Fury

by Steven James

  Get out of here, Daniel. This is your chance.

  Mr. Zacharias went to the doorway. He’d slipped something in between the frame and the door to keep it from closing all the way. Now he removed it, eased the door open, leaned into the hall, and whispered, “Now.”

  Daniel pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t still asleep.

  He didn’t wake up.

  No, he was already awake.

  None of the overhead fluorescents in the hallway were on. The only light came from the exit signs glowing at the ends of the hallway and a few dim emergency lights placed at regular intervals throughout the corridor.

  The darkness around Daniel seemed to merge, regroup, combine and redouble heavier and thicker than before, as if it were alive.

  He wondered if the shadows might shape themselves into the form of the demon he’d seen rise above Nicole’s sketchbook or wing its way through the barn, but they didn’t and he wasn’t about to wait around for them to do so. He shifted his attention to Mr. Zacharias, who was motioning for him to come along.

  Daniel went into the hallway, closed the door silently, and followed him.

  But after a little ways, the movement of a flashlight beam cutting through the darkness at the far end of the hall caught his attention.

  As the person appeared, even in the muted light Daniel could tell by the man’s uniform that it was a guard, so he hurried in the opposite direction with Mr. Zacharias.

  As he did, he recalled the logic problem Kyle had made up for him the other day at school: Guards in front of four doors. Two of the men always lie; two always tell the truth.

  So now, Malcolm Zacharias—was he a truth-teller or a liar?

  What benefit would he gain by lying to you? What benefit from telling the truth?

  In the puzzle, logic led to the correct solution. Daniel tried to let it lead him now.

  Who do you trust, Daniel?

  He thought through what he knew—on Saturday Mr. Zacharias had been dressed as a prison guard and had led a prisoner into the Traybor Institute. It seemed a little unbelievable that he would show up now in another state dressed as a police officer, but Daniel had no reason to think that he was lying to him about trying to help him get out of the hospital.

  And there’s no reason to think he’s telling you the truth either.

  Except that he is helping you escape.

  Or so it seems.

  Daniel replayed his trip through the hospital earlier in the day as if it were a map unfolding in his mind. The layout, the distances, the locations of the security cameras were coming back to him.

  He calculated that there wasn’t enough time to get back to the room to hide from the guard, or enough time to get to the other end of the hallway.

  “Are you coming?” Mr. Zacharias asked, his voice hushed and urgent. He was about ten feet farther down the hall.

  Daniel remembered that the door just to his left was a maintenance closet.

  It’ll be locked.

  At least try it.

  He did.

  Found it open.

  Slipped inside.

  Why is this unlocked? In a psych ward, why would they leave the maintenance closet with the chemicals inside it unlocked?

  Questions with no answers—but right now that didn’t matter. This night seemed to be governed by reasons all its own and he could sort them out later. First priority: get out of this place.

  Mr. Zacharias stayed in the hallway.

  This door didn’t have a window so Daniel couldn’t see into the hall, but he could hear the security guard’s footsteps approaching.

  His heart thumped so loudly in his chest that he imagined anyone nearby would be able to hear it, and that made him think of the Edgar Allan Poe story Teach had covered in class earlier that semester—“The Tell-Tale Heart.”

  It was another one of those stories where the protagonist was also the antagonist. The man who’d committed the murder heard his victim’s heart continue to beat, continue to thrum in his conscience, driving him mad.

  And what did Teach say on Friday? That the narrator might be unreliable. That he might not know the whole truth about what’s going on yet.

  Because he might be crazy, or delusional, or both.

  The footsteps stopped just outside the maintenance closet.

  So which is it for you?

  Crazy?

  Delusional?

  Both?

  “Stretching your legs?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Zacharias replied. “It’s a long time to sit outside that doorway.”

  “So they’re going to transfer him out tomorrow?”

  “That’s what I heard. They don’t want to take any chances. It’s okay with me. This isn’t the most exciting assignment.”

  That guard can hear your heart beating. He has to. He knows you’re here.

  No. That’s impossible.

  Daniel planned what he would do if the security guard opened the door. He couldn’t allow himself to be locked up in that room again.

  You can’t let him grab you.

  Push your way past him.

  But then what?

  Even if he made it to the visiting room where he’d spoken with Nicole earlier in the day, the main entrance would certainly be locked.

  Daniel felt his hands tighten into fists as he waited in the closet. Fight or flight?

  Well, both, if necessary.

  “From what they’re saying he slashed up his dad,” the security guard said.

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  “Sick kid.”

  “Well, something’s going on with him, that’s for sure.”

  “They always bring the worst ones here. I wish I had your gig, just a temporary thing. You don’t have to watch these nut jobs night after night.”

  “I’m thankful like you don’t even know.”

  A pause.

  “Alright,” the guard replied finally. “Well, I guess I’ll check the other wing.”

  “I’ll see you on your way back through.”

  The sound of the guard’s footsteps grew fainter and at last the door to the maintenance closet swung open and Mr. Zacharias gestured for Daniel to follow him.

  The coast looked clear.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” Daniel asked. “There are too many cameras near the entrance. They’ll catch us before we even make it to the parking lot.”

  “How do you know about the cameras?”

  “I saw them when I went to the visiting room this afternoon.”

  Depending on how good the cameras were, they might have already caught sight of him.

  Daniel evaluated things. Most people coming into a hospital would enter and leave through the main doors, but not everyone. There might be a staff entrance, but even if there wasn’t one, there would certainly be at least one other way out.

  After all, what if there was a fire? With fire codes and that sort of thing there would need to be another way to exit the building.

  Based on what he could make out about the size of the hospital from walking through it earlier, there was an even more obvious reason why there would be another door. “There’s a loading area, right? A door out back where they make food deliveries?”

  “So what they say about you is right.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’re intuitive. That you’re good at piecing things together.”

  “Who says that?”

  Mr. Zacharias didn’t answer, just said, “Come on,” and he started to lead him down the hall in the opposite direction from the room where Nicole had been.

  Soon, the hallway ended in an intersection. Mr. Zacharias made sure no other guards were in the hall, then whispered for Daniel to follow him.

  They headed to the right, but they’d only made it a couple steps before they came to a patient’s room with a man standing behind his door’s wire-laced window, staring into the hall.

  There was just en
ough light for Daniel to recognize the patient as the old man who’d grabbed his arm earlier and then told him, “You shouldn’t have done that to your father.”

  The man flattened his palm against the glass as if he were trying to reach out and touch Daniel.

  “What do you know about my dad?” Daniel asked.

  “Come on,” Mr. Zacharias said hurriedly. “We have to go.”

  “Hang on.”

  Daniel focused on the old man. “What do you know?”

  “Time,” he said. “You don’t have time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “He’ll do it again.”

  “Who’ll do what again? What are you talking about?”

  Mr. Zacharias grabbed his arm. “Come on. We don’t have time.”

  Daniel stared at him, then gave his attention back to the window in the door. No one was there.

  The room appeared empty.

  He just stepped to the side of the door. He’s standing beside it.

  Or, he might not have been there at all. You might have imagined him.

  He tried the doorknob but it refused to turn.

  “Can you open this?” he asked Mr. Zacharias.

  “The only room key I have is yours.”

  “Did you see a man in there?”

  “I wasn’t looking. Now, let’s go.”

  Daniel couldn’t think of any way of confirming if the old man was real or not without getting the door open.

  You need to keep going. You need to get out of here.

  Sticking close behind Mr. Zacharias, Daniel entered the cafeteria.

  Apart from being about half the size, it reminded him of the one at Beldon High.

  They were on their way to the kitchen to find a delivery door when the alarm sounded.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  A network of emergency lights flicked on as the alarm blared through the hospital.

  Mr. Zacharias hurried toward the exit door with Daniel right behind him. “That alarm means we have twenty seconds before all the outer doors lock down,” he exclaimed breathlessly.

  “But you have a key, right?”

  “Not to get past a lockdown.”

  Oh. Perfect.

  With the time that had passed, Daniel guessed they had maybe fifteen seconds left.

  As they rushed past the ovens and the dishwashing area, a clock ticked away in his head just like it did when he was on the free throw line during a basketball game.

  Ten.

  They reached the far end of the kitchen and Daniel heard the door from the hallway fly open and heavy footsteps charge into the room behind him.

  Seven.

  Mr. Zacharias fumbled with his keys to the exterior door.

  Five.

  Voices called out inside the cafeteria: “In here! In the kitchen!”

  Mr. Zacharias threw open the door and they fled outside.

  Two.

  Daniel slammed it shut behind him.

  One.

  “Can they get out that door?” he asked urgently.

  “They’ll need to shut off the lockdown first, but that won’t take long. Come on. I have a car waiting at the end of the block.”

  As they escaped into the shadows, Daniel heard people banging on the door as if they were trying to pound it open.

  He and Mr. Zacharias made their way through the night to a nondescript black sedan waiting near a streetlight beside the park. It was a different car than the one with the Georgia plates, the one that’d gone into the snowbank on Friday night.

  Lake Superior rippled nearby in the moonlight.

  If they catch you, they’re probably not going to just take you back to your room. They’ll take you to jail this time to make sure you don’t get away.

  No, that didn’t quite fit in with Daniel’s plans of finding out what’d happened to his dad.

  Mr. Zacharias clicked the unlock button on his key fob and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  The guards didn’t see where you went. You’re good for a minute or two. Figure this out.

  Daniel climbed in beside him, and as soon as Mr. Zacharias reached around the steering wheel to slide the key into the ignition, Daniel grabbed his wrist with one hand, twisted it, and snatched the keys away from him with the other.

  He’d been quick and had obviously surprised Mr. Zacharias, who now stared at him through the light cast down by the streetlamp.

  “I want some answers,” Daniel said, “and I want them now. We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Honestly, he wasn’t sure how Mr. Zacharias would react.

  If he really was a police officer, or a prison guard, or whatever, he might threaten him or try to get the keys back, but Daniel had one hand on the door handle and was ready to take off if he needed to.

  Kyle could certainly outrun this guy.

  Can you?

  Even though he wasn’t as fast as his friend, based on how well he did on wind sprints for football and suicides for basketball, he was pretty sure he could get away.

  Mr. Zacharias might have realized the same thing because he didn’t go for the keys, but just said, “Despite what most people at that hospital think, you’re not the dangerous one. The person who took your dad is.”

  “And who is that?”

  “I’m not certain, but based on the amount of blood they found at the scene, your father was hurt very seriously and—”

  “Who was it? Who attacked him?”

  “I think it was a man we transferred from the Derthick State Penitentiary yesterday.”

  “The one you took to the Traybor Institute?”

  Mr. Zacharias looked at him curiously. “How did you know that?”

  “I was there.”

  “You were . . . Ah, so the dogs. You were the one they were after.”

  Daniel didn’t mention that Nicole had been there too. “I saw you. The guy was handcuffed when you took him in. You’re saying, that—what? He escaped?”

  “Daniel, it won’t be long before they find this car and when they do they’re going to take you back into that hospital and this time around you won’t be guarded by someone who’s on your side—I can guarantee you that. But I am on your side. Believe me. Give me the keys. I’ll tell you what I can on the way.”

  “On the way where?”

  “Back to Beldon.”

  Whoever Mr. Zacharias was, he had helped Daniel out of the mental hospital and he was offering to drive him away from here. That much was true.

  Though Daniel wasn’t sure how much he should trust this guy, he did believe that the hospital security guards would be here any minute and if they managed to take him

  in, they certainly would be keeping a closer eye on him than before.

  In the side-view mirror, he saw someone flare around the edge of the building, point at the car, and race in their direction.

  Okay.

  Time to go.

  He handed over the keys. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mr. Zacharias started the engine and peeled away from the curb, keeping his lights off until he and Daniel were three blocks away.

  “Alright,” Daniel said. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  “You said you were at the Traybor Institute.” Mr. Zacharias continued picking his way through the city’s back streets. “What do you know about it?”

  “First of all, they don’t study fish there.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Lucky guess. It has something to do with chronobiology, doesn’t it?”

  “You really are starting to impress me. What else do you know?”

  “Dr. Waxford isn’t an expert on fish. He studies how humans relate to and process the passage of time. But I don’t understand what that has to do with the prisoner you were leading into the facility.”

  Mr. Zacharias took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, “Well, as you might know, the d
eath penalty is becoming rarer these days. As a result, someone might be sentenced to several lifetime sentences in prison, or maybe even four or five hundred years for, say, being a serial killer. But they’ll obviously never serve all that time because they’ll die first. They might serve thirty or maybe forty or even sixty or seventy years—but that’s still just a fraction of their actual sentence.”

  Daniel could see where this was going. “So, chronobiology. You’re looking for a way to make it seem like hundreds of years have passed for someone. To make them experience, in their mind, that much passage of time.”

  “I’m not looking for a way to do it, I’m looking for a way to stop it—but yes, that’s what the research is about.”

  “You’re trying to stop it?”

  “The group I work for is.”

  “What group is that?”

  “I’m afraid that’s something I can’t tell you.”

  Why didn’t that surprise him.

  “You have a gift, Daniel. We know about what happened with Emily. With how you pieced things together after she was killed.”

  “How can you possibly know that? Even I don’t know how I did that.”

  “Maybe I should’ve said we know that you did it, not how, because that’s one of the things we’re interested in talking with you about. We think you can help us locate people—missing people—maybe solve cold cases.”

  “How did you find out about me?”

  “A source.”

  “A source.”

  “Yes. And we’ve been monitoring you.”

  “Monitoring me? What—my web searches?”

  “And emails, status updates, instant messages, photos you’ve shared, texts. With technology the way it is today, do you really think there’s such a thing as privacy anymore?”

  “So you’ve been spying on me?”

  “We’ve been collecting data.”

  That’s a nice way to put it.

  Daniel tried once more to get him to open up about who he was working for, but Mr. Zacharias remained evasive, so he let it drop. “You said before that I was intuitive. But I’m not. I’m not special. I’m just a normal guy who’s starting to go crazy, to lose his grip on reality.”

  “Oh, you’re special in ways you don’t even realize.”