NeverEnding Maddness: A Girl Lost to the World (Frost & Flame Book 3)

by Rick Kueber

  *** I awoke like clockwork from one of my typical night’s sleep. I had gone to bed on Friday night around 11 pm and tossed and turned until I finally fell asleep sometime around 3 am. There were times I felt fortunate to have such an accurate biological clock... and mornings like this when I cursed it for existing at all. I took my phone from the nightstand and unplugged it. The screen lit up and read: '7:00 am- 1 New Message- Hil.' I unlocked the screen and proceeded to dive into the lengthy message from Hilary detailing her nightmare. I read over it a few times to allow it to sink in as I cleared the cobwebs from my waking mind. I had decided to respond to the text, knowing that my friend may not be awake this early on a Saturday morning. My reply simply read, “Call me when you are up and available.”

  While I waited to hear from Hilary, I drug myself to the kitchen and began brewing a strong pot of coffee. My mind revisited the story I had read of Hilary's nightmare and I began to visualize what she must have dreamt. I kept having a reoccurring vision of the matted black hair and compelling, empty eyes... a distorted, vague yet gruesome face. Between the flashes of this horrific face, I had imagined how terrifying it must have been for Hilary to see or feel others tearing the skin off of her body. Could there have been some other reason for her night terror, such as having watched some horror film? It was difficult to imagine why anyone would be ripping the skin off of another person, and how demented a person would have to be to do such a thing. The aroma of strong Colombian coffee pulled me back to reality and I doctored up a large mug full of sugar, French vanilla creamer and a splash of very strong coffee. “Mmmm...” I moaned aloud. The warm java began to awaken every fiber of my being, from the inside out. I topped off my mug and carried it to the living room where I settled into my comfy couch and pressed the tv power button on the remote control.

  Surfing through the channels, I settled on an 80's film I had seen a dozen times or more, yet I still found enjoyment in watching it and revisiting my youth. Just as I was becoming emotionally involved in the movie, my phone dinged. It was a text from Hilary asking if I could talk via Skype, and I quickly answered yes. I removed myself to the office where my computer screen was already lit up with an incoming video call.

  “Hey, Hilary!” I answered. “Hey...” She replied, sounding less than enthusiastic. We went through all of the cordial greetings and how-have-you-beens and swiftly moved into the meat of the conversation. Hilary went into every detail she could remember. When she paused, I would quiz her and pry forgotten bits and pieces of her dreams from the deep recesses of her memory, and after another line or two of her dream story, I would dissect it asking every possible question about the most infinitesimal detail.

  “Do you remember about having your skin torn off?...” I could see that she did by the displeasure of her facial expression. “Was it like being skinned...like all in one piece, or were they tearing bits off, you know, like using their finger nails... or...” I was making myself feel a bit squeamish and couldn't imagine what she must be thinking.

  “I don't know how to explain it, really. I could sense a couple of people near me...like overpowering people... and I couldn't move a muscle.” Her face contorted with discomfort as she recalled the nightmare. “Have you ever been waxed?”

  “Um...” I nearly burst out with laughter, but managed to contain myself. “You mean, like, hair removal...waxing?... No, I haven't.” Hilary rolled her eyes. “I know, dumb question...but you never know. Working in a spa, it's the only thing I can it relate it to. It was like having half of my body waxed, or maybe like fly paper or something.” She sighed deeply. “I swear, I'm not crazy, and I know it probably sounds like I am.”

  “I've had some pretty insanely vivid dreams or visions of my own, so...no, I don't think you're crazy.” I smiled at her to comfort her distress. “Your imagery is very good. I can sort of picture it in my head, so you have done well in your description.”

  We continued on going over every second of the dream from start to finish and then went through it, and all of the uncovered details, again. The conversation was winding down when she offered up a bit of hopeful information.

  “I'm meeting with the Bangs Local Historian to go through some of the Infirmary documents that aren't readily available to the general public, so hopefully I can send you some stuff soon.” She boasted.

  “Looking forward to it! Can you email anything you find to me?” My voice bubbled over with anticipation.

  “Yeah. I can scan it in and send it to you.” Hilary confirmed my request. I began to feel more optimistic about the Infirmary case. We may finally be able to make some headway, but my hopes did not translate to the reality that came into fruition. Our liaison for the infirmary case, my dear friend Hilary, became sick. One ailment after another began to pummel her just when she was about to uncover some previously hidden information that could prove vital to our research. Hilary, her husband Mike, and I stayed in sporadic contact. I would text or call to see how she was doing, and more often than not, I was given information on some new medical issues that had arisen. One particular phone call had me frightened, as Hilary was actually scared for her life, and cried to me over the phone, asking why this had all happened to her and what she had done to deserve this. I had no answers, though I had to fight back the fear that it was somehow related to the haunting and negative energy that surrounded the Infirmary, and the spirits that refused to leave her in peace. The illnesses and medical disorders had a definitive reason, a reason none of us would have imagined, but that is another book in itself. All we could do was to bide our time, say our prayers and hope for Hilary's full recovery. 'Time is relative' is a vague statement and only when confronted with how intricate that can be, does one truly begin to understand the concept. The updates came and went painfully slowly, and were interjected throughout the spring time which, in itself, seemed to fly by like dotted lines on the interstate.

  *** While Hilary began to recover her health slowly, she received a large manila envelope in the mail with no return address. There was a subliminal concern that troubled her. Her name and address were hand written and she wondered who would send something to her with the need for anonymity. It hadn't come certified, so she felt confident that it wasn't any legal documents, a subpoena, or something of that nature. Still, she felt hesitant to open it, as if it were exuding some bad energy or held some bad news or threatening letter or photos. She sat the burdensome envelope down on the coffee table as she poured a glass of wine. Hilary took her glass and made herself comfortable on the couch, staring at the daunting package. A flood of possibilities ran through her mind like a raging river filled with turmoil and despair.

  ' What the hell am I so worried about?' she thought, 'What's the worst it could be...notice of termination? No, that would have come certified mail...hate mail from an ex? But why would they send it in an envelope this big? Somebody have incriminating photos of me or Mike's past, or worse, present? God, I hope not!' Her imagination and worry were doing a great job of unraveling her sanity. Her last thought was, 'Uni-bomber?' and that made her giggle, just a little. Hilary was filling her glass for the third time when she came to a conclusion: If this was sent to me, and I was the one who actually brought in the mail, then I must be meant to open it and receive whatever it holds.

  She downed the last half of her glass in one drink, popped the glass down on the table with a little extra exertion. Without another moment's hesitation, she snatched up the ominous delivery and ran her finger vigorously under the seal to open it.

  “Ow! Shit!” She exclaimed, paper-cutting her index finger. “Well, if this isn't an omen...” She spoke out to the empty house and then reprimanded herself for talking to herself. “You are going nuts girl.” She left the opened envelope on the table while she scurried to the bathroom to wash and bandage the rather large paper cut. When she returned she noticed the random few crimson drops in sharp contrast to the pale manila of the envelope and it caused her to pause once again, long enough to pour one mor
e glass of wine and take another sip before returning to the portentous task at hand. She pulled the papers out of the envelope and began reading them. She felt relieved and uneasy all at the same time. 'Aw, hell! I've gotta send this to Rick.' She quickly scanned the pages into a computer file and sent them in an email.

  It was evening when I sat down in front of my computer with a microwaved carton of chicken fried rice. I scanned through the subject line of a dozen or more new emails, when one caught my eye. The sender: Hilary, the subject line: Holy FUCK. Hilary had always had a sailor's vocabulary, and her filter had long been discarded. I merely smiled and shook my head when I saw it, but I knew it must hold some importance, so I chose to open it first. Truth is, it ended up being the only email I would read that night, and I read it over and over again.

  Rick,

  I got this in the mail with no return address and a letter that just said: Don't publicize this, please. I will contact you soon. I have more information and will talk to you in person when I can assure anonymity.

  And that's all it said. Call me when you check it out and have time to take it all in.

  Hil I opened the attachments to the email and printed them out before reading much, but I could instantly tell one of them was some sort of recorded document, another was a newspaper page, and the third was the original letter. I looked at the print outs closely. The short, handwritten letter on unlined paper was exquisitely written, near perfect penmanship, and even without lines to follow, a straight edge showed that every letter, every punctuation mark landed perfectly. This was not recklessly sent, but most likely meticulously thought out and sent with intention. The record documented evidence of a horrific tragedy which had understandably been buried and hidden from the infirmary's history. The same event was once chronicled in the local Bang's newspaper and a scan of the original was the last printout that I read. I was flabbergasted at its revelations.

  “TRAGEDY STRIKES THE INFIRMARY October 13, 1887 After two years of confinement in his first floor room, Adam Clayborne, being 46 years of age and an inmate at the Infirmary since its opening, escaped his restraints and murdered three Infirmary residents on various floors at approximately 2 o'clock in the morning, on Wednesday. The guards and attendees were confounded as to how this man escaped and murdered three individuals in such a violent manner without alerting the night staff. Upon reaching the fourth floor unnoticed, Mr. Clayborne rendered the on-duty guard unconscious with a blow to the posterior of the head. Mr. Clayborne then continued in his deliberate path to enter

  psychiatrist's quarters and

  the room next to the attending killed another sleeping inmate by

  strangling him bare-handedly. The Fourth floor guard, having regained his constitution, found the disgruntled inmate attempting to break into the psychiatrist's quarters. The guard, Mr. Alan Potts retrieved his gun from its holster and shot Mr. Clayborne in his right shoulder. The inmate gave chase back into the inmate's quarters where the strangled man lay. The guard was quoted as saying “...he (Clayborne) had a terrifying fire in his eyes and snarled at me. Fearing for his life, and the lives of others at the infirmary, Mr. Potts fired a second shot, contacting Mr. Clayborne in the left chest. In turn, Mr. Clayborne let out a terrible, inhuman shriek and leapt through the closed window glass and met his demise after abruptly striking the ground below.”

  Adam Clayborne had been institutionalized for being a mute and being frightened and intimidated to be around other people, making him anti-social to the point of doing harm to his own well-being. Though the record and article were valid proof of the occurrences, the most unnerving revelation was the cause for the inmate's barbaric actions. The staff psychiatrist wrote and signed off on the records which stated:

  “Mr. Adam Clayborne, being a very timid and isolated man, acted completely out of character when, on Wednesday morning, not having ever had the occasion to leave his own room, cruelly murdered three inmates, and had he been given opportunity, countless others. After much consultation and deliberation with the Scholar Medical Board, it has been determined that Mr. Clayborne must have been possessed by one or more demons, controlling his actions on this particular night to carry out their wishes. A local clergyman, Fr. Gaunt, was called and having been granted permission by the Bishop will arrive to bless the areas with Holy Water and prayer on Saturday afternoon...”

  The report continued with no other information that concerned our investigation, other than the particulars of which rooms had been occupied by Mr. Clayborne, the murdered inmates, and the psychiatrist. I was speechless and had to consider all of the potential ramifications this information could have. The mere mention of the word Demonic changed everything. I had to think about the dangerous consequences this could have for Hilary, my team, and me. The results could not only cause grave issues for all of us, but also for our families and close friends. There were moments, numerous moments, when I considered turning all of the evidence back over to Hilary and washing our hands of this case and all of its overwhelming concerns. Snatching up my phone I began to dial... my first instinct was to call Hilary. As soon as I began to punch in her number, I knew what needed to be done first. It was my team... I had started it, but it had grown and transformed many times into what it now was, and would surely transform again throughout its future. The reality became clear to me, it was our team, and decisions that affected it should be made as a team. It was time for coffee...

  Through some divine, miraculous intervention, Jennifer called at that moment and asked if I had plans for the evening, saying she and Katie had been talking and since we hadn't had a meeting in a while, they wanted to just 'hang out' as a team. I couldn't have been happier to meet up. After a long refreshing and rejuvenating, hot shower, I stood in front of the steam covered mirror, wrapped in a towel and my mind wandered. I ran my hand across the mirror, revealing the haggard face that stared back at me. There was a familiarity in this stranger's face. It was older and thinning hair was becoming flecked with silver and the stress of the past few years were written in lines that had not been there a short time ago. As I gazed deep into the sadness of the dark brown eyes in the reflection, it occurred to me that my soul had aged far more than my face. I hadn't told the team that there was any news from the infirmary, and I struggled with whether or not to divulge the information tonight, or 'just hang out' as it had been put to me. It sounded wonderful to meet with my team...my friends...with no other purpose other than to spend an evening together and have a good time. While I contemplated these things, I began to get dressed. I constantly checked the time, until I could wait no longer, I grabbed up the latest correspondence from Hilary, tossed it into the passenger seat and started up the old convertible. I put the top down and as I began to drive off, a breeze blew in and scattered the papers. Throwing the car into park, I frantically gathered up the pages and folded then up small enough to shove the bulky mess into my front pocket.

  Sitting in the parking lot of Banes and Noble, I looked around to see Jenn's black Camry already parked and empty. Somehow, I felt a sense of awkward relief to not be the first to arrive. I entered the bookstore and found my way to the Starbuck's coffee shop nestled in the front corner. Stepping into the line, I looked over the busy cafe and located a corner booth where Theo, Jenn and Katie were already seated and chatting over steaming caffeinated goodness. I approached them with my delectable latte in hand and stood at the end of the booth table, towering over them. Looking from one to another, the clamber of their chit-chat dulled and slowly fell silent. All at once their faces grew somber and all eyes turned to me, awaiting some sobering news... I had them right where I wanted them, and so I began.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man,” I gestured to myself. “and this latte... in holy, heavenly, though short lived bliss.” Rousing laughter ensued, and I felt suddenly younger than I had less than an hour ago.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Jennifer managed to get out through her giggles. “Yea
h!” Katie spouted. “Here, I thought you were about to tell us the Ohio gig was canceled or worse...” Theo only grinned silently, but his grin faded as I sat down across from him. Somehow, he knew... he always had a way of knowing.

  “It is worse, isn't it?” He said, in a quiet and reserved tone. “We'll get to that soon enough, but for now, how is everybody? It seems like forever since we met last.” I tried to divert the topic, unsuccessfully, I might add.

  “We're all good...is this 'soon enough' for ya... cause you can bet your ass, it's soon enough for us.” Jenn said bluntly, but though her words were harsh and to the point, I could sense there was more concern and care in her intent than her words were revealing.

  “Okay... I get it.” I said, losing my smile and drawing the wadded mess of papers out of my pocket. I tossed them on the table in the midst of everyone and they laid there like they were plague ridden. Everyone stared, but no one would dare touch them.

  “What's this?” Theo asked, not allowing me to passively give them the information. “It's some stuff Hil sent me. Make of it what you will, but I want you all to know, if you don't want to stay involved with this case, I completely understand.” I waited for someone to unfold the papers. Much to my surprise, Katie reached for them first and slowly unfolded them, laying them flat on the table and pressing and sliding her hand across them to smooth out the wrinkles and creases. Theo and Jenn looked at the papers in front of Katie and tried to make sense of any words they could read from their angle. As Katie finished reading each page she passed them to Theo, who in turn passed them to Jenn. The table was silent within its own bubble of reality while the seemingly carefree world around us went gallivanting about its own boisterous business.