Bedlam Lost

by Jack Castle

  “And … has your precious little candidate recovered now?”

  Did she detect a moment of concern in his voice? Was that even possible? She decided not to set herself up again for disappointment and sighed before answering, “Yes, her regular nightmares seem to be fading and her interactions with the other candidates seems to suggest she’s recovered, however we won’t know what kind of long term psychological damage has been done until we’ve completed a full workup.”

  “Maybe you should turn her over to me. You seem a little to … attached.”

  Stanley’s smug face caused the anger to swell in her, “You just remember that you’ve been warned once already. There shouldn’t be any more shenanigans like you pulled with Wanda.”

  Stanley feigned shock, his mouth forming a giant O. “Paula, don’t tell me you believe those nasty rumors too. I thought you were above that sort of thing.”

  “I’m serious, Stanley. If I find out you had anything to do with that poor woman’s death, I’ll find a way to make them send you packing.”

  Stanley’s eyes narrowed as he peered down at her. “First of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Second, as you very well know, I don’t answer to you. Third, I am not required to warn you of any tests and I hadn’t planned on testing your precious pet project anytime soon in any case.” Then he grinned, “Besides, who do you think they could find to replace me, hmmm?”

  As much as she hated to admit it, Stanley was right again, as he often was. Changing the subject she asked, “Where’s our third? I thought we were all meeting this morning to compare notes?”

  Stanley’s nostrils flared, “Absent as usual.” Making certain the third wasn’t indeed present, he added, “I swear, Clemens spends more time in Havenport than even I do.”

  Trying not to take sides, Paula said, “Maybe Hank chose this morning to wake up and be lucid. Clemens was expecting it might be soon.”

  “He might have had the decency to reschedule,” Stanley muttered.

  “Where do you have to be that’s so much more important?” He was such an oddball.

  “This place doesn’t run itself you know. A lot of maintenance goes in to keeping everything just as it should be. What about you? Aren’t you on break after this?”

  She nodded, “Horatio’s taking over for me at the diner.”

  “Well, enjoy your free time.” He smiled and turned to go.

  “Stanley … do me a favor. Be careful.”

  “Awwww … aren’t you sweet. And just when I thought we weren’t getting along. Fear not Milady, I hold all the cards. I practically built this place. To these people … I am God.” That said, Stanley stepped off the curb twirling his ridiculous cane.

  Watching him go Paula muttered to herself, “If that’s true, then heaven help us all.”

  Chapter 22

  Stanley and the Scarecrow Man

  Emma was late for work.

  For the past week she’d ridden her bicycle from Ophy’s hotel to the diner. This morning she had picked up another early shift, figuring she could always use the extra money, but she’d almost forgotten about it until she’d glanced at the time while she was eating breakfast.

  As she pedaled hard towards work, her mind skipped back over the past week. It had certainly been a crazy couple of days. First those geologists up on the ridge, and then Sheriff McCarthy’s poor wife and kids; it was all just so awful. The media circus had come and gone, and things were finally getting back to normal.

  The only really good news was that Sheriff McCarthy was officially on the mend by both Ophy’s and Dr. Clemens’ admission. She thought about bringing him a pie from the diner after work. Pumpkin was his favorite. In the end she just couldn’t summon up enough courage to look someone in the eye who had experienced so much loss. Ever since the incident with the naked man, Emma made it a point to take a route that steered far from the alleyways. She preferred to stay on open streets and was careful not to hit the ice patches on the pavement. The only place on her route that she had to go that wasn’t bustling with activity was the short pedestrian tunnel that passed beneath the railroad tracks.

  Even though the tunnel was not very long it was still kinda spooky. No matter how tired she was before or after work she would always just power through its shadows until she emerged victorious on the other side.

  But today, as she neared the tunnel’s entrance a sense of foreboding washed over her. The tunnel seemed more dangerous in the early morning light than it did after her lunch shift. She was about to come to a halt, but she knew if she did that, she’d have a hard time going again.

  Just zip on through it, and you’ll be at the diner in no time. If you double-back now you’ll practically have to peddle halfway across town to get to work.

  Besides, she had nothing to worry about, they caught the psychopath responsible for all those murders and as of this morning the guy wasn’t even supposed to be in town anymore, not since the State Troopers hauled his butt away.

  Emma had learned from Ophy that the naked man’s real name was actually Simon Privet.

  What an odd name.

  *****

  At the far end of the tunnel and out of Emma’s view, a thin shadow stretched along the tunnel wall.

  Scarecrow Man moved into position.

  He had been studying her bicycle route for some time and he knew this would be the best place to grab her … play with her, have fun with her. She was going to be here any minute, and he knew he had to be ready to pounce.

  An access ladder midway through the tunnel was the perfect little ambush spot. When Emma rode by on her bike, he was going to jump out and snatch her, and never let her go, not until he was done with her completely this time.

  As the scarecrow man waited in his hiding spot, excitement building about the upcoming abduction, the predator didn’t realize he had become prey until it was too late.

  His first clue was the metal blade growing out of his chest making him look like a macabre version of a unicorn.

  It took him another moment to realize someone had walked up behind him and shoved a machete through his back, pushing the three-foot blade out his chest. The scarecrow man didn’t know who his attacker was until the man rested his pointy chin delicately on his right shoulder.

  “Hi,” he said gleefully, smiling an impish grin that spread from ear-to-ear.

  Simon Privet, a.k.a. the Naked Man.

  The scarecrow man couldn’t say anything; he was too stunned to speak.

  Wearing a bloodstained Trooper uniform, Simon kept a firm grasp on the handle of the machete. He then reached up with his free hand and grasped the scarecrow man’s hat and mask. He yanked it from the scarecrow man’s head to expose his true identity.

  “Please. Let me go,” Stanley Baker managed feebly, then spouted blood from his lips.

  “Shhhh…” Simon said soothingly into Stanley’s ear. He pulled the incapacitated scarecrow man back into the shadows so Emma wouldn’t see either of them as she pedaled by with her head tucked down for speed. Once she was clear of their hiding spot, Simon maneuvered them both back into the light and watched her go with a smile.

  “Awww … isn’t she just the cutest little thing,” Simon said maliciously.

  “Simon. How are you even doing this?” Stanley asked, choking. “How could you possibly even exist? I saw you die myself.” He then coughed up even more blood.

  Angry at the interruption, Simon whispered vehemently into Stanley’s ear, “You command this place like it’s yours. But it’s mine now. Before I kill you, you’re going to tell me all of your secrets … and I do mean all of them.”

  Stanley nodded his head, his eyes wide, “And then you’ll let me go?”

  Simon considered this for a moment before answering. “No. I’m definitely going to kill you.”

  Chapter 23

  Wake
Up Hank

  Hank awoke in darkness, certain he was dead.

  Suddenly a pinprick of light forced the blackness away. Hank saw a form behind the glowing white light.

  God?

  “You had quite a fall, Sheriff,” said good ole’ Doc Clemens, lightly holding open his eyelids, flashing his penlight from eyeball to eyeball. “Next time you decide to jump off Ophy’s hotel you might want to consider using a parachute.” Clicking off his penlight he then added to himself in a clinical voice, “Pupils look normal, that’s good.”

  Hank lay flat on his back, and not in his bed. “What happened?” he managed, his voice hoarse.

  Worry in his eyes, Doc stood bedside, watching Hank. “You fell out of a fourth story window, Hank, that’s what happened. The painter’s scaffolding below cushioned your fall,” he said, his green eyes crinkling beneath his glasses. “Given the tragic circumstances, you might not feel like it, but you’re pretty darn lucky to be alive.”

  “Luck would’ve been not falling in the first place,” Hank grumbled, blinking away the sting of the doc’s penlight. “Is my family here?”

  Dr. Clemens went silent for a moment before answering. “You don’t remember?” he asked in a soothing voice.

  Then Hank did remember. It all came flooding back to him now. His worst nightmares were confirmed when the doc spoke again. “Hank, your wife and two children were murdered by that psychopath that killed those geologists up on the ridge.” The doc squeezed his shoulder gently, “You have my deepest sympathies.”

  Hank felt as though his heart were no longer in his chest; only a hallowed out shell of a man was left behind in the HavenPort clinic.

  His eyes drifted to the room around him. He was tightly tucked into a hospital bed, in a modest but clean facility. He noted it was dark outside the windows with only a slow glimmer of light rising over the mountains. Early morning.

  Rubbing his face, and fighting the urge to scream in anguish, he asked, “How long was I out?”

  Doc hesitated just a moment, then answered, “You were in and out of it for about three days, Hank. This isn’t the first time you regained consciousness. We talked this through two times before, but I must say this go around you seem more lucid.”

  Hank’s eyes teared up again. He wiped them away to clear them, and then sat up in bed. The room spun as if he were on a carnival ride. He hung on to consciousness until the nausea passed. He was wearing a hospital gown and he felt the catheter still attached.

  “Hank, I’d like you to stay here for a few more days,” the doctor said.

  Hank’s voice quavered but he fought to control it. “I’m okay,” he said, jaw firm. Desperate to change the subject he asked, “Doc, what about the suspect who fell with me? Did he die in the fall?”

  Doc Clemens thought this over for a second before answering. Hank braced himself for what he was certain would be an explanation of how there never was a naked man. How he had imagined the entire thing. Believing he had gone plumb loco was pretty tempting right now. Anything to explain away the nightmare he was now living.

  Maybe this is all some stupid dream.

  But the doc surprised him when he said, “Considering the fall you two took, he came out even luckier than you. Not a scratch on him. Not sure how he did that one though. Near as I can figure he must have landed on top of you and you cushioned his fall.”

  Hank felt his eyes widen, taking a breath to control his inner turmoil he asked, “Where is he now?”

  “Jeb turned him over to the State Troopers a couple of hours ago. Jeb had to sit with him for three days before the Troopers finally got here. Ophy kept him fed, and I examined him personally. An odd duck that one.” The doc shivered slightly from the memory.

  Hank threw his legs over the side of the bed and his world tilted a little crazily. He stood still and waited for the dizziness to pass. “Do you know if Jeb ran a background check on him?”

  Doc seemed to remember something and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Jeb passed this along because he knew you would ask. He said to tell you that he sent the guy’s fingerprints over to Anchorage FBI and they got a hit. His name is Simon Privet.”

  This surprised Hank; he honestly didn’t expect to get any hits.

  Simon Privet. The name of the man who murdered my family, is Simon Privet. He replayed events over and over in his mind. He suspected he would for a very long time. He heard himself ask on sheer autopilot, “Any priors?”

  “It says in here they got this guy going into the Army when he was 18 years old, but that was it. No Driver’s license, no DD 214.” Doc glanced up from the notebook, “I guess that means they don’t even know when, or even whether or not, he got out of the army.”

  “Like he doesn’t exist.”

  Doc nodded. “Yeah, like that.”

  Hank listened from the edge of the bed. He felt as if he were teetering on a high ledge. What was the point anyway? The video cycled again in his mind, his whole world was collapsing. Why go on?

  “You really ought to stay in bed.”

  Against his nature, Hank opted to follow doctor’s orders and laid back down on the bed, or at least what was left of him did anyway.

  “Dr. Clemens?” came a young female voice from the doorway.

  Hank lifted his gaze and saw a young woman enter the room dressed in tight fitting scrubs. The girl had not fully grown into her body and couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. The doc saw Hank staring and, with a slight twinkle in his eyes, mouthed the word, “Intern.” Then turning towards her he said in a professional tone, “Yes, Janice, what is it?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you but there’s an urgent call for the sheriff.”

  “Well, tell whomever it is that I have not released Sheriff McCarthy from the hospital so they’ll just have to…”

  “But Doctor, it’s Ophy. She’s at the diner. She says someone’s shooting up the place.”

  “Who’s the shooter?” Hank asked. But in his heart he knew the answer. It had to be the naked man. He’d killed poor Jeb and escaped. Now he was back out on the streets on a murderous rampage. He was sure of it. That was why the intern’s answer shocked him.

  Her face held a mix of terror and confusion when she answered, “It’s Jeb.”

  Chapter 24

  Jeb’s Diner

  Hank had wanted his friend, and morning coffee-talk buddy, to stay in the car but the doc wouldn’t have it.

  “I don’t want you getting hurt, Doc.”

  “And if there are wounded, you’ll need me to patch them up.”

  He had a point. “But not before I’ve got the situation under control.”

  “Then I’ll wait outside the door.”

  Hank sighed and checked the rounds in his revolver, “Fine.” He cycled the cylinder and then slid it home. “Let’s go.”

  As they exited his patrol vehicle, Hank reiterated in his cop voice, “Now Doc, no matter what happens in there, you don’t come inside until I give you the all clear. Do you understand?”

  As they moved in unison towards the side entrance of the Last Frontier Diner, they heard several shots fired, followed by screams.

  Damn.

  Hank knew he was the only law enforcement in HavenPort. There was no other police in the small town other than Jeb. And the fact that the aggressor was the only other police officer on the force made the situation all the more dire.

  He drew his firearm, made doubly sure that the doc wouldn’t follow, and snuck carefully inside.

  As soon as Hank slipped through the entrance he could see Jeb holding a shotgun in front of the double doors to the kitchen. It was the shotgun from the gun locker back at the station; a Remington 870, 12-gauge that could hold six rounds, plus one in the chamber. The old sheriff swayed in his stance and appeared even more disheveled than usual, even for him.

&nbs
p; Bob the fry cook lay dead in the kitchen doorway. His body propping open the doors and parts of his mutilated corpse painting them red. Three other blood-soaked bodies were lying askew in a corner booth. Hank recognized them as regulars who frequented the diner on most mornings.

  At the far end of the diner, Emma and the other waitress, Odessa, were crouched next to an overturned table, covering their ears. Hank could see both women’s make-up running down their tear-soaked faces. Odessa was losing her bright pink wig of the day, it lay askew atop her head but she made no attempt to correct it.

  Hank’s quick assessment ended with the realization that Ophy was cornered in the kitchen, Jeb’s gun already leveled against her where she stood in frozen horror beside the phone. From the corner of his eye Jeb must’ve seen Hank creep in and without averting his gaze from Ophy he said in a loud determined voice, “Hank, if you don’t drop that pistol of yours I’m going to blow Ophy’s head clean off.”

  Before Jeb could pull the trigger, Hank said, “Jeb, what are you doing? I need you to drop the shotgun.”

  “I mean it, Hank!” Jeb roared, his finger tightened on the trigger.

  Even if he did have a bead on Jeb, Hank knew he’d never get off a shot in time to save Ophy. “Okay, Jeb, okay. You win. I’m putting my gun on the counter.”

  Hank gently laid his weapon down, but as he did so, he took a few more steps towards Jeb. If he could close enough distance between them he might have a chance at disarming the old sheriff. To distract Jeb further he asked, “What’s going on, Jeb?”

  “Hold on a second, Hank, just hold on.” Jeb began, slurring his words. “I’m not doing this just for myself ya know, or even for you, but for the safety of the whole damn town.”

  Through trembling lips Ophy faltered, “Hank, when I was bringing the prisoner some food I saw him whisper something into Jeb’s ear through the bars. I don’t know what it was but Jeb hasn’t been right in the head ever since.”