by Tim Meyer
“Aurelia, listen to me,” I said, trying to contain my smile. “I'm not one of those people.”
“What?” she asked.
“I'm not one of them. I'm not a... Satanist. I don't believe in it. I don't believe in any of it. I think it's bullshit,” I laughed. “I wasn't there because I wanted to drink the koolaid.”
Her expression changed. She looked confused, and almost disappointed. “Then why were you there?” she asked.
I explained myself, not leaving anything out, starting from what happened in Atlanta, ending with that moment in the diner, only leaving out the small details regarding my now broken camera and the monstrosities it had produced. If she was still around after the conversation we were about to have, I'd tell her. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But sometime in the near future. If we were going to be a part of each others' lives, she'd have to know the truth. She'd have to know about the thing that has taken over my life—my recent obsession. I was determined to fix the damned thing. Even as Aurelia and I spoke, the camera entered my mind several times. It became a disease that slowly ate away my thoughts.
When I finished telling Aurelia how I came to be there, concluding with the recent fist fight, she let out a long sigh of relief. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or afraid that she was going to get up and walk out, leaving me to pay for her big mug of coffee.
“That's quite a story,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” I told her. “You mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because here I am, accusing you of being a liar because you told me you worked at Benton when clearly you didn't, and really, all the while, it was me who lied to you; pretending to care about your ceremony when really I wanted to get closer to Olberstad.” Admitting this soothed me. But the feelings between us are real, I wanted to add, but didn't.
“You weren't following me, were you?” she asked. “The bookstore? The park? Those were coincidences, right?”
“Yes,” I laughed. “That was fate spinning its wheels, I'm afraid.”
I chuckled and she joined me.
“It's kind of weird. Looking back at it. You were there for one reason, unrelated to Satan worship,” she said. “And I was there... well, for another reason unrelated to Satan worship,” she added solemnly.
“Why were you there, Aurelia?” I asked. “Who was your brother? What's his relationship with Geoffrey Boone? And why did you burn down that house in the woods?”
She took a deep breath. I could tell she wasn't fully prepared to retell the tale of her brother's past, but it was the reason why—or so I thought—she asked to meet me. She wanted to tell someone. She confided in me about starting the fire, and that was before she knew I wasn't interested in becoming a member of the Order of the Black Book. I felt like we held a special bond, that we could tell each other anything. That we could help each other with everything. I suddenly wanted to tell Aurelia about the camera, although my better judgment told me not to. In good time. All in good time.
“My brother was a patient at Benton, but you already know that. He was in there with Geoffrey Boone. They were... friends, if that's what you want to call it.”
“What happened?”
She looked at me, wetness filling the rims of her eyes. “Geoffrey Boone murdered my brother Johnny, and that's why I burned down that fucking house.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Our food arrived before Aurelia began the story of her brother, Johnny Anderson, and how he met his demise at the hands of Geoffrey Boone. My appetite had been lost somewhere between Olberstad kicking my ribs in and Aurelia's enlightening confession. My body ached all over; I felt like I had been hurled off the top of a building and plummeted to the streets below. It hurt to rest my back against the cushioned booth. Every bone, every muscle burned as if I had never used them before. I was in bad shape, but I managed to lessen the pain by immersing myself into Aurelia's story, concentrating on her lips, rather than the invisible meat tenderizers that pounded my body.
“Johnny was a good kid growing up,” she told me. “My parents died in a car crash when we were in high school, and Johnny... well, he didn't deal with it so well. Most kids wouldn't, I think, and hell—I didn't deal with it particularly well either, but... I was able to keep it together for the most part. I was able to be strong, for us, because we only had each other after that. We were forced to move in with our aunt, who lived in Red River. We only lived in Paramus our whole lives, and the adjustment was hard. The only time we came to the shore was during the summer, just to visit our relatives and take family trips to the beach, which I was never too fond of.” She took a big bite from her egg sandwich, which had been saturated in ketchup. “Anyway, the transition was more difficult for Johnny than it was for me. He lashed out in school often, earning him countless hours in detention. He fought with my aunt and uncle all the time. He constantly used to sneak out of the house, go out drinking and smoking cigarettes, not coming home until the following morning without letting my aunt and uncle—or me—know where the hell he was. The police were regulars at my aunt and uncle's. We knew most of the officers by name.” She paused, reflecting on these dismal times. “He just stopped caring after they died.” She stared down at her coffee, and became lost in it. A minute later, she found her voice again. “The first time he was committed to Benton was after he attempted to kill himself. He slit his wrist with a steak knife. Our cousin, Tammy, only thirteen at the time, found him on his bed, bleeding onto the floor...”
2
He was sitting in his chair, flipping through a deck of playing cards, waiting for the time to pass. Time passed differently here, much slower. Maybe it was the lack of stuff to do, or maybe it was the drugs that were so consistently administered that made the time drag. Minutes seemed like hours. Days felt like weeks. It was a wonder more people didn't try to off themselves in places like this, for the sheer boredom of it all. Day in, day out, everything was the same. There were few breaks from monotony. The food changed from time to time, but even on a week to week basis, everything became repetitive. Tuesday was always taco day, and on Friday they always served fried chicken. The place had a zest for alliteration when it came to foods and days of the week. Seldom were there breaks from the norm.
Today, fortunately for Johnny Anderson, was one of those days.
He flipped through the deck of cards, weeding out every ace from the pile. He set them down on the table in front of him, next to each other. His father—when he was alive—taught him how to play solitaire, but between all the drugs, the alcohol abuse, and the disillusions that plagued his mind daily, the rules and regulations of the classic card game had gotten lost in that muddled brain of his. Frustrated, he threw the remaining cards into the air. They scattered like autumn leaves, and Johnny had no intention of playing another game his father taught him—fifty-two card pickup. A few of the other guests gasped while some of the more eccentric clients pointed and hollered, as if they had seen the funniest thing in the world happen. A nurse—“Riggins” her name tag read—strolled over to the table where Johnny sat, staring at the four aces as if they were mortal enemies.
“Now, Johnny,” she said. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Nothing, Nurse Riggins,” he replied. “I had an accident.”
“Well... let me help you clean it up.” The nurse bent down and started picking up the cards, stopping after she gathered about half the stack. “Aren't you going to help me, Johnny?”
“No, Nurse Riggins.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I don't feel well,” he replied.
“Do we need a nap before your sister comes to visit?”
He craned his head toward the nurse, looking confused. “Aurelia is coming to visit today?” he asked, not seeming too happy to hear the news. “No, I won't see her.” He shook his head back and forth a few times until Nurse Riggins stopped him by putting her hands on his shoulders.
“You love your sister, Johnny. Don'
t you?”
“Love her? No, not at all. Aurelia is the reason I'm in here, the reason why I'll never get out.” He turned his head toward the floor, like a scolded child.
“Johnny,” the nurse began, “we both know you're in here because of you, and not anyone else.”
“Aurelia—she never cared about Mom and Dad's death. She... shrugged it off. She didn't even cry at their funeral. She just... she has no soul. She's not my sister. I do not wish to see her.” He pouted his lips.
“I'm going to get you something to help you calm down, Johnny,” the nurse told him. “I'll be right back.”
Johnny heard her footsteps fade and when the sound of her heels clanking against the vinyl floor completely vanished, Johnny glanced up. In front of him, sitting directly across from him, was a kid he had come to know inside Benton. It was Geoffrey Boone, a real lunatic according to most of the other patients. They feared Geoffrey and avoided him at all costs. He babbled to them about nonsense things, trying to infect their brains with filth, which would only prolong their visit to the Benton facility. Johnny, however, liked Geoffrey. Respected him. Even admired him. He was entertaining, especially when he was babbling about weird things, such as alternate worlds and the secrets he knew of how to unlock the portals between them. Geoffrey was one cracked egg, but that didn't stop Johnny from holding long conversations with him and considering him to be a friend, if there ever was such a thing in a place like this.
“Have you thought about my offer?” Geoffrey said. His smile stretched from ear to ear, making himself look like a car salesman from Hell. “Silly me. I know you've thought about it. Will you... accept it, that is the question.”
“You really are crazy,” Johnny said confidently.
“Crazy as a horse. Now listen up sugar lips—because time is not on our side. Will you do it? Will you do what I ask?” Geoffrey asked, holding his hands together in prayer. “Don't make me get on my knees. I mean, I'll do it if I have to, but—”
“Give me one more day,” Johnny said.
Geoffrey flailed his arms about, the smile still plastered to his prickly face, and shifted in his chair, as if he were going into convulsions. “One more day? One more day?” he almost shouted. A passing nurse stopped in her tracks and put her hands on her bulbous hips, tilted her head down, and gave him the stink eye, a method which usually worked with most of the other patients. “Sorry!” Geoffrey yelled at her. “Nothing to see here! Just having a... normal conversation with my friend here! Everyone go about your business! Nothing to see here!” he yelled to the entire room.
The nurse shook her head and told Geoffrey to calm down, or his behavior would earn him a dose of medicine, which meant he'd spend the next few hours drooling in a corner somewhere.
When she left, Geoffrey leaned over the table and whispered, “One more day?”
“It appears my sister is coming to visit. I might be able to convince her to talk to the docs. Maybe she can make them see that I'm okay again.”
Geoffrey shook his head in disapproval. “No, no, no. You're... crazy man! You tried to...” He pretended to saw through his wrist with an invisible blade. “They're not going to let you go. Not yet. Come on, man. No, you have to do this. You have to come with me. It'll all be worth it. I promise,” he said, grinning wildly.
“One more day.”
“That's all you're gonna get, you skinny little prick! Eat some food. Tomorrow is Taco Tuesday!” he yelled, not just to Johnny, but to the entire room of crazies. “Here comes your company,” he said, nodding to the other side of the room. “Oo-la-la!”
Johnny turned his head and saw his sister, along with Nurse Riggins, entering the vast room.
“Pretty little thing,” Geoffrey stated.
“She wasn't supposed to be here until later.”
“Well, the earlier the better.”
“Geoffrey?” Johnny asked. “Is it real? The place you described. This... other world.”
“Oh, yes,” Geoffrey said, with the most serious face that Johnny had ever witnessed him display. “Very much so. And the guy who runs it... puts on a helluva show.”
3
“Look who's here to see you, Johnny,” Nurse Riggins said, as they approached the table where he sat by himself.
Johnny turned his head, slowly, without much energy. “Hello, sis,” he muttered. His displeasure was obvious and direct.
“It's good to see you too, brother,” Aurelia said. “Thank you,” she told the nurse, and Riggins left them to attend to a group of patients, who were being riled up by Geoffrey's recent antics. “Who is that character?” Aurelia asked, nodding to the center of the commotion. Geoffrey was standing on top of a chair, while others gathered around. He was muttering some nonsense, holding a Bible up in the air. He appeared to be blessing the other patients.
“No one.” Johnny would not look her in the eye. Instead, he found specks on the wall to hold his concentration. “It's been a while, sis.”
“Almost a year.”
“Almost a year,” he repeated, as if he had said the words first. “And what were you doing instead of checking in on your little brother this past year?”
“Same thing I've been doing the past few years, John. Going to school,” she told him.
“And that's more important than trying to get me the hell out of here?”
“We've discussed this, John. On the phone. Remember? You're not well enough. The doctors and nurses are doing everything they can to help you, but you have to help them too. If you want to get out of here any time soon.”
“Who do you think you are?” Johnny asked. “You're not my fucking mother.”
Tears began to sting Aurelia's eyes. She wanted nothing more than her brother to get better, to hopefully one day lead a normal life. Things were not looking good for him. Since the last time she saw him, he looked worse. He appeared to have lost a lot of weight. His body was frail, looking like Jesus on the day He was crucified. What were they feeding him in here? she asked herself. Couldn't be much from the looks of it.
“I want access to my share of the money,” Johnny said.
Aurelia almost laughed. “What in God's name are you talking about?”
“The money from Mom and Dad's death. I want my share. I know they had life insurance. I heard Uncle Frank talking about it. I want my half. I'm entitled to it.”
“How do you think we're able to afford your stay here?” Aurelia asked. “You think these people are letting you stay here out of the goodness of their hearts? This is a place of business. They are here to make money.” Aurelia shook her head. “Plus, how exactly would you spend money in here anyway? I don't see any stores around here.”
Johnny pulled a cigarette out from his breast pocket, put it between his lips, and lit it up. “Well at least I don't have to pay for cigarettes.”
“No, I do,” Aurelia said. She reached across the table and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, and stamped it out in the overfilled ashtray that rested on the table between them. “I didn't put you in here so you could slowly kill yourself.”
“You're such a fucking cunt,” he muttered.
“I don't know why I love you,” Aurelia told him. “Mom and Dad would be fucking ashamed of you and what you've become.”
“And what's that, dear sister?”
She got up from the table and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “A fucking ungrateful asshole,” she said, and walked away from him, without looking back. “See you in another year.”
“Aurelia!” Johnny called to her, as she headed toward the door. She did not turn around. “Don't leave me in here!” She did not stop, did not look back. His sister reached the door and opened it, walked through without even thinking twice about it. “Don't you fucking leave me in here!” he yelled, which caught the attention of some nurses, forcing them to come running to his aid. He pushed the nurses aside as he tried to follow his sister, toward the door. One of them called for help and a security guard with biceps the size of J
ohnny's waist came trotting over. Johnny pushed one of the nurses to the floor, and the blubbery woman landed on her massive rump. The security guard tackled Johnny as if he were a running back heading toward the goal line in the Superbowl. It wasn't a hard task; Johnny's feeble body hit the floor with a thud. He began to scream, telling the guard that he was going to sue him if his arm was broken. The guard subdued the wild man, who screamed for his sister to come back, to take him away from this hellhole.
The nurses administered a shot, which placed Johnny Anderson in a catatonic daze.
The whole scene unfolded before the entire staff, and most of the patients, who looked on with shock and awe. Few outbursts inside Benton ended in violence. The expressions on the witnesses' faces varied from being afraid to saddened. Some of them were just too confused as to why Johnny—a relatively laid back individual—freaked out the way he did. Some of the other patients stared on, emotionless from the drugs that were coursing through their veins.
Only Geoffrey Boone smiled, and he tried to hide it the best he could. But the joy that spread throughout him was too much to subdue. He giggled like a schoolgirl exchanging secrets with one of her friends. He put his hand over his face to conceal his delight.
He's perfect, isn't he? Geoffrey asked the voice in his head.
Oh, yes. Very perfect. Bring him to me, the voice responded.
I will, Master. I will.
4
“I never saw him again,” Aurelia said, taking a sip from her extra-large mug. She was on her third refill.
“What happened?” I asked. “Why didn't you go back to visit?”
“I would have gone back to visit,” Aurelia said. “But a few days after our little incident, Johnny escaped. There was a search party, and a few of the surrounding towns were put on alert for an escaped mental patient. But no one ever found him. We searched for a week. I gave up hope after a few days.” Tears began to well up in her eyes. She still held a lot of love for her brother, even though he was a “fucking ungrateful asshole.” I could tell by the way she spoke about him. Perhaps it was guilt fueling her motivation to seek revenge. Or maybe she just missed him, and getting even would lessen the pain. Either way, something compelled her to burn down Boone's church.
