by R. A. Evans
His father had hesitated before reaching over and playfully wrapping his arm around Brady’s shoulder. “Which reminds me, did you brush this morning?” Without warning, his dad wrestled Brady off the edge of the float into the water. “Race you back,” he shouted and began swimming for shore. “Loser has to mow the lawn.”
Brady pulled his attention from the darkened hospital to Tammy as she added, “Yeah, the hospital. You do know what happened there, right? Why it closed and everything?” She finished the marshmallow and wiped her sticky fingers on her shorts as she, too, stood. Brady shrugged in ignorance. “He really doesn’t know,” she said, turning to Jeff as he returned with the trash bag.
April came around the fire and stood next to Brady, sliding her hand into his. “Stop it, Tammy. It’s really not funny.” She squeezed Brady’s hand as she turned to face him. “We always thought you knew. I mean, it’s no secret.”
Brady didn’t know how to respond. He’d never given that place across the lake so much as a second thought, and now a million questions formed in his mind but none came to his lips. His eyes moved from April’s face and drifted again to the hilltop structure silhouetted against the moon. Her hand slid from his, moving up his arm to rest on his shoulder. He felt Jeff and Tammy draw closer, too. For a brief time they all stood quietly, gazing out into the moonlit darkness. Brady’s frightened expression drew smiles from his friends.
It was Jeff’s voice that broke the silence. “So, what if you live next to a hospital full of soul-devouring ghosts who’re just waiting to eat the flesh from your bones?” he laughed and then added, “You, at least, have cable TV!” and burst out laughing. The girls joined in.
"You really are way too easy, Brady,” Tammy said as she stepped forward and playfully punched him in the arm. Brady watched her turn to April and soon the two were whispering and giggling again.
“Not cool,” he muttered to Jeff as he turned from the girls and grabbed the bag from his friend's hand. He dropped down on a stump near the fire to examine its contents and instantly his spirits brightened. “Hey girls,” he called out as he dumped the bag’s contents on the ground. “I hope you brought your suits.”
As is the case with most daring adventures planned at the spur of the moment, the act of doing the deed rarely measures up to the anticipation. Swimming out to the float to light off fireworks seemed like a great idea while standing on the shore near the warmth of the fire, but actually doing it had some serious drawbacks. For one, climbing out of the warm water into the cool air was more than a little uncomfortable. The wind had also picked up, bringing with it low hanging clouds that suffocated the moon’s pale light. The clincher, however, was that nobody had thought to bring a lighter or matches.
“So let me see if I have this right,” Tammy asked as she stood shivering on the edge of the float with April, teeth chattering and water dripping from her hair. “You dragged us all the way out here to light off fireworks and you didn’t even bother to bring a lighter?”
Brady was smart enough to know a rhetorical question when he heard one. Sadly, however, Jeff stumbled right in. “How was I supposed to know that aqua-man here,” jerking a thumb in Brady’s direction, “would swim us all out here? I figured we’d light ‘em from the shore.” He took a step forward and reached for her, offering his most innocent smile. “Besides, it’s really not that bad once you get used to it.”
Tammy responded with a look of disgust and more chattering teeth, but she took his hand and let him bring her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest as he stroked her arms and shoulders in an attempt to generate some heat.
Smooth, Brady thought. His plan to impress the ladies with a romantic fireworks display out on the lake was blown, excuse the pun. But sure enough, Jeff had turned misfortune to his advantage. He stood there watching them, one hand folded across his chest for warmth and the other still clutching the trash bag full of fireworks. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice April’s approach.
“Well played. Most guys would have been happy cuddling by the fire, but not you. You maroon us out here in the middle of the lake.” Smiling now, she moved closer, “All part of your master plan, I suppose?”
Brady could see the water running down her goose bumped arms and legs. He had seen her in a bikini before, but always safely in the light of day. Out here, at night, she looked…different. His first inclination was to take a step back, but his heels were already at the edge. “I – uh – um - I,” came his stammering reply as he fidgeted with the bag and his words.
She leaned in and pressed her shivering lips to his, sending warmth through him like a bolt of lightning. The last thing he remembered before closing his eyes to her kiss was the touch of her hands to his face and the passing thought that even without a lighter, these fireworks were amazing.
A short time later, the fireworks from their make-out session behind them, Brady and April sat together. She rested her head on his shoulder. Behind them Jeff and Tammy were also cuddled, the sound of their conversation drowned out by the splashing of the water against the barrels supporting the float. The prediction of stormy weather appeared to be coming true as the raft rolled on the wind-blown and choppy surface of the lake.
“I wish the wind would just blow us back,” April snuggled closer into Brady’s chest. “I really don’t want to get back in that water. I just want to fall asleep right here in your arms.”
Brady didn’t blame her. The air had cooled at least ten degrees since they had been out here and there was no telling how much colder the water would feel. He had already resigned himself to the fact that the night was going to end with a very cold swim back to the shore. Fortunately, however, there was a warm fire waiting for them. He could see it flickering in the distance.
Without warning a jagged finger of lightning splintered across the sky. It was quickly followed by a clap of thunder that shattered the silence and swept over the lake like the blast from a shotgun. Jeff jumped to his feet. “Holy shit, that was close!” He seemed almost excited by the prospect of re-enacting Ben Franklin’s famous kite and key experiment. “Look at the hair on my arm, dude, its standing straight up!” He held out his arm begging for someone to notice. “That-was-fucking-awesome,” he screamed into the night and raised his arms into the air, as if urging the storm overhead for an encore.
Tammy grabbed him by one outstretched arm and spun him around. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t being in the middle of a lake like the last place you want to be during a thunderstorm?”
As the reality of her comment sunk in, Jeff lowered his arms and sheepishly looked from Tammy’s face and over to Brady and April as they rose to their feet. “Maybe we should just, um, head back,” he added and jerked his thumb back in the direction of Brady’s house.
“There’s really nothing to worry about,” Brady said, and then slouching slightly as he stood next to April he added. “As long as the Amazon Woman here,” nudging her with his hip, “is out here with us we’re safe. Lightning always strikes the tallest tree, right?” He knew April would one day regret that half-inch advantage she held over him. For the briefest of moments he stood with that lopsided grin on his face, the one that his mother claimed always meant mischief.
Her response was quick and not altogether surprising. The Amazon Woman easily shoved him off the edge of the float and into the water. His lop-sided grin quickly fell from his face as he plunged beneath the waves. He sunk like a stone.
Brady found himself in the lake’s frigid grasp, his very life being squeezed from his lungs as he sank further into the darkness. It seemed an eternity that he fell. He knew from the amount of chain it had taken his father to secure the float that the lake bottomed out at nearly forty feet; Brady had the sensation that he was fast approaching its limit. And then, just as quickly as he had descended, Brady was belched out and upward as if the lake had thought better of swallowing him whole. He sputtered and splashed as he broke the water’s surface.
“Brady! Brady!” He heard Jeff’s frantic call from the darkness somewhere to his left. The storm had finally broken and sheets of raining were ricocheting off the lake’s choppy surface. The water ran from his hair and into his eyes nearly blinding him to the cries of his friend. As he felt the air rush back into his lungs he responded to Jeff’s calls with a stuttering whisper that was no match to the sound of the wind blowing across the lake, “H-h-ee-re. O-ov-e-rr…he-e-re.”
Without warning, the lake reconsidered and, with its icy tentacles, pulled Brady back down beneath its surface. What little air was left in his lungs emerged as a silent bubbling scream as he struggled against the force that was pulling him deeper into the inky blackness. His last thought before giving into whatever awaited him at the bottom of Asylum Lake was of April…the taste of her cherry Chap Stick …and fireworks.
The clouds, which had hung gray and threatening most of the night, fully opened above him, sending sheets of rain across the once placid surface of the lake. The drops washed over Brady and traced salty lines as they ran down his face. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and shook his head in disbelief as he realized the rain was mixed with his tears.
Brady turned to find Gruff standing in the shallow waters near the shore. The dog’s tail was tucked and its eyes were locked onto some distant point out on the horizon. Brady could read the anxiety in Gruff’s body language. A slow and silent spark of lightning arched through the clouds overhead, and for the briefest of moments the Asylum across the lake stood illuminated against the menacing backdrop of the surrounding hills and trees. The sight made Brady’s skin crawl.
The feeling was familiar and it brought his thoughts back to that night on the float, and more specifically to what he had experienced beneath the waves. Quickly, his thoughts jumped forward to the next thing he had remembered after surrendering to the cold darkness of the water – waking up two days later at a hospital in Traverse City, courtesy of a twenty-five minute aero-med flight. The helicopter ride and everything else in between and right after was lost or at least buried in a way that he hadn’t quite found a way to uncover…yet. It gnawed at him from just below the surface of his memory.
Maybe this journey would be little more than a failed attempt to reconcile himself with the painful memories from his past but, as he stood at the end of the dock and gazed out through the wind and rain of a summer storm into the muted grays of the midnight hour, Brady felt both oddly cleansed and at the same time as if he were on the verge of something great…and terrible. It brought neither a feeling of fear nor comfort, but turning to make his way back to the Up North House, he knew at least the few remaining hours of this night would be filled with dreams of a far happier and less complicated time.
As Brady began the trek back from the sandy beach, he was unaware that his was not the only spirit searching for answers and in need of cleansing. Mere yards away, strewn along the rocky and forgotten bottom of Asylum Lake, the unremembered were growing restless.
November 2, 1971
Bedlam Falls, MI
Blood spilled by violence leaves a stain far different from blood which is shed in any other way. As Lionel stood on the tips of his toes at the kitchen sink, he was surprised by how much more difficult blood was to wash away than the dirt he was accustomed to. The dish rag had done little to clean the gore from beneath his fingernails. It had taken a fork from the drawer to scrape most of it out. As for the streaks and spatters that coated his forearms, neck and face - they seemed to be a lost cause. Lionel had considered showering, but that would have meant removing what was left of Mrs. Reed from the bathtub. In the end he did what he could with a wet towel and decided not to worry about the rest.
Not that the mess was limited to the kitchen; bloody tracks led from one end of the small Cape Cod to the other and smeared fingerprints were on everything from the kitchen knives to the golf club he discovered in the hall closet. Even the hedge clippers he had picked up in the garage were bloodied and broken. The blades had actually bent and snapped clear off from the wooden handles. The dull and rusty shears had worked just fine on the kids, but Mrs. Reed was a big woman with thick bones and thick bones, he learned, required a hacksaw. Lionel had to make the long walk from the bathroom to the garage three times for new blades.
The white plastic bracelet hung loosely on his wrist throughout the entire ordeal. It, too, had been stained beyond any hope of coming clean. Most of the words, however, were still legible beneath the smears of blood.
Ellis Arkema #00981
SOUTH WING, LAKE VIEW ASYLUM
DOB: UNKNOWN
RESTRICTED
Lionel liked the feel of the cool plastic against his skin. He had found the bracelet while fishing with his father. It was the only thing he had hooked all day. He felt compelled to hide it away in his pocket before his father could notice. Ever since then he had gradually set aside most of his other interests, everything from comic books to baseball cards, and instead found himself spending his time alone in his room imagining stories about who Ellis Arkema was and how he may have lost that bracelet in the lake.
At times it almost felt as if he were listening to someone else tell these stories, a faceless and shadowy voice inside his head that was both scary and reassuring. Sometimes the stories made him cry and other times he laughed out loud. It all seemed to make his parents more than a bit uncomfortable. He had thought, and the voice agreed, that maybe he should keep the bracelet a secret.
He turned from the sink and decided to make one more trip through the house before leaving. He followed the trail of blood and gore from the hardwood floor in the kitchen to the orange shag carpeting that led through the living room and down the hallway. A dead body is difficult thing for anyone to move, and at only twelve, it had taken quite an effort for Lionel to drag it all the way to the bathroom.
The door to the nursery the twins shared was wide open. He could see their small forms huddled close together on the floor as he paused in the hallway. The pools of blood that spread from under their lifeless bodies formed giant wings in the carpet. It was an oddly beautiful sight with the pale light coming in through the window falling gently across their outstretched wings. Their bodies, he reasoned, were mere cocoons from which he had helped them escape. He envied the flight of their spirits.
Slicing their tiny throats had proven to be much more difficult than he had anticipated, but the hedge-clippers had taken away their hands and feet quite easily. As he continued down the hall, Lionel tried unsuccessfully to remember where he had put them.
The bathroom looked like someone had flung red paint violently across the walls and floor. Spattered blood ran down and across the mirror hanging over the vanity and onto the toilet nearby. The broken hedge-clippers had been thrown into the corner near the trash. Dull hacksaw blades and an assortment of knives and other tools lay scattered coldly on the tile. The back of the toilet reminded him of the meat case at Dell’s Grocery, filets and various other cuts of the late Mrs. Reed were neatly stacked into three identical, gooey rows. Blood trailed from the oozing stacks down the side of the tank and onto the floor, forming clotted pools.
Lionel drank in the coppery smell of the blood and gore, a devious smile flashing across his innocent lips.
Stepping carefully toward the tub, he attempted to avoid the slick pools of blood. He had slipped and fallen once already, banging his elbow painfully against the toilet. It had sent a jolt throughout his entire arm that throbbed with every step he took.
Looking up, Lionel noted sadly that the shower curtain had been torn aside and hung clumsily by the three remaining rings that still encircled the pristine rod. The one part of the bathroom that remained untouched by the gore around it.
He stared into the red soup of bones and chunks as they floated on the surface of the nearly over-filled tub. Others pieces rested at the bottom and clung to the sides of the tub; he fought the urge to reach in and stir them around with his hand. Instead, he raised his eyes to look
at the shower wall. A single lonely word, written in blood, glistened on the white tile…
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall roused him from admiring his handiwork. Lionel’s knees wobbled and his thoughts became fuzzy as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples in an attempt to ease the feeling. When he opened them and caught sight of the grotesque display that surrounded him, a mixture of bile and recently eaten cookies rose in his throat. It burned as he swallowed it down.
“What the…Oh, Lord no!” A pained cry came from the next room.
His heart began to pound so heavily he thought for sure it would beat right through his chest. The room was spinning now as fear swept through him. He felt the earth shift beneath his feet and thought for sure he would faint. Just as he was ready to give in and let go the voice inside his head began to scream. “Kill him! Kill him now!”
His arm shot forward involuntarily and grabbed the broken hedge-clipper shear from where it lay on the floor. As he caught sight of the bracelet on his wrist his racing heart slowed. He took in a single deep breath and blew it out releasing it in a slow and soft hiss. A quiet calm settled upon him.
The sound of more footsteps, this time retreating quickly towards the living room, urged him forward. He stepped into the hallway and silently made his way towards the twin’s room. Anger rushed through him as he looked at their once perfectly posed bodies now lying disturbed on the floor. Their butterfly wings had been trampled by large booted feet.
He followed the fresh tracks from the room. He could hear movement ahead and emerged to see Mr. Reed standing at a small desk in the living room with one hand pressing the phone to his ear as the other frantically tried to turn the rotary dial. His blue work overalls were stretched across his large frame and his dark brown boots creaked as he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. Below the soles of his sneakers, red patterned designs etched themselves deeply into the carpet.
