The Remington James Box Set
Page 56
Am I cured? If I don’t have one now, I’d say I’m well on my way.
Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he checks for signal again. None.
Replacing it, he continues toward the door and the small splash of light on the floor coming from beneath it.
—Daniel Davis, Florida Department of Law Enforcement. Identify yourself and come out with your hands up.
Edging closer.
—Is anyone there? Dr. David? Are you in there?
He reaches the door and finds that it’s not quite closed all the way.
With his back to the wall just left of the jam, he pushes the door open with his foot, pauses a moment, then looks inside.
Desk.
Chairs.
Bookshelves.
Couch.
Stacks.
Folders.
Files.
Papers.
Documents.
Empty.
Unless someone is hiding under the desk or inside the closet, the office is empty. Slowly moving inside, he checks those two places first. No one.
Switching off his flashlight and placing it on the desk, he begins to look around, flipping through the file folders and stacks of papers.
The documents and journals confirm what the pictures on the wall and desk suggest—this is Dr. David’s office, and from what Daniel can tell, it appears to have most of his research, notes, and writings from over the years.
This paragraph, written early in his career, seems to most embody the empathy David feels for himself and people who drink from his cup.
The separated twin, particularly if sole surviving, spends his or her life with the very real sense that something is missing. He or she has a heightened awareness, agonizing in its acuteness, of loss, of aloneness, but most of all of separation. This feeling, not uncommon to all humans, of disconnect and isolation, the very hallmarks of what it means to be human, is experienced exponentially by a conjoined twin who has been separated from his or her sibling.
Faster now.
He scans the documents, combs the journals for insights into the man, and searches for any mention of Taylor and Trevor, Shelby and Savannah.
The more he reads, the more the picture comes into focus, the more disturbed he becomes.
—Oh God. No, he says, his words the only sounds in the vacuous silence.
The portrait painted by the papers of Dr. D. Kelly David is that of a decent man descending into madness, a crusader becoming increasingly obsessive and demented and ultimately dangerous.
During the Holocaust, Dr. Josef Mengele subjected some three thousand twins to cruel and horrific medical experiments. Only one hundred and sixty survived. Dr. D. Kelly David had very different motives, and would no doubt violently reject any comparisons to the Auschwitz Angel of Death, but the similarities are sickening—particularly in the way he desecrated the bodies of the conjoined twins sacrificed so their brother or sister could survive.
Perhaps the comparison is unfair. Mengele was a monster running a butcher shop, exercising his power and control, performing torture more than serious medical research—attaching one twin’s eyes to the back of the other’s head, amputating limbs, chemically changing eye color, even sewing the bodies of two twins together to create his own conjoined twins. David has done nothing like that, but he’s on the same self-serving and sadistic spectrum.
Reaching for his phone to call Sam, he sees he still has no service. He moves over to the window in an attempt to find signal, holding the device up, trying different positions. Just as he sees a slight flicker as if he might have actually found some, the light in the office goes out and everything drops to black save the small, dim backlit screen of his phone.
76
I could be walking further inland. I could be walking straight toward him. Hell, I could be walking in circles.
Why can’t I get out? Goddamn it! What am I doing wrong? Where the fuck am I? Where am I headed? I should be able to figure this out. I can do this.
No you can’t.
I can. I can do this. Just need to figure out . . .
I can’t do this. I told you. My head’s gonna explode just like the old man in the boat.
—Hey neighbor.
I’m going crazy. Can’t think. Can’t do . . . anything.
She starts to cry again. Stop it! Now! Concentrate on what you’re doing.
She’s easing down a slope in a lush, leafed-out hardwood forest, feeling her way between beech, live and laurel oak, loblolly and spruce pines, maple, elm, ash, myrtle, and sweetgum, attempting to move quickly and quietly, her bare feet hurting so badly every gentle step is painful.
Dark magnolia leaves and reddish fruit join puffballs and witches’ butter fungus on the forest floor. Above, mixed in among the tall magnolia, beech trees with light green leaves spread horizontally to catch the sun, giving the canopy a layered look.
Should I just curl back up and go to sleep? Wait for him to trip over me or the storm to drop a tree on top of me?
Where the hell is the river?
Pause. Take a deep breath. Think. Make your mind slow down and just go through it. Just like Kerry would.
She does.
When I was at Dad’s camp, the river was east of me, but without knowing if he carried me upriver or down, there’s no way to know which direction it is now. When I got out of the boat, it was on the left side. If we were headed downriver, then I’ve been heading east and the river is behind me to the west. But if we were heading upriver, then I’ve been heading west and the river is behind me to the east.
Think.
If we were heading upriver and I got out to the west, I would’ve run into signs of civilization by now—a dirt road or logging trails at least. Instead, I’ve gone deeper and deeper into the swamps. So wait for sunrise. See which way is east. Go the opposite. Piece of cake.
Should I hide ’til sunrise? Is that smart or just what I want to do?
She thinks of Julian, of their baby inside her, and she wants nothing so much in the world as to see him again, to be held by him, to make love with him again. And again. And again.
––I know how hard this is, Remington says, suddenly standing before her again. Believe me I know. But you’re doing great. Don’t be so hard on yourself.
––Where’d you go? she asks.
––Nowhere. I haven’t left you. I’ve been right here the entire time.
––This is so . . . Whether I’m completely crazy or this is really happening, I wonder why I only see you some of the time.
He shrugs.
––Can’t explain the inexplicable, he says. Why try? I’ve got a few ideas, but doesn’t really matter, does it?
––Guess not. I just like seeing you, talking to you. I feel so alone the other times.
He nods, his expression making it obvious that he understands.
––Did you talk to anyone when you were lost out here? she asks.
He smiles and nods.
––Myself, my dad, my mom, my girl.
––Heather, she says. I met her at the opening they had for your exhibit Last Night in the Woods.
––I know, he says, nodding.
––How?
––I was there.
––How?
––’Cause I had to be.
––I love the message you left for her. It’s written in the book. I’ve read it so many times I’ve memorized it. ‘Dear sweet Heather, I’m so sorry for everything. You were right. I was wrong—about virtually everything, but especially how I had gotten off my path. See my message to Mom about that. If I get through the night, it will be because of you. I can’t stop thinking of you. I love you so much. Everything about you. Everything. You’ve been with me tonight in ways you can’t imagine. I’m reliving our all-too-brief time together. I took some extraordinary shots tonight, but my favorite photographs will always be the ones I took of you, my lovely, sweet, good, beautiful girl. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband. You de
served me to be. Don’t mourn for me long. Find someone who will be as good to you as you deserve. I finally love you like you should be, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you in person. Just know my final thoughts will be of you.’
When she finishes, he is crying.
––She didn’t, you know, Shelby says.
––Sorry? he says, wiping his eyes.
––You told her to find someone who would be as good to her as she deserves.
––Yes, I did. And I meant it.
––She didn’t. She hasn’t found anyone. I don’t think she’s looking.
––Can’t say that makes me sad, he says with a small smile.
77
—I can’t hypnotize you, Marc says.
—I can hypnotize myself, Taylor says. Do it all the time, but I’m a little fried so I need some help. Also need you to guide me. Ask me the right questions.
—Okay. Whatta you need?
—Quiet place. Comfortable chair.
—Got plenty of that.
He follows her over to the couch, where she sits down on the center cushion.
—With no interruptions. You take both phones and turn them to vibrate. Try not to let anything disturb me for at least half an hour. I’m so sleepy, it should be even easier to go into a trance. Before going under, I’m gonna ask myself over and over where’s Shelby. Where’s Shelby? But when I’m under, I need you to keep asking me. Make sure I focus on connecting to her and finding out where she is.
He nods.
—I’ve got to relax. Let all stress out of my body. Breathe in peace, breathe out anxiety. Go down deep and find Shelby. Breathe in relaxation, breathe out any blockage. I’m descending a flight of stairs. Going down to find Shelby. There are ten stairs. When I reach the fifth, I’ll be entering clear, cool, clean water. It’ll be very refreshing and I’ll go all the way under. Deep, deep down. Then I won’t feel anything. Just be floating. I’m gonna picture each number in my mind. Descend slowly. You walk me through it.
—Okay, he says. You’re on the tenth step. Are you relaxed? Do you—
—Just tell me I’m relaxed. You lead me. I’ll follow. Just like the bedroom. Be my top. I’ll be your highly suggestible bottom.
—You’re on the tenth step and you’re very, very relaxed, he says. You feel good. You’re excited about seeing Shelby, about finding her. Okay. Take a step down. You’re on the ninth rung and you’re even more relaxed.
He takes her slowly down the steps, into the water and a heightened state of focused concentration.
—Shelby’s out there. She wants you to know where she is, to find her. Be open to her. Listen to her. She’s calling to you. Reaching out. Where is Shelby? Where is she?
Watching her, he’s overcome by how surreal this is, how absurd, and he has a difficult time not laughing. Maybe she really is as under as she seems, but she looks no different than an actor pretending to be hypnotized.
—So tired, she says. Poor baby. Her feet are all cut up.
Her eyes are moving rapidly behind her closed lids, and her face shows the pain and distress of what she’s feeling.
—She’s not running anymore. Trees. Lots of trees. Lots of different kinds. Her poor little body. She only has a thin shirt and shorts. Lost her shoes. She’s so lonely, so scared, so sad.
She raises her head up, then moves it all around as if looking, though her eyes remain closed.
—Where is this, baby? Where are we?
Her face falls again, her brow furrowing.
—She doesn’t know. She’s lost. She can’t tell me.
—Where is she? he asks. Where is Shelby?
—She doesn’t know. Somewhere . . . in the river swamps.
That doesn’t narrow it down much, but if she’s right it gives them a place to start.
78
Arrival.
Christine announces her imminent landfall with a burst of hot, humid air—thick and acrid—like the hopelessness and decay of a dying old man’s last breath.
Outer bands.
Rain.
Wind.
Gusts.
The tip of the storm touches Tupelo and the surrounding area with spits of rain, howls of wind, and another balmy drop in barometric pressure.
79
Daniel drops to the floor, sliding away from the window as the first raindrops begin to pelt it, then backs toward the desk, using his phone for light.
Adrenaline spike.
Hyperawareness. Alertness.
Is it the deranged doctor? Is he armed?
—My name is Daniel Davis. I’m with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, he yells. Backup is on the way. Identify yourself and turn the light back on. Dr. David?
He reaches up and feels around the desk for his flashlight.
Finding it, he grabs it, rolls to his right, stands with his back to the corner and turns it on.
Fuck!
So scared.
Breathe!
He shines the light all around the room. No one is there.
Did the light just go out on its own? Lose electricity? Bulb burn out?
His heart is pounding so forcefully, the blood rushing through his ears sounds like a train thundering down tracks inside a tunnel.
Slow your breathing. Get it together.
He’s about to slide over, check the other side of the desk, try to turn on the light, and close and lock the door, when he hears a loud cranking sound.
Like a record being played at the wrong speed, he hears a slow-growing whir and whine as lights fade up and tinny, poorly produced piped-in instrumental music begins to come from built-in speakers all over the hospital, echoing down the hallways.
The dim lights and distorted, dissonant music make the old mansion/inn/hospital feel like a haunted asylum from a midnight movie at an ancient drive-in theater.
He checks his phone again. No signal.
With his back to the bookcase-covered wall behind him, he edges around the desk, then, finding no one there, over to the door.
Holding the flashlight like a club, he quickly glances through the door, down the hallway.
It looks even more disturbing in the sickly illumination of the few flickering fluorescents. There’s more trash and equipment than he was able to see with just the small beam of his flashlight, but no one is present among the mess.
Closing and locking the door, he slides a chair over and jams it beneath the knob, then scours the office for anything he can use as a weapon, holding his phone up and trying to call Sam as he does.
80
—I’m going, Taylor says. With or without you.
She has come out of her trance frustrated, agitated, angry, convinced if she goes downriver, gets near the swamp, she’ll be able to pick up on where Shelby is.
—How? Marc asks.
—Julian will take me. He knows his way around.
—The storm’s almost here.
—Then I have to hurry.
—This is insane.
—I can find her. I know it.
—But—
—Goddamn it, Marc. My baby’s out there. I’ve got to try. She’s gonna be in the storm. You sayin’ we can’t be? I need your help. I shouldn’t have to beg.
—Okay, but let me tell Keith what we’re doing.
—Fine.
81
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Wake up. Time to die.
She wakes to the feel of raindrops falling on her face.
Gonna die today, she thinks.
Why do I think that? What did I dream? I mean, I’ve thought that all along, but it seems so certain now, so . . . inevitable. What movie is that line from? Wake up. Time to die. Two men. Rooftop in the rain.
Blinking.
Yawning.
Stretching.
So exhausted.
So sore.
So sad.
Doesn’t want to move.
Get up. Now. Go.
False dawn.
Rain.
In the distance, the rain in the spaces between the pine trees looks like lingering fog. Trapped willowy wisps. Beautiful.
It’s still too early and hazy to decipher which way is east, but she slowly spins around, searching the horizon for the brightest glow. She determines the spot and begins to stumble toward it, wondering why she’s so certain this is the day of her death, and what line the movie is from. ‘Wake up. Time to die.’ Rooftop in the rain. Come on. What is it? Where’s Remington? Wonder if he knows.
82
Gun.
Loaded.
Finding the weapon in the top left hand desk drawer fills Daniel with more dread than relief. What’s a loaded .38 doing in a hospital?
Should I be more afraid than what I am? Is that possible?
The arc of D. Kelly David’s personality portrayed in the files and journals from advocate and twin crusader to obsessed, knife-happy surgeon and reckless experimenter to demented, deteriorating demon-god doctor explains the gun’s presence, but does he have it for aggression or protection? Is he out there in the echoing corridors of this arcane asylum, or is what he’s afraid of-- what motivates him to have a gun-- what’s out there?
Checking his phone again, and again finding he has no signal, he takes the gun and flashlight and ventures out in search of cell coverage, wondering what awaits him on the other side of the door.
Nothing.
As before, no one is directly on the other side of the door.
He slowly shuffles down the hallway, aware each door holds a potential threat, looking over his shoulder often, pressing his back to the wall.
In some ways, it resembles a hotel more than a hospital—there is no nurses’ station, at least on this level—but in others, the tile floor and equipment, it’s far more like a hospital.
He makes it to the stairwell, breathes a bit easier, and starts down.