Asylum Lake

by R. A. Evans

  Frank reached over and patted Brady’s shoulder. “Good. Now get ‘yer ass in gear, it’s time for church.”

  Abby was asleep on the couch when April walked through the door. Gruff sat uncomfortably on the floor near the couch, licking his front paw and whining. The dog’s movement pulled her eyes from Abby’s sleeping form. She took note of her father, newspaper spread across his chest, asleep in the recliner, legs out and snoring.

  April dropped her purse to the floor, an oversized bag that looked more useful for overnight travel purposes than daily transport, and approached the couch. Gruff’s whine intensified.

  “What’s wrong, boy? Everybody go to sleep on you?” She reached forward and stroked the dog behind his ears. She, too, had learned Gruff’s sweet spot. The dog trembled beneath her touch. Her eyes traced down from his head to rest on the matted hair on his front paw. He was holding it close, in the air, and it was bent in all the wrong places.

  April’s first instinct was to reach for the injured limb, but thought better of it as the dog’s whimper intensified as her hand left his ears. Instead she retreated for her purse and found her cell phone. She nervously dialed the phone, her attention momentarily diverted from the inactivity of the living room.

  “Mommy,” the odd tenor of Abby’s sleepy voice added to April’s anxiety. She turned to find her daughter sitting up on the couch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “My head hurts, mommy.”

  Phone pressed to her ear, April stepped forward. Instantly, she froze, her skin rippling with gooseflesh. Gruff’s had raised himself to an unstable standing position, curling his injured paw to his chest. His soft whimper was replaced with a low and steady growl revealing sharp teeth. He positioned himself protectively between April and the couch.

  The phone pressed to her ear emitted an unfamiliar ring back tone; Brady’s usual The Waiting by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers had been changed. April glanced down at the phone to double check that she had the right number. Brady’s name appeared on the screen. She placed the phone back to her ear, returning her gaze to Abby. Even with the noon time sun creeping through the trailer’s windows, the eerie red glow flickering from her daughter’s blue eyes was unmistakable. The phone fell from April’s shaking hand, landing on the floor with a thud; the lyrics from the Guns ‘N Roses classic Used to Love Her echoing through the room.

  I used to love her, Oo, yeah

  But I had to kill her

  I used to love her, Oo, yeah

  But I had to kill her

  I knew I'd miss her

  So I had to keep her

  She's buried right in my backyard

  Frank trudged through the overgrown foliage and into the woods; Brady followed. The jovial conversation from their car ride had been replaced with an unspoken trepidation. Sterling State Park was enormous, and Brady had the uneasy feeling that their journey would take them to its very heart. The sunlight overhead crept through the leafy branches. Brady was more than a bit surprised when they emerged into a clearing on a small stretch of beach.

  “Wait, the lake is in the other direction. Where the hell are we?”

  Frank answered by pointing across the water. No more than two hundred yards away, Brady could see an old building; a series of them actually. It took a moment for his brain to process what he was looking at. His gaze swept from the building across the water, tracing the shoreline before returning to the tall stone structure.

  “That’s the asylum, right? And over there,” pointing across the lake, “that’s the Up North House. Where the hell are we?”

  Frank laughed. “Technically, we are at the boundary. Not my word, the state’s; this clearing right here is officially where the State Park ends and the hospital grounds begin. Beyond those trees,” he pointed to the north, “hospital grounds. There’s hundreds of small wooden crosses peppering the hills; one right on top of the next. Not all laid out and orderly like you see at Arlington, either. Kinda spooky when you think about it.”

  Brady furrowed his brow, “You mean, like a cemetery or something?”

  Frank nodded, “Yeah…or something.”

  Brady had no desire to go traipsing through a cemetery. “Please, tell me you didn’t bring me out here to go rob graves or anything, Frank.” Brady’s attempt at humor failed to mask his nervousness.

  Frank shook his head and smiled. “No, no grave robbing - not yet, anyway.” Frank moved forward and placed his hand on Brady’s shoulder. “I wanted you to meet someone. Thought maybe we could all have a good long conversation about things; hopefully shed some light on….recent events.”

  Brady was confused. Who the hell could I possibly meet out here? The answer came with the snapping of twigs, warning him of the approach of someone or something through the trees. What emerged was completely unexpected.

  “Brady Tanner,” came Frank’s introduction, “I’d like to introduce you to Reverend James Collins.” The silence that settled over the clearing was deafening. Brady stared at the man, trying to place where he had seen him. Like a match catching flame the memory finally flared to life. Santa strung out on crack.

  Below a tangle of gray hair, and masked by a beard that would make ZZ Top jealous, the man smiled and offered a dirty hand. “Mr. Tanner, I believe we have something in common.” He nodded in the direction of the asylum. They collectively peered in its direction, sharing a moment of quiet introspection as each reminisced about how and why the abandoned building had brought them each together. When Collins continued, his voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Your grandfather was a wonderful man, Mr. Tanner; ‘yer father, too. I hope you’ll accept my deepest sympathies for your loss.” His offered hand remained unaccepted

  Brady’s shifted his gaze from the asylum to the man standing before him, allowing the apology to truly settle over him. What a burden to carry all these years. Brady accepted the offered hand, and its accompanying apology, with a nod of his own.

  “Lionel and I would fish here,” sweeping his arm towards the crystal waters of Asylum Lake. “It was our secret spot; well off the beaten path, as I am sure you noticed on your journey through the trees.” The reverent was speaking more to himself than Brady; reminiscing out loud. Brady remained a silent, yet attentive audience.

  “The waters are deep here, almost straight down once you get out passed the sandbar. On a good day you can tire yourself out before the perch stop biting.” Collins’s voice broke as he continued. “On a bad one…who knows what ya might hook.”

  The phone in Brady’s pocket began to vibrate. He had silenced it while at April’s, not wanting anything to disturb his time with her. He slid a hand into his pocket and with a simple press of a button sent the call to voicemail.

  “Lionel didn’t know, but I saw him hook it. He thought I had drifted off, I usually do, especially when the perch are sleeping,” he smiled at the memory. “Just resting my eyes...” His voice trailed off again

  Brady had no idea what the man was rambling on about, but felt compelled to listen. He glanced in Frank’s direction and found the man listening intently to the ragged Reverend. It was obvious that Frank knew more than he had let on. Bastard. Brady thought, returning his attention to Collins.

  “Sunken treasure, that’s all I thought it was. Merely something rescued from the bottom of the lake.” He tore his gaze from the lake and directed it back to Brady. “But like the fairy tales I used to read, some treasures come with curses and are best left undisturbed.”

  Frank cleared his voice, the Reverend’s rambling story obviously falling directly under the foreplay category. “What was it Lionel hooked that day?”

  Collins blinked several times before answering, clearing his mind from the painful memories. “It was a bracelet, of course,” pointing towards the hospital, “from there.”

  Brady was confused. The whole affair was reminiscent of an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Okay, obviously I am missing something here. Would either of you care to clue me into whatever it is w
e’re talking about?”

  Collins stepped forward, much more quickly than Brady would have guessed was possible, and grabbed Brady’s arm. “He was just a boy, he didn’t know. He didn’t know!” The boney fingers were digging into Brady’s flesh.

  Frank stepped between them, his vice-like grip breaking Collins’s hold on Brady’s arm. “We’re not here to place blame, Reverend. We’re here for answers, same as you.” Frank paused, his voice taking on a much more serious tone. “I was there, sir. I saw…them; their bodies.” He stole a quick glance in Brady’s direction before continuing, “And I saw Buck after his…interview with Lionel. Now I don’t know what happened in that hospital room, or exactly how things went down at your house. You’re the only one who can shed light on that, but ten hours after walking out that door Buck Tanner was dead…and for thirty-plus years I’ve had a bitch of a time trying to convince myself that it’s not all related.”

  Collins stepped toward the water, staring out across its sparkling surface at the asylum on the hill. “It was little things at first, he just seemed…distant. Lionel had always been such a fun child, full of life and laughter. He didn’t smile much after that day…the day he brought forth that foul bracelet from its resting place. His moods became darker. He constantly argued with his mother. She would argue with me. It was a vicious cycle…one that I selfishly excused myself from.” Collins carried the guilt on his frail shoulders; its weight crippling him.

  “Your wife…it wasn’t suicide.” Franks words were more statement than question.

  Collins nodded. “I wasn’t sure what to believe. By then Lionel was acting so strangely, and Melody had become so angry; as if it were all my fault.” He turned to Frank, tears welling from his eyes. “Never underestimate the power of denial.”

  Brady’s mind was doing back flips as he tried to follow the conversation. He had read about Lionel’s conviction in his father’s notes and had learned from Frank many of the more grizzly details. How it played any part in his grandfather’s death or even what was currently happening he still had not figured out, but somehow it all seemed to come back to that damn bracelet. His racing thoughts finally settled on a very disturbing image; the thin band of plastic wrapped about Abby’s wrist, and her sleepy comment about an imaginary man in the house. The bracelet…Abby has the bracelet!

  Their trip to church had proven quite sobering, and Brady drove without a word of argument from Frank. The good Reverend, full of mystery and not lacking in the odor department, sat in the backseat of Brady’s car. Without his trademark cardboard sign, he sat clutching an oversized Bible; the family heirloom held together by duct tape. Things just seemed to be getting increasingly bizarre for Brady.

  His leg vibrated with three quick bursts, signaling a new voicemail on his phone. He fished it from the pocket of his cargo shorts, and pressed it to his ear. As April’s voice drifted from the phone, the color drained from his face listening to the frantic message. Frank noted the change.

  “What is it, son? What’s wrong?”

  Brady’s responded with silence, pressing his foot down on the accelerator and gripping the wheel.

  ‘Awe, shit!” Frank swore, buckling the seat belt over his chest as he recalled the last time he had rode shotgun with a speeding member of the Tanner family. “Here we go again.”

  If not for the seriousness of the situation, not to mention the supernatural elements, April may have laughed. As Gruff’s barking intensified, so did her father’s snoring. The mixture of sounds, despite its oddity, did little to distract her from Abby’s glowing gaze.

  “Mommy, my head hurts,” she repeated, extending her arms for a hug.

  April stepped forward, only to be met by more barking from Gruff. Her motherly instincts were in full blown panic mode now. “Honey, come here.” April motioned, fearful of what Gruff may do if she were to advance any further.

  Abby smiled, sliding off the edge of the couch, and advancing toward her mother. Gruff’s growl intensified. Meanwhile, Henry Mayer continued to snore.

  Abby paused, glancing down at the dog with a menacing expression drifting across her small face. Gruff recoiled beneath her gaze, whimpering to the ground.

  A threatening smile, unlike any April has seen her daughter wear, spread across the child’s lips. Abby looked from the cowering dog to her mother, eyes suddenly seething with rage. The next words spoken, although falling from the child’s lips, carried the tone of a frightfully different voice.

  “Come to me…mother,” the voice that wasn’t Abby’s hissed, dripping with sarcasm as she brought forth the oversized kitchen knife she held behind her back. “Surely, your kiss will ease this ache.”

  Fucking speed bumps. Brady fumed, racing recklessly down the winding streets of the trailer park, heedless of the fact that every twenty yards or so the mechanical crunch of the undercarriage slamming against the concrete mounds guaranteed increasing damage to his Jetta.

  “Oooh,” Frank winced, “I’m afraid that one left a mark.”

  Brady shot the former Sheriff a brief look of irritation as he skidded to a halt in front of April’s trailer. Frank was out of the passenger door before Brady had turned off the ignition. The good Reverend sat calmly in the back seat leafing through his tattered bible as if preparing a Sunday sermon.

  The retired lawman raced the one time reporter up the rickety steps and to the trailer door. Frank’s bulky frame filled the doorway as he barged through, Brady shadowing his every move. The noise of Gruff’s hysteric barking warned of dark tidings on the other side.

  “It’s Abby,” Brady’s breathless words were barely audible, “She’s got the bracelet.”

  The door opened into the living room and Brady rushed in past the former sheriff, his adrenaline outpacing his nerves. April lay on the floor, her back pressed against the carpet, clutching at its fibers in panicked retreat. Between her kicking legs stood Gruff, wobbly atop three legs, and snarling in protection. Crimson gashes lined the dog’s face and shoulders; fresh drips and drabs of blood pooling beneath him.

  “Holy shit!” Frank exclaimed.

  Abby, at little more than three feet tall, towered menacingly over Gruff. Dressed in a pink princess tank-top and tiny white shorts spattered with blood, she teasingly waved the enormous knife in front of her, encouraging deeper snarls from the dog and ever more frightening shrieks from her mother. At Brady’s entrance, she shifted her red gaze from the dog to Brady’s hazel eyes.

  The ghostly voice emanating from Abby’s delicate form chilled Brady’s blood. “Ahh, yes…it would seem our guests have arrived.”

  Brady stopped short, blocking Frank’s approach. April clawed her way to Brady’s legs, wrapping her trembling arms around him and burying her tear streaked face into the comfort of his cargo shorts.

  Brady broke the crimson gaze and quickly scanned the room. Gruff blocked Abby’s path with a snarl that could wake the dead; although apparently not the sleeping. Henry snored loudly, oblivious to the sinister events transpiring around him.

  The sound of Frank’s voice over his shoulder startled him. “The power of Christ compels you. The Power of Christ compels you.” Frank moved around Brady, index fingers in the sign of the cross and shouted the incantation with a surprisingly strong and confident tone.

  Brady pulled April up from the floor and drew her into his arms checking her for injuries. Physically, she appeared fine, emotionally she was a wreck. Her vacant eyes darted about the small trailer as her chest heaved with labored sobbing.

  Brady ushered her out the door. “Go!” he screamed, shoving her from the trailer and nodding in the direction of his car. “And tell that old man to get his ass in here!”

  Frank’s familiar incantation continued, though Brady’s reeling thoughts couldn’t place it. Its impact on Abby, or at least whatever currently inhabited her, was instantaneous.

  It laughed; a vile sound reminiscent of the scratching of fingernails down a chalkboard. The noise echoed through the small trailer,
causing Gruff’s protective snarl to trail off into a defeated whimper.

  Frank raised his arms in mock surrender and took a cautious step back. “OK, son, ‘yer up.”

  “What do you mean, I’m up?” Brady countered, “And what the hell was that all about anyway?”

  “Exorcist,” Frank answered anxiously, shrugging his wide shoulders. “Now, that I think about it, didn’t work too well in the movie either.”

  Brady fought the urge to flee from the trailer. Gruff’s nose was pressed firmly to the floor and his whimpering had ceased. If not for the dog’s labored breathing Brady would have thought for sure his four legged friend was dead.

  “P-p-pl-lease,” Brady stammered, staring between Abby’s glowing eyes, fearful of what actually locking its gaze could do to him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  The laughter intensified. “Yes, yes, you are definitely right.” Trailing off into a prolonged silence, the memory of its dark laughter still hanging in the air, the disembodied voice continued, “Much like your grandfather, I could choose to do nothing.”

  This reference to the past meant nothing to Brady. His ignorance was proving very frustrating. He had gleaned just enough from his father’s notes and drunken talks with Frank, to be more dangerous than helpful. Brady’s best guess was that whatever malevolent power was at play had been set free from behind the locked doors of the abandoned asylum years before, and like most wounds left untreated, had festered and was now quickly spreading.

  “She’s just a child,” Brady pleaded, wracking his brain for any detail that may prove helpful. His gaze fell to the bracelet on Abby’s wrist. “Ellis…Ellis Arkema, right.” Brady’s said; more statement of fact than question. “Let me help you, Ellis. Please, tell me what it is that you want…what you need.”

  Abby’s small lips curled back revealing the innocence of baby teeth, causing Brady to recoil in fear. She raised her delicate arm in the air, placing the sharp blade at her own throat. “What I want? You want to know what I need?” The voice’s rage boiled over into silence. “I want that which you cannot give, only that which can be taken; vengeance for the lives that were destroyed.” The ethereal voice hardened once more. “The price for blood is blood, Tanner. Your grandfather understood this. Even your father, near the end, understood.” The flaming orbs gleamed beneath Abby’s blonde bangs, as the laughter resumed.