Trey heard the noise first. It wasn't quite a shout, and it wasn't a scream. But it was as if someone had called out in the red-lit pathways between the Night Cages. He followed it, running ahead of Susan, when he reached the door that was slightly ajar, he let his adrenaline take over, and held the gun up figuring he'd have to aim for Bloody Mary first, since Doc could be subdued. He thought about this within seconds, and then pushed the door open.
The operating table at the center of the room.
The restraints at the uppermost and lowermost parts of the table had been torn open. A streak of blood absorbed against towels that had been stacked as if underneath a patient's body.
But no one.
Whoever had been operated on no longer was in the room. When Susan caught up to him, he had her turn the flashlight on into the dark corners of the room. They both heard a slight noise that sounded like a little child blowing milk bubbles.
There, beneath the operating table and back against the wall, was Dr. Brainard.
Naked.
Clutching what seemed to be his belly that had been greatly distended.
Trey quickly moved to him, getting down on his knees. "Doctor. Dr. Brainard?"
Dr. Brainard looked into the flashlight's glare and looked as if he were eighty years old rather than in his late fifties. Bubbles of blood came from between his lips, and the whites of his eyes showed as he blinked in the light.
Trey tried to keep the feeling of nausea within him.
He could not help but look at the man's purplish, blood-smeared distended belly.
It had a row of sutures or stitches – but made with material that seemed more like twine – holding his stomach together.
They had cut into his stomach.
"Dear god," Trey said. "Dear god."
2
He stayed with Dr. Brainard until the man died, in his arms.
They had put something inside Brainard's stomach. They had opened him up and put something inside him that had caused swelling and then they'd brutally sewn him up again.
Trey hoped it wasn't the dead infant that had been killed two days previous at the Flocks.
He hoped that Bloody Mary's insane sense of poetic justice – of taking the man who had impregnated her, the man who had abandoned her to someone else, had not fulfilled his promise – had spent nearly twenty years waiting for a moment when she had a dead infant that was six months old.
But she's insane. She isn't like you. She belonged in Darden State all along. She didn't belong out in the world. She didn't belong where other people lived. She belonged on meds, in a hospital for the criminally insane.
Trey hoped he was wrong. But it didn't matter to Brainard. The psychiatrist was dead now.
From behind him, he heard Susan's voice cry out in alarm. As he spun about quickly, he felt something sharp go into his ribs, and for just a moment he saw Bloody Mary's face above him. The red glow of light all around her.
The face of madness.
Then, he passed out hearing Susan Hannifin screaming in a way he'd never heard another human being scream in his life.
Chapter Fifty-Three
1
Doc had to slam Hannifin's head into the wall three times before she was knocked out. "This the bitch?" he asked his mother who was across the room with Trey Campbell.
His mother nodded.
"I should heal her now," Doc said. "Right now."
"Get her safe," Bloody Mary said to her son. "Baby, get her safe. We have lots of time. It's a big day at the hospital. One operation after another."
2
Susan Hannifin awoke sitting up on the operating table in one of the Night Cages. She was alone. Her head ached like hell. She had been put in leg restraints, and her arms were strapped behind her, attached to a small lead that was hooked to the wall. She looked up – a cage like ceiling, and above it, the red emergency light.
She felt as if a truck had hit her. She called out for Trey, but there was no answer.
She spent the better part of an hour struggling to get free of the restraints.
3
Jane Laymon regained consciousness. She felt as though she were buried alive, but soon came to terms with the space she'd been put into. Some narrow morgue-like drawer, perhaps. She wasn't sure. She tried to move, but realized that the numbness in her arms had something to do with the straitjacket they'd put her in. Her ankles, too, were tied together.
She felt weak; her mouth was dry; her throat was sore; and her left hip was still a little tender from the Taser burn.
The space she was in felt warm – probably the air. Probably not enough fresh air coming in.
She heels pressed against wall. If she pushed herself up slightly, her head was pressed against wall, also.
They put me in here somehow.
She assumed that her last sight that she had remembered was what looked like a series of drawers along a wall. A small morgue of some kind. A storage for bodies back in the day.
"All right. You didn't kill me. That's good for me. Bad for you," she whispered.
Then, she began bending her knees. She could bend them halfway to her stomach. She stretched them back down to touch what she hoped was the drawer opening. Not a wall, but something that could move outward.
If she could move it.
She bent her knees as far as they'd go, toward her stomach, then kicked them down to the other side.
Her shoes slapped against the base of the drawer.
It gave slightly.
Okay, she thought. A thousand more of these, and maybe I get out of here.
Chapter Fifty-Four
1
Trey awoke on the table. They had brought him into his own Night Cage.
He saw the red light above the cage.
He looked first to the left, then the right. He felt a soreness along his jaw. They'd tied a gag over his mouth.
Restraints at his wrists. His ankles.
His lower right side hurt.
She stabbed me. Great.
He heard footsteps coming into the room. He strained his neck looking up from the table and had to lay his head back down.
He looked to the left – there was a small kidney-shaped tray.
On it were several instruments. He recognized the little hammer and the pick, as well as the Hay saw – a special saw for cutting the skull and brain pan open.
He knew enough about Bloody Mary's M.O. to know what he was up for. Lobotomy or just simple brain surgery. Christ.
He wondered how much time he had. He knew he had to work his way out of this. He doubted there was anyone left to come to the rescue.
Please God. Please. Help me. He thought of Carly again – her face. The news of bringing a new baby into the world. The shock of it. The surprise. The last look she'd given him the night before. That look of love that he hoped he'd given back to her.
Use what you know, he thought. He remembered enough about at least one escape from restraints to know that there was always a way to do it if you really wanted to. Doc had talked about Houdini and how he had read up on how to get out of restraints. How to get out of a straitjacket. There was a way.
Give me five minutes, he thought. God, just five minutes. I don't expect you to come out of the wall with a full-blown miracle. Just five minutes and I can do it myself.
2
As it turns out, he got less than a minute and a half before Bloody Mary came in, and leaned over him. Her breath was foul, but at least she'd cleaned blood from her face. Her dark hair had turned stringy, and hung down in his face. "You're vexed," she said. "I can tell." Then she drew back and turned to someone at the door. "Doc? Are you ready for this one? It may be an emergency."
3
"Hello again," Doc Chilmark said. He had a boyish grin on his face as he peered down at Trey. "You should've stayed upstairs. You know that."
Trey nodded. He tried to keep the movement around his hands minimized. He was hoping to make his draw his hands through the wrist
restraints, but it didn't seem to be working. But as Doc spoke to him, Trey focused on the edge of the table. He was able to get his hands flopped over it just a bit, on the side with the surgery tray. He felt along the table underside, and when he found the metal edge, he rubbed the strap of the restraint against it. Nice. Keep talking Doc. Just keep talking.
Trey ignored the bad stuff he saw: the words said to him about the operation to come, about how the brain could be modified with just the boring of a hole or two. Tried to ignore anything but that one little restraint strap at his wrist, and the slow but steady sawing movement he got going. Old restraints, Trey thought. They're bound to give it up. Bound to tear a little here and there. How many years ago were they used? Forty? Thirty? So long ago and in between time, a lot of possibilities for falling apart.
He felt that surge of madness again. He looked up at Doc and Bloody Mary. I can be as crazy as you if I want to be. You had no problem slicing my best friend's throat. No problem with poor Lance. Or Brainard. In fact, you haven't seen crazy until you can see what I can do. I'm gonna go temporary insanity on both your asses.
Bloody Mary had a long pick in her left hand, and a small rounded hammer in her right.
Great. I get a lobotomy. No thanks.
He felt the fabric of the restraint that held his right hand give. The sharp metal edge of the table had cut through it.
Trey drew his right arm out from behind him, the restraint flopping to the side, and grabbed Mary Chilmark's hand mid-air as she brought the pick toward his eye. He tugged hard with his left hand, and it hurt like hell, but he tore the restraint out completely as he swung around. He felt her strength, which seemed greater than a woman her size might have. He pushed at her arm to get the instrument away from his face. At the same time, Doc Chilmark tried to pull him back down onto the table. Doc punched him hard in the jaw, and Trey fell backward, sliding halfway off the table, his ankle restraints keeping him from rolling off it.
Doc reached over to the surgery tray, and drew up the trepan and the small hammer that would be used to break a hole in his scalp. Trey mustered all his strength and kicked out, tearing at the ankle restraints – and hitting Mary in the gut as she came back at him, but Doc had descended upon him, wrapping his arm around Trey's neck. With his free hand, Doc pressed the Hay saw against Trey's scalp.
Trey felt the slightest feather of pain there, and knew that Doc had begun to cut. Blood poured down over Trey's eyes, but he fought back as best he could, knocking Doc backward. Trey managed to drop from the table to the floor, feeling a sickening pain in his head from the cutting Doc had done. He could barely see for the blood that covered his eyes. You'll get through this. You just have to. You have to stop them. You have to. Nobody brought you here. You came here. You weren't meant to die today. Not today, you son-of-a-bitch. You got a kid on the way.
He rose up again, using every ounce of strength he had. He grabbed the pick from the table, and made a half-turn toward Doc.
Mary came up behind Trey, leaping onto his back, knocking him to the floor again, on all fours. She had her weight on him, and she began screaming as if she were a wildcat, her arms around his throat, obscenities flying from her mouth.
Trey crouched on his knees, and took the pick and with both hands and swung it as hard as he could above and behind his head.
He felt it go into the back of Mary's neck.
He didn't stop. He stabbed her again and again and again, his own voice hoarse from shouting through the gag, "Get off me, you bitch! Get off me! Get the fuck off me!"
Finally, her hands loosened at his throat, and he shrugged her off. She landed beside him, on the floor of the Night Cage.
He rolled over onto his back, too weak to stand, gasping for breath.
He held the pick up to defend himself if Doc came at him. "Put it down," he said, wheezing.
Doc stood over him, watching him.
Doc no longer looked like a young man.
He looked like a little boy. A frightened little boy.
In his hands, the saw and small hammer.
His lips were trembling, and his eye crinkled up as he began weeping.
I'm safe. He's weak without her. He has nothing without her, Trey thought.
Doc Chilmark crouched down beside his mother's body. He took it up, embracing her and kissing her lips and cheek and eyelids. "You promised you wouldn't leave me," Doc wept, pressing his face against his mother's bloodied throat. "You promised. Don't leave me. Put me in my cage. Put me in my cage."
Chapter Fifty-Five
Doc couldn't see for his tears, and felt an awful ripping of something inside his body, as if his heart were breaking. He looked up to see if her shadow was there. If her spirit was nearby.
He was sure he saw it – it left her mouth as he kissed her – floating up like steam in the room.
She was there, her spirit, in the room with him.
And then he felt them coming.
He knew that they would once she was gone.
She was the only one who kept the night fears back. And in this place, it was always night. She had protected him from them all his life, but now she was a shadow herself.
He could hear them making their smacking noises just beyond the door.
Doc glanced at Campbell and whispered, "Can you keep them out?"
But Trey Campbell had passed out, blood all around him where Doc had begun cutting at his scalp.
Nobody's gonna save you, the fears whispered within Doc's mind We've been waiting a long, long time to find you. We knew she would go away someday. We knew you would be ours.
"Please," he whispered, crawling over to Trey's body. He shook the man's arm, and slapped his face lightly. "Please wake up. Please stop them from getting me. I can't stand it. Please! Please stop them! They're crawling all over me! Stop them! Stop them!"
Chapter Fifty-Six
1
Trey opened his eyes. He looked straight up at the ceiling of the Night Cage, and beyond its mesh ceiling to the red light above.
He heard a noise – someone whispering near him.
He thought of Susan Hannifin. He needed to find her. He felt as if he was about to pass out again, and he took several deep breaths to fight it.
It took some effort, but he turned over onto his side, and then onto his stomach.
He couldn't quite stand, but he began putting one elbow in front of him and sliding forward. Then, the other.
Doc lay shivering in a corner, clutching his dead mother's body to him like a rag doll. Scared out of his wits. "Please," he whispered. "They're crawling. I can feel them. They're gonna get inside me."
Trey reached for the pick, which lay a few feet from him. He crawled on his elbows for it. Got it. Then, he began crawling slowly, almost snake-like toward the open door of the Night Cage.
He glanced back at Doc. "You tell me where she is. Where you put her. I'll make sure the night fears don't get you. But you better tell me. Or I'll cut you open and put them right in your skin."
So, Doc told him where Susan Hannifin was; and then he told him where Jane Laymon had been kept. "The others are shadows now," Doc said, his eyes still wide with fear. "They're here now. Or they're headed for the light."
2
Trey tried to crawl forward, but had no more energy. He wondered if he were dying. He had wounds in his legs, wrists had been slashed, and his side ached from another wound he could not remember getting. His scalp burned from the cut along it. He rolled over onto his back to breathe better. Got to help Susan. Have to help her get out Jane and Susan both. Gotta.
"Susan? Susan!" he called out, but his voice was weak. He thought he heard a noise coming from the corridor that veered off to the left – the arm of the "crossroads" of the hallways where they began moving more and more into the territory of tunnels. He glanced over where he heard the tapping of footsteps, and glanced down into the dimly lit corridor with its peeling paint and broken wheelchairs propped beside the walls.
A
nd then he thought he saw an angel. A woman outlined by a halo of light from the dim yellow glow of the distant tunnels.
Coming toward him.
Moving swiftly, as if she had wings.
3
Jane Laymon had finally broken through the old morgue's walls, using the kick technique, and then depended on the age of the morgue itself to give a little. "I knocked my way out," Jane said to him. "Christ, Trey, you're really hurt bad."
"All right. All right," he said. "I thought you were dead."
"I thought we all were," Jane said. "Thank God you stuck around. Where's Blood Mary?"
"She's dead," Trey said, exhausted, full of an indescribable sorrow, unsure of his own sanity. "I killed her. With this." He let the long pick drop from his fingers.
"What about the other one?" Jane asked, reaching to lift Trey up.
"Down there," Trey murmured so softly that Jane had to put her ear near his mouth to hear him. "Down there." He tried to move his head so that it indicated the Night Cage. "He's scared to death that night fears are coming for him now. She was the only thing that protected him from them. That's what he thinks. Look, go get him. He'll tell us where Susan is. Brainard's dead. Lance is dead, too."
"Trey, I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life," Jane whispered, tears in her eyes.
"Me, too." Then, he whispered something but didn't quite get it out.
"What?" she asked.
"The goodness of life itself. I knew it had to be here. Even down here," he said, but his voice was growing weaker. Trey felt himself blacking out.
Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series) Page 57
