The Deadliest Institution Collection

by Holly Copella

  Devon hid her smile and held back her laugh. She wasn’t sure if he meant it to sound as funny as it did, but she knew Ross too well.

  Chapter Nine

  Devon sat on a stool beside Brant before the counter within the moderately cluttered workshop. There were several wax heads lined along the table waiting for their hair, eyes, and makeup. Devon had been slightly distracted at first, eyeing the horde of wax men and women standing and crouching in odd positions not far from the counter. Every single one seemed to be staring at her. Although there were plenty of normal looking wax men and women, some of the others were slightly creepy, possibly for the horror displays.

  She found herself staring at some poor, unfortunate wax man with anguish on his face where he lay on the floor with his arms stretched above his head. What was particularly disturbing was that he had no lower half to his body. Brant implanted strands of hair onto the female wax head before them. It was a slow process involving one strand of hair at a time with the use of something resembling a large needle on a pen. He handed her the pointy instrument and watched while she mimicked what he’d done. Judging by how long the process took, Devon realized it would probably take all day just to insert the hair onto one head.

  “Why don’t you use wigs?” she asked.

  “We do on the minor characters,” he replied, “but I like our ‘stars’ to look as realistic as possible. Doing a wax head right is an art form and it takes days even weeks to do it properly. It’s not a sprint; it’s a marathon.”

  She again eyed the partial wax man on the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “I have to ask,” she finally announced. “Why is there only a top half to that wax man?”

  Brant didn’t even bother looking since he obviously knew which unfortunate soul she referenced. “Oh, that’s just Oscar.”

  “Oscar?” she asked then shook her head as if he were not just toying with her for the fun of it.

  “Yeah,” Brant replied. “Oscar’s going on the rack next week. I need to add some guts and torn flesh before he’s complete.” He gave a casual nod across the room. “His bottom half is over there.”

  Devon stared at Brant’s profile a moment while considering the ‘rack’ comment. She glanced across the room and finally saw Oscar’s bottom half, which contained part of his spine, torn flesh, and some intestines. She nearly gasped at the sight. Oscar was the stretching rack victim! Devon cringed and returned her attention to her work.

  “What did poor Oscar do to deserve the rack?” she remarked in as serious a tone as she could manage.

  Brant cast a look at her and immediately hid his smile. “He was my last assistant, but it didn’t work out,” he teased.

  It was Devon’s turn to look at Brant, but he had already resumed his work while grinning, obviously pleased with himself. She was almost relieved to discover Brant actually had a sense of humor. Ross poked his head into the workshop and looked around.

  “Is he gone?”

  “Yes, he’s gone,” Brant announced with a moderately disgusted sigh as his good mood vanished.

  Ross was relieved and entered the workshop. He approached the counter, leaned on Devon’s shoulder, and watched with childlike fascination as she worked.

  “He was in a foul mood tonight,” Ross huffed then cast a look at Brant and appeared sympathetic. “Don’t let him get to you, Brant.”

  “He hasn’t,” Brant replied then eyed Ross. “Just make sure you have that display finished before you leave tonight. I don’t want to hear him complain again.”

  “Consider it done,” Ross announced cheerfully. “Just keep the troll off my back.”

  Devon refrained from commenting as the two men complained about Tyler. Obviously, neither man cared much for him.

  §

  Devon pushed a handcart containing a wax woman wearing a dress from the late 1700’s across Dr. Frankenstein’s lab. She paused and looked at the detailed lab display. It looked like a real tower laboratory complete with fake stone walls and floors. There were electronic machines, a false skylight, and a slanted table with a sheet covered monster strapped to it. The eerie silence was broken by low moaning. Lightning suddenly flashed beyond the fake skylight, and a large bolt of electric current sizzled and flashed between two circuits. Devon looked around with surprise. The monster suddenly moved beneath the sheet and pulled against the straps. Devon gasped with surprise when she saw the covered creature move. Ross jumped out from behind the table and laughed.

  “Cool, huh?”

  Devon glanced at the display and marveled at the details. “It’s fabulously creepy.”

  “This place is going to be freakin’ awesome.” Ross then eyed the wax woman on the handcart. “Hey, this looks great,” he announced. “You do this one?”

  “Just the makeup, and it only took me four hours,” Devon announced proudly while mocking herself.

  Ross chuckled and leaned on her shoulder. “It takes time even after you’ve mastered it,” he informed her. “As Brant likes to say, it’s not a sprint; it’s a marathon.”

  “Yes, he’s already used that line on me,” she remarked with a laugh. “Brant makes it look so easy.”

  “Yeah, he’s into his art,” Ross announced. “He’s a real workaholic. It’s a good thing too since his business partner is a slave driver.”

  “Sounds like their partnership isn’t exactly fifty-fifty,” she remarked.

  “I love Brant to death, but he’s a bit of a pushover,” Ross informed her. “He needs to stand up to Tyler. Thankfully, Tyler doesn’t spend a lot of time here. He’s into his fancy parties with his wealthy friends. We shouldn’t see much of him.”

  Chapter Ten

  The rental truck was already parked outside the old, dilapidated wax museum located on some back road in a rural town that didn’t even show up on GPS. Tyler’s expensive, black BMW pulled into the cracked parking lot that contained nearly as much grass as macadam. The wax museum itself appeared to have been out of business for years. The sign was almost faded beyond recognition, and the stone siding was falling off in chunks. Tyler and Brant got out of the front of the car while Ross and Devon got out of the back. Ross and Devon exchanged wide-eyed looks. They followed their bosses with less enthusiasm toward the creepy building.

  “I’m suddenly very afraid,” Ross announced and linked onto Devon’s arm for protection.

  She pulled her arm away from him and managed a smile, but she feared he wasn’t joking.

  “Where the hell did Tyler find this place?” Ross muttered to Devon.

  “I don’t even know how he found the town,” Devon responded.

  They followed their bosses into the building and were nearly floored by the condition of the interior. If they had paid admission to a haunted house, Devon would have been impressed. As it was, she was skeptical. The old displays were covered with years of dust and cobwebs. To their dismay, the wax figures were still within their respective scenes. It was a creepy undertaking to pack them up, especially in their current condition. Thankfully, the wax men and woman were intact. Once they were disrobed and the cobwebs sucked from their hair, they would be salvageable. It would be a lot of work but still less than creating them from scratch.

  Two burly moving men appeared in the hallway rolling two, six by three crates strapped to an appliance dolly. They stopped a few feet from Tyler and indicated the crates.

  “We have the first six already on the truck,” the first man announced.

  “That was fast,” Brant remarked with surprise. “What time did you guys arrive that you were able to pack so many already?”

  “They were already in the crates when we got here,” the mover informed him.

  “The owner said he’d try to pack some up for us,” Tyler remarked then nodded with approval. “That only leaves twenty. Makes our job easier.” Tyler turned to Ross and Devon. “Why don’t the two of you start crating up the rest of our lovelies while Brant and I see what else we can salvage from the displays?”

  R
oss immediately pointed to the first display containing an old-fashioned, horse-drawn hearse with glass sides for viewing the casket inside. Old, dusty silk flowers garnished the casket encased in the hearse.

  “Can we have that?” he eagerly asked.

  Devon nodded with approval and grinned. “That is pretty cool.”

  “I suppose that would be an interesting addition to the dungeon displays,” Tyler replied.

  Ross excitedly clapped his hands together then held them in the air. “Yes.”

  “As long as it’s not completely rotted,” Tyler warned him. “I don’t want to waste too much time on that thing if it’s just going to fall apart while we move it.”

  Ross nodded in agreement. They watched Tyler and Brant walk through the museum while checking out the other displays. Ross immediately ran into the old cemetery display and checked out the old-fashioned hearse with childlike enthusiasm. Devon joined him and helped check for rot and decay.

  “Wax museums are creepy by themselves,” she informed Ross then looked around. “This one is in a whole other realm of creepy.”

  As she looked around the old museum, she heard a loud creak. When she looked to where Ross had been standing, he was gone.

  “Ross?”

  She glanced beneath the hearse but he wasn’t there. She straightened and saw Ross inside the back behind the glass with the casket. His face was pressed against the glass while he pawed at her like a demented zombie. She rolled her eyes.

  “Enough goofing around before you break it,” she scolded.

  Ross climbed out of the back, creating the most hideous creaking sound from the old display. Devon approached the wax horse hitched to the hearse. She admired the leather harness and the dirty but elegant plume attached to the top of the bridle between the horse’s ears. She studied the black horse caked with dirt and cobwebs. The horse was almost a requirement for the rest of the display. Once cleaned, the set would look amazing. She ran her hand along the horse’s realistic coat and approached the head to take a better look at the decorative bridle. Being into horses, she was completely captivated by saddles, bridles, and other leather rigging.

  “Must have been quite the undertaking making a wax horse,” Devon announced to Ross, who was somewhere behind her. “It’s so realistic.”

  “I should probably--” Ross began as she reached the front of the horse.

  Devon checked out the horse’s bridle and immediately saw a large portion of the shoulder had pulled away revealing actual bone. Devon cried out, jumped backward, and tripped over a fake tombstone. She stared at the horse while screaming and attempted to get her footing within the fake moss. Ross grabbed her under the arm and pulled her to her feet. She backed into Ross and stared at the horse while panting with horror.

  “They, uh, use stuffed horses,” Ross remarked delicately.

  She looked back at him with horror clearly on her face. “Oh, shit,” she cried out while attempting to turn her fear into anger. “That’s disgusting!”

  “I’m not a fan of taxidermy myself,” Ross replied then shook his head. “But that’s how they do it.”

  Devon eyed the horse then looked back at Ross and shook her head. “Uh, uh. No way,” she cried out. “There’s no way we’re displaying that poor, dead creature. I’m already freaked out!”

  Tyler and Brant ran toward the display and stared at them.

  “We heard screaming,” Brant announced and looked around. “Is everyone okay?”

  Ross picked fake moss from Devon’s hair and managed a smile. “Uh, yeah,” he announced. “We’re fine. Just Devon’s first time seeing a horse, uh, well, in that condition.”

  “Well, a word of warning,” Tyler announced. “If you see any wax rats, don’t touch them. They’re not wax, and they will bite.” He eyed the display and sank into thought. “We’re going to need a flatbed cart to move that horse, I’m afraid. Looks pretty heavy. Maybe the movers have one.”

  Tyler headed for the front door to chase after the two moving men. Devon vigorously shook her head.

  “No way,” she practically cried out as anxiety filled her. She looked back at the horse and immediately looked away. “I’m not getting near that thing. I can’t even look at it without wanting to throw up.”

  Ross leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “Not your call, Devon. Play it cool.”

  “No, absolutely not,” she cried out, catching Brant’s attention.

  Brant walked onto the display and joined them several feet from the horse. He stared at Devon with a curious look.

  “What’s going on?” Brant asked.

  “She’s a little freaked by the horsey,” Ross remarked. “She’ll be fine.”

  “No, I won’t,” Devon snapped at Ross then pulled away and hurried from the scene. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that. It’s not right.”

  Brant and Ross hurried after her. Ross immediately attempted to smooth things over with Brant.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he announced. “She’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Brant ignored him and stopped Devon near the door. “What’s wrong, Devon?”

  She stared at him with surprise. “What’s wrong? There’s a dead horse on display! How could someone do that?”

  “We’ll work through it, Brant,” Ross insisted. “She’ll be fine. Just let me take her outside for a few minutes for some fresh air.”

  She glared at Ross while enraged. “Stop saying I’ll be fine!”

  Tyler entered the museum while beaming with delight. “We’re in luck,” he announced cheerfully. “They have a flatbed cart. I’m pretty sure it’ll take four of us to load it though.”

  “We’re not taking the horse,” Brant informed Tyler, surprising him.

  “What?” Tyler asked. “Why not? We don’t have one to use with the hearse.”

  Brant straightened proudly. “Because it’s a taxidermy horse, and it’s already falling apart,” he announced. “I can’t fix taxidermy, and I don’t trust that it was done properly. Who knows what sort of vile little creatures are infesting that thing. As a former scientist, I don’t want to run that risk.”

  Tyler stared at Brant a moment then shrugged. “Fine,” he announced with little hesitation. “I’m sure you’ll think of some way to display the hearse without the horse. Come on. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Tyler continued through the museum. Brant remained behind and looked at Devon while offering a tiny, reassuring smile.

  “Better?” he asked.

  Devon insecurely rubbed her arms and managed a smile. “Yes, thank you.” She fidgeted slightly. “I know I’ve already caused you enough grief, but could I ask for another favor? A big one.”

  §

  Ross stood alongside Devon in the rear parking lot not far from the back door. They watched the stuffed horse burn among several old crates and boxes. Devon insecurely rubbed her arms but smiled with relief.

  “Rest in peace, big fella.”

  Ross placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. He ran his knuckles across the top of her head, rumpling her hair while she squirmed to free herself from his clutches.

  “You are one freaky, psycho chick,” he informed her then kissed the top of her head. “But I love you anyway.”

  Chapter Eleven

  An older, red sports car pulled into the driveway of a charming, smaller two-story home within the quiet town. Twenty-three-year-old Jamie Smyth parked the car and headed into the house. She was still the same beautiful young woman from her teenage years but now a few years older. Her blonde hair was a little shorter, her makeup a little lighter, and her clothes not quite as revealing but twice as expensive. Jamie entered the house and headed for the stairs without greeting her mother, who was sitting in the living room. Dorothy looked up from her newspaper and immediately gave her daughter a disapproving, raised brow.

  “Not even going to say hello?” Dorothy remarked in an almost scolding tone.

  Dorothy hadn’t changed much
in seven years. Her hair was still worn up in the same granny bun, although it contained more gray than it had. Jamie frowned while throwing her head back. She then turned and headed back into the living room where her mother sat in her usual chair closest to the light. Jamie smirked with something resembling loathe.

  “Hello, mother,” she announced in an insincere polite tone.

  Dorothy didn’t let her daughter’s tone or lack of interest interrupt her evening. “How was work?” she asked while setting her newspaper aside.

  “Sucked,” Jamie huffed.

  “Jamie,” she scoffed while looking above her reading glasses at her. “Don’t talk like that. It’s not becoming of a young woman.”

  Jamie groaned at the comment.

  Dorothy looked across the room and smiled cheerfully. “Chelsea, Jamie’s home,” she announced.

  Jamie glanced across the room to the tall-backed wheelchair in its usual place near the large, bay window. Chelsea sat partially reclined in her wheelchair and stared at nothing with the same blank expression she’d maintained for the last seven years. Jamie fidgeted and appeared uncomfortable while catching an eyeful of her sister. Chelsea looked more like a child’s doll than a young woman. Her once long, blonde hair was cut shoulder length and lacked its radiant shine from her teenage years. Her mother used excessive amounts of makeup on her face to hide the fact that she was flaccid and nearly void of life. She wore a gaudy flower print dress with lace trim resembling old-fashioned doilies around the neckline and sleeves. Her ensemble was completed with a large, fake pearl necklace.

  Jamie folded her arms across her chest and looked back at her mother. “She doesn’t care, mom,” she scoffed. “She doesn’t even know I’m here. Hell, she doesn’t even know she’s here.”

  Her mother frowned and glared at Jamie. “The doctors said it’s possible she hears and understands everything we’re saying,” Dorothy insisted. “Until someone proves otherwise, we’ll speak to her as if she understands us.”