by R. A. Evans
Brady could feel his frustration bubbling to the surface. He did his best to remain calm, but the irritation in his voice was undeniable. “Something tells me you can be a little more specific.”
Jeff laughed; a maniacal sound that echoed through the Winnebago’s crowded interior. “You want specifics, Brady. I can give you specifics. But first, tell me something,” he paused, the crazed laughter leaving his voice. “How you been sleeping lately?”
June 29, 1996
Bedlam Falls, Michigan
Brady’s awkward fall into the lake was met with a chorus of laughs. As much as the group of friends had dreaded the thought of the swim back to shore, the spray from Brady’s splash reminded each of them that the water would be far warmer than the chilly air. When he didn’t reappear above the waves their laughter turned to concern.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Jeff spotted his friend in the distance, the sweeping current from the storm dragging Brady further out into the darkness of the lake. The rush of the wind across the waves drowned out his cries for help and the rain made it nearly impossible to keep him in sight. Jeff looked nervously beyond his friend’s head bobbing along the surface of the choppy lake to a distant point on the horizon to identify a landmark and, without a word to either of the girls, dove off the float into the water.
Jeff was an above average swimmer, yet even he struggled against the odd current. It almost felt as if he were caught in a swirling vortex that carried him not only out further into the lake, but also weighed him down as he fought to the surface. The air rushed into his burning lungs as he finally broke free, emerging above the waves and back into the stormy night.
He could see Tammy and April in the distance through the sheets of rain, rocking back and forth on the small wooden float. They clung to each other in fright. Jeff felt torn, unsure of which was a better option; swimming through the blinding rain into the depths of the lake to search for his friend, or returning to the relative safety of the float to ride out the storm with the girls. In the end, the decision was simple. Staring into the distance, Jeff spotted the outline of the menacing building in the distance and started out in search of Brady.
Each stroke carried Jeff further away from his goal; the current’s vice-like grip tightening around his burning muscles. In the distance, roughly twenty yards away, he spotted Brady’s head breaking the surface. As quickly as he had appeared Brady was once again swallowed by the dark water. Jeff dove beneath the waves, kicking his tiring legs in Brady’s direction.
The repeated flashes of lightning from the storm above created a strobe light affect below the waves, providing Jeff short lived glimpses of his friend’s limp body falling into the depths of the lake. Ignoring the burning pain in his chest, Jeff coaxed his air deprived body deeper and deeper. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, his outstretched arms found something fleshy in the darkness. He dug his fingers into the flesh, relieved to have finally found his friend.
Another flash of lightning from above, this one much more powerful than any of the bolts which had burst before; confirmed his grip on Brady. The ghost light that illuminated Brady’s slack body also penetrated further into the lake, revealing a vision that would haunt Jeff Ryder for the rest of his life.
Brady’s pale and lifeless body rested on the rocky lakebed amidst an unearthly graveyard of scattered bones and cement blocks. The bleached bones were clad in rags, with most festooned in heavy chains. Jeff’s reeling mind couldn’t register the overwhelming number of skulls littering the bottom of Asylum Lake.
Numb fingers digging deeper into the flesh of Brady’s arm, Jeff raised his eyes to the surface. Too far, he thought, recasting his gaze to the underwater graveyard where Brady’s body rested among the heap of skeletal remains.
Glancing downward, something began to move. In sheer terror, Jeff screamed; stupidly sacrificing his last dredges of breath. As his lungs filled with a mouthful of stagnant water, a glowing ethereal figure rose, gliding toward him. The rush of water into his already burning lungs overtook him. He looked one last time from the glowing form and up to the surface; the display of lightning intensifying above the waves.
Jeff felt his grip on Brady’s shoulder begin to weaken as his mind became foggy and chest burned in pain and screamed for oxygen. Redirecting his attention to the glowing form, he was shocked to see the once skeletal figure transformed; blonde hair rippled through the water behind her, revealing unblinking eyes and a soft, yet calming smile on her delicate face. The once-ragged clothes hanging from the bones had been replaced with what appeared to be a hospital gown.
The burning in Jeff’s lungs ceased as the fog of panic cleared from his mind. The ghostly figure extended her hand. Jeff took note of the white plastic bracelet clutched in her thin fingers.
An ethereal voice echoed through the water. “Go, you do not belong here among the dead. The veil has been parted. You have been warned.”
Brady sat in stunned silence, no longer even aware of the noxious fumes. Jeff’s wild-eyed expression hadn’t softened; if anything it had intensified as he shared the story of what happened beneath the waves that night.
“So, what happened? You just pulled me up? I don’t recall any of it.”
Jeff shook his head, “Man, I don’t know what happened.” He drew his arm across his face, wiping at his nose. “That’s the last thing I remember. Hell, probably just a hallucination from the lack of oxygen to my brain.”
Brady collected his thoughts. Although math was never his strong suit, it did appear as though things were starting to add up. Everything was coming back to that godforsaken lake and the hospital looming over its northern shore.
“Your dad finally came out in the pontoon boat,” Jeff continued. “I don’t even remember swimming back to the float. The girls were freaking out. Well, Tammy was anyway. April started CPR on you right away, probably saved your life. You were blue, Brady. We thought for sure you were dead.”
The frustration playing across Brady’s face was evident. He remembered none of this; yet knew with an unexplained certainty that his friend’s unbelievable tale was indeed true.
Jeff leaned forward once again, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Instantly, the LCD screens came to life.
“There’s a reason I asked you how you were sleeping, Brady.” His tone was slow and deliberate. “Same reason I keep up on my little science experiment,” gesturing towards the beakers and tubing on the table. “Something happened that night. We were touched by something.” Jeff paused, reaching forward and swiveling the monitor in Brady’s direction. “And I don’t think it’s done with us yet.”
Brady’s eyes drifted from Jeff’s gaunt face to the computer screen. His Google search had revealed thousands of listings. It took a moment for the subject of the search to register. Parting the Veil.
“It’s a term as old as mankind itself,” Jeff instructed, “from Christians to Jews, Buddhists to Muslims, even Satanists talk about death being merely a veil drawn across the eyes of the living.”
Brady’s brow furrowed as he listened, his eyes still glued to the screen. Jeff’s scrolled through the search results and eventually clicked on a link. It appeared to be a research paper of sorts, not a religious dissertation at all. Brady scanned the first few lines before stumbling across a familiar name.
The paper was titled simply, “Parting the Veil – The Thin Line Between Life and Death”. It was the author’s name that sounded the alarms in Brady’s overworked mind: Dr. Wesley W. Clovis.
“Holy shit,” Brady exclaimed. “I think I’m gonna need you to print that off for me.”
Collins’s refusal to exit the jeep made bringing everyone up to speed cumbersome. Exacerbating the situation was Jeff’s agoraphobia. He hadn’t left the small patch of earth surrounding his trailer in more than two years, instead relying on “business associates” to bring him groceries and other essentials. If not for the seriousness of the subject matter Brady would have just thrown his hands u
p in surrender. Instead, he wore a path between the jeep and the Winnebago.
“Reverend, what can you tell me about any biblical reference to Parting the Veil or the Veil of Death?” Brady was leaning through the open window of the Jeep’s backseat, grilling Collins for any information that could shed light on what was going on.
“The term veil is used widely in both the old and new testaments,” Collins offered, flipping through his ancient Bible. “The most familiar passage is from the gospel of St. Matthew, describing Christ’s crucifixion. ‘And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice, and yielded up His spirit. Then, behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom’.”
Brady stared at the Reverend in confusion. Again, his lack of interest in religion left him ignorant to what any of what Collins’s words meant. “OK, how about you give me the Cliff Notes version?”
Collins smiled, enjoying the opportunity to share a bit of scripture. “The veil in the temple signifies sin – the separation of man from God.” He paused, waiting for Brady to acknowledge the connection. Brady’s blank stare did little to reassure Collins, but he continued nonetheless.
“God deliberately tore this curtain to make a point; that mankind's sins, which had cut us off from Him, could now be forgiven through Jesus Christ's shed blood.”
Brady nodded, understanding the passage’s meaning, but not how it fit with what was currently happening.
Collins smiled, laying a dirty hand on Brady’s arm. “Without the parting of that veil, man would have no promise of eternal life; heaven. The price was paid in the blood of Jesus.”
The price for blood is blood. The words pounded back into Brady’s thoughts. What the hell was Dr. Clovis doing in that hospital? And how was Ellis mixed up with it?
“He died for you, Brady,” Collins squeezed the younger man’s arm sincerely.
“Um, yeah,” Brady replied uncomfortably removing his arm from the man’s grasp. The Reverend’s words rang like the silverware chimes from Bible Camp. “I think I read that somewhere…died for us all, I believe.”
Collins smiled, “Yes, Jesus did die for us all. But it’s not of the Son of God that I refer.” Collins returned his gaze to the worn bible, searching among its torn pages. Finally, he removed a folded news clipping and passed it through the window to Brady.
Brady accepted the offer, slowly unfolding the yellowed newsprint. He immediately recognized the article from The Banner announcing his grandfather’s death. He had discovered a copy among his father’s notes and files.
“Your grandfather thought he understood, Brady. He offered his life, his blood, as payment for the sins of others.” Collins paused, closing the Bible on his lap. “That’s sound Old Testament teaching straight from Leviticus - Breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth: as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again.”
A fresh trickle of tears fell from the Reverend’s weary eyes. “Sadly, Brady, the price for blood isn’t more blood. I refer you now to the New Testament and the words of Matthew, ‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Collins’s smile returned, “The price for blood isn’t blood -- it’s forgiveness.”
Frank’s conversation with Jeff was far less touchy feely than Brady’s had been with the good Reverend. The retired lawman stood in the open doorway of the Winnebago marveling at Jeff’s handiwork with the Meth lab.
“Son, you obviously got some brains, or at least did at one time. Why the hell throw it all away messing with this bullshit?”
Jeff smirked, snorting another thin crystal line from the dirty cutting board. He wiped the back of his grubby arm across his reddened nose and stared up at the man. “You asking me as a concerned friend now, Sheriff?” He laughed, “Or maybe doing some research for some law enforcement training seminar?”
Frank’s patience was wearing thin. Stepping towards Jeff he took the cutting board from the man’s filthy hands and tossed it across the Winnebago where it crashed into one of the computer monitors, knocking it to the floor.
“What the fuck, man?!” Jeff began to stand. Frank’s forced him back down onto the soiled couch with a finely placed push into the man’s chest.
“I don’t give a shit about you, son. Snort your brain away; blow yourself up with this homemade easy bake oven, no skin off my nose.” Frank glanced outside, “But he does,” jerking his thumb in Brady’s direction. “For some reason I’ll never understand, he gives a shit. A big juicy one.”
Jeff eyes fell away from Frank’s angry glare. “Have you ever been afraid, Sheriff; I mean truly afraid?”
Frank’s anger faded away as he considered the question, “Sure, fear is a natural instinct – right up there with hunger and the need to fuck.” He laughed nervously, unsure of where Jeff’s question was leading.
Jeff returned his smile, and nodded, “Yeah, right up there with fucking.” He paused. “You see, Sheriff, what keeps me up at night,” motioning at his self-styled Easy Bake Oven on the foldout table, “Aside from the devil’s dust I’ve become so adept at cooking, is that… crazy as it sounds, I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid of what happens when I close my eyes, what I see, and even more frightened by what sees me.” Jeff’s last words whispered across his chapped, peeling lips as his eyes glazed over looking past anything physically in the trailer.
Frank considered the addict’s comments. “Yeah, there’s been a touch of that going around,” he muttered, moving forward to the monitor on the floor. He bent down and picked it up, brushing it off before setting it back on the small table.
The uncomfortable silence that settled over the Winnebago was broken by Brady’s appearance in the doorway. “What are the chances this death trap is actually drivable,” he asked, out of breath and pale with worry. “Something tells me it’s time for a road trip.”
Jeff and Frank exchanged a brief glance and nodded; truce officially called. “No worries,” Jeff stated with his yellow-toothed grin, “I got a couple of tires in the back with just a trace of tread left on them. If the good Sheriff here doesn’t mind working a jack, I believe we can get Chef Jeff’s Mobile Meth Lab street legal in no time.”
After a fair bit of coaxing, the group made two very important decisions; the good Reverend would indeed join them on their Winnebago road trip, but only after reassurances that he wouldn’t be required to “smoke any drugs,” as he so poetically put it. The second decision, just as ridiculous, was made only after a fairly contentious argument; Frank got to drive.
The former lawman beamed as he slid into the driver’s seat and placed his greedy hands on the oversized steering wheel. “A man could get used to this,” he muttered to himself.
The repairs to the ancient Winnebago had been fairly minor; two new tires and a couple quarts of oil. The beast started on the first turn of the key; great plumes of black smoke spewing from its tailpipe. Jeff even tossed his science fair project out the door, watching it shatter into a million pieces on the dusty ground. Brady shared a proud moment of silence with his friend before retreating with him into the RV.
The good Reverend rode shotgun, keeping as much distance from the addict, his drug paraphernalia, and Manson; the monster of a dog that had also joined them on the journey, as possible. Brady and Jeff huddled together in the small living area of the RV; their whispered planning drowned out by the sound of the Winnebago’s exhaust scraping against the road.
“I need you to dig up every bit of information you can find on this Dr. Wesley Clovis,” Brady instructed as he surveyed the high-tech gadgetry at Jeff’s disposal. “Do I even want to know what you do with all of…this?”
Jeff grinned, his fingers dancing across the wireless keyboard. “Let’s just say I am an associate of a certain prince in Nigeria who needs your help to gain access to his inheritance.”
Brady groaned, rolling his eyes. “I should have known. Regard
less, it’s about time we start using your powers for good instead of evil; Wesley Clovis, get on it.”
Brady moved from the research wing of his self-described Air Force One and into the cockpit. He arrived just in time to hear the tail end of yet another Frank story.
“So there I am on Beaver Island, completely shit-faced,” Brady had listened to enough of the man’s stories over the last few days to know that this was Frank’s standard introduction to a tale that would assuredly include some form of debauchery. Reverend Collins stared through the windshield, searching for any distraction he could find beyond the words pouring from Frank’s mouth.
“Sorry to barge in,” Brady interrupted, smiling at Collins’s look of relief. “I’ve got Jeff trying to find the last known whereabouts of Dr. Clovis, thank God for the internet.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Up until this point we haven’t done anything illegal or immoral and although I would like to keep it that way, I think we may soon find ourselves bending the rules here just a bit.”
Frank exchanged a quick glance with the Reverend – sharing a smile with the grizzled old man. “Ah hell, son,” Frank laughed. “You got both the law and God on your side here, what kind of trouble could we possibly get into?”
The gathering clouds overhead added a much needed dramatic effect to the situation; as if the work at hand wasn’t gloomy enough. By the time the Winnebago rolled up to the gates of the Lake View Asylum a light drizzle had started to fall.
During their hour long drive, Jeff had collected what little information he could find on the mysterious Dr. Wesley Clovis. The addict’s investment in satellite internet was finally being put to good use. The limited details left far too much unanswered.
“Basically, we have two references to Dr. Wesley Clovis,” Jeff announced, fanning out his collection of printed papers on the small table. “The first,” pointing at the article he had shared with Brady previously, “is some kind of research he had submitted for publication. As you can see from the title -- Parting the Veil: The Thin Line Between Life and Death – the good doctor had a certain fascination with the afterlife.”
