Wayward Souls: The Sequel to Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller)

by J. R. Tate

  I arrive at Britney’s house after what seems like forever. She’s waiting for me on the porch, a long blanket draped over her shoulders as she stands to greet me in the driveway. I lean in and kiss her hard, happy to feel her warm embrace.

  “Are you okay, Rusty? You’re shaking.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for letting me come over.”

  “It’s fine, but we can’t go in. My parents don’t know you’re here and well, I didn’t even ask. There’s a swing out back. Lets go sit out there.”

  I follow her and she offers me some of the blanket as we sit on the swing. The night is clear and a hint of fall is in the air. Neither of us speaks at first – the crickets chirp and the wind rustles in the trees, and for a moment, everything seems normal. I enjoy it, even if it’s all false hope.

  “Where’s your dad?” Britney breaks the silence, and with a question I don’t want to answer, but she deserves honesty.

  “It’s a long story. He’s back at the hospital.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. He’s fine. Like I said, it’s a long story. How are you not completely freaked out by all of this?”

  She purses her lips and smiles, staring out at the yard. “Who says I’m not?”

  “I am. I guess that was the wrong way to ask it.” Pausing, I try to rephrase it. “Do you believe all of this? Or are you just playing along?” It still comes out wrong, but no way to take my question back.

  Turning to face me, she arches her eyebrow. “I’m not playing along, Rusty. I believe in a higher power. I believe that there are spirits out there. I’ve never had experiences like you claim you and your father have had, but who am I to say it could never happen? You’re the most levelheaded person I know. And your dad – I don’t take him as the type to make up stories like this. I’m here for you. For both of you.”

  She clasps her hand in mine, making me feel one hundred times better than I did just a few minutes ago. Scooting closer, she rests her head on my shoulder and I take in the smell of her hair.

  “That means a lot, Britney.”

  “I mean every word of it.”

  “Thanks for letting me come over. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone.” I’m so worried about my dad. I hope that wherever he is right now, he’s safe. Deep down I know he’s not, but maybe if I imagine it enough, my mind will at least convince me otherwise.

  ***

  Nathan

  I can tell when we get closer to the south wing. The loud sounds of people yelling, pleading, and crying make it apparent that I’m about to enter hell, as Dr. Clint put it. The stench is overwhelming, like they don’t do any type of cleaning around here. My breath catches in my lungs as Larry opens the doors, revealing several cells where people are kept. At least in the other wing where I stayed, they were rooms where we could come out into the common area and watch TV. In here, the freedom is completely taken away. It is like we are caged animals. How could they ever allow something like this? Surely the higher ups with the hospital know about the conditions.

  I stop walking, though Larry continues, and he looks over his shoulder. “Why are we stopped?” he asks, backtracking toward me.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “The south wing. This is where our violent offenders come. You know, those who pled insanity in court – this is where they are housed because they are too much of a danger to the rest of the patients.”

  “I’m not violent. I am not a criminal!” I raise my voice and it echoes. Several staff members turn to face me, and I remember what Dr. Clint told me. Low key. If I make a scene tonight, everything will be ruined.

  “It’s not just for criminals, Nathan. You are high risk. You ran from us. This isn’t your first time. So here we are.” He spreads his hands as if to showcase the place, like he’s proud of it.

  “You can’t treat people like this,” I say, and it lands me a blow to the back of the knees. I fall to the floor and it is soiled with God knows what.

  “He’s got a mouth on him!” Larry yells toward two other guys who approach me, and one kicks me in the side – a blow right to my kidney.

  “Get him up. We’ve got a bed down the way for him.”

  I want to fight back. My instincts scream at me to not allow this, but I compose myself. I have to wait for the wire. I have to wait until I can gather solid proof and take these jackasses down for good.

  They drag me like I’m a piece of garbage to what they call my room, though it resembles a jail cell. Tossing me inside, I hit the floor again with a loud thud, and pain shoots through my body. I already ache, and when I roll onto my side, Larry is gone, but the two other men are standing over me, one cracking his knuckles as he smiles.

  “Good luck getting any rest. He’s the firefighter, right?” Pointing down to me, he turns to his coworker.

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “We’ve heard a lot about you! You’re crazier than most of the people in here. We’re gonna have so much fun with you.”

  I bite my tongue. There is so much I can say to them, but I can’t. I can’t let one second of anger kill any hope for helping so many who have gone before me.

  “Oh, look at him. He doesn’t wanna talk!” The other guy chimes in, and lifts his leg to kick me. I flinch, expecting full contact, but when I open my eyes again, he hasn’t moved his leg. “He’s a bit skittish, isn’t he?”

  “He is! Don’t worry, Nathan. There’s more where that came from.”

  They toss a pair of pants and a shirt beside me. It’s the same thing I had to wear last time and the memory of it makes me quiver.

  “Strip down out of what you have on and get those put on. We don’t have all night. Or are you that crazy that you can’t even do that for yourself?” They walk farther in, going for me, but I put my hands up in defense.

  “I can do it. Don’t touch me!”

  The idea of stripping down in front of these guys isn’t appealing, but if it’ll save another physical attack on me, I’ll do it. I’ll just have to pretend that I’m in the locker room with the rest of the football team. I’ve done this before. Or hell, even at the firehouse after a call - Except I’m locked up like an animal with two strangers standing over me, capable of anything and everything.

  I kick out of my jeans and t-shirt, lying beneath them in my boxers. I expect them to tell me to take those off too, but they don’t. I put on the hospital issued uniform, thankful that the clothing is a bit loose. They gather up my personal belongings, including my watch and throw them in a plastic bag.

  “That’s a good boy!” One of them patronizes me, and I can’t wait to take him down. I’m not sure if my patience will allow it or not.

  They back out of the cell and slide it shut, both staring down at me before completely leaving me alone in my agony. Every time I take a deep breath in, a sharp pain courses down my side and I can’t catch my breath. Dr. Clint was right – this is hell.

  I crawl to the bed and climb onto it. I’m in so much pain that it feels like I’m trying to get to the top of a mountain. When I lay back, the smell from the sheets is the first clue that the bed linens haven’t been changed in a long time. At least the mattress is somewhat soft. With the way they act in here, I’m shocked a bed is even offered. I still can’t believe that they’re getting away with a section of the hospital like this. How can this go under the radar? Even if there are violent offenders here, they’d get better treatment in prison.

  Rolling on my side, I face the wall. I’m not even sure what time it is. There is a drip from a faucet coming from far off, but it’s like there is a microphone on it. With each drop, my frustration grows. It quickly is muted by the yells and screams of people in cells near me. The same painful cries for help that I heard as we approached the wing. Even with the small shred of hope I have, I still feel like there is no way out of this. I can’t and don’t want to imagine what these other people are feeling, with no plan of escape, and no way of knowing when or if they’ll e
ver get to leave. Even with Dr. Clint helping me, I still question the fact that I may never see the outside of these walls again.

  As anticipated, a nurse comes around, announcing that it is medication time. Since we are considered violent, she hands it through a slot in the bars in a small cup, along with a glass of water. I grab both and she watches, wanting to make sure that I take whatever pills they have for me. There are four pills total – more than what they had me on before. I should question what it is, but low key echoes inside my skull. Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow when it’s time to make waves in this hellhole.

  “Go on now. Take them all.” She nods toward me.

  I pour the horse pills in my mouth and gulp some water, cheeking the pills as best as I can. With the size of them, it’s impossible to act like I’ve swallowed them, but I stick my tongue out as best as I can, and she seems satisfied. I guess it’s luck working for me again, or maybe the fact that she’s busy and doesn’t have time to really care.

  Turning toward the bed, I spit them out in my hand. I wish I knew more about this stuff – just looking at the medications doesn’t really tell me what they are. One is definitely a sleeping pill, but the other three could be anything. I slip them between my mattress and pillow and lay down again. I’m exhausted. If I could just sleep, this night would go by fast. But sleep fails me. Instead I’m left here, listening to the agonizing screams from people right by me. I wonder what they are seeing. I wonder how many of them are in my situation - chosen ones with a gift to help those on the other side. If so, I’m sure they are in agreement that this is no gift. It’s a damn curse that I wish would go away forever.

  I roll over on my back and look up at the ceiling. Something grabs my arm, pulling me from my daydream and I gasp, falling to the floor yet again. Maybe I should just stay down here. It’d be easier on my body. Looking around, I see Mr. Dawson.

  “Mr. Dawson?” To hell with people hearing me talk. I’m not the only one around here doing it. Might as well justify their speculation about me.

  “You’re really taking a risk being here, Nathan.”

  “I’m doing this for you. Can’t you see that?” I shouldn’t be angry with him, but I’m pissed, and I have to direct it somewhere.

  “Not just for me.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but I’m not sure what the hell to think. What if I never leave here, Mr. Dawson? What if this doesn’t work?”

  “There are too many what if’s in that sentence, Nathan.” He walks closer to me and sits down beside me, his translucent image becoming more opaque. “I do appreciate this. This place has improved since I was murdered here.” He looks around the cell.

  “Improved? I can only imagine if this is an improvement.”

  “You hear that man crying next to you?” Mr. Dawson asks, standing up again.

  “Yeah. Since I got here.”

  “He shouldn’t be here either. He’s not crazy. So you are going to save him too, Nathan.”

  “I’m scared I’ll never get to leave here again.”

  Glancing at me over his shoulder, Mr. Dawson smiles. It’s the most peaceful expression I’ve seen him give, and in the midst of this, it is comforting. “You will, Nathan. This will work.”

  He begins to fade, and I don’t beg him to stay. I watch him as he leaves and crawl back up onto the bed again, my body begging me to rest. A light flashes into my cell and it’s so bright that I can’t tell who it is.

  “Nathan Gallagher, why are you not asleep?”

  I don’t answer whoever it is and turn and face the wall again. There is no law saying I have to talk to them.

  “He must’ve been on something when they brought him in. His tolerance level has gotta be high if he isn’t even responding to that sleeping pill we gave him. It’s enough to take down a damn elephant.”

  The person talks to someone else and I can’t help but smile. Score one for me. But I am tired and I have to sleep if I want to be levelheaded in the morning. My eyelids do feel heavy, and I embrace it. How strange that sleep is hitting me right now, but I guess I need it. My body relaxes and everything around me goes dark.

  “Nathan! Nathan Gallagher!”

  A loud thump hits my cell bars, pulling me awake. If I was in pain last night, the discomfort I’m feeling now is exponentially higher. Sitting up, I wipe the sleep from my eyes and stretch, immediately regretting the movement. When I finally fully awake, I see one of the guys from yesterday who had fun using me as a punching bag.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You have an eight AM session with your doctor.”

  Did I really sleep the entire night away? I do feel a little rested, though I’m sure I could use more sleep. Standing, I fight the vertigo. They did a number on me yesterday, and there’s more to come. My nerves are on edge. Maybe, if things go to plan, I can be home by tomorrow. I have to have some shred of hope.

  He unlocks the door and grins, and I want to hit him. Balling my fists, I resist.

  “I see those pills finally kicked in. Now you’re off to see Dr. Sanderson. Another damn quack if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” I say, expecting to be hit for it, but he doesn’t. When I see Dr. Clint down the hallway, it makes sense why he doesn’t.

  Dr. Clint approaches me, smiling. “Ready for your session?”

  “I am.” I don’t make eye contact. I don’t want to give anything away. Body language speaks volumes, and I’m sure everyone is watching me like a hawk.

  “I’ve got him from here. You can stand down,” Dr. Clint says to the guy.

  “You sure? We can have him escorted, just in case.”

  “I’m sure, now stand down. This is a patient, not a convict.” His voice is firm and I smile on the inside.

  He guides me down the hallway and out of the south wing, and already, the pungent smell fades, though I’m sure it is engrained in my nostrils forever. We don’t speak, which is for the best. There are too many people around, so I play the drugged up patient role, and he plays the doctor taking me away for therapy role, each of us doing a fine job. I feel like no one is onto us, though I’m still paranoid that everyone knows our plan and they are just waiting to jump out and ruin it all.

  We are put in the same office as yesterday and Dr. Clint breaks the silence first. “How was your first night?”

  “Just peachy, Dr. Clint. Room service this morning, a steak dinner before bed last night. I think I’ll make reservations again.”

  “Why, aren’t we sarcastic this morning?”

  I pace and throw my hand in the air. My side is hurting worse and I worry about internal damage. “How the hell do you think it went? I said one thing out of place and now I feel like my damn kidney is going to fall right out of me.”

  “In that case, we need to move fast.” He pulls out a small, black, rectangular box and clicks it on. “Here’s the key to everything.”

  “A button spy camera?” I ask, pointing at it. “How’s it work?” I point at it, getting closer. Dr. Clint points it at me, and my face flashes on a portable screen that looks a lot like a small DVD player.

  “It clips underneath your shirt, right where your buttons are. Blends right in. No one will ever know it is there.”

  I take it from him and study it. It’s light weight and there is an on and off button. “How will I have a chance to turn this on to record? I can’t tell them to stop and then reach in my shirt.”

  “That’s why you’ll have it running as soon as you leave here.”

  “What kind of battery life does it have on it?” I continue to mess with it, like it is a toy.

  “It’s good for a couple of days. Since you come in for daily sessions with me, we can charge it up while I rotate them. I have two for that very reason. You know, just in case something doesn’t happen tonight.”

  I glare at him. “It better. I can’t take much more of this and I haven’t even been here twenty four hours.”

  “You’re a better man than me, Nathan. It’s gotta be prett
y scary, being a sane man behind those doors.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You need to go to the infirmary to have your side checked? You look like you’re in some pretty bad pain.”

  “No. That’ll just hold us up. But there is one thing I need to do before I leave this office.”

  “Anything, Nathan.”

  “I need to call Rusty. I promised him I’d keep him updated.”

  Dr. Clint extends his cell phone to me and I give him the camera back. I’m not ready to be hooked up to it yet. While I know it is going to be the one saving grace inside of here, it is still unnerving to wear something like that. What if they find it? What will happen then? I’ll be a dead man for sure.

  I dial Rusty’s number and sit on the couch, trying hard to ignore the dull ache in my side. I wouldn’t be shocked if I start pissing blood. The line rings a few times and I wonder if he’s still asleep. It is early for him.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey Russ, it’s Dad. I was worried you wouldn’t answer since you probably don’t recognize this number.”

  “I’m answering everything. I don’t want to miss a call from you. So, how… how is it?”

  I almost tell him the complete truth, but I hold back. He doesn’t need to know what wing I’m in and how they’re treating me. Instead, I try to sugar coat it as best as I can.

  “Everything is pretty calm right now. Dr. Clint has this small spy camera he’s going to give me. It’s like something you’d see on a James Bond movie or something.”

  “You think you’ll get to come home soon?”

  I heave a deep sigh, wincing. I glance over at Dr. Clint, who is checking the camera. Flashing it across the room, the picture seems clear. It’ll be good enough to capture anyone I’m facing.

  “Hard to say, Russ. I’m not sure when something will happen. It’s all about timing.” Again, I don’t mention that I’ll be the one antagonizing the staff to get a rise out of them. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “How’s everything at home?”

  “Lonely. Eerie. Hershel stopped by last night. Was asking all sorts of questions. Said some cops came by and asked about you. I went over to Britney’s for most of the night. But I’m back home now. Wanted to make sure everything was okay here.”