Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "I need to know whether you want me to install double or triple speed servers," I say, intentionally coming up with a bullshit question that I know she'll swat away.

  She sighs. "Do I look like I have time for this?" she says, opening the door to her office and stepping inside. She turns back to me. "You're the technical specialist. You decide." She pauses for a moment. "I'm surprised you came all the way up here to ask me," she says. "You don't usually do that."

  "It'll have a big impact on the budget," I say, flustering my way through the conversation. "Short-term spending will be up but long-term spending -"

  "Do what you see fit," she says. "I'll deal with the bills when they come in." She stares at me for a moment. "You don't ever hear voices in your head, do you Jerry?"

  "Voices?" I ask.

  "Never mind," she replies. "Get back to work." She pushes the door shut, leaving me standing in the corridor. I think she just about bought that torrent of bullshit. Now I just have to wait and hope the microphone picks up something interesting.

  Nurse Winter

  Middlebridge, 1999.

  Finding my father is not always an easy task. Sure, he has a house on the far side of town, but he's not the kind of man to sit in one place for long. He likes to keep moving, to be unpredictable. As far back as I remember, he'd be going off on hunting trips, or heading out of state on some unspecified 'business'. When I was a little kid, I used to ask him where he was going, and he'd regale me with long, unbelievable tales about his adventures; as I got older, I realized he was lying most of the time and I stopped asking. There's still a lot about my father that I don't know, but eventually I managed to discover what he was doing on those trips out of town. He wasn't, as I once thought, a top secret spy for the government, nor was he visiting historical monuments and landmarks. No, he was gambling in illegal back-room parlors, losing the family's money one game at a time. He's clean and sober now, and he's got a new family, but the past is the past and it's hard to forget what happened.

  Nevertheless, I'm determined to track him down. I could try all the local bars and cafes, or I could head down to the river and see if he's fishing, but I decide in the end to just go to his house. I don't really want to see his new wife Lorraine: she's one of those people who's so overbearingly nice that it can become a little overwhelming if you're in her company for long. Still, I figure I can handle it for a few hours. She's certainly the exact opposite of my mother.

  "Kirsten!" Lorraine says when she opens her front door, her eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "Oh my Lord, how long has it been?" Before I can react, she reaches out and envelops me in a huge hug. I struggle not to suffocate on the smell of her perfume, before she lets me go and stands back so she can get a better look at me. "You look wonderful," she says, grinning from ear to ear. "You look healthy. Your skin's so clear. Didn't I tell you that everything would be okay?"

  I nod. She's referring to the acne that plagued my teenage years. Frankly, there were times when I looked like a walking, talking pizza. I tried everything I could think of to clean my skin up, and then finally it just seemed to sort itself out.

  "Get your butt in here," she says, stepping back to let me into the house. "This is perfect timing. You'll have to stay for dinner."

  As soon as I'm inside, I'm overcome by how neat and clean everything is. This really is the very opposite of my mother's house. Everything's in its right place, to such an extent that I'd be scared to move anything. Lorraine must spend her every waking moment cleaning and tidying. It's not a life that would fulfill me, but I guess everyone's different and she seems genuinely happy. She's obviously in the middle of cooking something, because there are some pretty enticing smells wafting through from the kitchen.

  "I don't want to intrude," I say.

  "Nonsense. You're staying. No argument."

  "Okay," I say, smiling even though I'd really rather go and eat alone in the corner of a fast food restaurant. Family dinners are definitely not my kind of thing.

  "Tell me," she says, leading me through to the kitchen, "have you graduated now? Are you a qualified nurse?"

  "I am," I reply. "Finished last week."

  "That's so wonderful," she says. "I remember when I first met you, you were still just a kid. And now look at you, all ready to be a nurse. Coffee?"

  "Please," I say. I watch as she pours me a cup. "I even have a job," I say eventually. "Out at Lakehurst Psychiatric Hospital."

  "Lakehurst?" she says. "I don't think I've heard of it..."

  "It's out of state," I say. "I've heard good things about it. I was recommended by one of my tutors, right before he..." I pause for a moment. I really don't want to get into the whole story about Adam right now. "He said I'd be a perfect fit," I continue. "They work with patients who've suffered breakdowns, things like that."

  "Is it safe?" she asks.

  "Yeah," I reply. "I mean, they have security in place. I don't think the patients are psychotic. Mostly, they're just messed up."

  She smiles, staring at me.

  "What?" I ask, feeling as if something about me has suddenly caught her attention.

  "Just... Wow!" She takes a deep breath, as if she's genuinely affected by the emotion of the moment. "Look at you. A qualified nurse, with a new job that was personally recommended by your teacher. He must have thought you were the best student in your year."

  "I'm not sure about that," I say.

  "Of course he did!" she replies. "I bet they don't go around giving recommendations to everyone, do they?"

  "It was just luck," I say.

  "And the drinking?" she asks. There's an awkward silence between us. "I don't mean to pry," she continues, "but I was just wondering if -"

  "Everything's fine," I say. "No problems. I'm good. I'm really good."

  "Your father will be so pleased," she says. "He's always talking about you. Just the other night, I heard him on the phone to John Arndale. You remember John Arndale? The soldier? Anyway, your father was bragging to him about you. I know he'll be thrilled when he comes home and finds you're here for a visit. How long are you staying?"

  "Just a few hours," I reply.

  "But you must stay for the weekend!" she says, brimming with excitement. "You'll be so busy when you start work, this might be the last time we see you for a while!"

  "I guess," I say. That's certainly true: I have no intention of ever coming here again. "But I really have too much packing and traveling to do. Everything's been like a whirlwind so far. It'll actually be a relief to get to Lakehurst so I can finally relax a little."

  She smiles. "Short and sweet, then. We'll just have to make sure we have an extra wonderful time. Your father should be home in about twenty minutes, and dinner will be ready at six. Does that sound good?"

  I nod. "That sounds amazing," I say. The truth is: I kind of like being here. Lorraine's friendly, and the house is beautiful and comfortable. So long as I shut my mother out of my mind, ignoring the fact that she's living in squalor on the other side of town, I can spend a few hours here. I don't even mind seeing my father. All the bad days are so long ago, it makes little sense to hang onto negative feelings.

  Sure enough, after Lorraine and I have talked for a little while longer, I hear the front door open. I immediately tense up a little, realizing that I'm about to come face to face with my father for the first time in three years. There's no reason to be nervous, but it's still a big moment. I know he understands why I have to keep my distance, but I'm sure it hurts him that I don't keep in touch properly. Still, I'm here now. That should count for something.

  "Something smells great in here," he says, wandering through. "Do we -" He stops dead in his tracks as he sees me sitting by the kitchen counter. There's a moment of shock as he stares at me, and then a huge smile spreads across his face. "Kirsten?" he asks. "Is that really you?"

  "Hi, Daddy," I say, walking over to him. We hug. "Surprise," I add, surprised by how pleased I am to see him.

  "No kidding,"
he replies. "How the hell are you doing?"

  "I'm doing good," I say.

  "She's graduated," Lorraine says as she stirs various pots and pans. "She's a nurse now."

  "Seriously?" my father says. "My God, how time flies. It seems like just yesterday you were heading off to college and... Hey, why no calls? Why no visits? Not even an email?" He smiles at me with what appears to be genuine affection. "I know I'm not the greatest Dad in the world. Are you pissed off at me for something?"

  "I was just busy," I say. "You wouldn't believe how much work I had to do every day."

  "You look good," he replies. "You want a beer?" I see a flash of recognition in his eyes as he remembers why offering me a beer might not be the best decision. "Or something else?" he adds, a little tentatively. "Coffee? Tea?"

  "I'll take another coffee," I say. "And don't worry about the beer. I can drink occasionally, but to be honest I don't really bother much. I think I've drunk enough for one lifetime."

  "That's a good attitude," he says, leading me through to the front room. "I wish I'd had your attitude when I was your age, Kirsten. You're a smart cookie, kid."

  "Wow," I say, seeing the huge TV. "You've really done the place up."

  "Yeah," my father says, "we invested a few grand last year in some renovations. The place was looking a little shabby at the edges."

  "Are you thinking of selling?" I ask.

  "No," he says. "We just wanted to freshen things up, you know?" For the first time since he got home, he looks a little awkward as we sit on the sofa. "I'm really glad you're here today," he says. "There's actually something I needed to talk to you about. It's kind of one of the reasons for all the redecorating and stuff."

  "What is it?" I ask, feeling a little nervous.

  "Well..." He pauses. "There's no way to beat about the bush, I guess. Lorraine's pregnant." He smiles uneasily. "You're gonna have a little half-brother or half-sister."

  I stare at him. "Really?" I ask, kind of shocked. I mean, my father's approaching sixty and Lorraine's in her early fifties. I'd kind of assumed that there wouldn't be any more children in the family.

  "We used some new techniques," he says. "Fancy stuff with doctors and test tubes. Like something out of a science-fiction movie, really. Anyway, it's due in the summer. There are risk, obviously, with Lorraine's age, but... I don't know..." He pauses for a moment. "Are you okay with this?"

  "Of course," I say. "Congratulations."

  "It's a pretty big deal," he continues. "It just seemed like a kid was the one thing we were missing. I know I'm getting on, but I can still be a good father, and I'm kind of hoping that you'll show your face occasionally and be a decent older sister for the little monster."

  I nod. "Of course." Obviously I have no plans whatsoever to come back, but the idea of a sibling changes things. Perhaps it would be worth coming back occasionally, just to keep in touch? My plan to sever all connections to my family suddenly seems a little shaky.

  "I mean it," he says. "I really want you to know the new baby. I think you'll be a brilliant older sister, and I think it'd be good for the family. No pressure. Nothing major. Just... stay in touch."

  "Sure," I say, even though I'm not certain how I really feel about the prospect of being someone's sister.

  "It's really good to see you, kid," my Dad says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Three years is too long for a guy to go without seeing his only daughter, right?"

  "I saw Mom today," I say suddenly, blurting the four words out before I have time to think about whether I should mention her at all. "Sorry," I add.

  "Don't be sorry," he says, clearly a little uncomfortable. "She's your mother, of course you should go and see her." He clears his throat. "How's she doing?"

  "She's getting worse," I tell him. "A lot worse."

  "Is that right?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure Lorraine can't hear us. "How much worse are we talking?" he continues, with a lowered voice.

  "A lot worse," I reply. "Potentially to the point where I don't think she can last much longer. She's living in filth; she's not herself, she's just a complete mess."

  "She's always been a mess," he replies.

  "This is different."

  "Dementia?" he asks after a moment.

  "I think so."

  He pauses. I'm sure he has a lot he'd like to say about my mother, but he's probably trying to make sure he doesn't hurt my feelings. "If there was anything I could do," he says eventually, "I'd have done it a long time ago."

  "I know," I reply. "Me too."

  We spend the rest of my visit talking about what we've both been up to, and eating the wonderful meal that Lorraine has cooked. Everything's so relaxed and friendly, I find it hard to believe that this is my family. My father seems to have changed so much, even though I know that deep down he must still be the same man he was when I was a kid. Part of me wonders why things couldn't have been like this all along; and when I look at Lorraine, and see her laughing and chatting away happily, I find myself imagining my mother in the same situation. Why did my mother wither and fall apart, whereas Lorraine seems to be blossoming? Does my father treat Lorraine better, or was my mother just weak? I guess it's one of those questions that can never be answered.

  Around 9pm, I decide it's time to get going. I really need to finish packing, and although I'm having a good time here with my father and Lorraine, I feel slightly uneasy about how close we're all getting. After all, when you spend so many years hating someone, it's bound to feel strange when you suddenly find yourself spending a pleasant evening in their company.

  "So you'll call, right?" my father says, walking me to the door. Lorraine is back in the kitchen, tidying up.

  "I'll be in touch," I say, and the strange thing is: I think I mean it; I think I really might visit.

  "The baby's due in the summer," he reminds me. "I know you probably won't be able to come over for the birth, but it'd be good if you could come and see the little critter at some point."

  "I will," I say. "I promise."

  "I've changed," he says suddenly. "This new baby is going to have the perfect life. I mean, absolutely fucking perfect. He or she won't want for anything. There'll be no trouble."

  "I'm glad to hear it," I say.

  My father opens the door and we step outside. "You know," he says, lowering his voice a little, "Lorraine's gonna be out all day tomorrow, if you want to come over. We could have some alone time. No-one would interrupt."

  "No," I say, turning and walking away. Damn it, why does he have to ruin everything? The whole visit was going so well, right up until the very last moment. I guess some people don't ever really change. They just learn to be better liars.

  Jerry

  Lakehurst. Today.

  "You know it's not like that," Nurse Winter says, her voice crackling over the low-fi signal. "It's just a matter of ensuring there are no disruptions. I can handle it. Just stay calm."

  Resting my head in my hands, I sit in the basement and find myself wondering if my little surveillance operation will ever turn up anything interesting. So far, I've just heard Nurse Winter talking about budgets and finances, and now she seems to be talking to the head of the hospital's governing body. The phone lines were down earlier, but they're intermittently working at the moment, even though the blizzard outside seems to be getting worse and worse.

  "With all due respect," she continues, "you don't get a proper impression of what life is like at Lakehurst. This is a very unusual place, and it's hard for people on the outside to fully comprehend..." She pauses for a moment. "Yes, but it's not the same as spending a long time here. If you'd like to come and visit us for a week or two, to get a better idea... I understand. Of course. We'll speak soon. Goodbye." I hear the sound of her hanging up.

  "Fascinating," I mutter.

  "I don't know," she says suddenly.

  I frown, having thought she was alone in the room. I lean over and check one of my monitors, and I see that there are no
outgoing phone calls in progress.

  "Too soon," she says. "Fine."

  I sit staring at the monitors, but now there's just silence coming from Nurse Winter's office. Whoever she was talking to, the conversation's definitely over. I wait another twenty minutes or so before deciding to set the machine to record so I can go and do some of my other work. It's not like I have tight deadlines down here, or even deadlines at all, and to be honest I'm pretty sure Lakehurst could function just fine without me for short periods. But I feel good when I get my work done, so I spend the next few hours doing some routine maintenance work on the servers and generally getting well ahead with all the tasks I've set for myself.

  After a while, I start to become troubled by one of the sensors, which is reading an unusual output from one of the cable networks that loop through the basement. It's as if there's an extra signal somewhere in the loop, pulsing and flashing into existence from time to time. The resulting power fluctuation is small, but frustrating. After all, I like to run a tight ship down here, and I have the spare time to trace every single little problem to its source. After checking and double-checking everything, I'm at a loss to explain the source of this signal. It's like a ghost in the machine. I guess Nurse Winter and her pals would start thinking, at this stage, that there must be an actual ghost causing the problem, but I know better. Whatever the root cause, this issue can ultimately be traced back to a phenomenon that has been triggered by a perfectly understandable scientific principle. I'll find the source, and it sure as hell won't be a ghost.

  Eventually I have to go through to another part of the basement. This building is so old and decrepit, some of the cables are located far out of the way. There's no lighting in certain parts of the basement, and I find myself using a paltry little torch as I pick my way from room to room in search of a particular set of cables. This is the part of my job that I hate the most, 'cause you always end up feeling a little spooked out, even if it's clear that there's no such thing as ghosts. I mean, this old place can be pretty creaky at times, and it's easy to let your mind start playing tricks on you. But it's like I've always said: there's no such thing as ghosts. After all, if people could come back from the dead, why hasn't my mother come back?