by J. R. Tate
Rusty stares at me as if I’ve just spoken to him in another language. “And what if they try and kill you? What if you never can leave? How are you going to get out again?”
“That’s all stuff that’s crossed my mind, believe me. This is why we need to find Dr. Clint. We can’t do this alone, Russ. We need someone with a name. Someone the psychological world knows. Someone with some pull.”
“How do you propose we find him? I’ve searched him any way imaginable. Nothing is popping up for him.”
“What about the people search app? Isn’t there a page where you can look up housing and property values? That has everyone.”
Rusty walks to the computer and clicks it on. Going to this county’s tax assessor website, he types in Clint Sanderson and has no luck. Glancing over his shoulder at me, he goes back to the Google search bar.
“Any suggestions? I’m out of ideas, Dad.”
“Type in his name and property value. Don’t even do a county. He might’ve moved away.”
This time, it brings up several results. I hadn’t realized how common the name was until now, but I’m glad to finally have some information to go off of.
“There’s no phone numbers. How are we going to get hold of them?” Rusty asks as he pulls up a site that has them all consolidated together.
“Print these pages. We’ll start with the addresses closest to us and go from there.”
It is far fetched, but at least there is some glimmer of hope.
“And what will we say when they answer their door. Oh hi, I’m a mental patient from Sunset Canyon. Are you Dr. Clint who got chased off after you claimed I was really seeing ghosts?”
I pull the paper from the printer and skim over the addresses. There are several in counties close by – drivable distances that won’t take us long.
“We don’t know if that’s what happened to him, Russ. He could’ve left for other reasons, and hopefully we’ll find out soon.”
Clicking the computer off, Rusty puts his dishes in the sink, still apprehensive about the plan. “We can’t be this desperate already. There’s no other way?”
“I am desperate. This is the only thing I can think to do.”
“You’re serious about voluntarily going back to that place?”
His question hits hard and is one I have to think about for a second. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it – I’ve fought so hard to stay away from it that it almost seems like a waste to go back. But as Mr. Dawson has put it – it’s for everyone involved, not just him. It’s for those who can’t stand up for themselves.
“Let’s find Dr. Clint first. One step at a time. Then we’ll talk about Sunset Canyon.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan
After I’ve had time to think about it, going to all of the Clint Sanderson places that popped up under the tax assessor search seems kind of crazy, but to me, crazy has a whole different meaning than it does to most. I’m a nervous wreck when I get into my truck. I have to drive on my best behavior, and for a moment, I consider allowing Rusty to drive, but that would be even dumber since he doesn’t have his license.
Getting in, I gently punch him in the shoulder and force a smile. He’s tagging along with me in case something happens. Right now, I don’t want to take any chances with leaving him alone. I clutch the addresses in my hand, so tight that I’m probably going to rip them.
Sliding them on the seat, I say, “You keep these. I’ll end up losing them.”
Rusty unfolds it and looks at the notes I’ve made. I’ve jotted down things – mileage and time spent traveling to each one, and which ones I think might be him. For all I know, this is ridiculous and none of them will be the man I desperately need at the moment.
“You think this is dumb, don’t you?”
Rusty looks at me and clicks his seatbelt in place. “It’s all we got. What do we have to lose? Better than you going back to Sunset Canyon without Dr. Clint as your insurance, you know?”
“That’s a good way to put it. I like the way you think.”
I put the truck in gear and drive to the highway, watching for anything out of the ordinary. They likely have the make and model of my truck but I push the paranoid thoughts aside. The good news is, we are headed away from town. We are going two counties over to start our manhunt. No one will even think to find me there.
Once we get on the highway and head west, my nerves settle a bit. There was no cop waiting, no caseworker ready to pounce on me, and I actually feel like a free man as I get the truck up to seventy five miles per hour with nothing in front of us but the horizon. A part of me thinks we should just keep going and never look back, but that’s stupid – Mr. Dawson would know where to find me. I can run from my troubles, but the ghosts would never let up.
I turn the radio down and try to make small talk with Rusty who still seems quieter than normal. “You ready to go back to school? It starts next week, right?”
Small talk at its finest, but I need to get his mind on something else for now. I need to get my mind on something else.
“Haven’t thought about it with everything else going on.”
I glance at him and back to the road, admiring the scenery as it turns into even better countryside as we get farther from the city. Everything is green and lush – the trees are thick and the hills roll.
“Something bugging you? Do you think we shouldn’t be doing this? I need Dr. Clint. I’ve needed him since they tried to put me back in.”
“It’s not Dr. Clint, Dad. I just… I’m concerned about you going back to the hospital. I don’t think you should.”
“You got any other ideas on how we can do this then? I’m all ears. I’d love to hear something else because I don’t want to go back either, but it’s either do that or the ghosts just get worse and worse. Neither choice is all that great.”
“Dr. Clint can’t just do it?”
“I don’t know if Dr. Clint is going to want to be involved at all. That’s what we’ve gotta find him. There could be more to why he left without a trace than just me. Until we talk to him, all I can do is speculate. We need solid proof. We need vengeance.”
“Do you think everyone there is corrupt? Are they still doing stuff like that?”
I drum my finger on the steering wheel, as we get closer to our first stop. My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed a brick. “I don’t think everyone at that hospital is bad. Just like with everything, there will be bad and good, but if they’re taking lives and hiding it, it needs to be exposed. According to Mr. Dawson, there are still suspicious deaths happening now. Which is why I have to get inside and see. Get proof somehow. Without that, they’ll never believe me.”
“Yeah, and you’re a good man for sacrificing your freedom to do this for people you don’t even know.”
I glance at Rusty again. It feels good to hear him say that. All of this time, I wonder if he has lost respect for me with everything that has happened. I wonder if he’s just going through the motions with me, but he’s sincere, and it gives me a confidence boost I sorely need.
“Thanks Russ. That means a lot to me.”
I look at the mileage marker that notes the next town. We are only a few miles from the first Clint Sanderson and hopefully the only Clint Sanderson we’ll need to talk to. I’ve rehearsed what I want to say in my head a million times, but I know it’ll come out differently once I’m there.
“We’re almost there,” I say as I turn off on a side street. The houses are nice, lined with fences, green yards – it looks perfect. “What’s the house number again?”
“Two-ten,” Rusty replies. “It’ll be on the left side.”
We reach the driveway and I edge the truck to a stop before going down it. The mailbox reads Sanderson and there are sprinklers running. It’s a very nice, modern house, and I try to imagine Dr. Clint living somewhere like this. It doesn’t fit him. I never really got to know the man, but my gut is telling me this will be our first strike.
“What’s wrong, Dad? Aren’t you going to go knock on the door?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.” I push the gas pedal in and grip the wheel tight. Even if I don’t think this is him, we’ve gotten this close. Might as well check to make sure.
Parking the truck, I leave it running for Rusty. He made it clear from the beginning that he’d rather not go up to the house with me, and I don’t force it. I’m glad that he’s followed along. To expect more would be wrong of me.
I take the steps up to the porch and take a deep breath before I push the doorbell. It is loud and echoes, and I hear a dog bark on the other side of the door. A woman answers and right off I notice how pretty she is.
“Can I help you?” She scoots the dog back with her leg – it’s a small Chihuahua that thinks he’s a German Shepherd. “Sorry about the dog.”
“It’s fine, ma’am. Listen, this is going to sound strange, but does a man named Clint live here?”
“Who is asking?” She’s immediately suspicious, and I don’t blame her. She looks over my shoulder at the truck. “Who is in your truck?”
“That’s my son. Is this Clint Sanderson’s place?”
She backs up and tries to shut the door, but I put my foot in the way, blocking it from closing all the way.
“You need to leave. I don’t know what you’re wanting. This is private property.”
“Please. I need to speak to him. He was my doctor. I’m not here to cause any problems.” By her reaction, I know this is his place, though it’s hard to believe we’ve found it on the first try.
She pushes the door harder and it’s painful against my foot, but I don’t move. I’m not going to give up that easy.
“Who is it, Marie?”
I recognize the voice. “Dr. Clint! It’s me, Nathan Gallagher.”
“It’s some weird man on our porch. I told him to leave.” She looks me straight in the eye, but Dr. Clint looks over her shoulder. “Call the cops, hon.”
“Open the door, Marie. I know this man. He’s not here to hurt us.”
She hesitates, but Dr. Clint puts his hand on the door above hers, pushing it open, alleviating the pressure on my foot. “Nathan Gallagher, how in the hell are you?”
I wave toward Rusty, giving him the okay to come in. “Brought my son along. We need your help.”
“Well come in. Let’s go back to my office.”
I still can’t believe we found him. I was expecting to have to knock on several doors before it was the right one, but for once, luck is on my side. Rusty and I follow him back, and Marie stares us down. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. We enter his office and it smells like mahogany and cigars. There are bookcases that take up the walls and he has a liquor cabinet behind his desk. He grabs a bottle and sits down, motioning for us to follow.
“Would you like a drink?” He pulls three glasses from the shelf and pours some sparkling water for Rusty. Before I even have a chance to answer, he scoots a tumbler full of the scotch toward me and I sip it. It’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted.
“Looks like you’re doing well,” I say.
“Not bad. I take it you’re here about Sunset Canyon. I’m not sure I can help, but please, tell me what is going on.”
“First off, why did you leave, if you don’t mind me asking?” It’s odd being here. I had a hard time trusting this man when I was inside, but now here I am and he’s the most important piece of this puzzle at the moment.
Dr. Clint leans forward and picks up a cigar, studying it before he sets it back down. “You were one of the biggest reasons, but not the only one.” He grabs the cigar again and offers me one, but I decline. “There were some…” Motioning his hands forward, he thinks about what he’s saying. “There were some questionable things happening there. After what happened to you, with the electroshock therapy going wrong, it made me open my eyes to some of the practices there.”
“Questionable things? Like what?” I lean forward, clasping my hands. It is playing out just like Mr. Dawson had said. This could work in my favor – I originally thought I’d have to convince Dr. Clint of the possibility of something illegal happening, but it sounds like he’s already aware of it.
Shaking his head, he lights the cigar and takes two long puffs. The smoke exits his mouth and nose and flows upward, and he takes a second to look at me again. “I think you know, Nathan. Why do you want to know? What made you want to find me?”
“More ghosts are after me to help them. I have one right now who died way back when. He’s claiming that the hospital killed him and claimed it was suicide to cover their asses. And…” I pause, looking at Rusty and back to him. I debate on how much I should tell him. After all, he once worked for Sunset Canyon. What if he finds out I ran off and aids in getting me hospitalized again? I don’t think he’s capable, but I’m still cautious of it.
“And?” He arches his eyebrow and exhales more smoke.
“And I’m sort of on the run. There’s so much I have to catch you up on. Long story short, I got pushed into a pond behind my new house and they’re saying I attempted suicide. I was literally minutes away from getting admitted when I ran for it. And I had to find you because I know you’ll vouch for me. I could use your professional reputation to get me out of hot water.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not sure how credible I am anymore.”
The second hand smoke off of the cigar stings my nostrils. I can’t read him. I’m not sure if he’s believing me or if he wants to help. “I have to help Mr. Dawson. I have to get to the root of his death so his unfinished business is settled and he can rest in peace.”
“I read about your wife in the newspaper. Saw her obituary. I’m sorry, Nathan. That has to be tough.”
His mention of my wife catches me off guard. At first I’m tempted to ignore his condolences, but that would be rude. I do appreciate it, even if it’s way off topic. “Thanks, Dr. Clint. She is missed.”
“And your son?” He points toward Rusty. “I surmise that you’re seeing the ghosts too?”
He hesitates to answer at first, but nods in agreement. “Yes sir. And they’re getting angrier as time passes. We need your help.”
“My help?” Dr. Clint puts his hand on his chest. “In clearing your dad?”
“Well, that and…” I stand up and begin to pace. I didn’t realize how hard it’d be to ask this, but now that I’m here in front of him, I’m tongue tied. “The only way I can help Mr. Dawson is exposing Sunset Canyon. And you said yourself, you left because of some corrupt practices. Will you… will you help me blow the lid off of that place?”
“How? How do you think we can go about doing it?”
Great, I’ve got his attention. Sitting down again, I look at Rusty. I know he’s not hip to this idea, but it’s the only thing I can think of. “I voluntarily go back in as a patient, but under one condition. You will agree to be my doctor. They don’t have to put you back on staff – lots of outside doctors come in and out.”
“Yeah, that part won’t be so hard, but are you sure? What if you get in over your head? Going in a second time will make it even harder to get out. Second timers usually turn into lifers, or they die.”
“That’s where you come in, Dr. Clint. I haven’t really thought of how we can get proof, but the first step is going back in. I’ll tongue my meds. While I’m in therapy with you, that’s how we’ll come up with something. I think we’ll have a better vantage point once we’re inside. I know not everyone there is behind this. But you know who they are.”
“It sounds good now, Nathan, but what if we get separated? What if they break the deal?”
“I haven’t thought about all of that.” Sitting back, I let out a sigh and fold my arms over my chest. “If you don’t want to do it, just let me know. I just, I just don’t see any other way to help Mr. Dawson. He was there back when it was Ruthardt. It goes back that far. But you confirmed my suspicion of it all still happening. Now’s your chance to help others.�
�
“Ruthardt was a bad place. So many people died for no reason.”
“And it’s happening again, Dr. Clint. And we have a chance to stop it.” I stand up again, and this time I motion for Rusty to follow. We head toward the door and I hope he doesn’t see that I’m bluffing. I don’t want to leave. I want to make some headway in this plan. Reaching for the knob, I hope he stops me.
“Wait, Nathan. Sit back down.” His hand motions toward the chair. “Before you go running back to the caseworker to get admitted, we’ve got some stuff to iron out first. We can’t go in half prepared. This has to have some foundation and some organization before I’ll ever set foot back in Sunset Canyon.”
Sitting down, I can’t help but smile. “Let’s do this.”
***
Nathan
I sit in my truck in the parking lot of the mental health authority building. Right inside are caseworkers just ready to pounce on a state hospital admission. I have to wonder if Carla is in there, or if she’s still out there, turning over rocks to find me. I know her caseload is full, so I’m probably down at the bottom of the stack since my disappearance. Rusty is in the passenger seat, looking like he’s about to puke his lunch all over the dashboard.
“Why so nervous, Russ? You’re not the one about to go back inside.”
“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m scared I’ll never see you again. I have no way of communicating with you. How am I going to know that things are going okay?”
“Because I have an ally on the inside. Dr. Clint will keep you informed. When I’m having my sessions with him, I’ll call you. This time it will be different. I’ll actually have someone on my side.”
“And what if the caseworker found out that my aunt isn’t really living there? What if they want to put me in a foster home?”
Shaking my head, I grip the steering wheel. His concerns are valid and I try to have some empathy. “I don’t think they’re going to be focused on that right now. They’re gonna be so glad that Nathan Gallagher came in for voluntary hospitalization that you’ll fall through the cracks.”
