Slamming her hands onto the wall behind her, she broke free, and staggered along the passage to the foyer.
Lightning cracked the sky and its brightness pulsed throughout the lobby. The young girl stood outside the ladies’ bathroom, her head leaning to one side, against her shoulder, neck bent at an impossible angle. Kristen whimpered at the image pulsing in strobes until the lightning died, but she continued forward.
The foyer’s vastness swallowed the light from her phone. Her breath whistled in pained gasps, her moans of despair echoic in the large room. The area smelled different than earlier too; the atmosphere infused with the odour of damp earth and seawater, as if the dead brought the stench of their graves with them.
She directed the light towards the bathroom, but it didn’t reach that far and she couldn’t see the girl. Darkness moved, fluctuating around her as though the shadows were a vast ocean of tormented souls, pulling her under. Alex didn’t pursue her anymore, but the asylum seemed reluctant to let her go.
Kristen ignored their gear; rucksacks lying where they’d left them, strewn across the lobby floor. The two sleeping bags where not so long ago she had watched Codie sleep were blackened shapes in the gloom. Her tears flowed freely and she ran headlong to the asylum’s huge double doors.
Bursting from the main entrance, Kristen staggered onto the front porch. The storm wrapped her tight and stole her shaking breath. The air tasted of water, the sky charged with electricity. Black thunderheads rolled overhead in a churning mass, and heavy raindrops fell like spears through the light from the cell phone. But here, out of the building, the darkness wasn’t so deep. The lawn spread before her, undergrowth grappling with the wind. Dawn must be here, she realized, offering a muted light. Early morning mist seemed intent on defying the storm, remaining on the island to cavort with nearby bushes. Maybe the tempest was moving on, finally relinquishing its hold over the isle.
Movement fluttered in her peripheral vision and she turned, looking at the bench against the wall. The cap she’d seen on the way into the building was still there, only now it resided upon the decomposed head of an old man. He sat on the bench, holes torn in his old clothes, the garments stained with rain and the fluid of decayed flesh. One aged hand cupped itself around a pipe wedged between cracked teeth hanging loose in his rotten gums. The other hand held a match between his skeletal fingers, the flame dying in the wind only to reignite moments later and die again. The remains of his lips worked on the pipe, trying to suck life into tobacco as dead as he.
Kristen whimpered and staggered down the concrete steps to the lawn.
The building’s ghosts had come back, brought to life by the intensity of the raging storm, and they were clawing at her sanity. She didn’t dare look back to the windows, feared that if she did she’d see the darkened shapes of long-dead souls sliding through broken frames and down the old walls. Water greased the lawn’s surface and her shoes skidded on the moisture. With a yelp she went down, collapsing to her knees, her phone skidding across the grass. Ahead of her the garden sloped away and down towards the beach where the jetty was located. She glanced that way, looking through the threads of her rain-soaked hair hanging in coils before her face. Wind pushed ashen gossamers of mist over the sodden grass, the vapour writhing as though it were alive. A few feet to her right the first row of planted shrubbery battled with the storm, branches lashing in defence at the squall. The disturbed soil squirmed and roiled; for a moment Kristen thought the roots would give up and tear free until a putrefied hand erupted from the earth and grasped at the bush’s stem.
Fear snapped Kristen from her stupor and she scrambled to her feet, ignoring her phone as her shoes slid on the slick grass when she followed the ground’s sloping terrain.
The asylum appeared larger than when they’d arrived yesterday, its length stretching ahead of her. Its stone walls had darkened under the deluge of rain, lightless windows hiding the horrors she’d seen inside. Kristen expected to see shapes cavorting behind the glass, or dragging their forms through broken panes, but all she saw was darkness.
She ran along the thin path, mist thickening around her ankles. It floated in unnatural patterns, twisting against the wind, coiling through bushes near the track. Something tugged at her leg, causing her to stumble. She held her balance, glanced down to see what had snagged her—saw only the mist distorted into the thin lines of twisted fingers. Wind snatched at the fog, and it withdrew into the shrubbery. With a whimper, Kristen hurried onward. White clouds ballooned from the low-lying shrubbery near the trail, its movement defying physics—or maybe her sanity had finally collapsed. The pallid silhouettes of broken bodies materialized out of the bushes, jaws hinging from emaciated faces. Gaunt arms reached through the storm, twisting fingers clutching at her.
She shrieked and stepped aside, jumping from their searching hands. She flailed at the fog billowing around her, as it wafted and dispersed into the storm, leaving behind an icy touch lingering on her skin. Wisps curled under her loose fitting sweater, dragging on the material, the vapour losing its fluidity. Kristen grabbed at her top, wrenching it from the grasp of wraithlike fingers. Breathing in agonized pants of fear, she sprinted down the sloping terrain towards the beach. Ethereal figures skulked through the undergrowth, stalking her.
The asylum slid backwards into the storm as she passed its final corner, the hulking form of its dark walls blending into the gloom. Before her lay the island’s southern grounds, open and spacious, draped in rain. She caught sight of the rolling sea and breathed the scent of saltwater. Soft shards of sunlight draped rays over the mainland, highlighting the riotous thunderstorm’s blackened edge. Daylight had broken there, the storm appeared to be moving on, and a sliver of hope wormed through her shattered emotions. If she could get the row boat across the strait, she might yet survive this nightmare.
Her shoes skidded on the path’s slick surface, the torrential downpour turning the track into a river of mud. It caused her to slow down, each step threatening to send her crashing to the ground. The mist drifted into view, like a predator waiting for its opportunity. If she lost her balance now, she feared it would swarm her and she’d never get up again. Kristen glimpsed the ocean through gaps in the underbrush, and the resonant boom of crashing surf broke through the wind’s harsh call. The path took her away from the cover of underbrush, and the fog withdrew into the foliage.
The island’s fence glistened silver in the waning dimness of last night’s storm. Rain continued to fall, but it had lessened, and here most of the air’s moisture tasted of seawater. Spotting the hole in the fence they’d used to access the island yesterday, she ducked through it quickly, fearful that the fog might wrap around a trailing leg and prevent her from leaving. She choked back a sob with the memory of Codie holding the opening wide for them all to clamber through. The wetness of her clothes hung heavy around her shoulders; the storm’s cold touch seeping into her pores. A gull cried to the wind, its call unanswered in a moment that echoed her loneliness.
The rains had made the rocky shore treacherous, and she found herself slowing her pace even more to navigate a path to the pier. Her muscles ached, throat and lungs burning with pain, feet throbbing with the exertion of escaping down the island’s sloping terrain. She doubted she had the strength to direct the row boat across the channel.
She glanced ahead and shock stole her breath.
Hope shattered and her momentum stuttered, leaving her stranded near the jetty, close to the water’s edge.
Kristen screamed in misery and stared through falling rain as the old row boat drifted away with the tide, just beyond the line of breakers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
61 Years Previously
The old horse stopped, as it always did, at the usual place on a small rise above the sharp drop to the island’s northern cove. It snorted and stamped a hoof, visibly distressed to be at this spot again. Twice a week he led the horse here; Gerald Matthews had hoped the beast would have become immune by
now but he guessed no animal would ever get accustomed to the stench of death.
The ocean crashed hard into the coastline and sent fountains of spray skyward, but even the scent of salt water was tainted.
Gerald ambled to the back of the cart hitched to the horse’s saddle, and grabbed the nearest bedsheet. Only three corpses today, Gerald mused, it’s been a slow week. There’d been a time when he’d been able to dispose of the load by himself, but age had made the task harder over the years. Young Joe appeared on the other side of the cart and Gerald motioned for him to grab hold. With a grimace the kid grasped at the sheet and together they slid the corpse onto the wet grass. The head bounced off the hard turf. There’d never been any ceremony, and whatever remorse Gerald once felt had eroded along with this place’s compassion. Wind whipped across the island’s rugged outline, peppering them with droplets of seawater. The gust caught hold of the bedsheet and dislodged a corner, flipping it onto the grass.
The young woman’s face was as pale as the sheet. Her eyes were closed and Gerald was thankful for that, but death had pulled her lips back into an exaggerated grimace as if she continued to feel the pain of her demise. Blood had dried into a crust around the eyes, leftover spillage from where the doctor had slammed home the ice pick. He recognized the lady, had seen her on the female ward some mornings crouched against a wall, picking at the wallpaper. If they’d met at another place and in another life he might have taken a fancy to her. Death hadn’t stolen any of her beauty but at least it had quietened her tormented mind.
“Jesus,” Joe whispered.
The kid’s voice snapped Gerald’s attention back to the task at hand.
“Come on,” he said and bent at the knees to grab at the bedsheet. His joints creaked with the effort, muscles aching across his lower back. “There’s work to be done.”
He pulled the sheet away, exposing the rest of her. The nurses had dressed her in a clean nightdress: white and decorated with pink flowers. It stopped at her knees, and Gerald admired the clean skin of her lower legs. One time, when he’d been able to carry out this duty alone, a lady’s nightgown had come open to expose the softness of her chest. He’d left her lying on the grass as he’d disposed of the others, and then sat with her for a while. She’d felt soft, had left him satisfied.
With a laboured effort, Gerald wrapped his fingers around her ankles. The cold skin was smooth against his weathered fingers and he stroked her dead flesh. It reminded him a little of his wife. This woman stank though. She might have been dressed smartly in her best pyjamas with closed eyes but the nurses did nothing about the stench of rot. It swamped his nose, the smell whipped into a fury by the ocean breeze.
He nodded at Joe to grab the body, afraid his muscles might lock in his back leaving him bowed forward for an eternity. With a grumble of displeasure the kid looped his hands under the woman’s armpits and they lifted her together. She was heavier than he expected and they struggled towards the island’s edge. The woman’s bottom dragged on the sodden earth, causing her nightdress to slip up her thighs. Gerald looked, caught a glimpse of white panties, and his aging heart thudded against his ribs. The kid didn’t seem to notice, his concentration focused on not losing footing on slick grass this close to the drop-off.
“Okay, here,” Gerald said, desperate to lighten the load and spare his poor back.
He risked a glance over the ledge. A few hundred feet below, the sea churned and frothed against the inlet’s black, slick rocks. He saw bodies in the swell, as if the corpses already surrendered to the ocean were trying to drag themselves free of the surf.
“Ready,” Gerald said.
The kid nodded.
Together they swung the lady as far back as they could, his muscles tightening in discomfort. Swinging forward, the dead woman’s rump hit the soil but they released her anyway. She slammed into the rock face, somersaulted once, and then the ocean devoured her.
They trudged back to the cart in silence and he let the kid drag the next body to the ground. Short and thin, the white sheet looked so small against the darkened mud displacing grass over this area of the island. He groaned; disposing of the young was the worst. Water splashed his face and Gerald looked back down the island, past the imposing grey structure of the building to billowing thunderheads approaching from the south. Raindrops sprinkled the lawn’s farthest reaches, pushed in the wave of a large storm. They’d have to be quick to avoid getting caught in the deluge.
The boy weighed very little and so they disposed of him quickly. Gerald rubbed his hands down his shirt, anxious to rid himself of death’s touch. Clearing the land of its children pulled a darkness into his soul much deeper than any night and more crippling than any disease.
“I talked to the old bastard the other day,” young Joe muttered.
Gerald wondered for a moment who the ‘old bastard’ was, figured the kid meant Professor Bukoski, and so answered with a grunt.
“I’m not doing this shit anymore,” Joe said. “Told him flat out that after this shift I’ll take the boat back to the mainland and I won’t be coming back again.”
Stopping at the cart, Gerald pointed at the final body in the wagon. “That one looks fat, you can drag it out.”
“I’ll tell,” Joe warned. “I’ll talk to whatever newspaper will listen about what goes on here: about how many people Bukoski has murdered in the name of medicine.” He gestured at the corpse in the cart, emphasizing his point. “I’ll tell about all the bodies he’s made us throw to the ocean instead of giving a proper burial.”
“I don’t think the professor will like you talking to the newspapers, Joe.”
Gerald knew the professor wouldn’t like it, because the ‘old bastard’ had already spoken to him about young Joe’s threats.
“I don’t care. I’ll go to the police too; they’ll be interested to hear what really happens here.” The kid wiped at his nose and Gerald thought he noticed tears swelling in his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll bring them over here to the island, and they can see for themselves.”
“That won’t be wise, Joe.”
“You’ve seen what he does to these people. You know he’s murdering them.”
Gerald sighed. He knew, as did all the nurses, yet they were too scared to confront the professor. He thought of his wife, tending their harvest on the mainland with the help of their bairns who were both too young to be working the fields. In all their years he’d never told them what he did here. Keeping secrets from his family caused more heartache than casting the dead to the ocean. But they barely made enough to live on, never sold many crops at market, and if he lost his job then their future would amount to nothing more than the dead guy on the cart.
“Let’s talk about later, Joe,” Gerald said. “I’ll brew us a nice pot of tea and we can talk inside … before this storm devours us. We’ll find a solution; okay?”
Joe glanced at the corpse in the wagon, then to the ground, and then finally gave a weak nod.
He smiled and young Joe nodded again, more determined this time.
“Now be a good boy,” Gerald said, “and get the last body from the wagon.”
When Joe turned to the cart Gerald drew the thin twine from his pocket and slipped it over the kid’s head. He looped the cord tight, pulled hard as he could, and closed his eyes. Gerald listened to the surf crashing against rocks instead of the kid’s gurgling cries as the thread sliced through his skin. He felt the cold tears on his cheeks instead of the warm blood dribbling over his fingers. He focused on the horse as it changed stance in agitation, instead of the kid’s fading struggles. Despair seeped into his bones and darkness dribbled deeper into his soul.
Gently, he laid young Joe on the sodden grass. Gerald sat beside the kid, dropped his face into his hands, and wept. Of all the things Professor Bukoski had made him do, this was the worst.
Once finished with his grief, Gerald hauled his aged form to his feet. He glanced at the building, its murky bricks seeming to mirror the blackness swimm
ing in his heart. The windows resembled cavernous holes of anguish, and he searched their depths in the hope no one had watched him murder the boy. A thick veil of grey drifted over the building as the storm began to swallow the asylum. Gerald wished it would conceal the structure forever, and never let its secrets be known. He now had another secret to carry, and it added to the burden on his shoulders.
Gerald grabbed young Joe by the ankles and dragged him to the cove. The ground seemed to stick to the body, as if the kid’s fading heat sucked at the chilly soil. At the ledge, he closed his eyes and rolled Joe into the sea. The fat man was harder to move, and Gerald didn’t even bother to uncover him from the bedsheet. He’d arrived at the bay with three bodies in his cart, yet the ocean had welcomed four more into its embrace. Usually, he would scurry away from the scene in haste, but today he faced the ocean, bowed his head, and whispered a silent prayer of forgiveness.
None would be given, and the dead don’t listen.
With an ache in his limbs he hobbled back to the horse, grabbed its reins, and patted the animal gently behind the ear.
“Come on, girl,” Gerald whispered, and led the mare away from the cove.
He’d have to ask the professor about hiring a new assistant, but felt certain the man would acquiesce.
The storm reached him and unleashed its fury. Wind howled in his face and seemed intent on pushing him over the bay’s edge as penance for his sins. The rains didn’t cleanse the filth of murder from his hands.
It would never wash the misery from his soul.
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