Asylum Lake

by R. A. Evans

  What happened next unfolded in a matter of seconds yet seemed to occur in slow motion. From the corner of his eye, Brady noticed movement and watched in dismay as Henry Mayer lurched from his recliner and with two uneasy strides reached Abby. The confused old man clamped his age-spotted hand firmly onto his granddaughter’s wrist, twisting the knife from her grasp. Instantly, the malevolent presence which had hung so thick in the air vanished, shaking the trailer on its flimsy foundation.

  Abby’s once glowing eyes rolled back white. She momentarily swayed on her tiny feet before collapsing to the floor unconscious, a faint scratch of blood marring the curve of her small neck. Gruff sprang forward, his wet nose surveying his fallen friend.

  Mayer stood motionless in the center of the room staring down into his hand at a twisted piece of plastic wrapped around the heavy handle of the knife; the bracelet had apparently torn free from Abby’s delicate wrist during the brief struggle for the blade.

  “Little girls don’t play with knives,” Henry stated in a matter of fact kind of way then let his gaze travel from the knife and down to his granddaughter on the floor. “Somebody’s apt to get hurt.” He paused, hiking his blue pants higher onto his hips. When he looked up he found Brady and Frank cowering in the doorway.

  “Who the hell are you,” The old man barked at Brady for the third time since meeting him the night before. “And where the hell is my newspaper?”

  It was a disparate collection of souls seated around Frank’s kitchen table; the retired lawman and his wife of nearly forty years, a deeply disturbed preacher lacking faith, three generations of the Mayer family, and finally a young man and his dog.

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Brady began, trying to rub some understanding into his throbbing temples. “Somehow you,” He started by tracing his finger in the air from where Frank sat at the head of the large oak table to the far end where Reverend James Collins stood; staring out the window into the afternoon sun. “Think what happened to me,” he said and glanced in April’s direction, “in the lake has something to do with what your son did thirty years ago? Not to mention why my grandfather supposedly killed himself? And that it all leads back to that damned hospital?” Brady shook his head as he turned to April’s father. “What do you think about all this, Henry?”

  Brady expected a nonsensical response from the forgetful old man, perhaps even another ‘who the hell are you?!’ At this point, he was hoping for something – anything – to lighten the mood. When Henry finally spoke, however, Brady was amazed by the clarity of the man’s usually muddled thoughts.

  “A lot of people dying up there,” he stated, more as a thought out loud than in response to Brady’s question. “A lot of holes…” His voice trailed off.

  “Nine hundred and thirty-three to be exact,” added Collins, turning his attention from the window and back to the conversation at hand. “And that’s just counting the ones marked with crosses. There are others, too; mounds of dirt, some ringed with stones and some not.”

  Henry nodded, adding quietly. “Not to mention ones the lake swallowed up.”

  Six heads swiveled in Henry’s direction at his mention of the lake; seven if you count Gruff. He lay under the table, patched up courtesy of Maddie Griggs and her first aid kit. His leg would need to be checked by a vet, but it was surely broken; just how badly was anybody’s guess. For now, he was comfortably laying at Brady’s feet, resting his aching bones with one eye open, just in case his help was required.

  Frank nearly choked on his beer. “Swallowed? Did you say swallowed by the lake?”

  April interjected before her father could respond. “Mr. Griggs, you should know that my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago. His memory isn’t exactly what I would call...reliable.” She reached over and gently patted her father’s hand.

  Henry waved his hand in irritation, withdrawing it from April’s touch and raising his own can of beer. Unlike the others, the old man had done little more than take disinterested sips at the Pabst Blue Ribbon. Frank and Brady, however, had already knocked back a twelve-pack between them; the others gathered at the table drank glasses of water from the tap.

  “I know what I saw,” Henry said stubbornly, the hollow sound of the empty beer cans echo through the kitchen as he slammed in onto the table. “Greasy little bastard.” The man paused to collect his thoughts. “My pa always said ‘never trust a man with a ponytail’. You can tell everything about a man by the cut of his hair.” He stole a glance in Brady’s direction and offered a teasing wink.

  “He and that big fella would walk 'em right to the drop-off and then just,” Henry illustrated by walking his fingers off the edge of the table, “send ‘em right down. Hell, they didn’t know what was what. Big fella would always carry the block of cement.”

  A hush of disbelief fell over the room as confused looks passed amongst the make-shift congregation. Henry reached for another beer and popped it open.

  Collins broke the silence, “That’s where we fished, Lionel and me, the drop-off; always thick with perch.” He looked down at the large bible clutched in his hands. They had placed the plastic bracelet inside for safe keeping; Frank’s idea. Brady had wanted to burn it.

  Brady noted the Reverend’s diverted attention and surmised his thoughts. That fucking bracelet! It all comes back to that thin piece of plastic -- or did it?

  “Okay,” Brady began, trying to analyze the situation logically, “So, this Ellis guy takes a dive into the lake. Years later, your son,” pointing at Collins, “hooks Ellis’s hospital bracelet while fishing in the aforementioned lake. Makes for an interesting story, but still doesn’t explain why the boy butchered that family.” Brady knew his tone was harsh, but somebody needed to grab this situation by the balls before it got out of hand. Before Collins could protest, he continued, “But I honestly don’t see how any of this has to do with me, my family, and whatever the hell is happening right now.” Brady’s frustration boiled over, “It’s a fucking piece of plastic!”

  “Someone told me long ago,

  There’s a calm before the storm

  I know

  It’s been coming for some time

  I wanna know – have you ever seen the rain

  Comin’ down on a sunny day”

  The ring from Brady’s phone caught everyone by surprise. He stood, reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts to retrieve it. Scanning the display, the blood drained from his face and the phone fell from his trembling fingers. It landed on the table with a thud. Brady backed away, knocking his chair to the ground.

  Frank leaned across the table and plucked the phone from the tabletop; Credence Clearwater Revival’s song of dark and gloomy times pulsing from the i-Phone’s small speaker. He couldn’t help but think of “The Death House” and Brady’s father every time he heard the tune. He looked up from the phone and found Brady’s unsteady gaze.

  “Up North House,” he stated, projecting a much calmer tone than he felt, “I thought the land line was disconnected when your dad passed.”

  Brady nodded, “Yeah, me too.”

  The decision was made without conversation. The men, minus Henry, would venture back to the Up North House. Mr. Mayer would stay with the girls, and Gruff, safely tucked away at the Griggs’s modest home. Besides, April’s memory disadvantaged father had already forgotten where he was and why.

  The drive to the Up North House was uneventful. Frank drove the Cherokee with Brady riding shotgun. The good Reverend climbed into the backseat, paging aimlessly through the oversized tome. Brady noted with mild interest that newspaper clippings and handwritten notes were stuffed between the pages of the bible.

  Ramblings of a mad man, Brady mused, looking back at Collins’s haggard face and natty beard; even the Unabomber would be jealous. Brady raised a hand to his own whiskered chin, wondering how far away he was from joining the good Reverend on the long walk of insanity. My own thoughts haven’t exactly been clear lately. He admitted begrudging
ly to himself.

  “Reverend,” Brady began, “I want to apologize to you for what I said…about your son.” Brady hesitated as Collins looked up from his bible. The man’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Lionel was always a good boy, a better son to me than I ever was a father to him.” The Reverend’s thoughtful expression hardened as he continued. “My son did not do those things, Mr. Tanner. He was merely…a vessel by which they were done.”

  If not for what Brady had recently witnessed with Abby, he would have laughed in Collins’s face and called him crazy. Yes, a vessel. He agreed. Indeed, someone or something had definitely overtaken the girl; who’s to say it couldn’t have happened the same way with Lionel? Almost easier to wrap one’s head around that thought than the alternative.

  Brady extended his hand over the console and into the backseat. Collins stared at it a moment, surprised by the gesture. Events seemed to be spiraling forward en route toward some sort of end; Collins was unsure what and where that end may be, but felt relieved to have company for the first time in decades.

  Brady was surprised by the strength of the old man’s grip; even more so when Collins drew him closer. The man’s stale breath turned Brady’s already-nervous stomach.

  “I heard its voice,” the Reverend’s grip tightened painfully around Brady’s hand, “the night your grandfather came for Lionel. They had met before, you know, your grandfather and…him – Ellis.”

  Brady tried unsuccessfully to free his hand from the old man’s grip. “Tell me Tanner,” craziness returning to Collins’s eyes, “How do you kill something that is already dead?”

  Brady never had a chance to respond. “Well, we’re here,” Frank cut in, the rumbling of the Jeep dying as he turned the ignition off. “Now, if you two lovebirds can wrap up whatever it is ‘yer doing, we got work to do.”

  The house appeared to be exactly as Brady had left it, except for one very important detail; the temperature inside the log home had dropped fifty degrees. Their breath came out in white plumes as soon as they crossed the threshold.

  “Somebody leave the fridge open?” Frank joked, rubbing some warmth into his arms.

  Brady brushed past Frank, letting the Reverend bring up the rear. Collins left the door open; praying some of the heat from the mid-afternoon sun would penetrate the frosty air of the house.

  Brady’s cursory glance around the main floor revealed nothing out of place. He mounted the stairs taking them two at a time, rushing ahead toward the room at the end of the hall. Frank caught Brady’s arm in his vice-like grip, spinning him around. Brady’s was surprised by the older man’s agility.

  “Hold ‘yer horses there, son,” he gasped through the chill. “Ever consider that we may not like what we find on the other side of that door?”

  Brady hesitated, looking from Frank’s worried face to the door at the end of the hall. The Reverend had finally joined them on the stair. He, too, looked frightened and frail behind Frank’s massive frame.

  “Given the situation, I’ve decided it’s best not to think too much or too hard,” Brady answered with his mischievous smile. “You can wait here on the steps if you want,” he offered, turning towards the door. “But my presence has been requested.”

  Brady crept down the hallway, walking deeper into the frozen house; ice crystals coated the walls and doorframe. Even the brass doorknob was iced over. The door creaked open as he raised his hand to the knob. Brady peered nervously over his shoulder before stepping into the room. Frank waited on the step, leaving him alone to accept to the invitation.

  Abby tossed and turned on the Griggs’s sofa, her troubled sleep plagued by dark and terrible nightmares. Gruff stood watch over his friend, calming her with the occasional brush of his cold nose against her cheek. Although relieved to see the bracelet removed from Abby’s thin wrist, the dog’s instincts were sharper than his human counterparts. Something had changed within his sleeping friend. Although the ominous scent had drifted away, an underlying odor of something unseen and as yet unknown remained.

  Maddie and April sipped iced tea in the kitchen. In an odd way, Frank’s wife reminded April of her own mother; exhibiting the quiet confidence that comes with age. Little did she know however, Maddie was merely more experienced at masking her anxiety. Inside, her stomach was doing somersaults.

  “Brady seems quite taken with you,” she stated, smiling over her drink. “You two were close back…before, right?”

  April blushed, “Yeah, we were…are quite close.” April chewed nervously on a small bit of ice. She had been doing her best to not think about how hard she had fallen for Brady. Present circumstances aside, they each had enough baggage in their personal lives to fill the cargo hold of a very large airliner. April smiled and changed the subject. “How long have you and Frank been together?”

  “Too long,” she laughed. “Ya know, next month will be forty-one years since our first kiss,” blushing at the memory, “Not that a woman keeps track of such things.”

  The women shared a nervous giggle. No matter their ages, two women discussing the men in their lives always led to laughter. The ice was officially broken.

  “You know about Karen,” April asked, “about what happened?”

  Maddie looked down into her iced-tea and nodded. “We read about it in the papers. Brady’s father got Frank hooked on reading The Tribune when Brady started working there. John collected his son’s clippings like a kid does baseball cards,” Maddie’s brief smile vanished. “Terrible what happened.”

  April shifted her gaze to the floor, and her silent response affirmed for Maddie that Brady had already revealed the details of his wife’s death. His new friend wasn’t merely fishing for details; she was feeling the pain of the situation. The weight of Brady’s past rested heavily on her shoulders.

  She reached forward and grabbed April’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come with me,” she stated, leading April from the kitchen and into the family room where Abby rested. Gruff acknowledged their entrance with a casual glance before returning his attention to Abby.

  The room was dominated by Frank’s passion for the outdoors. Mounted deer and elk racks hung over the mantle of the great stone fireplace and some of the largest fish April had ever seen decorated the walls. Maddie noticed April’s sweeping gaze and squeezed her hand again, “Not exactly my choice of decoration, but we women have to choose our battles.”

  April nodded and followed Maddie to the fireplace. The mantle was lined with framed photos, most taken before April had even been born. Maddie reached forward to retrieves a silver-framed photo from its resting place, passing it to April.

  “Their wedding photo,” Maddie explained. “They were such a beautiful couple.”

  April softly traced a finger across the framed photo, seeing for the first time the woman who had once filled all of the empty places in Brady’s heart; places that she was not trying to fill.

  Maddie drifted away, leaving April alone with her thoughts. Karen was beautiful; in ways that April could never be. Small and delicate with dark hair and striking brown eyes, Karen Tanner a natural beauty. April’s height and athleticism had always made her feel less womanly and awkward.

  April was distracted from her musings by the scratchy sound of music. She recognized the tune but not the voice. It took a moment for the lyrics to sink in, but by the second verse April’s nerves were eased.

  “I still want you by my side

  Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried

  Cause I'm sure gonna give you a try

  And if you want, I'll try to love again

  But baby, I'll try to love again, but I know

  The first cut is the deepest, baby I know

  The first cut is the deepest”

  Maddie held the album cover in her hand as Cat Steven’s voice drifted from the small speakers. She smiled at April and winked an unspoken understanding of the inner-turmoil she was facing with her rediscovered feelings for Brady. April s
miled back, replacing the photo on the mantle and stealing one last glimpse at the former Mrs. Brady Tanner.

  The lone bulb hanging over the small desk lit the entire room. Brady entered cautiously, unsure of what, if anything was waiting for him. As was the case with his last visit into the room, Brady sensed the presence of something or someone. He knew without a doubt that he was not alone.

  Although he had taken a fair amount of what he had determined to be the most interesting of the notes and files from the room to review with Frank, Brady was certain he was being called back into this house…into this room to find something. It didn’t take him long to discover what it was.

  Spread across the desk, atop the God-forsaken Scrabble Board, was a series of tiles. At first glance, Brady could make no sense from their order.

  Ever so slowly Brady deciphered the cryptic message. He waits for you to set them free.

  “Who waits for me?” he whispered to the frosty air. “Set who free?”

  Brady watched in wonder as the tiles began to move, rearranging their order with old ones being traded out for new.

  Again, Brady read the message. He sighed in relief. One mystery solved, you’re not Ellis. “Find who? Who does Ellis want me to find?”

  The tiles did their slow dance across the board once again.

  “Jeff,” Brady wondered aloud. He paused, letting the name settle over him. “Jeff Ryder? How the hell will he know anything about this? I don’t even know where Jeff is.