Enter If You Dare

by Alyson Larrabee

  “A double murder, Mike! Did you commit a double murder?”

  “I more or less just set things up and then let them die. I didn’t deliberately kill those boys. But my mother was afraid that somebody would think I did. She made a crazy anonymous phone call to a newspaper reporter, telling them about the violent roommate who caused Daniel’s death. She thought it would take the suspicion away from me. She didn’t want me to get arrested or fired and she didn’t want anyone figuring out that someone had been stealing drugs, because she was involved and so was I. But, by the time the authorities started their investigation, Dr. Peterson and Dr. Summers had already destroyed all of the evidence. There was no patient named Anthony mentioned in any of the paperwork in any of the files at the hospital. And Daniel wouldn’t be telling anybody about the stolen drugs.”

  “Did you ever find Anthony that morning?”

  I feel tears building up in the corners of my eyes as I wait to hear Mike Donahue’s answer.

  “Yes. I walked out and saw the beginning of the trail he left. So I followed it. When I got to the fence I could tell he’d climbed it. I saw his blood on some of the chain links. The metal was so cold his flesh must’ve stuck to it and then peeled off when he pulled his hands away. He was bleeding. I unlocked the gate and followed his footprints into the woods for almost two miles before I found him. I can’t believe how far he got.”

  “And why can’t you believe it, Mike?”

  We all know why, but I guess he needs to say it out loud so it’ll be recorded on the video.

  “It was below zero out there and the wind was howling. I remember feeling exhausted from being up all night. I had a coat, a hat and my gloves on and I was still freezing. Anthony was only wearing his pajamas and he was shot full of Phenobarbital.”

  “So, even though he was freezing and drugged, Anthony managed to travel almost two miles away from the hospital. And you were able to find him?”

  “Yes. It had snowed a little during the night and the snow made it easy to follow the trail left by Anthony’s bare feet. The blood was especially noticeable. I remember how red his blood looked, on the white snow.”

  At this point in his story, my tears start to fall faster than I can wipe them away. Mom hands me a tissue.

  “After about a mile and a half, his footprints turned to drag marks in the snow. He must’ve fallen to his knees and crawled along the ground. The sedative kicked in big time but Anthony still didn’t give up. Finally I saw him. He looked more peaceful than he ever had when he was alive. He was lying on his side, frozen solid. His skin was as gray as granite. He looked like a statue that had toppled over.”

  Now we know. Anthony fought to escape as far away from Wild Wood as possible. When he could no longer stand or walk, he dragged himself across the frozen ground. In the end, he fell over and died; alone in the dark and the cold.

  The Last Chapter

  We all bend our heads in silent prayer for Anthony. The Lonesome Boy. Who tried to save Daniel and failed.

  Mike Donahue begins the final chapter of his tragic story.

  “I carried him back to the hospital. He was skinny, but kinda tall, so he felt pretty heavy after a while. Plus his body was stiff, so it was hard to keep moving with him in my arms.”

  Horrified, I look at Wyatt and he wraps me up in a big hug. Even though the prisoner can’t see me he stares straight into the mirror and we make eye contact. Only he doesn’t realize it because he’s looking at his own reflection. As Donahue continues his horrible tale, I experience a different kind of chill than the one Anthony always brings with him. The criminal’s voice is empty of compassion. It contains no trace of self-awareness or empathy. Wyatt hugs me tighter as I shiver in his arms.

  “I half-dragged him and half-carried him back to the hospital, almost two whole miles. I felt exhausted and colder than I’d ever been before in my life. Summers let me in one of the back doors. We put both boys into the same coffin, sealed it up and left it in the hospital crypt. As soon as the ground thawed out enough, the grave diggers buried them. No one noticed the coffin weighed enough to contain two boys. They were both pretty thin.”

  How can these men live with themselves? Summers is a doctor; a pediatrician! And what about Daniel’s and Anthony’s parents? These were their children. This happened in 1986, not the dark ages. The prisoner continues to explain why he, Summers and Peterson will rot in hell one day.

  “Dr. Peterson called Daniel’s family, but they didn’t want a funeral or anything. The staff at Wild Wood was left with the responsibility of burying him, which was the way Peterson and Summers wanted it to be.”

  “Why?”

  “The less anyone interfered, the better. Summers signed the death certificate for Daniel. I think it said something like ‘due to complications resulting from a seizure.’ We destroyed all of the documents and records that mentioned Anthony. We made it look like he was never a patient at Wild Wood. The doctors and I searched for and got rid of any paperwork that had his name on it. We made it seem like he’d never been born. He didn’t exist anymore.”

  “What about his parents?”

  “When Anthony was a baby, his parents brought him to the hospital and never visited him after. Because he was so violent, almost nobody at the hospital had any contact with him. Sometimes a couple of us would get called in to restrain him and give him a shot; usually me and whoever else happened to be on duty. If any of the hospital workers knew him or remembered him, they didn’t ask about him. There were way too many patients in that hospital and not enough staff. Nobody even noticed Anthony was missing. Nobody knew he was dead except me, Peterson and Summers.”

  Uncle Johnny makes a quick call on his cell phone, for someone to pick up Doctor Peterson.

  “My mother might’ve suspected something, but she kept her mouth shut. She was smart enough to figure out she was better off not knowing all the details about the night of February 10th.”

  “There’s one more important detail we need to know, Mike,” the detective reminds him.

  “Yes. I know. I remember exactly where they’re buried. The grave’s unmarked, but I’ll never forget where it is. We can go over there as soon as you’re ready.”

  Two officers enter the interrogation room and escort the prisoner back to his cell. After asking to be kept informed about any new developments in the case, Donahue’s lawyer says goodbye.

  Gray-faced and shaken, the detective comes in to talk to us. “What you observed was a full and legally-obtained confession. The rest is up to the district attorney.”

  “I need to be kept in the loop. I want to stay involved every step of the way.” My uncle has never sounded more serious.

  The detective puts his hand on Uncle Johnny’s shoulder. “Of course, John. I know he kidnapped your niece.”

  Wyatt walks me out to my parents’ car and then leaves with Oliver and Jackson. Dad, Mom and I ride in silence. We’re thinking about Daniel Warren and his only friend, Anthony. When I get home I stretch out on the couch to read a magazine article, but fall asleep after about three paragraphs. I dream that Wyatt’s lost in the forest behind Wild Wood during a blizzard. I keep trying to find him but an endless wall of white snow surrounds me, blinding me so that I walk into trees and trip over rocks. The vibrating of my cell phone in my jeans pocket wakes me up at about four o’clock in the afternoon.

  It’s Uncle Johnny. “Annabelle, honey, how are you?”

  “I’m okay, just tired.”

  Then he tells me the news. “After we got a court order from a judge, a team went down to Wild Wood and excavated the grave. They found the remains of both boys. Anthony and Daniel will finally get justice.”

  As soon as I call Wyatt, he races over to my house.

  Ten minutes after I hang up, I hear his tires squeal in the driveway. He bursts into the kitchen, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans despite the cold weather. He didn’t even pause to put on a jacket before he left. Opening his arms wide, he stops in the middle
of the kitchen. I rush over to him and bury my face on his shoulder. After a couple of minutes, he threads his fingers through my hair and tilts my head up.

  “I promised Anthony he could say goodbye.” While he’s still speaking these words, the temperature surrounding us drops and Wyatt morphs into a darker, hungrier version of himself. Anthony spins toward the door and races outside. I stop to grab a sweatshirt and pull it over my head as I run after him.

  He’s standing where our backyard ends, in the tall, dead grass at the edge of the forest. An army of huge green-needled pines, bare-branched oaks, maples and birches, marches on forever behind him. To the west the cheerless sun squints weakly through a thick dome of pale gray clouds. It’s due to sink from sight in half an hour.

  Slouching up against a thick-trunked oak, with his hands in his pockets and the woods at his back, Anthony waits. Our old tire swing still dangles from the sturdiest limb of the tree he’s leaning against. A feeble wind moves the frazzled rope back and forth. The tire twists weakly once or twice then stops. Grabbing both his wrists, I pull his hands out of his pockets. Wrapping his cold arms around me, he rests his cheek against my hair.

  “I killed Daniel. He needed my help and I killed him.”

  “No, Anthony. You tried to save him.”

  “I attacked Donahue and he fell on Daniel. If that hadn’t happened, Daniel wouldn’t have died.”

  “Mike Donahue went into your room intending to kill him. Daniel knew that and he had a seizure. He might already have been dead when you two fell on him. We’ll never know for sure.”

  “I need to know.”

  I think back to Nathaniel’s story and borrow his words. “We have to make split-second decisions all the time and as long as they’re made with good intentions, we can’t blame ourselves for the outcome. Sometimes you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time and something horrible goes down. Sometimes you’re trying to be a hero and circumstances make it impossible. Sometimes you try to help when someone needs you and everything goes tragically wrong.”

  He pushes back my hair with one cool hand and holds his palm against my cheek. “Annabelle, how did you get so wise?”

  I shrug. “I’m not wise. I stole that from Nathaniel.”

  “You were wise enough to listen to him, then.”

  “You need to forgive yourself, Anthony. Mike Donahue’s the one who wanted to hurt Daniel, not you. There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “You need to believe me.”

  “I’ll try. What you’re saying makes sense. I think that you’re right about many things, Annabelle.”

  “I can’t take credit for any of it. Basically I’m an idiot. People have given me a lot of good advice. That’s all. I should remember to follow it myself more often.”

  “I want to remember forever how you look right now. With your beautiful face shining up at me.”

  “Anthony, don’t go.”

  “I have to.”

  “I’ll miss you so much.”

  “Annabelle, you have been my light in the darkness. Together we uncovered the truth. And now you’ve given me the strength to forgive myself. And the power to leave.”

  “I’ll never forget you.”

  “I’ll love you forever, with all my heart.”

  “I wish we had a mirror so I could see the real you one last time.”

  “Close your eyes and picture how I looked when I was alive.”

  I close my eyes. For the first and the last time, Anthony bends and touches his lips to mine.

  His kiss doesn’t feel the way I was afraid it would feel. There’s no hint of death or decay. No taste of the grave corrupts this moment. His lips are cold, but the warmth from mine melts the chill quickly.

  Fragile like a snowflake, Anthony’s kiss disappears the second his lips press harder against mine; like each moment in time disappears while you’re thinking about it. Like the present becomes the past; instantaneously.

  When his arms tighten around me and grow warm, I know that he’s gone and will never come back.

  Wyatt ends the kiss before I’m ready to let go.

  “In the end Anthony got what he wanted most, Annabelle. Your love.” His frown ruins the moment.

  I need to make him understand that Anthony had to experience love before he could let go. “If I didn’t want him to stay, he could never have left.”

  A tear slips slowly down my cheek and Wyatt stops it with a kiss as gentle as the first drop of rain from a spring shower. When you have to look up and reach out your palm to see if it’s really beginning to rain or not. I look at Wyatt’s face, to see if he really wants to kiss away my tears and I can tell that he does because he’s smiling a small, close-lipped, sad smile.

  Then his face darkens again. The corners of his mouth turn down. His eyebrows pull together and cast a shadow over his eyes.

  “You kissed him.”

  “Only once.” I could argue and say I was really kissing Wyatt’s lips, but it would be a lie. I wanted Anthony to kiss me and he did.

  Someone had to love him. He waited for more than twenty years in that god-forsaken dungeon of a room, with the door to his soul slammed shut and locked, until someone came along to save him. When he saw me standing in the doorway, he knew I was the one earth-bound person who could set his lonely soul free.

  Wyatt was an essential part of it, too. We needed his body, his mind, his voice and his heart, which beat so hard and so strong that I could feel it through his chest when he held me. Together, we opened the door for Anthony.

  Wyatt takes a step back. And pries himself away from me.

  Damn it!

  He’s being such a typical, stubborn guy. If I could blast his stupid jealousy into another universe, I would, but he insists on torturing us both with it. I want him to hold me and ease away my sadness with his kisses, but he has too many doubts.

  I grab him by the arms; my hands don’t even reach half way around his biceps. He lets me hold him still. The cold has raised his skin into hundreds of tiny goose bumps. They prickle against my palms as I rub Wyatt’s arms, to warm him.

  “Annabelle, I’ll never get this out of my mind until I know the answer.”

  “Go ahead. Ask.”

  I’m afraid to hear his question. I’m dreading it.

  “Who’s a better kisser? Him or me?”

  Ugh, why are boys such douche bags? Even this one and I love him so much.

  I say the first thing that occurs to me because it’s true. “You’ve had a lot more practice.”

  “Don’t make jokes. I’m not in the mood.”

  “I’m not joking. It’s true. Anthony lived a miserable life. Your life hasn’t been easy, but Oliver loves you and so do I. The people who care about you have shown you a lot of affection. You have friends and the promise of a great future. Anthony never experienced any of that.”

  I try to explain so that Wyatt will understand and forgive me, even though I’m not sure there’s anything to forgive.

  “I loved Anthony, even though I knew he had to leave. Forever. And I’ll miss him every minute of every day. It’s hard to be so completely selfless. I don’t have to be that way with you, Wyatt. I can be human and selfish and flawed. I can be myself and love you. We can love each other for as long as we want. I don’t have to let go of you. I’ll never feel depressed and miserable because you’re gone.”

  I move closer to him and touch my lips to the pulse in his throat. He sighs. My lips press harder against the spot that’s causing his stubbornness to weaken. I can feel his pulse speed up, so I keep kissing his neck. He pushes me away and looks into my face.

  “He loved you so much, Annabelle.”

  “He loved you, too. We all loved each other. The three of us. But he’s gone.”

  “Now it’s only you and me.”

  “And that’s the way this had to end, Wyatt.”

  “I already miss him.”

  “So do I.”


  Wyatt’s strong arms reach around me and he backs me up against a nearby tree until I can feel the roughness of its bark through the layers of my clothing.

  “Promise we’ll stay together forever, Annabelle. I never want to share you again.”

  He kisses me before I can reply. His chest presses against mine and I can feel the tireless rhythm of his beating heart. Finally, we’re alone.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alyson Larrabee lives in Easton, Massachusetts, near the epicenter of the infamous Bridgewater Triangle. When she’s not skulking around the many graveyards of her hometown at midnight and exploring the deep, dark depths of the Hockomock Swamp with her adventurous husband, Raymond, she teaches English at Easton Middle School.

  A graduate of Oliver Ames High School, Emerson College and Bridgewater State University, Alyson is an avid reader of mysteries, ghost stories, historical fiction and many ridiculous but fascinating internet articles filled with unfounded rumours.

  Alyson is also the proud mother of three young adults and one very poorly behaved but loveable redbone coonhound named Nigel.

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