Bedlam Lost

by Jack Castle

  “Yep.” Then Jeb raised his voice loud enough for her to hear, “Wanda, please, if you can hear me, don’t you move or I will have to shoot.”

  When Hank got within two feet of her, she began to growl, a deep, animalistic growl, resonating in her chest. At first it was low and rumbling, but as he took another step it rose in pitch. Hank didn’t think human vocal cords were capable of making such inhuman sounds.

  It was all so macabre.

  Hank was only inches from grabbing her by the arm when Wanda sprang to life with impossible speed. She lunged at him with the knife; the chair stuck fast to her bottom as predicted.

  Trained in spontaneous knife defense, Hank would have loved to tell his wife later that he had side-stepped the woman, grabbed her by the wrist, snapped the knife out of her hand with a wrist lock, and took her down in a straight-arm-bar-take-down maneuver. The reality was that Wanda moved so fast it scared the crap out of him. With a curse his right leg jerked reflexively into a front kick.

  By some miracle he got lucky. The toe of his boot kicked the knife from Wanda’s hand.

  It didn’t stop her from tackling him though.

  Hank never believed in possession until that very moment. He outweighed the growling woman by fifty pounds and yet she threw him around like a rodeo bull on crack cocaine. Hank wasn’t exactly sure what Jeb was doing but one thing was for certain, he wasn’t helping.

  After a few moments of getting knocked around, Hank had had enough. He kicked out the back of the woman’s knee and sent her sprawling face down to the ground. The chair popped off her butt like a cork and when she tried to get back up, he dropped a knee down on her back.

  As she bucked violently under him, he risked a quick glance at Jeb and cried out, “Jeb , throw me your cuffs.”

  It took Jeb longer than it should have to unsnap his pouch and toss him a pair of handcuffs. The good news was Jeb’s cuffs were in serviceable condition and didn’t have any spurs on them. The bad news was Hank cuffed one wrist easily enough but when he went to cuff the woman’s other wrist he realized only a few strands of uncut tendons connected her left hand to her forearm.

  She began bucking underneath him again and Jeb yelled, “What ‘er ya waiting for, cuff her already!”

  “Cuff her to what?” Hank barked right back, “Her hand’s practically fallen off!”

  “Just cuff her high on the wrist. I’ll call for EMS.” Jeb reached for his radio and cued his radio, “Dispatch, dispatch, this is Sheriff Sutton, come-back.”

  Only static.

  “Ophy, it’s Jeb. I’m in the Rakewell building, seventh floor. We need the medics ASAP. Repeat, medics, Code 4!”

  Still no answer.

  Jeb’s radio dropped to his side. “Dammit. Concrete’s blocking the signal.” After thinking for a few moments, he finally added, “Hank, run downstairs and get to my rig outside. Use the truck radio and call for EMS.”

  As the crazy woman’s bucking finally began to subside, Hank removed the scarf from her neck and tied a tourniquet around the bloody stump. As he did so he asked, “Why don’t we just carry her down?”

  “Six flights of stairs, while she’s bleeding out? No way. Best if I stabilize her here until the paramedics arrive.” Jeb took his place on Wanda’s back and ordered, “Go.”

  Hank rose to his feet, “Okay, but loosen the tourniquet when it gets too tight.” He stopped at the door. Before stepping into the darkness he activated his light and danced it across his palm just to make sure it still worked. “And Jeb, one more thing. Keep checking your six.”

  “Yeah, why’s that?”

  “There may be others and this place is creepy as hell.”

  Chapter 7

  Emma’s Arrival

  Unlike most mid-October mornings in Alaska, the day broke bright and warm.

  From the upper observation deck of the ferry Emma could feel the boat’s engines vibrating through the soles of her feet. She leaned heavily on the railing, sipping coffee from the Styrofoam cup she cradled in her hands. As she gazed down into the blue-green water churning about the steady moving boat she contemplated the journey ahead.

  It was both scary and exciting.

  Following her sister’s last message scrawled in a suicide note, Emma had been surprised to learn the town of HavenPort did in fact exist. She wondered what she would find in the remote town. And what did her sister mean by, “they would meet again?”

  She was clean and sober now. She couldn’t recall for how long or when it had happened but she was certain it had been for a while now because she wasn’t feeling any of those constant cravings under her skin. She didn’t remember checking but she knew there weren’t any drugs in her luggage. She took comfort in the fact that the cravings were gone. She couldn’t afford the expense anymore. The last of her savings had been spent on her crappy little foreign car safely stored one deck below. In truth, she didn’t even remember driving the car on board; she just knew it was below.

  Emma noted a flock of sea birds as they suddenly appeared all around the boat. Without any explanation the Captain slowed the ferry to an idle. As she began to wonder what was going on a crowd drew up all around her and started pointing outstretched fingers toward the water.

  A trio of sharp-toothed monsters leapt out of the water, their thick bodies arching, a white underbelly with dark gray on the top. One swished near the boat, visible just beneath the water as it turned on its side and peered up at her. Its eyes were black as night, taking her in as if she were the main course. Emma stepped back from the railing.

  If demons had fins, this is what they would look like.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a salmon shark before?”

  A man a few years younger than her, tan, and with a kind face, wearing rugged clothes, had moved up to stand beside her. He was what Mee-Maw would call a blue-eyed devil in blue jeans.

  “Why are they jumping out of the water like that?” she asked.

  “They’re chasing salmon.” He moved back over to the railing and gestured with a nod for her to look over the side.

  When she did she saw flashes of pink salmon darting under the hull of the boat seeking refuge. Although scary at first, the sharks splashing about the boat were truly a spectacular sight and a welcome reprieve from the muddle of her thoughts.

  “How big do they get?” Emma asked tenuously.

  “The sharks or the salmon?”

  Emma rolled her head at him, “The sharks.”

  “About six to eight feet is the norm but my uncle caught one in the Sound when I was a kid that was about twice that.”

  When all of the excitement generated by the sharks had ebbed, the ferry resumed its course and speed.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” The blue-eyed devil asked.

  Emma tensed up. She hadn’t really considered what she would say until now. How should she answer? New York. No, then he’ll want to know what you did in New York. That will only lead to you being a dancer for the New York City Ballet, which would lead to why you got kicked out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the younger man said beside her, interrupting her runaway train of emotions. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, no. Not at all. I’m from Nebraska,” Emma replied; it wasn’t entirely untrue.

  “Nebraska?” he asked in disbelief. “I would’ve figured you for more the big city gal.”

  Wind blew her hair in front of her face and she tucked it behind her ear. She was never good at making small talk and felt the silence growing awkward.

  Luckily blue-eyes didn’t have that problem. “Name’s Horatio.”

  “Like, as in Hamlet?”

  Horatio’s face lit up. “A fellow scholar, methinks?” When she didn’t grasp his barb right away he added, “In truth, no. Unfortunately dad just really liked the Horatio Hornblower series, more th
an Shakespeare at least.”

  Emma couldn’t recall who Horatio Hornblower was, an Admiral or something, but she really didn’t feel like asking.

  “Emma. My name’s Emma.”

  “So, what brings you to the Last Frontier, Emma?”

  “Uhmm…” What do I say? My twelve year old sister hung herself in the shower with a vacuum cord and left me a note to meet her in a town I’ve never heard of before?

  She must’ve been silent too long because Horatio said, “Aw geez, there I go being nosy again.”

  “I’m really not sure why I came here,” she practically blurted out.

  Horatio thrust his hands in his pocket. “That’s cool, that’s cool.”

  The wind picked up a bit and chilled the air. Even wearing layers, Emma was always cold. The locals always dress in layers. She read about that in her Alaska guidebook. She might not remember actually getting onto the ferry but she remembered reading the guidebook. Emma was eager about all the activities she could choose from. According to the guidebook she could learn how to kayak, visit a glacier, or go whale watching. And that was just on the water. The town of HavenPort was surrounded by trails that led right up into the surrounding mountains.

  The deck shifted under her feet as the Captain slowed the boat and steered them closer towards the mainland.

  A few more minutes passed and they were soon chugging past a mountain range with a giant decaying building tumbled across it. The drab concrete building was a stark contrast to the towering peaks, which dripped with startlingly beautiful ice-blue glaciers.

  “Horatio, what’s that big concrete building called?” she asked, pointing.

  “The old military base?” When she nodded, he said, his tone a little less cheerful, “That’s the Rakewell building. It used to be a secret supply port back in WWII.”

  When she craned her neck, Emma thought she saw a flickering blue light through the trees at the base of the building, but then it was gone.

  “Anybody live up there?”

  “What, in the Rakewell building?” Horatio scoffed. “Heck no. No one’s lived there for sixty years.”

  “Are you sure? I thought I just saw a light up there.”

  Horatio squinted like someone who needed glasses but wasn’t quite ready to admit it yet. “I doubt it. Sometimes squatters will hole up inside for the winter, but the building’s been boarded up ever since I was a kid.”

  Emma was certain she had seen a blue light, like the kind on a police car.

  The boat chugged onward past the old military base and as it did so, the sight of the derelict buildings made her pull her jacket tighter around her shoulders.

  Chapter 8

  Jack-o’-lantern

  CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

  Hank’s boots pounded on the metal stairs as he zoomed down six flights into the depths of inky blackness. Thankfully, the morning light shining through the bullet shaped holes offered some light, but the descent was still nerve-racking.

  Some first day.

  He sprinted as fast as he dared past the bowling alley, movie theater, and dormitory rooms. He only slowed his pace when he entered the pool area. The stench overpowered him again, and he gagged.

  He knew he had to get back to the south end of the building to reach Jeb’s SUV. Hank considered going out one of the broken windows, but if he sliced open his femoral artery on a shard of glass, he wouldn’t be of any use to anybody. No. The safest bet was to go back the same route they had come in.

  He negotiated the pool, giving the reeking waters a wide berth. The last thing he wanted to do was fall into that toxic tub of human pestilence. About halfway past the pool, Hank skidded to a stop. Someone was standing in the lighted doorway up ahead.

  What was immediately apparent was that it wasn’t Jeb.

  Hank had difficulty making the guy out because the rising sun was directly behind him and shrouded him in brilliant white light. Despite this, Hank could still see the skinny silhouette wasn’t the old chubby sheriff he had met this morning.

  Hank was about to ask the stranger for help when he noticed the man standing in the doorway wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. As the naked guy stepped out of the bright light and into the discernible shadows, Hank could see the streaker couldn’t have been more than 5’9” and impossibly lean, like a marathon runner. In fact, there wasn’t an ounce of body fat on him. An emaciated athlete. Worse, he was covered in excrement; had presumably smeared it all over his face and body.

  What the…? Why would someone do that?

  The strangest part was the creepy smile on the guy’s face. It reminded Hank of jack-o-lanterns he’d carved on Halloween; the same wide, toothy grin with firelight flickering behind the eyes. That was this guy: a skinny, naked jack-o-lantern smeared in filth. And just like the real deal, this jack-o-lantern had a cosmic shine in his eyes that told Hank that he was probably amped up on methamphetamines. This was not the kind of help Hank wanted.

  Hank used the flashlight to scan the naked guy for weapons. At first Hank thought he was holding a small pumpkin by the stem — fitting as that would be — because that was about the size of what the naked guy was holding in his left hand.

  That isn’t a pumpkin…

  It was a human head. And he was holding it by its long blond hair.

  Hank drew his revolver.

  “Don’t move!” He commanded, gripping the revolver so hard it made his hand hurt. He could only hope the dirty untested gun would not misfire, or worse, blow up in his hand.

  Jack-o’-lantern didn’t move. He just kept standing there, with that same wide, toothy grin of his, holding the severed human head as it dripped with blood. And now Hank could hear it, DRIP-DRIP-DRIP.

  Hank stood, forehead sweating despite the brisk morning air. Keeping his revolver trained on Jack-o’-lantern he thought about calling out to Jeb for help. Then he realized the naked man was also holding something in his right hand, just out of the sunlight’s reach. Hank panned his flashlight slowly down the naked guy’s right arm. It was an ax, its steel blade streaked with red. Oh hell no.

  “Drop the ax. I said, drop the damn ax!” Hank yelled.

  But the naked guy didn’t move. He just stood there in the light, like an actor in a spotlight on a stage. Jack-o’-lantern slowly lifted the head into the light, so it was only inches from his own face. The victim appeared to be a young woman. Still grinning that creepy mischievous grin, he turned the head in his hand towards himself. He then pantomimed the look of horror on his victim’s face.

  Only experience kept Hank from freezing up.

  The woman upstairs is bleeding out. This lunatic is holding a human head in one hand and an ax in the other. And I’ve got no backup. Where the hell did we move to, anyway?

  Hank was sorely tempted to just shoot the guy. But, despite being armed with the ax, the naked guy hadn’t made any threatening moves toward him to justify a shooting — at least, not on paper.

  “Buddy,” he said evenly, “If you don’t drop that damn ax…” Hank cocked back the hammer of his forty-four for emphasis. He was confident if the dirty gun did manage to fire the slug, it would take the naked guy’s head clean off at such close range. One problem solved.

  This must have occurred to Jack-o’-lantern too because he let the bloody ax slip from his hand and it clattered to the floor.

  Before Hank could instruct the suspect further, Jeb’s voice rang out from the depths of the labyrinth, “Hank, where are you?”

  “Down here!” Hank shouted back.

  A painful minute passed then Hank heard the sheriff shout, “Where?” It sounded like the old sheriff was only one floor above him. Had he come downstairs?

  “Down here, by the pool!”

  There was a loud crash and it sounded like ole Jeb cried out in pain. Hank remembered his own words about their being more than one craz
y person, further proof of that standing in the doorway before him. “Jeb, you okay?”

  No response. At least not from Jeb.

  When the naked man spoke it was rhythmic and in a thick southern drawl like a backwoods hick from Alabama trying to recite a clever poem.

  “Poor Dumb ole’ Sutton,

  Doesn’t realize, he’s been here, Bee-four.

  Never ever does he git it right,

  Killed all those people with that forty-four

  Last chance, Sutton… Last Chance.

  Bee-four you are here, -no more.”

  Poem recited, Jack-o’-lantern tilted his head to one side, studying Hank. “Don’t worry, Hank. I’ve got a poem for you too… but you’ll have to wait until we meet again.”

  Now it took a lot to frighten Hank. He considered himself a rock solid guy in just about every situation. He also had a significant amount of training and experience. Now in his defense, this was his first day on the job and the only thing he’d planned on doing today was meeting up with the old sheriff and signing some paperwork. So, he shouldn’t have been ashamed by what happened next. But he was.

  “CAW!” A monstrous raven cried out from its perch on an overhead beam.

  “Geez!” Hank yelped. It was so loud that he ducked reflexively and nearly dropped his gun. Hank turned. At first he could only see the Raven’s red eyes in the darkness. Did Raven’s have red eyes? The thing was seemingly the size of a pterodactyl, but still just a damn bird. When he switched his gaze back to the naked man blocking the exit, he was gone. Only the severed head remained. It was carefully placed on the floor in the center of the doorway. The naked man had even taken care to place it on an altar of rubble.

  Hank immediately went into tactical mode and began scanning all the doorways around him with gun and light. Nearest to him was a set of double-doors off their hinges. Both were lying at his feet like two coffins. The darkness within was beyond the sunlight’s reach and the confines only swallowed the flashlight’s beam of light.