by Tim Meyer
“Did you sue the hospital?”
“I thought about it. I had lawyers practically breaking down my front door, telling me how much they wanted to represent me and make sure I was compensated for my unfortunate situation. How does a mental facility lose a patient? How can someone escape a place like that?” These were rhetorical questions I didn't answer. However, after doing a bit research about the hospital, it was not the first patient Benton had lost. I didn't tell this to Aurelia, although I suspected she had done just as much research as I did, and probably knew more about the place.
“What happened to Boone? And why do you think he's responsible for Johnny's death?” I asked. The waitress came over with a fresh pot of coffee, but I waved her away.
“Boone was in Benton voluntarily. I assume it was his father's wishes. Anyway, he checked himself out the day after my brother escaped.” Aurelia accepted the waitress' offer, and quickly began to work on her fourth cup. “It was the way he looked at Boone when I asked my brother about him. He acted—I don't know—like a kid who didn't want his mother to know he was hanging out with a bad crowd or something like that. I can't really explain any better. I had a gut feeling. A bad one. After my brother was M.I.A for a few days, I started questioning the staff. Most of them said he kept to himself, rarely talking about the outside world. They also said he hung around Geoffrey Boone most of the time, and Geoffrey had checked out the day after my brother disappeared. I assumed the two of them planned to meet up and... I dunno, do something... crazy.”
“Was Johnny's body ever found?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
She shook her head. “I had a closed casket ceremony that no one came to. I was hoping it would draw Geoffrey out of hiding, but it didn't.” She sighed deeply. “This is why I couldn't give up hope. Never finding his body makes me wonder—and I know it's stupid to think this way—but, maybe he is still out there somewhere. Lost. Confused. Surviving on his own. Who knows? Maybe he's in a better place somewhere. Maybe, he isn't... lost anymore. Maybe he is happy.” Sadness rippled across her face. “I can only hope, right?”
I nodded. “So... what brought you to the Order of the Black Book?” I asked. This was something I was most curious about. “How did you get caught up in that mess?”
“I think we'll need more coffee for that,” she said.
5
Aurelia did her research. A year passed between the time of her brother's disappearance and when she joined Boone's backwoods cult. She had struggled putting herself through college. She wanted to finish, but between having to answer her brother's financial woes (which depleted most of her parent's life insurance funds) and the egging feeling that her brother's death was still to be confirmed, she found it difficult to concentrate and put her efforts into schoolwork. She changed majors several times before calling it quits. She had attempted a degree in Journalism, and even tried her hand at philosophy. She then decided—after a few classes and a few thousand dollars—that philosophy was a wasted degree, so she went to become a nurse. There was a local community college in Red River that offered an excellent nursing program, which she attended for two semesters before dropping out. She went back once more, declared psychology as her major, and failed to complete a single semester. The sense that maybe her brother was still alive, out there somewhere, living amongst the sane, ate away at her brain like an incurable disease. There were still missing pieces that needed to be found and Aurelia went to look for them.
After falling off the map, the Boone family finally reappeared. Aurelia discovered that they had purchased a piece of land in the middle of the woods, and planned reconstruction on. Her friend worked at the Realtor office that sold them the property. Had it not been for this stroke of luck, the Boone family may have gone about their business and Aurelia would have never known about it; her reunion with Geoffrey never would have happened.
Aurelia became her own private investigator, following the Boone's around town, understanding their tendencies; their places of interest; where they ate; where they went to spend their down time. She even knew where they bought their clothes. She admitted she had become “obsessed” with learning what they were up to in the woods, why they had become so withdrawn. She learned through various means that Carter had once been a priest in the Catholic Church, but had separated for reasons she couldn't find on the Internet. She began to show up to their little gatherings on Saturday nights, and eventually she learned the truth. She became a regular at the Order's black masses. She met Carter Boone several times, had dinner with him and Geoffrey on multiple occasions. Luckily, Carter Boone's degenerate spawn did not recognize Aurelia from the last day she visited her brother at Benton. Geoffrey did, however, make a passing comment that “she looked familiar,” that maybe they had been “friends” once before.
“Maybe in another life,” she told him.
In a few months, Aurelia became close with Carter Boone, and he started treating her like the daughter he never had. This story, of course, eventually ended with the destruction of Boone's house and the hiatus of their backwoods meetings. Carter trusted Aurelia, so much that he expedited her journey in becoming a member of the Order, much to the dismay and protest of some of the other members, including Aunt Danica, whose complaints I had witnessed first hand.
Aurelia stayed close with Carter, always keeping her distance from Geoffrey and some of the other members, planning and plotting her revenge. In the few short months, it became apparent that she would never learn the truth of what happened to her brother, unless she interrogated Geoffrey herself, which she did not have the stones to do. Burning down a home with the possibility of having people trapped inside was one thing, but admitting to a mentally unstable person that she had infiltrated his devil-worshiping cult just to get answers about the disappearance of her believed-to-be deceased brother was something else entirely, something she was not quite prepared for. To her, that seemed more dangerous. And while I didn't exactly agree with her logic, I understood it.
Aurelia plotted, planned, and eventually, when the group had come to trust her the most, she seized her chance and burned the church to the ground.
“I didn't plan on walking out of there alive,” Aurelia admitted. Tears once again passed through her eyes. “That's horrible to say. I'm sorry. I just... had no reason to carry on, I guess.” She shook her head. “You must think I'm as crazy as him; my brother. But I'm not. I just wasn't... wasn't thinking clearly. I want to live, Ritchie. It feels good to be alive. And I owe you my life. You... you saved me.”
“I don't know about that—”
“You did. You pulled me out of that fire. It's foggy, but I remember.” She finished her last cup of coffee and pushed the giant mug to the edge of the table. “I owe you my life, Ritchie Naughton.”
“Well, you got me out of that hospital. If I spent another minute in that place, it probably would have killed me,” I told her. “So we'll call it even.”
This was enough to make her crack a smile.
“I'm sorry about your brother, Aurelia. I wish... there was something I could do to help,” I told her.
She shook her head. “It's over. I need to learn how to let it go. Go back to living my life. It's not too late to finish my degree. Who knows? Maybe with a psychology degree I can help some other people, so they don't turn out like Johnny.” She paused to reflect on things. “I'm done with it,” she continued. “I'm done with chasing Boone, trying to get to the bottom of things. Do I think Geoffrey killed my brother? Maybe he didn't put a gun to his head and pull the trigger, or tie a noose for him, but I think he may have spread his insanity to him, because insanity is no different than any other disease... and I think that might have caused Johnny's eventual death.” She fought back tears, and fought them well. I saw her swallow the lump that had been lodged in her throat. “Anyway, it's all in the past and I can't do a damn thing to change it. I have to worry about the future now.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” I said. I desperatel
y wanted to tell her about the camera, the Denlax that took mysterious and haunting pictures of the home she had burned to the ground. However, this was not the time or the place for that. Besides, that story didn't have an ending. And unlike Aurelia, I couldn't leave any questions unanswered.
I would find out the truth about the Denlax, even if it killed me.
6
Despite her plea, I paid for our dinner, and Aurelia's six cups of coffee.
I walked her to her car. We said “goodnight” to each other, and underneath the bright moonlight which rained down on us from the star-filled sky, I leaned in and kissed her. She accepted my lips, putting the palm of her hand against the back of my head, pushing our heads together, making them one. The kiss was only a few seconds long, but it seemed to last an eternity. We were both smiling when our heads became separate again.
If I had my own place, I would have invited her over for drinks. However, that was not the case. We said “goodnight” again, pecked each others' lips once more, then parted ways, promising we'd talk tomorrow.
I left only thinking of her, and the future we might be able to have together.
Oh, and the Denlax. I was thinking of that too. Just a little bit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Strange Man sat in the middle of an unlit room, on a chair much too big for his body. Darkness swallowed the two of us, and as I migrated toward the empty seat across from him, light began to slowly conquer the scenery around us. The darkness faded and the boring sage-green color of the four walls appeared. A few more things came into view as the dark scattered. A bed magically materialized in the corner of the room. A nightstand, containing a vase of rainbow-colored flowers, rested next to it. There was a single window to the outside world, showing a world foreign to me. I didn't have time to study it, nor take notes about its weird atmosphere. The Strange Man welcomed me in, waving his hand, commanding me to have a seat. There was a grin beneath his big, bushy beard. His hair was long, tied back in a pony tail. The sickly-green skin tone I had come to expect was absent. I sat down across from him cautiously.
As things unfolded, I realized I had unconsciously arrived at a medical institution. A mental health facility to be precise. Like Benton. Hell, maybe it was Benton.
“You're him, aren't you?” I asked the Strange Man.
He nodded.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Everything is so... confusing. I can't figure out how everything is connected. But...”
“But... you know that everything is,” the Strange Man finished for me.
I nodded. I leaned over the table, as if I were going to whisper a secret in a crowded restaurant. “Where did you go?”
He shook his head from side to side. “Answers don't come that easy, I'm afraid. You have to do the work. It's all up to you. What you found in the basement at the Tribune was left for you to find, Ritchie. You're the last hope. You're all we have.” He looked around the room, paranoid, as if the walls had eyes and ears. Watching us. Listening. We were, after all, holding an important conversation that would alter the future, unveiling the path I would come to travel. “Only you can save us, free us from the House of Mirrors.”
“I don't know where it is!” I yelled.
He raised his finger to his mouth and shushed me. I was being too loud. The ears in the walls heard me.
“Have a little faith. Come find me. You know where I am. Don't you?” the Strange Man asked.
“No. But I bet I know someone who does,” I asked. “He'll tell me. He has to.”
The Strange Man nodded in approval. “Then find me, Ritchie-my-bitchie. Find me before it's too late.” He leaned in and suddenly his face was not his own. The skin I had thought to be normal peeled like old paint. Beneath his human flesh were patches of green, a color I'd forever equate with evil. The Strange Man twitched his lips back, revealing sharp, corrugated teeth designed for murder. He snarled furiously. I sat back in my seat, unable to control the outcome of my fate. “Find me before SHE IS LOST FOREVER! LOST IN THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS!”
2
I walked into Sheldon Daniels's office cursing myself, wondering why I had not asked about him before. I had overlooked a simple piece to this clusterfucked puzzle. Idiot. How could I have been so oblivious? Answers were right in front of me this whole time, waiting for me. I just needed to find the right person to interrogate.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Naughton?” Sheldon asked. “I don't exactly have a lot of free time.”
“Good. Because neither do I,” I snapped. Sheldon was a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, which normally irritated me, but today I didn't mind. Today I wanted answers. “I want to talk about my predecessor.”
Something changed on his face. It was subtle, and he tried to hide it through a calm, collective pose—which had the transparency of water—I had never seen him make before. It was as if I had asked to poke around his closet for skeletons. “What did you want to know about him?” he asked calmly. I could see a layer of sweat bubbling on his forehead. There was clearly something he didn't want me to know.
“Just where he is,” I replied. “Where did he go?”
“And why do you want to know that?”
“Curiosity mostly. But I have a few things I wanted to discuss.”
“What kind of things?”
I looked at him suspiciously. “What difference does it make?” I asked. He was behaving oddly. But why? What was he hiding? What was he protecting? There had to be a reason. He would not be this evasive without one. I'd come to know Sheldon Daniels to be a giant dick, the biggest prick editor I ever had the displeasure of working for, but never did he act like this. He was mostly forward with his answers, no bullshitting. Answered everything quickly or didn't. He told things as they were, no beating around bushes. Never once did he have trouble telling somebody that something wasn't right, or speaking his mind on a particular subject. And never had he danced around one. Except for now.
“I find it strange that after a few months of employment, you want to speak with the man whose job you took. A little curious, don't you think?” he asked. Not as curious as your fucking reaction to my question, you swirly ass-clown, I wanted to say, but found the strength to keep my flapper shut. Mouthing off was probably not the best way to go about getting what I wanted.
Instead of returning the attitude, I shrugged and said nothing.
“I don't have time for this. Come back later. We'll talk then,” he said, and turned back to his computer, continuing to bang away on the keyboard.
He had no intention of talking to me later, I could tell by the tone of his voice.
“Mr. Daniels, with all due respect, I'd like to talk now.” I wanted to be careful about what I said next; I couldn't afford to get myself fired. “I just want to know where I can reach him. A phone number. An address. Anything you can give me would be greatly appreciated.”
He chuckled under his breath. “You think I'm at liberty to divulge that information? Former employees' private information is not a public matter, Mr. Naughton. Now please,” he said, and turned away once again.
“Fine. Then at least tell me why you fired the guy.”
“Who told you I fired him?” he asked. He was becoming agitated.
“Dana. The day you hired me. She said his name was... Lester, was it?”
He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and sighed. “Lester Resnick. Thought I was done saying that name.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Lester...” He looked at me, as if judging whether or not I could be trusted. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. Or how it makes you better at designing our web page. Or how it benefits the paper at all. But I'm going to tell you, and then I don't ever want to hear you or anyone else mention that son of a bitch's name again. Understand?”
I nodded.
“I had to fire Lester because of poor job performance. There were weeks where he would never show up in the office. He failed to regular
ly attend staff meetings. It got to the point where we became concerned with the website, whether or not it would be updated when an important story broke. He became... strange, in the last few months leading up to his termination.”
“Strange how?”
“He started saying some weird things. Mumbled a lot to himself. I caught him on multiple occasions in the basement... having... well it sounded like he was having a full conversation with himself. I'd hear people talking, from the top of the stairs, and one voice belonged to Lester. The other was him too, although I could swear if I didn't know any better, it could've been someone else's. But I knew it was only him down there.”
“How do you know? I mean, could it have been someone else?”
“No. No one else was crazy enough to visit the basement, let alone hang out down there with Lester.”
“Could it have been someone who didn't work here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. It was Lester. No one but him went in or out of that basement. Anyway, that was only the start of his absurd behavior. He kept to himself mostly during that time. Didn't really talk to anyone. Hell, he avoided people. It seemed like he was afraid of everyone and everything.”
“What was he like before this started happening?”
“Normal, but funny. Jovial most of the time. 'Life of the party' would probably be the best phrase to describe him.”
