by R. A. Evans
His passenger was equally disinterested in the events. A mountain of a man, the great lummox stood well above six feet tall with wide shoulders and the brow of a Neanderthal protruding from his flat face. The odd pair seemed perfect together.
“Dammit, Bradford,” Walters panted as he approached the Deputy, “Tell me there’s a good reason you have me out in this heat?”
Buck sighed and pushed his Stetson back, revealing eyes that carried little trace of sympathy. “Sir, they’re injured. I’m not sure by who or what, but the woman especially is in pretty bad shape. The,” Tanner paused, choosing his words carefully “…gentleman is more exhausted than injured.”
Walters paused to catch his breath. Behind him the men from the ambulance approached, each sporting white jackets, trousers, and unaffected stares.
“Ellis, Ellis, Ellis,” the smaller man stated sarcastically as he took a painfully long pull on his cigarette, “you know better than to run. Bill here,” jerking a thumb in the direction of his oversized partner, “has that bum knee.” The smoke poured from his nostrils as he spoke.
At the sound of the man’s voice Ellis began to squirm under Tanner’s softly placed boot.
The greasy man laughed a sniveling bark that brought forth the rest of the smoke from his lungs. “He’s trying to run again, Bill, use of force authorized.” The laughter amplified as the white clad men drew nearer to Ellis and the Deputy.
Buck removed his gently placed boot from Ellis’s back. Squaring his shoulders, the young lawman’s eyes raged beneath his Stetson, stopping the approaching men dead in their tracks. Never one to stomach a bully, Buck shifted his gaze from the diminutive man with the bothersome laugh to the mountain named Bill that was lumbering at his heels. Buck’s hands clenched into fists as he stood his ground.
“Stand down, Tanner,” Walters bellowed. “Gettin’ yerself all riled up and for what?” The rotund Sheriff glanced in the direction of the escapees. “A blind half-wit and…and…what the hell is that anyways, Douglas?”
Douglas ran a nervous hand through his greasy hair as he giggled beneath his pencil-thin mustache, “Oh that’s just Ellis, Sheriff, funny lookin’ fella, but harmless as they come.”
Douglas took the Sheriff’s conversation as an invitation to proceed and walked carefully by the Deputy, raising his arms in mock surrender and grinning as he passed.
Ellis squealed as Douglas’ shadow fell over his aching body. Mustering all of his strength, the injured man turned to face his would-be-captor as the hospital orderly squatted down beside him.
Douglas Wyatt, Lake View Asylum’s most reviled orderly and unbeknownst to many also its most disturbed inhabitant smiled as he plucked the smoking cigarette from between his lips and blew the smoke into Ellis’s pale face. The smile became a sneer as Wyatt pressed his face close to Ellis’s ear.
“Dr. Clovis is very disappointed in you, Ellis, very disappointed.” The orderly’s breath was stale and fell across Ellis’s already burning flesh like a match-head catching flame. “He said, perhaps it’s time that I take a more ‘vigorous interest’ in you.” Wyatt drew closer, sliding his sweaty palm along Ellis’s pale and blood-stained arm. “And I am so looking forward to it.” Ellis cried in pain as Wyatt crushed his lit cigarette out onto the back of the injured man’s hand.
Shaking with rage, Tanner stepped forward, prepared to snap the little man’s neck with his bare hands. Bill, however, moved much more quickly than the Deputy had thought possible and clamped his own iron hand onto Buck’s shoulder. The Sheriff’s plea for peace brought some sanity to the situation.
“Tanner, I believe these gentlemen have everything under control.”
Buck paused, indecision eating away at his insides. He didn’t know who these men were, but his instincts told him that they were far from medical professionals.
“With all due respect, sir,” Tanner replied, shrugging free from Bill’s grasp and turning to address the Sheriff, “The woman needs medical attention…now.”
“Son, did you not see these two gentlemen roll up in that ambulance?” Red-faced and dripping with sweat, Sheriff Walters looked as if he was on the verge of collapse from the heat. His sparsely populated head of hair was already turning pink under the blistering sun. “Now stand aside and let them tend to their business.”
Bill mumbled something unintelligible as he brushed by the deputy. The man stank of sweat and booze. He effortlessly scooped the bloodied woman from the pavement and hefted her over his shoulder. A soft moan drifted from her open lips; giving Buck some degree of hope.
“Yes, yes,” Wyatt’s’ nasally voice chimed in as he hefted Ellis to his feet. The pale-skinned man was mad with worry. His red eyes blazed as he looked to the Buck for help. “We’ll definitely give them the… attention they deserve.”
It took every ounce of self restraint Buck could muster, but he stood aside to let Wyatt lead Ellis to the back of the ambulance. The Deputy’s sharp eye caught the round cigarette burn on the back of the man’s hand; his rage boiled over as he ran to the open door of the ambulance.
Emily lay on the floor of the darkened interior of the vehicle. The windows along each side had been blacked out with paint and there was absolutely no medical equipment in sight. The cabin smelled of urine…and death. Quietly, in the darkness, Ellis cradled Emily’s head in his lap. The last thing Deputy Buck Tanner saw before Bill slammed the door shut were two red eyes, seething with rage, staring at him through the darkness.
Through the windshield, Buck noted the glow of oncoming headlights. He briefly recast his attention to the rearview mirror and was relieved to find his own hazel eyes staring back.
The memory of his brush with Ellis, fresh and vivid in his mind, was both alarming and at the same time very revealing. Buck could only imagine what fate the two lovers met upon their return to the hospital.
I see we have company. The voice startled the already shaken Sheriff. Buck resisted the urge to steal another glance into the rearview mirror. Ever get the urge to just split the oncoming headlights, Sheriff?
Buck shuddered as he watched his hand reach forward to switch the headlights off. The hand returned to the steering wheel and slowly began to guide the Ford across the center line and into the lane of oncoming traffic.
It’s maddening to feel so powerless…so vulnerable. Buck could feel the anger rising within his uninvited guest. You really should have done something.
The lights from the oncoming car were drawing dangerously closer. Buck pushed with every ounce of energy against the unseen force inside his mind, trying to break free.
The price for blood is blood, Sheriff… more laughter.
The last statement, clearly a threat, gave Buck all of the motivation necessary to break through. His hand jerked forward and fell clumsily across the wheel, steering the truck from its forthcoming impact and off the road where it skidded from the pavement at more than sixty-miles-per-hour. The tires caught briefly in the loose gravel along the shoulder causing the truck to flip end to end several time before landing upside down in a nearby field.
The entire episode took mere seconds, yet time seemed to stand still as Buck was thrown around the cabin of his Ford. Ellis’s collection of deadly items slammed again the glass and metal of the truck, the hand-axe biting deeply into Buck’s shoulder as the truck finally came to a rest.
The cabin was crushed, pinning Buck’s legs beneath the dashboard. He could feel the wet warmth of blood spilling down his face as the menacing laughter resumed inside his head.
As Tanner squirmed to free himself from the wreckage, the voice returned, an aching hum inside his foggy head.
I must say, Sheriff, you are full of surprises. This overreaction on your part is merely delaying the inevitable. I don’t want you dead, Sheriff, not yet, anyway. You’ve some business to take care of for me.
Buck closed his eyes to the voice and reached through the darkened wreck of the truck’s cabin for something…anything to help him win his freedo
m. His outstretched fingers brushed against the familiar wooden grip of his .44 Magnum, sending a jolt of electricity through his aching arm. Instantly, the lawman knew that salvation lay in his hand.
Fighting against the laughter that was boiling up inside him, Sheriff Buck Tanner brought the weapon forth from where it lay and placed it beneath his bleeding chin. With a single squeeze of the trigger the Magnum burst forth a deafening flash of light; its echo bringing a welcoming silence to the darkness that had swallowed him.
Miles away, as the last flame of life winked out from Sheriff Buck Tanner’s eyes, John Tanner awoke from his coma. He struggled briefly against the tubes and wires connecting him to the medical equipment at his bedside. Through the tumult of nurses and doctors prodding and poking him, the young Deputy focused his cloudy gaze on the shadowy form at the foot of his bed; an unspoken shriek welling inside his arid throat as the figure’s fiery eyes faded from view.
Brady awoke at 2:42 a.m. stifling a scream. April slept beside him in his tiny twin bed, wearing nothing but one of his Pearl Jam t-shirts. He carefully eased himself off the edge without disturbing her slumber and crept down the creaky steps to the house’s main level.
Downstairs Abby slept on the couch in the family room amidst a sea of stuffed toys and coloring books. Gruff sat motionless, bathed in moonlight and staring out of the large window at the lake beyond. Tension filled the dog’s body language as he stood watch over his sleeping friend.
You and me both, my friend. Brady thought as he drew near the windows. Gruff’s tail began to wag at Brady’s approach. The stars and moon in the cloudless sky overhead reflected off the lake’s mirrored surface, creating the illusion of an endless galaxy; a galaxy that in this universe included the asylum. Even the heavens seemed drawn to its shadowy outline.
Brady was both tempted and terrified by the thought of revisiting the puzzling collection of items gathering dust within his parent’s bedroom upstairs. His journalistic instincts were sounding every bell and whistle imaginable; surely his father was up to something. Something that Brady suspected the man would only share with his closest friend, if anyone at all.
The beginnings of a plan were just starting to take shape in Brady’s tired mind as he turned from the window for a hasty retreat back to the comfort of April’s arms. The unexpected sight of the scrabble board once again resting on the cluttered coffee table stopped him in his tracks. Gruff tucked his wagging tail between his legs, a motoring growl breaking the stillness of the moment.
Brady could recall quite vividly replacing the tiles and board in its box and setting the game back upon the built-in shelf in the den alongside the other games; Cribbage, Risk, and Yahtzee, just to name a few. Letting his gaze drift to the moonlit coffee table, Brady’s sixth sense warned him that the game board would not be vacant of tiles.
Like déjà vu, a series of tiles stared up from the center of the board. This time, however, Brady knew with certainty that no random act or fun-loving greeting from an old friend were responsible.
Brady could feel his face drain of color as needles of fright pierced his heart. This cannot be happening.
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Abby’s voice. “Brady, is that you?”
Abby was sitting up on the couch, clutching a stuffed turtle to her chest and wiping the sleep from her eyes.
Brady sat beside her, taking her small hands and tucking her limp arms beneath the blanket as he eased her back onto her Dora the Explorer pillow. “It’s just me sweetie…and Gruff. I just got up to get a glass of water. Can I get you one?”
Abby yawned and closed her eyes, snuggling back onto her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. “No, that’s ok. Mom says if I drink too much before bed I’ll wake up in a puddle.”
Brady smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Abby’s forehead. “Good night,” he whispered.
Gruff jumped onto the couch and curled up protectively across Abby’s legs. Brady gave the dog a quick scratch behind his ears and stood to make for a hasty retreat back into his bedroom.
“The man said not to be scared,” Abby whispered through the moonlight filtering through the windows. “He’ll take care of us.”
Her voice trailed off as she once again fell into the sweet embrace of slumber. Brady was tempted to shake her awake and ask her about the man. Instead, he quickly plucked the scrabble board and tiles from the coffee table and walked to the kitchen where he reluctantly deposited them, box and all, into the trash.
Thank God mom refused to get me that Ouija Board I wanted so badly, Brady mused with nervous trepidation as he retreated back up to the warmth of his bed…and April.
It wasn’t until much later, as the first waves of sleep finally began to wash away his worried thoughts, that the faint memory of the white plastic bracelet encircling Abby’s thin wrist jolted Brady awake. Trembling, he lay there in the darkness frightened by Abby’s drowsy comments about the man, the scrabbled message he had found, and what answers may be waiting beyond the door at the end of hall.
The next morning, as Brady feigned sleep, April stole away to the privacy of the bathroom. It was still dark, sometime before sunrise, and all was quiet downstairs. Brady’s mind, however, was an endless parade of thoughts; few of them good.
Never one to believe in the paranormal, he couldn’t help but feel that something supernatural was at play. Or, Brady weighed, I am simply losing my mind. At this point, he didn’t know which would be a more welcome option.
April returned a few moments later, fully dressed and smelling of minty-fresh mouthwash. Brady continued the pretense of sleep as she placed a gentle kiss on his head before quietly tip-toeing from the room. Ten minutes later Brady heard the familiar click of the front door closing downstairs followed by the sound of April’s car backing out of the driveway. His feet were on the floor before its echo faded into the distance. Beside him on the bed lay a note:
Brady –
I told you your bed was too small for both of us! Let me make it up to you with dinner tonight, something besides Funyons - my place at 6:00.
April
p.s. I stole your dog. Abby insisted that Gruff come with us. He seemed pretty insistent on it, too. Ransom is a bottle of wine. Enjoy your day!
Brady smiled as he tossed the note back onto the bed. He wasn’t sure if it was just his nervousness or truly the size of his bed, but their clumsy attempts at romance the night before had proven comical; just the type of ice-breaker that would definitely make their next encounter much more relaxed. As for Gruff, he was both relieved and troubled by the dog’s absence.
Stepping into a pair of shorts, Brady retrieved what he hoped was a clean t-shirt from the foot of the bed; it passed the simple sniff test as he slid it over his head. Gone were the days of wrinkle-resistant khakis and uncomfortable ties knotted at his throat. Thanks to his Tigers cap, even the chore of running a comb through his curly hair was no longer mandatory, and rarely, if ever, undertaken. Not that he was unkempt or slovenly, Brady just wasn’t concerned with a little bit of stubble on his cheeks and chin or the dark circles shadowing his hazel eyes. Truth be told, however, the lack of sleep was wearing him down, exhausting him to the point where even such menial tasks were almost too much.
Brady emerged from his room to find the door at the end of the hall closed, exactly as he had left it the night before. He briefly mulled over just leaving the room and its mysterious contents undisturbed, but reconsidered. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was starting to make him paranoid, and surely being back here with all of these memories played its part, but Brady couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had been slowly overtaking him since his first day back at the Up North House.
He approached cautiously, as if sneaking up on the unsuspecting door would surprise whatever lay waiting for him on the other side. If not for the nervousness coursing through him he would have felt silly. Reaching an uneasy hand to the knob, Brady recoiled as the door slowly creaked open.
&nb
sp; You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
Gathering his courage with a series of slow and deep breaths, Brady eased the door open with his foot and was greeted by the stillness of a very empty room. I am definitely going crazy, he thought, reaching for the light switch.
The smile that had just begun to tug at the corners of his mouth vanished as his uneasy gaze locked onto the small desk in the center of the room. Spread neatly across its surface, where just the night before his father’s old computer had rested, laid the Scrabble board; its presence aroused both panic and curiosity.
Bracing himself against the impulse to flee, Brady instead did a cursory examination of the room from the relative safety of the doorway. Aside from the damn Scrabble Board everything else appeared untouched. His eyes came to rest on the shelf where his grandfather’s Stetson rested. In the empty space next to the worn hat he noted the absence of the bracelet.
Carefully, he stepped across the threshold and into the room, noting the quick drop in temperature. Brady’s arms instantly rippled with gooseflesh as his anxious breath wafted through the frosty air. Brady was not alone.
“Honey, where’d you get that pretty bracelet?”
April was smiling as she drove, her mind spinning with a million different thoughts…each more delicious than the last. She took note of the plastic band hanging loosely around Abby’s wrist as she glanced back in the rearview mirror. Gruff’s head lay cradled on Abby’s lap, his eyes closed.
“The man gave it to me,” Abby answered, running her tiny fingers through Gruff’s fur.
“What man, sweetie,” April countered, only half-paying attention.
Abby’s matter-of-fact response caught her mother by complete surprise, “The man who lives with Brady, silly.”
