Cherry Hill

by James A. Moore

  You did a bad thing, Jonathan.

  …the fear was worse than a cancer, it was eating away everything that made him what he once was and he…

  You’ll do bad things again if you ever get the chance

  …was too afraid to admit that he was wrong and the voices he kept hearing were right. He had things to do and no desire to do them.

  How do you honor your dead? How do you get revenge when the trail is six years cold and you’re nothing but a beaten old man? How do you honor your dead when you can’t even remember their faces, their names?

  “How do you get past the goddamned fear? Can somebody tell me that? Please?”

  If anything was listening as he mumbled to himself, it remained quiet. As quiet as the grave.

  ***

  The operating room was quiet, except for the sounds of the various devices surrounding the patient and the slightly hollow classical music coming from the radio. Phil Harrington liked to listen to music when he was operating; it helped keep him calm and his hands steady.

  It wasn’t often he worked on a man as old as Jonathan Crowley, and it was definitely not common for him to try pulling rusted metal from inside a human skull.

  The worst of the mess had been pulled free, but a few of the smaller fragments were hiding themselves deep in the cerebral matter and he was hesitant to go looking for them. One small screw up and he could end up with the old man being about as coherent as a head of cabbage.

  He stepped back for a moment and reexamined the x-rays. Two more pieces to go, but they were both deeper than he’d expected, and pushed into the temporal lobe. In theory, he could get to them and cause minimal or no damage. Of course the theories were all based on a younger man who hadn’t already suffered traumatic brain damage in the past. Scar tissue could be an issue and so could blood vessels or arteries that had been moved by the steel scraps. He’d already had to patch two bleeders and wasn’t looking forward to trying his luck with another.

  “Okay, let’s call this a success and start sewing up.”

  No one questioned his decision. In the end it was his ass on the line if things went wrong and while surgery on the brain wasn’t completely new, there were still too many factors that remained uncertain.

  Harrington double-checked carefully as he closed up, making sure there were no surprises anywhere along the way.

  As far as he could tell at this early stage, the surgery had gone well. That could always change with the risk of infection, but he felt good about it. Better than he had when he worked on Alex Granger.

  ***

  Alex Granger rocked slowly back and forth, unaware that he had soiled himself again, and merely conscious of the discomfort he felt.

  His eyes were open and he looked around his cell with no comprehension. There wasn’t much left of his mind to think with.

  He was aware. There were certain things that slipped into his mind from time to time. He knew, for example, that something rested inside of him, comfortable within the shell of his body. He knew that the something there had always been there, but had been freed from him when his skull got opened.

  He knew that he wasn’t what he used to be, and that frustrated him, but he didn’t know how to fix it or even how to express his dissatisfaction.

  The presence was there again, looking through his eyes. He had a name for it once, and knew that it made him do bad things, but he also knew that it had protected him, or at least given him comfort in the past.

  The thought brought a weak smile to Alex’s face and he rocked faster, excited to have found a cognitive connection.

  His left hand twitched, a small, simple jerking motion, and then twitched again. Alex stared at it, certain that he’d had nothing to do with the action, and as he did, his right hand started the same dance.

  A few moments later, he fell back and groaned as his body started seizing.

  While its host continued to spasm, it reached through his body and experimented with nerve endings and the ways in which the mind ordered the body to move. It had learned so much of late that at times the experiences felt overwhelming, but there was so much more to learn.

  Spreading its consciousness further, it continued to play with the internal systems of Alex Granger and simultaneously began to sift through his lifetime of experiences.

  This time it didn’t just feel the memories, it studied them. If it wanted to understand about life it had to start somewhere and in this case the best place to start seemed to be close to home.

  ***

  Carl Branaugh waited patiently after he was put on hold. He’d been getting nowhere with finding out who lived at the phone number he called until he mentioned Crowley’s name. After that he was hastily put on hold and told that someone would be with him in a moment. That had been twenty minutes earlier.

  As he was just about to hang up and try his luck again later, a woman’s voice responded. “Detective Branaugh? I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, hi. Umm. I’m calling this number because a man named Jonathan Crowley suggested it.”

  “Have you talked to Jonathan? Is he all right?” Her voice lifted with nervous excitement.

  “Well, he’s been better.” No, ma’am, I’m sorry but he’s old and in a nuthouse. Also, he’s sort of aggressive…

  “Where is he? We’ve been worried sick ever since we heard, about his family, I mean. I honestly was beginning to think he might have died.”

  “I’m sorry. Whom am I speaking to?”

  “Oh. That could be useful, couldn’t it?” She had one of those voices that just made him desperate to meet the woman attached to it, smooth and sexy as hell. “My name is Amelia Dunlow. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “Ms. Dunlow, can you tell me why he would suggest I call you regarding um…strange occurrences?”

  “Oh.” Her voice sounded almost as doubtful as he felt about the way this was working out. “Well, I have some knowledge along those lines, but really, Jonathan has more experience than I could ever hope to have. Or want to have for that matter.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Where are you calling from, Detective? I can probably arrange to meet you if you think that would help. And maybe I could come see Jonathan. It’s been a while since we saw each other.”

  He gave her the phone number for his office and also directions as to where to find the place.

  “Is Jonathan under arrest?” Oddly, she didn’t sound as worried at that notion as he would have expected.

  “Well, I think it might be best if I explained when you get here.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  He thanked her and disconnected the call, then sat at his desk and worried. The woman was going to be in for an unpleasant surprise and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about that.

  He looked at the case files on his desk again, ignoring the flow of people in the office and the slight hunger pangs in his stomach. The afternoon was still just getting started and he had a thousand things he was supposed to be doing. Sooner or later he’d have to handle them or they wouldn’t get done.

  ***

  Leslie Anne Hampton sat at one of the small tables in the recreation area and drew pictures. Her artwork wasn’t anything special, but she liked to draw. It kept her mind off of the strange sensations she’d been experiencing lately.

  Her breasts ached, and felt heavier than they should have, and her skin was dry and itching, and worst of all, her insides felt like they were on fire.

  She’d tried explaining to Dr. Sebastian, but all he did was nod his head like always.

  Leslie knew the score: She was just another crazy in a sea of crazies and it would take more than a few complaints about a bellyache to get them to listen to her. Still, she’d tried at least and they were letting her out of her room to do things for a change.

  The pony she was trying to draw looked more like a cow, so she switched crayons and added in a cowbell around the neck and
then horns on the head.

  It was while she was finishing the left horn that all the color left her vision and the room started getting fuzzy. Leslie stood up and took a few steps in the direction of the closest attendant. She ignored the voice of her father telling her to come on back over and sit her skinny ass down like he told her to. Her father was dead, after all. She had watched him die.

  Nurse Betty had been chiding one of the inmates for exposing himself, but she turned to Leslie around the same time that Leslie’s knees buckled. She tried to catch herself, she did, but the floor was too close and by the time she thought to move her hands, her face was slamming into the linoleum tiles.

  Three hours later she was in a new room, one with a real bed and even a TV behind a Plexiglas case. Dr. Sebastian came in and they had a nice, long talk. He listened this time, too. And not long after that she had lotion for her skin and the nurses were treating her like she was someone special.

  They didn’t mention the pregnancy to her. They were still worrying over who might be the father and what the legal ramifications would be when the pregnancy became noticeable.

  ***

  The darkness was complete. There was no sound; there was no motion, not even a current of air to caress his skin.

  Jonathan Crowley rested deeper than he ever had, aware of his surroundings but incapable of moving or communicating in any way.

  He couldn’t have guessed how long the darkness lasted. Even his heartbeat was silent. For a time, he pondered whether or not he might be dead, but eventually decided that oblivion couldn’t possibly be that boring.

  Eventually awareness came back to him in a limited form. He noticed things moving in the darkness, things that didn’t seem quite human. Of course they were only shadows in the blackness, so it was hard to really say.

  They spoke softly at first, faint whispers, but as he listened the words became louder.

  “What will you do now? Will you stay this way, or will you answer your call to duty?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “There are things you have left unfinished.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Your wife, your sweet Elizabeth, she remains uneasy in death.”

  “And yet, she’s still dead.” He tried to sound casual about it, but the words cut him. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth. In an instant he was flooded with memories. Touching her hand as he drove them down the highway to the new home he’d had built for her, far away from his other residence, because she didn’t need to know about that part of his life, the part he’d gladly given up for her. Waking up to the sight of her sleeping peacefully next to him in the bed. The scent of her perfume, the touch of her lips. The look in her eyes on the day he proposed. A thousand others that filled him with peace and warmed his soul.

  Of course the other memories came again too, straining against the spikes through his wrists and ankles as the demon forced itself on her, not for sexual gratification or even to impregnate her, as demons often tried, but solely to enjoy his suffering as he watched his wife defiled and tortured.

  “Your children suffer too.” And the memories were there, not coming from his own broken mind, but presented to him full on. Jeremy’s birth, the sweet feeling of holding his son in his arms; Sweet, precious Theresa talking her first baby steps; Wendy crying in the night and running into their bedroom, scared by nightmares that Jonathan knew were harmless, because he always knew when the real monsters were near. Each memory a treasure that was ruined a moment later by the recollections of what the demon had done.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “They’re still suffering, Jonathan, because you failed in your duties. Suffering because you let them die.”

  The guilt became a physical weight, his first sensation since they’d taken him to the operating room.

  “I didn’t fail in anything! There are others, you know, they could have handled it if they’d wanted to.”

  There was silence then, cold and accusatory.

  Whatever had come closer in the darkness receded, as he realized he was alone again, consciousness came to steal him from his rest.

  Chapter Eleven

  The staff room was as silent as a crypt. All along the four tables set into the area, there were people eating donuts and Danishes and drinking coffee like it was going out of style. Roger Finney stood at the head of the table and looked down along both sides and saw familiar faces with unfamiliar expressions. Mostly what he saw was anxiety. Not a one of the employees at Cherry Hill looked at all happy to have a job at the moment.

  “I know you’re all nervous. I know there are a lot of rumors floating around about what’s happening here and what’s being done about it, so let’s just cut straight to the chase and after I’ve gone over everything, if you still have questions, I’ll answer them.”

  No one said anything in return. A skeleton crew was watching over the patients and he wanted to rectify that as quickly as possible. While he couldn’t exactly say that things were getting out of hand, he suspected they would in the near future if he didn’t calm down the workers and fast.

  “Okay, first off, we still don’t know exactly what happened yesterday in the cafeteria. The situation is being investigated, and we have an expert in unusual cases like this one coming in later today. The same expert will very likely be working with the police regarding what happened both to Ernst and to Adam Prescott.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Okay, having said that, we do know certain things. First, there’s no risk of contagion as far as we can tell. The CDC looked over samples, as did the local hospital. There’s no disease causing these things. They remain a mystery for that reason. The body we previously found remains a mystery as well. Having looked over the fingerprints of everyone on file, employees and patients alike, the police can safely say it wasn’t anyone who was supposed to be here, but they can’t say more than that yet.

  “I know this is a strange situation, but I’m asking all of you to remember that we serve a vital purpose here at Cherry Hill and not to let your imaginations run away with you.

  “Lastly, the cafeteria will be finished tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime this area will serve as a break room.”

  He looked around and waited for a response. Several of the staff members looked like they wanted to ask questions, so he pointed to one of the nurses and started there. “Andrea? You wanted to ask something?”

  “You said no one knows what’s causing these things, so how do we know we’re going to be safe?”

  Direct and to the point, and also the last question he’d wanted to hear.

  “I don’t have any answers on that, either, unfortunately.” He looked at the people around him and shook his head. “We can’t know that until we know what is causing the problems. All I can tell you is we’re investigating all of the angles.”

  The woman shook her head. “Then I don’t know how I feel about working until this gets solved. I have a family to take care of. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

  “Andrea, we all have families to take care of and I wouldn’t expect anyone to work here if there was a serious threat to their health.”

  “Yeah but what kind of guarantees are you putting down, Dr. Finney?” Her voice was shrill, a sign of the stress she was feeling. “I have two kids and I’m a widow. Life insurance only goes so far if I wind up turned inside out like Ernst!”

  He sighed and resisted the urge to rub his temples; it was too late to stop a headache from coming around in any case. “Andrea, the cases are isolated circumstances and we have the police investigating the situation. That’s all of the assurances I can give you right now.”

  The people working under him weren’t looking very comforted by his words. Roger had the strong suspicion it wasn’t going to be a good day for him.

  He was right.

  ***

  Three hours of her life wasted in a long, unfulfilling debate with Dr. I-am-an-asshole Finney had not been on Andre
a Tartelli’s list of things she wanted to do with her life. He was pissing and moaning about the way the world works and she was trying to get across the point that she didn’t feel safe in her job. He didn’t want to hear her or any of the other people who had justifiable complaints and he also wasn’t going to accept a leave of absence from anyone until the weird shit going down was resolved to their satisfaction. Well, fuck him! She had vacation time coming and she’d take it if she had to. Just as soon as she’d finished her cigarette break she was going to talk to Mary Gerber, the head of the nursing department and the lady that could get her the time off. Mary knew the score, there were things going on in all of their lives beyond the damned job, and Mary owed her a few favors. Besides, her mom was harping all the time about coming down to visit her in Florida.

  She stepped into the emptied supply room on the second floor where the only furnishings were a card table and an overflowing ashtray and lit up, taking a deep drag off her Camel and trying to calm down. She still had her shift today to deal with, whether she wanted it or not.

  The pain in her shoulder put an immediate end to trying to relax. At first it felt like someone pushing on her shoulder blade and then it felt like someone shoving a sword into her chest, a white-hot needle of pain that flared brighter and brighter.

  Andrea stepped away from the wall with a yelp, and looked back at the spot where the pain was blooming. There was nothing to see, but a small point where the cloth of her uniform was pushed against her skin, no blood or anything else to explain where the pain was coming from.

  “Ahhh…shit that hurts!” She tried rolling her shoulder and stopped as soon as the pain doubled.