followed before-”
“You mean this form that Shannon made him fill out yesterday,” she said as she held up the form Ed filled out. Captain Nash might outrank her, but she was standing her ground. Stacy didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, and this was only a part-time job anyway.
Captain Nash looked at the form Ed had filled out and sighed. “Okay, Stacy. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long morning.”
“It’s the afternoon,” she said curtly.
Captain Nash sighed again. “Did that reporter say why he wanted copies of these files? They span almost forty years; they can’t be related.”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Now, if this interrogation is over, can I get to school? I’m probably gonna be late already.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Captain Nash said, although Stacy was already halfway to the door.
Captain Nash again looked at the form Ed had filled out. In the section requiring a description of the material he was searching for, Ed had written: Investigation of a dead body. Captain Nash wasn’t going to glean Ed’s reasons for requesting these files from what Ed wrote on this form. Pressure began building under Captain Nash’s left temple—the beginnings of a migraine. He picked up the phone and dialed a number, hoping to find a solution to his latest dilemma.
“Hello,” Sergeant Moore answered.
“Hi, Shannon. This is Captain Nash.”
“Why, hi there, Kevin. To what do I owe the pleasure of hearin’ your voice on my day off?”
“There was a reporter in here yesterday who talked to you. He was looking for some information regarding an investigation into a dead body.”
“Yeah, I remember him. He grew up here on the Key and went off to some big-city paper.”
“I didn’t know he grew up here, but that’s him. Did he say, or do you know, what he’s looking for?”
“Said he was lookin’ for a file on some dead body they found over in Vagrant-ville some thirty-odd years ago. Kevin, it was one of those bodies.”
“Oh, shit. How the hell . . . Shannon, he requested copies of files on eight different cases over the past forty or so years.”
“Oh, my lord. That sounds like he done gone and found ‘em all.”
“What would he want with these files? Did you gather any reason from him?”
“No. As soon as he mentioned the description of that first body, I did my best to stall ‘im. Then, he went off and started talkin’ all legal-like, threatenin’ a lawsuit by his paper . . . you know them big-city reporter-types.”
“Ah, hell.”
“Have you thought about talkin’ to the city lawyer about keepin’ those files from him?”
“No,” Captain Nash said while rubbing his left temple, which was throbbing. “Unless it’s an active investigation, there’s generally no legal reason to withhold documents like that. At least, that’s my understanding of the Sunshine Laws. I refuse him the documents and I’m the one who gets prosecuted for a crime. Besides, the city attorney isn’t the sharpest tack in the box and he’d probably end up costing the city a fortune. Then, the mayor would be all over my ass about the budget and it would all be for naught. That reporter obviously knows about these files and I’d be willing to bet he made good enough notes that he probably doesn’t need the actual files anymore anyway. Bottom line is: we’re fucked.”
“Kevin, we always knew this could git out and it ain’t like we was the ones who started it. Shoot, we was fresh outta the academy when we heard about that first one.”
“Yeah, maybe it won’t come back to haunt us, but I just have an awful feeling about all of this.”
“I’ve done had an awful feelin’ ‘bout all this mess since I seen that first body ages ago.”
“Shannon, there was another one this morning down at Ivory Rock.”
“Oh, my sweet Jesus! Ain’t that for some timin’. But who knows? Maybe this reporter-fella will finally bring this mess to an end for us once and for all.”
“I’m kind of afraid of that, Shannon,” Captain Nash said and hung up the phone. He needed to stop thinking about this for awhile and find a nice dark and quiet place to rest. His entire head was now pounding, the result of a full blown migraine.
CHAPTER 14
“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay, then it's you.”
—Unknown
Ed had returned to Torrie’s place to review his notes after his “lunch” with her. Since he wasn’t allowed to visit Uncle Kane and Torrie was still at work, he didn’t have much else to do. There was also the troubling matter of the discoveries he’d made today. When he’d originally begun working on this story with the discovery of the corpse of The Crash Test Maven, Ed only hoped that he had a page one story. Now he realized that if what he was uncovering turned out to be true, then he had a story that would have national and, possibly, international repercussions. That is, assuming he could convince anyone besides the faithful readers of Manifesto Veritas that his story wasn’t a complete fabrication.
That wasn’t going to be an easy task given his journalistic background. It was easy to publish an article in Manifesto Veritas about some mysterious phenomenon that was hunting people to feed on their life-force using an unsubstantiated legend told by a homeless person with a history of mental illness and a few dead bodies with similar characteristics. However, in order to be taken seriously, he needed hard evidence. At this point in his investigation, Ed was missing any evidence that would link the corpses—other than their obvious post-mortem uniformity. Would that be enough? Hadn’t all the Boston Strangler murders been linked because of the same motus operandi?
No, that won’t do it, Ed thought.
There were problems with this line of thinking. First, it didn’t take a medical examiner to establish that the victims of the Boston Strangler were actually murdered instead of having died of natural causes—a person doesn’t tie herself up prior to strangling herself. Second, a person can be murdered and leave evidence, but that evidence can be overlooked unless someone specifically tests for it. For example, a death from arsenic poisoning will appear to be a death from natural causes unless the victim is specifically tested for arsenic in the blood. Similarly, victims of the same disease or condition often look the same after death even if the disease or condition is a rare one. Victims of the Ebola hemorrhagic fever all have symptoms characterized by massive bleeding and destruction of the internal organs. Smallpox, though now eradicated, was characterized by pustular pimples occurring all over the victim’s body. What if the deaths that Ed discovered were all caused by an unknown toxin or an extremely rare, but noninfectious disease?
Discovery of some mysterious toxin or a new and rare disease would be just as prestigious as the discovery of some supernatural being, wouldn’t it? Ed asked himself.
Of course, that would require medical evidence that probably wasn’t possible since almost all of the victims had either been cremated or were six feet under.
But not all of the victims.
Ed picked up the phone and quickly dialed Torrie’s cell phone. Maybe she had some control over the latest body.
“Hello,” Torrie answered.
“Hi, Torrie, this is Ed. Have things gotten back to normal around there?”
“More or less. They’re allowing visitors to come by again up until eight o’clock, so you can come by to see Uncle Kane if you want. Is that why you called?”
“Not really, but that’s good to know. The reason I called is for some information. Do you know if they’re going to perform an autopsy on that woman from this morning?”
“I don’t know. I don’t make those types of decisions. I think that’s up to the police, the family or the county medical examiner. Why?”
“If you wanted to . . . as her treating physician . . . could you order an autopsy?”
“Um, wow, I really don’t know. What’s this all about, Eddie?”
“I was sitting here, reviewing my notes and thinking about what we were discussing earlier. What if all of these strange deaths were caused by a mysterious toxin or some rare disease as opposed to . . . the other thing we talked about? If that were true, then the only way I know to find out is if a full autopsy—not a basic one—is performed. It would have to be an autopsy that was specifically looking for something beyond the obvious.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a medical doctor.”
“Ed, neither am I, but even if I did have the authority to order an autopsy, I’d have to provide the clinic with something other than a hunch to justify the expenditure. This place has a pretty tight budget.”
“How much would something like that cost? I might be able to convince my paper to pick up the tab.”
“Even if I could convince the clinic that an autopsy was necessary, they’d never allow a tabloid paper to pick up the tab. That would pretty much guarantee your tabloid access to the results and there’s no hospital or clinic in the world that would want that if they could prevent it.”
“Okay, I see your point. Could you at least let me know if an autopsy is performed?”
“Yeah, I guess I could do that. I don’t see the harm there, but I’ve got to be careful about revealing too much to you, Eddie. My job could be at stake.”
“I understand, sweetheart, and I promise to keep you insulated from anything that could possibly get you in trouble. You’re more important to me than any story.”
“I trust you, but I’m just nervous about all of this.”
“Understood. Enough of this talk. I’m gonna come by to visit Uncle Kane and I’ll poke my head in on you while I’m there—if that’s okay.”
“I’d be mad if you didn’t.”
“All right, I see you in a little while then.”
“Okay, bye,” she said and hung up.
The conversation wasn’t as productive as Ed hoped, but at least he would know if an autopsy was performed. That was something. Ed also realized that he needed to be careful about involving Torrie too much. He did care about her and there was no way he wanted her hurt in even the slightest possible way. He’d give up his story before he let that happen.
Ed drove over to the clinic soon after he got off the phone with Torrie. On the way over, he tried to run all the possible scenarios in his head. One, some human was traveling around the country introducing some as yet unknown toxin into random people for some as yet unknown reason. Two, a rare, unknown disease had caused all the deaths. Three, it
was actually possible for people to literally die of fright and when this happened, the bodies looked identical. Four—the scariest possibility—Uncle Kane’s legend was true and there was some creature that hunted the dregs of society and fed on their life-force.
Five, you’ve gone off the deep end, Ed-old-boy, in search of the story that’ll save your miserable job. You’ve put together a bunch of unrelated events in your mind to form a semi-cohesive story because the pressure of losing your job has finally gotten to you.
Right now, that last thought seemed like the leading candidate in his mind. Ed had never been a very good reporter. It didn’t seem very possible that someone like Ed could find this huge, national conspiracy—or whatever—all by himself. And he had been under a great deal of stress lately whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. In the last month, he’d been dumped by his former girlfriend, his boss had basically threatened his job and his only living relative was in the hospital.
So, who cares if I’m nuts? Who cares if I can prove any of this junk? It’ll still make a great story for Manifesto Veritas—and that’s the bottom line.
By the time Ed pulled into the parking lot of Ivory Rock Clinic, he didn’t care whether his story would make international headlines or only Manifesto Veritas headlines. He would have his story, and it would be a good one. For the moment, it was more important to him to concentrate on visiting his uncle—and Torrie.
“Hi, can I help you?” the receptionist asked Ed. Fortunately, it wasn’t the same one from this morning who’d watched him get escorted out of the building by that bastard-cop, Lieutenant Bischoff.
“Hi, I’m here to see a patient, Kane Nanreit. He’s my uncle.”
“Let me just check his room number for you.”
“It’s three sixteen,” Ed said. He couldn’t forget that number.
“That makes it easy. I’ll page someone to escort you back to his room.”
A couple of minutes later, Ed was being escorted into room three sixteen.
“Hi, Uncle Kane.”
“Eddie! How’s my favorite nephew?”
The Fringe Dwellers Page 11
