by J. Thorn
“Yeah, but that’s not important right now. Anyway, Deke chased me into the basement—”
“You were out with Deke?”
Had jealousy flickered across his face? “If you keep interrupting, we’ll never get anywhere. Deke chased me into the basement, then I hid in the dark. There’s all kinds of weird equipment, electrical generators and tanks and stuff. I think it has something to do with Kracowski’s experiments. There’s a bunch of rooms down there, too, like hospital rooms or jail cells. Deke went down one of the halls, and I followed him.”
“Behold the power of love.”
“Stuff it. We saw somebody, and I thought it was the geeky night watchman down there with a girlie magazine and a candy bar. But the person was shiny, and elusive as heck. I couldn’t get a good look, but Deke followed him or her into one of the rooms. He started whimpering—”
“Deke, afraid of the dark? Wait until his goons find out.”
“He screamed, and I got scared and left. But now I know what I saw. A ghost.”
“It wasn’t the man on the lake?”
She could smell the water, but it was hidden by the rocks. She wondered if the old man were out there now, doing his miraculous two-step. “No, I think this was a woman. If dead people have sex.”
“Gross.”
“I meant, are dead people either male or female? It’s not like they need to reproduce or anything.”
“I guess they stay whatever they were. The old man looks like a man, doesn’t he? At least, as much of him as we can see.”
“I don’t know what happened to Deke, but I haven’t seen him today.”
“He wasn’t in the Blue Room this morning.”
“Well, none of the counselors are freaked out about it. They’d be running around like headless chickens if somebody ran away.”
“They are headless chickens. How do you think they became shrinks?”
Vicky laughed despite herself. Freeman was a weird one, all right. Maybe even weird enough to trust some more.
Freeman grabbed her arm, squeezed her fat flesh. “Shhh.”
Someone was coming down the trail. No, two someones.
Vicky pressed back into the thicket, but the branches weren’t dense enough to completely hide them. “Do we run for it?” she whispered.
“Why? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Dr. Kracowski passed by, with Dr. Swenson right behind him. Vicky put her hand over Freeman’s mouth. His manic belligerence might drive him to yell some insult. She wanted to see where they were going, because they walked like conspirators, alert and quiet. If you wanted to spy on sneaky people, you had to be sneaky yourself.
When the pair disappeared around the bend in the path, Vicky said, “Let’s follow them.”
“You’re really into following people, aren’t you?”
“So I’m a stalker. Don’t you have any curiosity?”
“Enough to kill the cat, but I suspect he died from rat poison. Which is why you shouldn’t snoop around too much.”
“Hah. This from the guy who brags about triptrapping through other people’s heads. You don’t mind your own business, so why should I?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”
They pushed their way out of the thicket, Vicky’s arms scratched by the branches. They climbed over the boulders and slipped through a dark notch in the granite. The two doctors had stopped at the water’s edge, in a stand of young maples. It was the only part of the lake shore not visible from Wendover.
Vicky and Freeman hid in the shadows of the boulders and waited. The doctors talked quietly for a moment. Vicky’s face itched, and she fought an urge to sneeze. Freeman squeezed her hand. How could he stand to touch such grotesque flab?
A man came down the path from the opposite direction. He was dressed in cotton slacks and a white shirt with the top two buttons undone. He was broad chested, tan, short, and he wore sunglasses. The man was trying too obviously hard to disguise himself as a mountain tourist.
“Doctors,” the man said in greeting.
“Hello, McDonald,” Kracowski said, making no move to shake the man’s hand. Swenson stood silent beside him.
“What happened last night? We captured the boy prowling around in the basement.”
Freeman squeezed Vicky’s hand more tightly. The visitor, apparently satisfied that no one was watching, removed his sunglasses. His eyes were cold as marbles.
“That was an unfortunate mishap,” Kracowski said. “The security man has been properly scolded. Did the boy see anything?”
“Enough. We’ve got him in brainwashing right now.”
“Please,” said Kracowski. “I don’t like that word.”
“Right, Doc. What do you call it? ‘Synaptic re-alignment’? Your technique may be new, but ours has a pretty decent track record.”
“Not so decent that your bosses aren’t interested in my work.”
“We all work for the same boss. And don’t forget who funded your equipment. You think liquid nitrogen and advanced superconductors are cheap? Not to mention the extra security measures we’re going to have to take now?”
“You rented me, you didn’t buy my soul.” Kracowski knelt by the lake and stared across the water. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing,” McDonald said. “You continue just as before. We’re bringing in some of our own people. Bondurant can’t handle this.”
Kracowski stood abruptly. “You promised no meddling.”
“We have a large investment to protect. And we expect results.”
“I’ll share everything when the time comes. This is an incredible breakthrough, and I’m not sure your people understand the implications of my work.”
“Turning out happy campers.” The man laughed, and Kracowski’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t the CIA and the KGB racing to see who can bend the most spoons with telepathy. This is bigger than governments. You work for the Trust, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“There might be more,” Kracowski said. “There could be side effects that I didn’t consider.”
Swenson finally spoke. “Don’t worry about the children. None of them have shown any long-term damage. Nothing that can be traced back to the treatments, anyway.”
“I’m not talking about that.” Kracowski stared off across the lake again. “I’m talking about the old man in the gown.”
Vicky swallowed a gasp, her heart pounding against her ribs. Freeman’s face grew pale and he bit his lip. So Kracowski knew about the ghost. Their minds hadn’t been playing tricks on them.
“You don’t believe those stories, do you?” Swenson said. “Bondurant’s a drunken fool.”
“Starlene Rogers isn’t. And others have talked as well.”
“You’d better keep your staff in line, or we’ll have to take over completely,” McDonald said. “You’re not the only person who’s worked on ESP techniques.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Kracowski replied.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “Wouldn’t want anybody messing in your little sandbox, would we? Just make sure the Mills boy doesn’t notice his puppet strings.”
Kracowski reddened and stepped toward the man. Vicky thought Kracowski was going to throw a punch, but Swenson tugged his shoulder and pulled him away.
“Forget it, Richard,” she said.
“Damn spook,” Kracowski muttered.
“You shouldn’t hate me,” the man said. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You have a laboratory with the most advanced equipment that secret slush funds can buy and you’ve got an endless supply of guinea pigs. You’ve died and gone to mad-scientist heaven.”
“Actually, whenever you show up, this place feels a lot more like its opposite.”
McDonald laughed. “I never thought Dr. Richard Kracowski could come off as ‘holier than thou.’ Save your soft soap for the kids. I’ve got a job to do, and it’s getting done, one way or another.”
The man’s chilling smile dropped and h
is eyebrows arched, and suddenly he looked as if he could chew bricks. “I know you’re full of yourself, but you’re just a little piece of a big picture. Daddy can cut off the sugar just like that.”
The man snapped his fingers for emphasis, and this time Vicky was sure that Kracowski would jump him. But he only turned away and looked across the lake again. McDonald glanced around one last time, and Vicky pulled Freeman deeper into the bushes. The man exchanged glances with Swenson, then went down the path and disappeared, headed toward the back fence.
Swenson went to Kracowski and put her arms around him. “They’re just a means to an end,” Swenson said. “We know it’s about the search for truth. We’re using them more than they’re using us.”
“They don’t understand the implications,” Kracowski said. “This is bigger than governments and politics and little boys with big toys. It’s about the wall between life and death. Between this world and the world beyond. It’s about breaking down the ultimate barriers of the mind.”
“But we need more evidence.”
“I don’t want the Trust to know too much. I’ve been careful to keep different parts of the research in different places. It would take McDonald’s best hackers years to track down everything.”
“You don’t trust anyone, do you, Richard?” She hugged more tightly.
“Trust. The one quality that Synaptic Synergy Therapy can’t impart.”
“What do we do now?”
“More research. More work. More patients.”
“Do you really think you’re close to the answer?”
Kracowski nodded at the surface of the lake. “Ask him.”
He headed back toward Wendover. After a moment, Swenson followed.
When they were gone, Vicky relaxed her stomach muscles. “What’s going on?” she whispered.
Freeman shook his head. “Clint in ‘Absolute Power.’ Double cover-ups.”
Behind them, a twig snapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You guys shouldn’t be down here,” Starlene said.
“It’s okay, we’ve got our clothes on,” Vicky said. Freeman swiped the air in front of Vicky as if feigning a slap.
Starlene wanted to ask them about Kracowski and Swenson, whom she’d passed on the trail. But she didn’t think spying and gossiping, and probably mind-reading, were proper Christian behaviors. Instead, she said, “You guys come looking for the old man?”
“You mean the one you don’t believe in?” Freeman said.
“I didn’t say that. And I didn’t say your experience yesterday wasn’t real.”
“You just think I thought it happened, like a dream or something.”
Starlene was afraid she’d drive Freeman away from her permanently if she continued to doubt him. But her training didn’t allow her to encourage his delusions. Even though she had accepted the possibility that ghosts existed, thanks to her own encounters, she wasn’t ready to buy the fact that Freeman could read minds. “We all make our own realities.”
“Especially the people in the basement.”
Starlene looked to Vicky for help. The girl lowered her eyes. She was allied with Freeman.
“There’s no one in the basement, Freeman,” Starlene said.
Vicky grew animated, her knotty elbows and hands moving as she spoke. “How do you know? You ever been down there?”
Starlene shook her head. “No, but the door’s kept locked. Same with the stairwell entrances.”
“You wouldn’t believe all the stuff down there. Lots of high-tech equipment, tanks and tubes and generators and wiring. And some creepy old cells.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” She scrambled out of the rhododendron and led them up the trail. “I was there last night.”
By the time they reached the open lawn, the bell sounded and the children gathered to go inside. Starlene waved to Randy. He’d be rotating off duty tonight. If Starlene wasn’t so hardheaded, she would be off, too, and maybe they could have caught a movie together. Maybe Randy would kiss her without trying to ram his tongue all the way down her throat. Maybe he’d even talk with her about what was going on at Wendover.
But tonight, she needed to be here. Not only for the kids, but for herself as well. The old man wasn’t just a figment of her imagination, because others had seen him. Could this place be the site of a miracle? Did visions come to those in the modern day? Did God still send messages to the people He loved?
Starlene saw Bondurant watching them from his office window as they approached the building. He didn’t wave.
“Time to go inside,” Starlene said to Freeman and Vicky.
“First things first.” Vicky ducked under the stair landing and went down the steps leading to the basement. Starlene watched from the top of the steps as Vicky pulled and pushed on the door, then banged her shoulder into it.
“Dang,” Vicky said. “I swear it was open last night.” She pointed to a large, gleaming lock and hasp. “That’s new.”
“Come on up,” Starlene said.
“You don’t believe her,” Freeman said.
“Are you reading my mind, or is that just your opinion?”
“Just because you’re a shrink doesn’t mean you know everything.” Freeman brushed past her and went down to Vicky. They talked for a moment in hushed voices. Then they ascended the stairs together.
“I’m sorry,” Vicky said. “I made the whole thing up.”
“Yeah,” Freeman said. “We didn’t see an old man walking on water and I didn’t get inside the heads of people who live in the basement. But it’s okay for us to be wrong. After all, we’re troubled, right? We’re society’s mistakes.”
The second bell sounded, meaning they were late for lunch. “Look,” Starlene said. “You guys don’t have to hate me. It’s hard for me to stay clinical and detached, but that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Trust,” Freeman said, as if spitting. “Isn’t that one of your special little words?”
Freeman and Vicky went up the landing and entered the building. Starlene started after them, then hesitated. She hurried down the stairs to the basement. The lock did look new, not a scratch or speck of rust on it. Sawdust, steel shavings, and crumbled masonry lay in small piles on the ground. The hardware had been recently installed.
“Is that to keep us out, or to keep them in?” Bondurant smiled down at her from the top of the stairs. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”
“Them?”
“The ones who live in the walls.” Bondurant took a staggering step down. His face was bright red, his eyes wild. He slapped the stone foundation of the building. “The ones that God wouldn’t let into heaven.”
“I—I’d better get going. I have a group session after lunch.”
Bondurant fumbled in his pocket and came two steps nearer. He brought out a key. “Don’t you want to look?”
He lost his footing, and Starlene thought for a moment he was going to tumble down the steps. But he grabbed the handrail and regained what he could of his balance. The smell of whiskey filled the cramped alcove beneath the landing. Wendover’s director was as drunk as a lord.
“Mr. Bondurant, you look like you’re under the weather. I think you ought to go lie down. “
“I’m afraid I’ll go to sleep if I do that.” He was nearly all the way down the stairs now, and Starlene considered bolting past him. She’d never quite trusted him, even though he knew some Bible verses and professed faith in Jesus. But this man could crush her career with one negative reference. Though he looked out-of-his-mind insane, purple welts under his eyes, hair oily and mussed, hands trembling, he still carried a lot of influence with the state’s behavioral health care system.
“And, please, call me Francis,” he said, mushing his sibilants. He’d dropped his careful manner of speech. She moved aside as he tried unsuccessfully to slide his key in the lock. “Damned red tape.”
> He gave her a bloodshot look, and his gaze crawled down her body like a spilled basket of snakes. “It’s bad enough to get regulated by the state. Now the federal government says ‘Do this and that.’ And all this talk about children’s rights, like we’re the bad guys.”
He licked his lips, and Starlene saw why the children compared him to a reptile. “We do the best we can,” she said.
“Goddamned right we do.” On the fourth try, the key slid in the lock and the hasp popped free. “We’re in service of the Lord, but all these layers of deception get in the way of the real work. You know what that work is?”
“Healing. Loving. Caring.”
He banged his foot against the door and it swung open. “Hell, no. The real job is about looking good on paper. That’s what brings in the money. That’s why Kracowski is the best thing that ever happened to Wendover.”
Bondurant shouted up the stairwell. “You hear that, Kracowski? You’re the best goddamned thing that ever happened.”
Starlene stood clear of Bondurant, who swayed and leaned against the door jamb. She couldn’t resist looking past him into the dark basement.
Bondurant held out his hand and gave a wiggly grin. “‘Fraid of the dark?”
More afraid of YOU, she wanted to say. But this might be her only chance to see inside the basement. Vicky and Freeman had been trying to tell her something, but she’d been unable to cut through her own educated biases to listen. Maybe her faith was a bias, too. Now the door was open. It was up to her to walk through.
“She smiled at me,” Bondurant said, spraying her with his liquor spittle.
“Who?”
“The woman. The woman in the wall.”
Starlene barely heard him, because she saw a glow emanating from inside the basement. It was an eerie, diseased half-light. She felt herself being drawn forward, almost against her will. Behind her, Bondurant pressed close against her, his stench as repellent as his body heat.
“She’s here,” he whispered, and closed the door behind them. Starlene knew this was dangerous, that the drunken fool might do something embarrassing, but her fears were overwhelmed by what she saw before her.
