Ann Marie's Asylum (Master and Apprentice Book 1)

by Christopher Rankin

  Bernard was nearly pressing his face against the glass to get the best possible look at her. His expression was blank because he was so completely captivated by the little girl and what was about to happen. He told his driver to wait and leave the engine running.

  Off in the hazy distance, a massive crane moved a section of steel frame for the Asylum Laboratory. The new building was starting to assume its beehive shape on the big hill in Palos Verdes. Bernard admired it like it was his own sculpture.

  He walked up to the front of the house where the little girl was playing and leaned on the fence that ran around the yard. “Hello m’dear,” he said to her. When she only timidly smiled back, he went on, saying, “You probably don’t remember me but I saw you the day you were born.” Bernard took off his plaid fedora and brought it to his chest. “Do I seem familiar at all, perhaps?”

  The little girl considered it before nodding her head.

  “Your name is Ivy,” the old man said. “Isn’t it?”

  The little girl nodded again and said, “Um hum.” Then she turned her attention back to digging in the sand with the plastic shovel.

  “May I come a little closer?”

  Little Ivy nodded again but didn’t take her eyes off the sandbox. Bernard lifted the latch on the fence and let himself in the yard. Inside the house, the little girl’s parents were sitting on the couch watching television. Their eyes turned a pool of black when Bernard got closer to the house. Then, in a kind of coma or trance, they fell into a lean against each other. They both stared at the TV, hypnotized with their eyes as black as crude oil.

  “I saw you in my room before,” the little girl said. “At the foot of my bed.”

  A smiled oozed from Bernard’s lips and he said, “I missed you, m’dear.”

  “I’m supposed to tell my parents if anyone talks to me while I’m outside.”

  “Well then, by all means, call out for them.”

  “Mom!” Ivy shouted. “Dad! There’s a man out here talking to me. It’s the man from my room!”

  Her parents’ eyes were dark and lifeless. Their bodies were limp like fresh corpses.

  “You’re a special little girl,” said Bernard as he took a few steps closer. “You have no idea how special. That’s why I’ve been coming to you. That’s why I’m here.” He reached into his front jacket pocket and pulled out a red silk handkerchief. He unfolded it and stretched it across a patch of sandbox to sit on. Then he positioned himself across from the little girl with his legs folded up Indian style. It looked as though the old man and Ivy were about to have a tea party.

  Just then, the door of Bernard’s limousine opened and the driver stepped out. He walked past the sandbox and into the house where the little girls parents were staring off into the blackness. While they sat blank, Bernard’s driver took out a hunting knife and slit both their throats. The only noise they made was a near silent gurgling. Like water over the edge of a full sink, blood slipped out of the gashes in their throats and covered the floor. The black orbs in their eye sockets grayed and eventually only their dead animal eyes remained.

  Ivy hadn’t heard what had happened and she asked Bernard, “How do you come into my dreams at night?”

  “Someday I’ll teach you,” he answered. “You’re going to be a master like me one day.”

  “Mom!” Ivy shouted from her sandbox. “The guy from my room is right here. Come out and see him! Dad!”

  “Do you know what it means to be a master?” The old man asked her.

  Ivy shook her head no.

  “It means,” Bernard explained, “that you understand the world in a way that almost no humans do. It means being part of the most serious and exclusive club there is. Is that something you want?”

  Ivy crinkled up her nose while she thought about it. “Sure!” she said, smiling. “I want to be part of the club.”

  “Are you sure? Getting in isn’t easy. You have to sacrifice.”

  “I want into the club,” said Ivy. She called out again for her parents, saying, “Mom! Dad! This man says I get to be in a secret club!”

  “Do you see what they’re building up there?” Bernard pointed to the top of the hill, where the frame of the Asylum Laboratory was coming together. “That’s all mine. That’s my clubhouse.”

  “It looks like a beehive.”

  “Indeed it does, m’dear,” said Bernard, looking up at the construction site with beaming pride. “Now this next order of business is bound to be a bit unpleasant, I’m afraid. Ivy, you understand that sometimes things we want require sacrifice?”

  The little girl shrugged her shoulders as though the question made little sense to her. “I guess,” she said.

  “Now, I’m not a mean man,” he said, staring little Ivy right in the eye. “But you’re going to forget that. You’re going to think I’m bad. Real bad. But what’s about to happen is actually good. It’s going to make your life so much more special and one day, you’re going to thank me. One day, we’re going to be closer, closer than two people can be.”

  Bernard grabbed a handful of her black hair and Ivy started screaming. He held her tightly by the hair while she fought to run away. He stretched her across the sandbox on her back while he held her head down by the hair. Ivy saw her reflection in the side of a polished scalpel blade.

  Bernard held it up to her face and started slashing. Her face burned and blood and tears filled her eyes. Bernard continued to hack at her cheek.

  “Now now,” he said. “Let’s not struggle too much.” He pulled out a syringe that he stuck into her neck. Her eyelids immediately took on weight and she started to go to sleep. “The next few years are going to feel very lonely,” he told her. “But I’ll be there the whole time. I’ll be watching.” He brushed some black hair from across her blood-soaked forehead. “When it seems like things are cruel and hopeless, I’ll be there. I’ll be guiding you. Even when you don’t see me, my hands, my influence will be there, guiding you.”

  Bernard then left her bleeding in the sandbox.

  ...

  Twenty-five years later, Ivy Cavatica set her elegant black coat down on the restroom floor of her former elementary school. She knelt down on it to check her makeup in the mirror. A team of plastic surgeons had donated their time years ago after hearing about Ivy’s attack on the news. Even though the doctors had performed near magic, sometimes she could still see traces of the scalpel scars on her cheeks. That morning, Ivy inspected her face in the mirror built for a four-foot tall child. She decided to add another layer of mineral powder before it was time to go up on stage.

  Her haunted blue eyes were wide and alert from pre-speech nerves. She looked as though she had just paused in the middle of a mad dash from an attacker. Her satiny, excessively maintained, black hair was stretched into a plain hair clip. Her striking eyes and statuesque body had a way of summoning every bit of attention from a room. So she slouched as much as she could and consistently did her best to muddle the stunning elements of her face. Any makeup she wore was applied with the sole mission of hiding her scars. Ivy preferred to be invisible rather than beautiful.

  Mrs. Chattergee, the vice principal of the elementary school, knocked on the door of the restroom before sticking her head in. “Are you all right?” She asked Ivy. “The children are ready and it’s unwise to keep them waiting too long.”

  “I’m just about ready,” Ivy said. “Sorry to hold things up. I’m just feeling very anxious all of a sudden. I’ll be fine though.”

  Mrs. Chattergee came inside the bathroom and stood beside her. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous about the public speaking part,” she said. “They’re just kids and they want to hear your story.”

  “I think I just slept funny. I’m ready.”

  “Do you have to go back to work after this is over? I think you should take the rest of the day off. After all, you’re doing public service.”

  “The program only allows me a half-day,” Ivy a
nswered. “I’ve got to get back to do some budget analysis due by the end of business today.”

  “My goodness,” said Mrs. Chattergee. “You are unbelievably sweet to volunteer to do this.”

  “It makes me feel better, actually.” Ivy added, “Nowadays, more and more kids are growing up the way I did. My story is less exceptional every day.”

  “It is something,” remarked Mrs. Chattergee. “More than ever before. It’s really quite alarming. These children are seeing a world completely different than I saw growing up. Many have had their parents lose their minds and abandon them when The Depression hit its worst. A lot of them had to be taken away from their parents just for their own survival. Forty percent of the children in this school are orphans. Sometimes it blows my mind.”

  “The world is mad,” said Ivy.

  “I pray for something,” said Mrs. Chattergee. The vice principal led Ivy out of the bathroom and told her to walk through the doors to the auditorium stage when she was ready.

  Mrs. Chattergee went up to the stage to make the introduction. “Students,” she said before pausing to let them quiet down. “We have someone very special who wanted come by and speak with all of you today. Miss Ivy works at a very special, very cool company called the Asylum Corporation. Please raise your hands if you’ve seen the shiny beehive building on the hill.” Most of the group of roughly one hundred students slowly raised their hands. “Well,” she went on, “they build things there that protect us from all the bad people around the world. Some of the things Miss Ivy works on are very secret, so she won’t be able to talk about everything. Did any of your parents tell you about the recent terrorist attack or maybe you saw it in the news?” Most of the hands in the room went up. “Well, the company where Miss Ivy works was behind stopping the bad man that was trying to attack our pier. Ivy was part of the team that protected us. She’s working to keep you and everyone else safe.” The vice principal paused for a moment. “One other thing you all should know is that Miss Ivy grew up without a mom and dad, just like a lot of you. She learned how to be strong and successful all by herself. She experienced the worst tragedy but was able to overcome it. I can’t think of anyone that deserves the attention of this audience more than Miss Ivy. Please welcome her.”

  After taking a deep breath, Ivy pushed through the auditorium doors. She was met by a sizzle of applause and a mingling of children’s voices. She felt warmth on her face from the spotlight the school used for its plays. She had given nearly a dozen speeches like this in the area schools during her five year employment at the Asylum Corporation. Ivy knew exactly how close to put her mouth to the microphone so she could both be heard and not produce any squealing feedback. The well-behaved crowd of children was immediately attentive to her.

  “I feel for you,” she said to all of them. “I thought that the world I faced as a child was difficult but it’s nothing like the challenges some of you have already seen. It’s an honor to be here today, to get to speak with each of you, especially those of you who grew up the way I did, without parents. Some people call me a product of the state, which doesn’t sound very nice or glamorous. Most people I met as a child just looked at me like I was damaged and even at your age, I could tell how they felt, sorry for me, maybe even a little ashamed. I never understood as a little girl it but I could feel it.

  I don’t feel sorry for any of you,” Ivy went on. “You’re strong. You’re here. You’re alive. I went through seven foster homes and most were very abusive. But I got through it. You can get through it too. You are all stronger than me,” she said, looking around the room. “I can tell just by looking at your faces. You’re going to make it.”

  Mrs. Chattergee picked up the other microphone and added, “Today, Miss Ivy is very successful in her field.”

  One of the young girls in the audience threw up a hand and, without actually being called on, shouted out, “You should be an actress! You’re pretty!”

  A little boy called out, “Are you a spy?”

  Ivy smiled, saying, “I’m afraid it’s nothing that exciting. I’m a financial analyst.”

  Mrs. Chattergee added, “Everyone has seen the big, pretty beehive building on the hill. Perhaps the students want to hear about that cool building you work in.”

  “Well,” Ivy started to correct them, “I don’t actually get to work in that building. I work in the regular corporate grounds down the hill.”

  A man in a fedora hat was leaning against the back wall of the gymnasium. His silhouetted body looked out of place in the shadowy corner. No one seemed to be sure what the old man was doing there. “You’re a very accomplished young woman,” he said while everyone turned around to assess the strange voice. “The corporation is very lucky to have you. I hear you’re really going places.”

  “Thank you,” said Ivy. She squinted to see past the spotlight and get a better look at the man. “I’m very fortunate.”

  “No,” the man in the fedora said. “You’re not fortunate. You’re special, my dear.”

  “I think everyone is special,” Ivy said, holding up her palm to block the spotlight beam. “Every child.”

  “Indeed,” the man in the back said. “Every child is amazing in his or her own way. It’s the world that fails them.”

  “It will only fail them if we let it fail them,” Ivy answered.

  The man in back slowly clapped his hands together in lonely applause. “Bravo, my dear,” he said. “I agree wholeheartedly. It is up to us.” He continued to clap for Ivy until the rest of the audience finally joined him.

  After everyone stood up, the man somehow disappeared into the crowd. Ivy finished the question and answer segment of her presentation to the kids. On her way out, a few teachers stopped her to tell her that she did a great job speaking to the children. She quietly thanked them, looking much shyer than she had on stage.

  On her way out, she meandered through a packed hallway of children. Her telephone started ringing and she took a business related call from the office. “I’m sorry,” she said to the person on the line. “I just finished my speech and I’m heading back now. I’ll get you the reports by close-of-business.”

  As she hung up the phone, she felt something hot and sharp jab her in the flesh on the back of her arm. It reminded her of a bee sting. She rubbed at the painful spot just as the man with the fedora hat pushed his way past her. The short old man passed right by her without saying anything. He seemed to walk far too fast for his apparent age. Before Ivy knew what had happened, the man had made it all the way down the hall and through the school exit.

  Chapter 8

  GirlFixer

  As Ann Marie delivered a few drops of bacterial growth enhancer to one of the petri dishes under her fume hood, she noticed Dade standing in the doorway. He had a black suit and his sunglasses on. His look suggested they had some pressing business. “What is it?” She asked him. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “We’re going somewhere.”

  “Huh?” She stood up from her work and took off her latex gloves. “Where?”

  “We’ve got a problem with the new CEO.”

  “Huh? I don’t understand.”

  Dade told her to come with him and they got into Asylum One. On the way down the hill, he told Ann Marie about his recent conflict with the new corporate CEO. Apparently the man was holding back some of laboratory’s shipments of supplies as part of a plan to gain Dade’s compliance. “This man is turning into a problem,” he explained. “I knew this would happen.”

  “I remember you talking to him on the video conference,” she said. “A bald business guy. Why is it so serious?”

  “He’s not like a regular man.”

  “You mean he’s like you?

  “Of course not,” Dade told her. “That’s not what I meant. He’s basically human but he’s been corrupted by something. We need to make him feel sufficiently afraid of us. It’s the only way to deal with his kind.”

  �
��I don’t understand.”

  Dade offered nothing further.

  When they made it past the main gate and perhaps a dozen indistinguishable black buildings, Asylum One dropped them off in front of the main corporate office. Just before they reached the conference room, Dade told her, “This won’t take long.”

  “Dr. Harkenrider, thank you very much for gracing us with your presence,” said the CEO, who was sitting at the head of the table. He stood up when they arrived. The other dozen men in the room followed his example, standing up and offering respectful greetings. The CEO’s head was polished as shiny as a fine gemstone. He wore gold-framed glasses and couldn’t have stood more than five-foot-one. The man went on to say, “I’m happy we will finally have some answers on your upcoming delivery.” The CEO and the rest of the executives sat back down around the conference table.

  “About that,” said Dade, “I wouldn’t count on my cooperation. I know I’ve said no before, actually twice now. Since you don’t seem to know how to interpret the word: no, I decided it would be best to clear this confusion up in person.”

  The CEO, although he was short, had very broad shoulders and his chair adjusted to the highest level. He leaned across the slab of conference table wood like a mobster about to make a threat. Dade just stared back with defiance. Instead of getting angry, Philip Handley, the CEO, grinned in a way that Ann Marie had never seen before. The businessman’s smile contained something savage and violent.

  “I took over this company almost a year ago,” he said, “and most of the people have fallen in line with the change quite nicely.”

  “They should know better,” said Dade.

  “Everyone has fallen in line with the exception of the company’s crown jewel, its elite research laboratory.” Philip Handley looked at his colleagues gathered around the table. “For reasons that still remain unclear to me, the board has chosen to look the other way while you run your little kingdom however you see fit.”