ELIJAH: A Suspense Novel

by Frank Redman

  Upon announcing his name, the goon, goon leader, and evil orderlies all bowed.

  Seriously.

  I did not hide my disgust.

  The fat man, or Lynch, suddenly grabbed my jaw in his right hand across his body. He struck so fast and unexpectedly I didn’t even have time to flinch. His grip was unbelievably strong.

  I put my hands on his wrist to push his arm away, but Hecter swiftly struck both wrists with a metal cosh, right on top of the radius.

  “OWWGHT!” Holy crap that hurt! Sharp pain shot up both arms to my shoulders. I jerked my arms back to my chest to protect them. My fingers numbed and didn’t want to move. I couldn’t tell if my wrists were broken.

  Lynch continued to squeeze the sides of my face, putting tremendous pressure on my jaw. My cheeks pressed against my teeth and my lips pushed out. I tasted blood. His grip a vise. I tested moving my head, he only squeezed harder. Instinct told me to fight back, but I was powerless to do anything. I couldn’t move my head, I couldn’t feel my hands, and the only thing I could kick was the wheel of his chair.

  He forced my head to the left and right, as if appraising me. “A fine specimen, little duck. A fine specimen indeed.” He released me and rolled back behind his desk.

  Hecter sat back in his chair. The orderlies had left. The Goon was smiling at me. I think he just got a joke he heard yesterday.

  A person’s normal reaction to pain is to rub the offended body part, but my fingers were still numb. Red knots grew on top of each wrist.

  Pain—severe pain—had been a frequent companion of mine. That certainly didn’t mean I sought its companionship, but with relationship came knowledge. Just like knowing how a friend will react to you.

  I pushed back the throbbing in my wrists and face, focusing on each part individually at first, then mentally I grouped the separate pains, shoved them into a room in my mind and shut the door, fighting against it as a separate entity, a foreign substance in my body.

  Allister had a cosh, a weighted lead ball at the end of a leather baton. He thought it was cool. Hecter could have easily cracked my skull if he’d hit my head instead. They were a popular weapon of choice for Nazi Germany Gestapo.

  When in some years of your life pain is a daily, inevitable yet unwelcome visitor, you either learn to deal with it or you accept the suffering. I refuse to accept suffering.

  This is, of course, nothing but a mind trick, a charlatan’s bogus con to make pain go away. In truth, it doesn’t leave. The pain is still there. The suffering is, at times, constant. But I’m not going to let myself believe that.

  I forced my fingers to move, slowly tightening my hand to a fist, then releasing. I clenched my jaw and then opened slightly, sliding side to side.

  I did not then rub my face. I did not want to give Lynch the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.

  Some people would say that’s being passive aggressive. I prefer passive defiance.

  Aggressive defiance would come later. I hoped.

  Lynch’s eyes looked upon me, appraising. I do not know how I scored, nor did I know the scoring system. I’m sure my cheeks were red. I could still taste blood in my mouth, but my tongue didn’t find it on my lips. Good.

  After a few moments of scrutiny, he nodded. Then he poured a brown liquid out of a crystal decanter into two crystal goblets. It looked like tea. He pushed one of the goblets across the desk to me.

  I glanced at the offering and then ignored it.

  He smiled and said, “Oh, come now, Mr. Raven.” He took a sip from his goblet. “You act as if it is poison. If I wanted to kill you…” He opened a drawer and removed a gun, “I would simply…” He cocked the hammer, aimed for my head, “Shoot,” and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I’m still alive.

  I flinched hard enough to make the wingback chair stand on its back legs. The force of the bullet just over my right shoulder helped.

  Lynch thought my reaction was funny, he was busy laughing.

  I attempted to discover if I sat in a warm puddle, without actually using my hand to detect moisture. It’s trickier than you might think.

  Lynch finished laughing, then grasped the goblet nearest him, lifted in a toast and took another sip.

  This time, I did try to hide my disgust because I had a sudden idea. If I could somehow win his favor, I might be extended certain privileges. With privileges might come opportunities, opportunities might lead to escape.

  Again, without Jedi skills, or even a handy dandy lightsaber, I was no match for these people. Taking them on would be pure, unadulterated stupidity.

  I didn’t pretend that I could rescue everyone, however many kids that might be. But if I could get away, I could bring back help. Maybe Ray and Jenny were already doing that. Or, maybe they were trapped like me.

  Maybe they were dead.

  Only Boris stood. The rest of us sat. Hecter was over my right shoulder about ten feet away.

  Lynch snapped his fingers, and then Hecter brought over a tray of food that had been on the table next to him, setting the tray on Lynch’s desk. Lynch appeared to sniff at the items presented before him. I couldn’t hear a sniffing noise, but his nostrils danced and his head bobbed slightly. He smiled.

  Little cakes, crackers, scones, and tarts were displayed in arcs across the tray. There were four different spreads, each with its own elegant knife.

  Lynch looked at me, seemed to make a decision about something and then nodded. He pointed at the tray with his right index finger and moved it around as if it were a divining rod. The finger settled on a scone. He nimbly plucked the treat with his fat fingers, then spread clotted cream with the flare of an artist. He placed the scone on a saucer and pushed it across the desk to me. “Enjoy, Mr. Raven. I’m sure you will find the scone delightful. You will be rapt with pleasure.”

  I looked at him and blinked. Psycho.

  He prepared a scone for himself and ate the thing in three bites before I could take my first. And he didn’t make a single crumb. He dabbed at his mouth with a velvet napkin that appeared out of nowhere, though there was nothing on his mouth. Neat freak psycho.

  I took a bite of mine, smearing some of the cream on my upper lip, and watched two crumbs fall in my lap. My jaw still hurt, but I pushed through it. Lynch was right, it was really good. I don’t know about the rapt pleasure part, but it was indeed delightful.

  Lynch said, “You like?”

  I nodded yes after a second bite, and felt another crumb brush my chin. Despite myself, I really enjoyed the scone and cream. I wondered if the cream contained some form of mood elevating drug.

  Lynch smiled, pleased. He said, “This is but a simple pleasure, and yet, still a pleasure. But consider this: I can give you a lasting pleasure, one that will be constant, one that will remain, one that will not ebb.” He looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  The scone no longer tasted good. I didn’t know what Lynch was getting at, but I was certain I would not find it delightful.

  He continued, “As in with the taste of this treat, you have had but just a taste of how I can make you feel. Do you recall how happy you were in your room? It was the greatest place on Earth, yes? Even though you were locked in a confined space, no windows, nothing to do, nothing to entertain you, monotony day in and day out. You loved it!”

  Wait, day in and day out? “Um, how many days have I been here?”

  Lynch once again found humor in my reaction. He reminded me of Santa Claus, but there was nothing jolly in the laugh. It was empty of mirth. Lifeless. “You have been here for five days, my new friend.”

  Five days! How could I have been there for five days? Five days. I sank back into the chair. Then the questions pounced: Why hadn’t Ray and Jenny gotten me out of here? What happened to them? Or the rest of the Network?

  I was hesitant to ask Lynch about them. But surely he had to know I wasn’t the only one that came here. “Where are the two people that were with me?”

  Lync
h picked up a tart, it looked to be raspberry, sniffed, and then bit it in half. He chewed slowly with his eyes closed. He did the same with the other half. After a long time, five or six times longer than it would normally take to eat the tart, he inhaled deeply and exhaled. “Life is short, Elijah—may I call you Elijah? Things must be enjoyed while you are able to enjoy them. As you can see, I enjoy food.” He waved his hands presenting his immense torso followed by another mirthless laugh.

  “But food is not my sole enjoyment. No, no, no.” He seemed to purr as he said the words slowly, lasciviously. “I take pleasure in slaves. In boys and girls, young men, women.” He licked his lips. “And they take pleasure in me.” He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back, reliving some sick memory. “Yessss.”

  The clotted cream rose in my throat, mixed with the bitter, acidic taste of bile.

  He opened his eyes, returning to the present. “Yet, I believe I have not answered your question. Your friends: Ray Sanders and Jenny Meredith. They are here, do not worry. Unchanged. At least for now. I do not know what I’m going to do with Mr. Sanders. He is of no use to me. But Miss Meredith, I have great plans for her, magnificent plans. A delightful creature, yes, yes.” He wiped his mouth with the velvet napkin.

  I was at a loss for words. Rage, anger, shock, helplessness, fear, all fought to dominate my mind.

  Lynched looked at the expression on my face and abruptly broke into laughter.

  That gave me time to try and create order in my head. I needed information. I was only feeding Lynch what he wanted by asking questions. He owned the game, the chess board, and all of the pieces save one: me, a pawn. I had no choice. I had to play his game. “Where are we?”

  He smiled. “We are in a private psychiatric hospital in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.”

  I caught the shock too late, giving Lynch another opportunity to delight in my expression.

  He said, “It is easy to move someone when they are heavily sedated. We transported you, and others, here in specially prepared moving vans. You were clueless. Just think of the experiments I can perform on you while under general anesthesia. I can probe, cut, make changes in your brain, remove a kidney. I can amputate a leg. You have no control. You have no knowledge of what’s happening to you. Nor do you have any… cares… That is the extreme power of mind manipulating medication. And that’s just anesthesia.

  “I can make you sleep for years. I can make you sad. I can make you jump for joy every time you see me. I can make you claw out your own eyes. I can make you kneel before me. I can make you worship me. I. Am. God.”

  Hecter and the Goon both bowed deeply.

  Lynch gestured to both of them with a hand, as if I hadn’t seen what just happened. He repeated, “I. Am. God.”

  They both bowed again.

  I had never seen anything like this in real life. Movies could not accurately portray the pure creepiness of this scene. Nor could a movie do any justice in representing the pure wickedness that was Lynch. The man was a monstrous predator of complete corruption. And a megalomaniac to an infinite degree. He seemed to be too aware of the immediate reality to be insane, but maybe he was just highly capable of hiding his insanity.

  Lynch held up a syringe. “And this is all I need. I can make you dream, fantasize. I can make those fantasies come true. Delightfully so with no hesitation, no inhibitions. I can remove your every care, your every concern. I can make all of your fears go away. Total bliss, Elijah. Total bliss. Heaven.”

  “That is not Heaven. That is Hell. No!”

  Hecter stood.

  I glanced at him, fearing another strike from the cosh. I tried to regain my composure.

  Lynch waved Hecter back. “Now now, little duck, you can choose to be calm. Or I can calm you.” He waited for me to relax, then said, “Good. Choice is a funny thing, is it not? I offer you a choice, yet regardless of your choice, I get what I want.

  “Nevertheless, you should take advantage of your freedom to choose. These moments, will be going away soon. I want to talk to you while you still have the intellect to understand me. A pity, but this opportunity does not present itself to me as often as I would like.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lynch ignored me. “Back to your previous question, we are in a private psychiatric hospital used for testing emotional rehabilitation and drug therapy. We have tremendous success with children and early adults. There is a high demand, but we have sources for keeping a strong supply of test subjects, some of which are funded by your tax dollars. They are always happy. When, on the rare occasion, our methods are investigated, the patients talk about how happy they are. They have been programed with answers to all of the questions. We keep certain officials happy with treats. It is a wonderful scenario for everyone involved.”

  I said, “By treats, you mean the subjects—these kids and adults—are used as sex toys.”

  Lynch laughed. “That is exactly what I mean! It is a real life fantasy! Everyone is happy! And it is big business, oh yes.” Lynch tapped his fingertips together, as if clapping with only his fingertips, smiling. “The income is reinvested into the program. You do not understand, this institution requires a substantial amount of capital.”

  “You are a monster.” I spat the word monster. Special privileges be damned.

  “Indeed,” Lynch replied, still smiling. “I. Am. God.”

  The others bowed.

  The way he kept saying the phrase like that and the reactions of Hecter and Goon had to be some sort of program. Monster wasn’t a strong enough term for Lynch. I had seen a lot of evil in my life. Allister was downright demonic. But his capacity for evil paled in comparison to this monster. Lynch was Evil, capital E, on a grand scale. Allister was abusive, even a murderer, but as far as I knew, only malevolent to his family. A family flu.

  Lynch was a plague.

  I had no way of knowing how far reaching his infection spread. All of these test subjects, or kids, and probably even the adults, had been altered. They were no longer themselves, programmed to do whatever Lynch commanded.

  Not just intrinsic aspects like losing their virginity, dignity, or control of their bodies. Although those things are huge, they did not make a person who he or she is. The very essence that makes them, them, had been taken away. The intimate elements that make us unique: thoughts, emotions, desires… free will.

  The things that make us human, created in the image of the real God.

  All stolen by Lynch.

  He was right. He was a god with a forced following that literally worshipped him.

  And I knew it.

  “You’re telling me all of this because you want to glory in your kingdom. How can you have full glory when no one knows about your conquests?”

  “You are sharp, little duck. Yes, yes, go on, go on.”

  “You’re telling me because you have no fear. That’s what you meant by my freedom of choice, or more accurately, my freedom to live, going away soon.” It hit me like another strike from the cosh. “You’ve disclosed everything to me only because you know my mind will be programmed to provide no resistance. I will be altered in such a way that I will have no acknowledgement of what was really going on. And I’ll be happy about it.”

  Lynch sat straight and clapped. “Right you are! Bravo! Bravo!”

  That’s why the naked girl was smiling even though she had blood on her. She wasn’t actually happy.

  She was no longer human.

  I felt sick.

  Lynch ate another tart. “A treat?”

  I swallowed bile.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lynch said, “Surely you have more questions. You are a bright little duck. Intelligence begets curiosity.” He gave me that expectant look again.

  I stared at him. I wanted to pour on the hate and tell him how disgusted he made me. Though it would get me nowhere, and probably what he expected. He would find pleasure in my disgust, remembering my emotions during my pre-altered state, reveling lat
er when I was “happy” while used as someone’s treat.

  I had no doubt this scene was being recorded. He would watch it ad nauseam.

  Lynch still waited for me to talk, to ask questions.

  I did need information, but I didn’t see how I would ever be in a position to do anything about it. Regardless, I knew he would voluntarily tell me more. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted glory.

  The wait was brief.

  “Really, little duck, this is more fun if you ask questions. But I am undeterred!” He looked at his watch. “Oh, how time flies... It is lunch!” He pressed a button on a raised panel.

  One of the orderlies entered through the double French doors carrying a small leather portfolio and approached Lynch. He bowed and said, “Yes, His Grace?”

  Winchester the cat also walked in behind the orderly. He jumped onto Lynch’s desk and sat in a corner. He seemed uninterested in the food on the tray. Instead, staring at me.

  Lynch stroked the cat, and after pondering a moment, said, “I believe I will have the special today.” He looked at me. “Oh, what a delight!” Looking back to the orderly, he said, “Yes, excellent choice, I must say. The special.”

  The orderly bowed and left. Winchester remained.

  Lynch said, “Where were we? Ah, yes. You were being a stubborn little duck. Not to worry. Your next question to me will be: how did you get here? I mentioned the moving vans. But of course, you mean how did you enter an office building in Detroit and end up in a psychiatric hospital in northern Michigan?”

  I imagined Lynch frequently engaged in question/answer by himself.

  “We really do operate in advertising there in Detroit. It itself is a lucrative business. But we also engage in much more enjoyable activities. Secretly. It would be difficult to attract the right clientele, and keep them anonymous, in hosting those activities in a hospital in the Upper Peninsula. Think of this as our training center. This is where the subjects learn to act, talk, and perform. The office… that is where they perform.”

  By learn he actually meant program.