Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  Doctor Vaughan had been waiting in the reception area for nearly half an hour when the pretty brunette receptionist informed him, again, that it would be just a little bit longer before the board would be ready for him.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything while you wait? A coffee maybe, or some water?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” he replied with a warm smile, his calm demeanor hiding the turmoil raging inside. What she didn’t know was his stomach was doing somersaults in anticipation of another grilling from the board. He was certain he’d covered his bases. Stan had been thorough in helping him paper over the incident with his troublesome patient, but no matter how thorough he may have been, Doctor Vaughan was nonetheless ill at ease as he was forced to wait.

  The board consisted mainly of old money; people who held seats largely as vanity positions due to family connections rather than actual business acumen. The chairman, however, was a different nut to crack.

  With a background of running several successful medical facilities, as well as having founded two diagnostics technology companies, which he had sold for a pretty penny, he was a very shrewd, and equally cutthroat, business mogul. The others, Vaughan was confident he could handle, but the chair would require great tact and care if he expected to emerge from this review with his job intact.

  Nearly twenty minutes of waiting later, Doctor Vaughan was finally ushered into the conference room. As was expected, the board sat at the long table, the lone empty chair waiting for Vaughan ominously.

  “Francis, thank you for joining us. Please, take a seat. We have a lot we wish to discuss with you.”

  “Thank you. I can assure you, things have been running quite smoothly at Camview. In fact—”

  “So what’s this we hear about a patient escaping?” the chairman interrupted. “We find that report most distressing, especially as you were just beginning to improve the facility’s financials.”

  Vaughan stumbled, but only for a millisecond, then he fell smoothly into his practiced speech.

  “Rumors and conjecture, nothing more. Some disgruntled staff have been spreading these lies, but I assure you, there are no such problems under my leadership. If you’ll look in the logs I sent over, you’ll see it is quite clear that the patient in question was merely transferred temporarily for a second evaluation. This is quite normal, and the cost was paid for by the State of Oregon, just as her full care at Camview is being paid for. Having top-dollar paid by a government entity without any reduction in fees, as we are forced to accept from insurers, is a windfall for us. In fact, if you look at the financial sheet I’ve included—”

  “We’re not here to discuss financials, Francis. You know that’s not something we’re covering until the next quarterly meeting.”

  “Yes, I know, but I thought the board would be interested to see how this one patient alone has helped our books tremendously. Profits are up, and I thought the good news would be welcome since we were already having this meeting.”

  The board murmured amongst themselves. The thought of higher profits had piqued their interest, and Vaughan knew he had them. All he needed was to steer the conversation to money and he would get through this, and it looked like he had succeeded.

  “Very well, let’s see what you’ve got, then,” the chair capitulated. And with that, Doctor Vaughan allowed himself the tiniest of smiles, knowing he was in the clear.

  Late that night, long after Doctor Vaughan had managed to survive his review and return to his home, Camview’s bustling had finally slowed as the night shift took over.

  The patients had been gathered up and herded to their rooms when the facility wound down for the night. As a cost-cutting measure, in the late hours of the night, the hospital wings were only monitored by a skeleton staff, just as Curtis said. A managerial decision that made his plan that much easier.

  Dorothy heard a slight click as her door quietly swung open. Curtis, ever the showman, leaned inside and bowed with a flourish.

  “Are you ready to depart, madame?” he whispered.

  She nodded and stepped out of her room.

  Flattened against the walls as best they could, Dorothy and Curtis cautiously inched their way down the hallway. As they maneuvered past the lone manned nurses’ station in their path, Curtis, with an impish gleam in his eye, held up a finger to his lips in a “shhh” gesture.

  I don’t need you to remind me to be quiet, Curtis. We’re breaking out of a mental hospital here.

  As if she had somehow picked up on Dorothy’s thoughts, the duty nurse looked up from the reality show flashing on her tiny television set and turned the volume down. She cocked her head as she listened for any out-of-the-ordinary sounds coming from the halls. The duo stood frozen in their tracks, just out of her line of vision, barely breathing.

  Seconds ticked by, stretching on for what seemed like forever.

  Just stay in your chair, she thought. No need to come out into the hallway.

  A few moments later, convinced she hadn’t heard anything, the nurse relaxed her posture and returned her full attention to her television show. Dorothy and Curtis breathed a sigh of relief and continued on their way.

  They arrived at a door that looked pretty much like all the others in the hallway, when Curtis bent over and removed his slip-on shoe. No laces after all—can’t have patients hanging themselves, now can we? After a moment of fishing around under the insole, he produced a lone key.

  “No one notices a missing key if it’s to a door they never use,” Curtis said in a hushed voice as he opened the door, then hid the key back in his shoe. “Come on,” he whispered, and together they passed through the open door.

  They stepped into an industrial-looking space and onto a small landing leading down a few short and dusty stairs to what appeared to be the boiler room. The steps let out a faint metallic sound with every step, but with the heavy door closed behind them, there was no way anyone in the halls above would possibly hear them.

  They had only traveled a short way into the pipe tunnels when Curtis held up his hand.

  “Hold on a sec.”

  He scooted toward a set of machines and reached between some pipes, retrieving an old gym bag of men’s clothes. He had just started to remove his hospital garb when he paused, remembering his manners. Digging farther between the pipes, he produced a crudely wrapped package and handed it to Dorothy.

  “Here ya go. Happy Birthday. Or happy Wednesday. Happy something anyway. Whatever works for ya.”

  She looked at him like he was a madman. Well, it is a nuthouse.

  “What I meant to say is, these are for you, m’lady,” he said with a wink.

  She took the package from his hands and peered inside.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t peek. Besides, you’re not my type.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The alleyway on the south side of Camview Psychiatric Hospital was accessible from two directions, yet for some reason, this side of the facility hardly ever saw foot traffic. Perhaps the dark nature of the alleyway was a natural deterrent for random pedestrians, or maybe it simply wasn’t a shortcut of any usefulness. Whatever the reason, the lack of prying eyes was a fortunate turn of events, as it was in that particular alley that one of the half-dozen large metal ventilation grates swung open.

  Curtis appeared first, poking his head out of the opening and scanning both ways, making sure the coast was clear before navigating the three-foot drop to the ground.

  He was wearing a horrible 1970s paisley shirt, which did not go at all with his slightly too-short skinny jeans. He looked like he’d stolen half of his wardrobe from his grandfather and the other half from his little brother, but it was better than pajamas, so it would do. That, and he seemed to actually like the outfit.

  Content that the alleyway was clear, he reached up behind him to help Dorothy out of the vent, shutting it quietly when she was safely at ground level.

  Unlike the other vents, this one was not welded shut, tho
ugh to any curious eyes, it appeared to be. The ancient hinges, however, had been lubricated regularly, and the broken welds looked whole to the naked eye. Curtis’s escape route may not have looked like much, as was key with any functional camouflage, but he made sure it worked smoothly whenever he needed it.

  Unlike Curtis, Dorothy was not wearing bad seventies reject clothing, but despite that small blessing, she didn’t look too thrilled with the attire he’d wrangled for her.

  Sure, the black jeans were fine, as were the black Chuck Taylors (where did he find all this stuff, anyway?), but the Black Sabbath T-shirt with a grim reaper on it seemed a bit much.

  Curtis saw her glance disappointedly at her wardrobe yet again as they started down the alleyway toward the main street.

  “Look,” he said, “I knew you liked black, and it was all I could find on short notice. I didn’t mean for it to be ironic. Really.”

  Dorothy shot him a glare, looked at the shirt again, then fired off another glare for good measure, though this time, it was accompanied with the tiniest hint of an amused smile.

  Sighing with resignation, all she could say was, “Seriously?”

  Fortunately, Curtis had plans for the evening’s fun, which he was more than sure would make up for any wardrobe issues.

  “C’mon, the bus should be here in fifteen minutes. This is going to be fun!”

  The bright lights, myriad sounds, and mélange of tantalizing smells of the small carnival Curtis had navigated them to were a multi-faceted assault on Dorothy’s senses, but rather than shy away, she reveled in the experience. She also noticed that in this environment, Curtis’s odd attire actually worked quite well, though at least one kid had mistakenly thought he was a poorly dressed clown.

  As they strolled the grounds, taking everything in, one thing in particular stood out to Dorothy. The carnival was a safe place. A fantasy world. One where, unlike the ‘real world,’ everyone seemed to be having a great time, their troubles forgotten, at least for a little while.

  Games were played, prizes won, rides ridden by screaming, laughing kids. She may have seen plenty of interesting things in her day, but in all her years, she had never really experienced anything like a full-fledged carnival, and she found herself smiling at the novel experience in spite of herself.

  Curtis stopped at a kettle corn vendor and acquired a fresh bag of the sweet concoction.

  “Here, you’ve got to try this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Kettle corn. Second-greatest food on Earth.”

  She popped a few pieces into her mouth, which immediately started watering at the salty-sweet goodness.

  Oh wow, this is really good. Maybe his sweet tooth isn’t so crazy.

  Curtis watched her reaction like a proud parent. “See, I knew you’d like it!” he chirped with glee.

  “Mmmhmm,” was all she could reply as she chewed the sticky-sweet mouthful.

  They walked farther into the fairground, where each turn revealed some new sight. As they rounded the corner of a tent proclaiming it contained the “Eighth Wonder of the World!” a large inflatable ball rolled right into Dorothy’s feet. She stooped and picked it up.

  “Where’d that come from?” she asked with a confused look.

  No sooner had she posed the question, than an eight-year-old girl came running toward her at full speed chasing after it. Her eyes were so focused on the ball, she nearly ran smack dab into Dorothy’s legs, stopping only at the last moment.

  “Give me my ball!” the child said rudely, as is so often the case with filter-less kids.

  “Say please.” Something about Dorothy’s gaze made the child behave herself and ask politely.

  “Please.”

  “Okay, here you go,” she said as she handed the ball back to the little girl.

  Curtis bent down and offered the girl some of his kettle corn. “You want some?”

  “Sure!” Apparently, she had never heard the adage about taking candy from strangers. Either that or she didn’t care when kettle corn was involved.

  “What’s your name?” asked Curtis.

  “Tessa,” the girl replied. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m Curtis,” he said, dropping into an exaggerated bow, complete with arm flourish. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Tessa.”

  The little girl giggled, then looked at Dorothy.

  “What about you?” she asked the odd woman in black.

  “I am Death,” she replied.

  The girl’s eyes grew wide. After the briefest of pauses, she shrieked at the creepy lady and turned on her heel and quickly ran away.

  “You really have to stop telling people you’re Death. Is Dorothy really such a bad name?”

  The corners of her mouth actually turned upward for a moment, the rarity of seeing a smile on her face totally disarming Curtis and making his annoyance a thing of the past.

  “Oh, all right. C’mon,” he said, letting her off the hook. “Let’s go on some rides.”

  “But we don’t have any tickets.”

  He dug in his pocket and produced a wad of ride tickets clutched in his fist.

  “Don’t worry about it. Five-finger discount. Come on!”

  “Five-finger what?”

  He ignored the question and took her by the hand, dragging her into the undulating sea of cheerful revelers.

  They spent what seemed like hours hopping from ride to ride, periodically stopping to play the rigged carnival games before jumping back to the rides again.

  Curtis wasn’t picky. He was like a twelve-year-old in a grown man’s body, enjoying every single ride that came his way no matter how cheesy it might be. Dorothy, on the other hand, was a bit more discerning, deciding that her favorite of all was the one Curtis found the least exciting. Still, it was her turn to choose a ride, and she made her selection without hesitation.

  Reluctantly, he joined her for a ride to the top.

  “What’s wrong with the Ferris wheel?” she asked her disappointed companion.

  “Nothing’s wrong with it, per se. It’s just such a boring ride when there’s all this other cool stuff to do!”

  “I like the view up here, being able to see over the city and all the people at once.” The way my view is supposed to be.

  “Well, I still think it’s boring.”

  “Then we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “Fine. But I get to choose our next stop… which will be the greatest food experience on Earth,” he said, beaming ear to ear. “You’ve had the second best, but now for the cream of the crop. Come on, spin faster, stupid wheel!”

  They eventually reached ground-level and left the Ferris wheel behind, which pleased Curtis immensely. He took Dorothy’s hand, and like a sweet-seeking missile, he guided his friend on a weaving, but precise, path to his culinary target with the uncanny accuracy of a cotton candy radar.

  Minutes later, Dorothy and her paisley-clad friend, cotton candy in hand, sat side by side on a bench in one of the food areas that dotted the carnival. “Food courts,” some would say, or as Curtis liked to call them, “monuments to gluttony.”

  Curtis was happily tearing off pieces of his enormous blue ball of saccharine fluff, shoving the enormous wads in his mouth, occasionally tossing and catching them out of the air. He was having an all-around great time with his treat.

  Dorothy, on the other hand, looked a bit confused as she tried to figure out exactly how you’re supposed to eat it without winding up covered in sticky, spun sugar.

  “No, you just eat it with your face. It’s supposed to be messy.”

  She paused, considering the prospect.

  “Oh, all right,” she finally said, taking a big bite, wispy remnants sticking to her chin. “Oh my, this feels so strange. It’s like, I don’t know, like sweet spiderwebs I guess.”

  “I know, right? Nothing quite like eating things that would never occur in nature. I LOVE cotton candy. L-O-V-E. it. Like, want to marry it love. It’s totally m
y favorite food in the world.”

  “But it’s so messy.”

  “Don’t care. In fact, I’ve always wanted to stick my head in the machine and go to town. I’d be like a giant, sugary Q-Tip. Man, that would be awesome!”

  Their G-rated snack time was rudely interrupted by a pair of thirty-something men in college sports jerseys floating to an adjacent table on what must have been somewhere between their tenth and twentieth beer apiece.

  In the short time Dorothy and Curtis had sat eating their treat, the drunken pair’s pontifications on college sports had grown louder with each pint imbibed, their ramblings finally approaching a fever pitch.

  “No, Dickerson sucks!”

  “Does not! He’ll kick Myer’s ass any day of the week!”

  “No way, that whole team is pathetic. They should still be playing high school ball. In fact, I think that entire place is like the thirteenth grade.”

  “Oh yeah? They’ve been one of the top-ten collegiate teams the last five years.”

  “Yeah, yeah, a bunch of sissies playing on mommy and daddy’s dime.”

  And on and on it went.

  Curtis glanced at Dorothy, and the two shared a look of eavesdropping exhaustion.

  “You wanna go… anywhere else?”

  “Yeah, this is getting ridiculous.”

  “Seriously. Kidding, you are not.”

  They rose to their feet and headed out toward the game tents area, Curtis leading the way.

  “You know, the funny thing is, for all their fervor about those teams, I’ll bet neither of them even graduated college.”

  They chuckled and left the two overgrown wannabe frat boys behind as they strolled into the maze of flashing lights, bells, and sirens that made up the game area.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting back?” Dorothy asked after several rounds of games.

  “Soon, but let’s go on one last ride,” Curtis replied.

  “Okay. Your choice, since this whole outing was your idea.”

  “Excellent. Teacups it is!” he whooped enthusiastically.