Rag Doll Bones: A Northern Michigan Asylum Novel

by Erickson, J. R.

  “Has anyone contacted you about this recently, Abe. Did a woman named Kim Phillips call you?”

  “No, I’m sorry. You’re the first I’ve heard speak Percy’s name in a year.”

  “Can I ask why you wrote his story? I feel as if most people would write off such outrageous claims as nuts.”

  “I’ve seen too much, Max. And I know people. Was his story true? He believed it with every ounce of his being. He believed it, and when I tried to interview the doctor, he came off all wrong. Slick as ice. He knew just what to say, but his eyes told me something else. The man lied. He lied as if it were his nature. And let me tell you another thing, that asylum has more skeleton’s in its closet than a graveyard has bones in the ground.”

  “But how could you let it go, then? I mean, if you believed this doctor was abducting children,” Max heard his voice rising.

  “Whoa, slow down. I didn’t have any proof. Not the name of one single missing child. I wrote that article thinking some parents might come out of the woodwork to tell me about their missing kids. None did. Not a single one.”

  37

  Ashley hopped up and down as she stood on the stoop of Sid’s house, pounding on the front door.

  Despite the events of the previous days, the thought of buying her new bike chased away the dark clouds that had been accumulating. She’d thought of nothing else since she’d woke at nine o’clock that morning.

  Sid’s mother, Gloria, pulled the door open, eyes wide.

  “Goodness, Ashley, give that hand a rest,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Ashley’s raised hand.

  Ashley dropped her arm. “Is Sid home?” she asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

  Gloria cocked her head. “He’s home, but he has dinner at his grandmother’s house in exactly two hours. Which means I expect him to walk back through this door at four forty-five pm. And no going in the woods.”

  Ashley nodded up and down.

  “Yes, ma’am. I promise.”

  “Sid!” Gloria called, retreating into the house. “Ashley is here.”

  Sid popped his head into the hallway and grinned. “Hey. I just finished my model airplane. Want to see?”

  Ashley shook her head. She pulled the wad of cash from her back pocket.

  Sid clapped his hands together. “Yes! You’ve got the rest?”

  “Twenty-two dollars exactly,” she said, waving the bills as if she’d just won the lottery.

  “Mom, I’ll be back in a little while,” Sid called.

  Gloria returned to the front hall, her face pinched with worry.

  “I mean it when I say don’t go in the woods, you two. If I so much as hear from a neighbor you chased a frisbee into the trees, you won’t be leaving this house for a week, Sidney. Understand?” She stared at Sid and then shifted her attention to Ashley.

  Both kids nodded their agreement, though Ashley was secretly grateful her own mother hadn’t worded her warnings so strongly.

  Sid stuffed his feet into his tennis shoes, not bothering to untie them first, and followed Ashley out the door. He grabbed his bike from the garage, and she climbed on behind him.

  Ashley tilted her head back and let the warm breeze blow her long dark hair out behind her. Her body seemed weightless, light as a feather. It was a term she’d uttered plenty of times when they played light as a feather, stiff as a board, but not a sensation she’d ever truly experienced.

  When they burst through the glass doors into Sampson’s Bike Shop, the owner looked up and smiled.

  “Is it time?” he asked.

  Ashley pulled out her money and fanned it for a second time, her smile so wide her cheeks ached.

  Mr. Sampson rolled the Huffy Pro Thunder off the little wooden platform it sat on.

  “Every time you take her out,” he insisted, swiveling his eyes between Ashley and the bike as if speaking to them both, “you perform the ABC, a quick three-point inspection that ensures safe travels. Bonus points if you’ve got one of these little helpers too.” He pulled a worn playing card from his pocket.

  Ashley saw a haggard man hiking up a mountain with a large walking stick.

  “Saint Christopher,” he explained. “The patron Saint of travelers. But if Chris can’t make the journey, the ABCs should get you there.”

  Mr. Sampson squatted down next to the bike.

  “A is for Air.” He put his thumb and forefinger on the tire and squeezed. “Feel that?”

  Ashley grabbed the tire.

  “Nice and firm, as it should be,” he told her.

  Ashley nodded, struggling to pay attention as she gazed in wonderment at her new bike.

  “B,” he continued, standing up, “is brakes. Let’s walk her outside for this one.”

  Mr. Sampson held open the door as Ashley wheeled the Huffy Pro Thunder onto the sidewalk.

  Her legs were light and springy as she climbed onto the bike. She clutched the rubber grips on the handlebars, solid and strong beneath her fingers. The bike itself seemed to buzz with the anticipation of its first ride. She pushed off with one foot, standing as she pressed the pedal down, and the wheels started to turn.

  “Now hit the brakes,” Mr. Sampson said.

  Ashley depressed the brakes, and the bike jerked to a stop.

  “Responsive,” Mr. Sampson beamed as she returned to where he and Sid stood. “That’s how you want them. And last, but certainly not least, C, the chain.”

  Mr. Sampson bent down and tugged the chain. “Make sure she’s secure every time.”

  “Got it, yes. Thanks, Mr. Sampson,” she babbled, so desperate to get on the bike and ride, she jiggled her foot up and down.

  Mr. Sampson grinned and then held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Shepherd.”

  Ashley shook his hand and then looked at Sid. She didn’t have to speak. He climbed on his bike and pulled next to her. They rode away from the sidewalk, down the center of the empty street.

  “Don’t forget to name her,” Mr. Sampson called after them.

  Ashley pumped the pedals, her legs pushing faster and faster as she sped down the street. She’d left Sid in her dust. The Huffy Pro Thunder sliced through the warm day as if it were made of steel, but a special kind, steel that was weightless and powerful.

  She reached the end of the block within seconds and depressed the brake. She came to a stop, setting one foot down and marveling at the bike beneath her.

  She leaned down and kissed the handlebars.

  Sid caught up with her, his smile matching her own. “Wow, that bike flies!” he said.

  “Starfire,” Ashley said. “Her name is Starfire.”

  Starfire was one of Ashley’s favorite superheroes from the DC comics. She could fly at supersonic speeds and absorb solar radiation, and best of all, she used star bolts to attack her enemies.

  “Yeah,” Sid nodded his approval. “Starfire,” he said. “And she’s purple like Starfire’s costume.”

  For an hour, they sped through the neighborhoods in Roscommon. Ashley rode faster than she’d ever ridden in her life.

  At times, the wheels took over, and Ashley lifted her legs out to the sides and watched the pedals spin.

  When she left Sid at home, she rode back to her own house, pausing at the end of the driveway.

  Despite promising her mother she’d stay out of the woods, Ashley wanted to try out her new bike on the trails.

  She steered into the woods, checking the sky for birds, but spotted only a flock of dark clouds creeping across the sky. Rain would follow.

  Grandma Patty called the rain tears from heaven. She told Ashley that's how they knew God was still paying attention.

  Despite the coming rain, Ashley pushed on. She could ride for a half hour and then tuck the bike safely into the garage.

  She flew over roots and jumps, the bike landing with a soft whoosh. “Starfire’s got this,” she shouted.

  As she raced through the trails, birds took flight from the dense
brush on either side. A squirrel fled across her path, chittering angrily as he raced up a tree.

  A cardinal soared from a tree, and she watched his scarlet wings flap into the high branches.

  As her bike rocketed forward, she sensed movement beside her. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched underfoot, sounds too loud to belong to a chipmunk or bird.

  She glanced back and saw a flash of a person ducking behind a tree.

  Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she almost slowed and stopped. As she started to compress the brake, another twig snapped behind her. Something darted from the bushes.

  Ashley shrieked and jammed on the pedals, pumping her legs and trying to pick up speed. Her hair fanned out, and something touched it. She imagined the monster gaining on her, its mouth open to reveal jagged, blood-soaked fangs.

  Panting, eyes blurring from sweat, she pedaled harder into the forest.

  As she came around a curve in the trail, a familiar and unsettling laugh rang out.

  Whipping her head sideways, she caught sight of Travis Barron as he threw a thick branch into the front wheel of her bike.

  The wheel caught and her bike jerked to a stop, sending her flying over the handlebars.

  Ashley landed on her hands and knees, skidding through prickly brush. A splinter gouged in the soft webbing of her fingers, and she cried out.

  Before she could stand, Travis kicked her in the ribs.

  “Stupid bitch,” he hissed. “Dumb spic bitch who thinks she’s better than me. You and your four eyed, fat little friend.”

  He spat, and she felt the glob of wet slide down her cheek.

  Furious, she started to stand, and he kicked her again in the back. She sprawled forward.

  His friend, a freshman at the high school with a long ugly face and shaggy dark hair smiled as Travis picked up her bike and threw it into a tree.

  “Keep her down,” Travis ordered him.

  The boy stepped on Ashley’s back, pushing her into the gnarled ground, pressing so hard on her spine she feared it would snap.

  Travis grabbed the bike and threw it a second time against the tree and then a third.

  She struggled to draw in a breath, and when Travis started to jump up and down on Starfire, she clenched her eyes shut and fought against the tears welling up.

  The death of her beautiful bike seemed to last forever. Ashley had slipped into a fog, a dark tight little ball in her brain.

  When she finally unfurled, the weight had lifted from her back, and she no longer heard the sounds of crunching metal.

  It had been replaced with a soft pattering of rain.

  She opened her eyes.

  Her bike lay crumpled on the bushy path.

  38

  Max pushed into the reception area at the Northern Michigan Asylum.

  “Hi, my name is Max Wolfenstein. I’m looking for Dr. Lance.”

  The woman behind the desk, tall and broad-shouldered with close set green eyes, looked up from the book she’d been reading. She set it aside.

  “Dr. Lance isn’t in today.”

  “I saw a black van in the employee lot. That doesn’t belong to Dr. Lance?” Max asked.

  “The hospital owns several of those vans. They’re used for transporting patients.”

  “I see. Does Dr. Lance work with children?”

  The woman shook her head. “He works with adults. We don’t have children at the hospital anymore, Mr. Wolfenstein. You might be aware the asylum has been closing parts of the facility for the last several years. Our children’s unit is no longer open.”

  “So, there are no kids here at all?”

  “None except a few who live with the staff, children of the doctors, that kind of thing.”

  “I wondered if I might visit Percy Hobbs?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she told him. “Visiting hours are on Sunday.”

  Max started to argue, but a commotion in the hallway behind them caught her attention.

  Two orderlies were struggling with a man wearing state-issued pajamas. He cried and shouted, twisting sideways as the two orderlies attempted to drag him back down the hall.

  “Nurse Frances, could you help us here?” one of the orderlies grunted, his face turning red with the effort of keeping the patient from breaking free.

  She stood and hurried down the hall, Max forgotten behind her.

  Several doors opened off the lobby. Max tried two, locked. On the third he got lucky.

  He hurried down a long hall, looking into commons room and peeking through small viewing windows.

  He passed a large window into a community room. Max paused and looked through the glass.

  A single man sat in a wheelchair, his head bowed and his face slack. A young woman sat beside him, her hand on his. Half a dozen bracelets adorned her wrists, and Max studied her. She looked familiar, but he could only see her from the back. He looked at the white blond hair brushing her shoulders. She was out of place, a teenager, a girl really, comforting an invalid.

  “Melanie,” he murmured, pushing forward, reaching for the knob of the door.

  “Sir, can I help you?” a man’s stern voice boomed behind him, and Max turned, startled.

  Despite his big voice, the orderly was small, no more than five foot seven with long skinny arms that seemed out of proportion to his short torso.

  “Yes, sorry. I’m here to see Percy-” He turned back to the glass and stopped abruptly. The girl no longer sat beside the patient, only an empty wooden chair.

  “I see,” the orderly eyed him as if searching for identification.

  “He’s my brother-in-law,” Max lied. Max didn’t know if Jody had a husband.

  The orderly glanced toward the glass, pursing his lips. “Did the nurse on duty mention that we only have visiting hours on Sundays. If you’re not here in a professional capacity-”

  “Please,” Max said, the earnestness in his voice genuine. “Please, I need to see him.”

  The orderly frowned, looked into the room and sighed.

  “Five minutes, sir, but you should understand Percy Hobbs is non-responsive. He doesn’t speak. You might think he can see you and hear you, but it’s highly unlikely.”

  “I understand.”

  Max followed the orderly into the large room, empty except for Percy Hobbs.

  He wondered where all the patients were. Had they already released or transferred so many that entire wings of the enormous asylum stood empty?

  Max stood in front of the man, aware he’d given no thought to what he’d say if he gained access to him.

  “Percy,” Max said, but the man remained unmoving.

  Max squatted in front of him.

  “He’s not in there,” the orderly explained kindly, waving a hand in front of Percy’s glassy brown eyes.

  Max surveyed the man, surely younger than fifty, with sandy colored hair mostly gone gray and a saggy, non-responsive expression. His head drooped forward, and he held his hands clasped in his lap, the fingers intertwined.

  Max started to look back at Percy’s face, but then he paused, peering at his hands. The man was squeezing his hands together, squeezing them so tightly the blood had drained from his knuckles.

  Max had to rescue Percy.

  The thought overpowered rationality, but his commonsense sense quickly returned in the sound of his brother’s voice. Are you insane, Max? Do you want them to lock you up in here?

  Max sat in the wooden chair and took Percy’s hand. The man’s eye twitched, but he still didn’t look up.

  “Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with him?” Max asked.

  The orderly seemed oddly relieved by the request, as if the intimacy of Max holding the man’s hand had made him uncomfortable.

  “That’d be fine. I’ll come back in five minutes.” The orderly stood, and to Max’s astonishment, he plodded down a hallway and disappeared through a white door.

  Don’t even think about it, Max. You can’t save everyone. This
vegetable’s going to get you thrown in prison, Jake’s voice insisted as Max stood, grabbed the wheelchair’s handles, and pushed Percy through the door.

  He went out exactly the way he’d come in, praying beneath his breath the nurse would still be assisting the other orderlies. When he burst into the reception area, he halted at the sound of voices. But the sounds receded, and he saw the nurse’s chair standing empty.

  Turning around, Max shoved the entrance doors open with his hip, hauling Percy’s chair backward and into the daylight.

  Max’s legs shook as he pushed Percy along the paved sidewalk. A wheel hit a crack in the sidewalk and caught. The man lurched forward in his chair, but he didn’t fall out. Max reached forward, grabbed the man’s shoulder, and settled him back, holding him as Max forced the chair over the bump.

  He walked faster, and then he ran.

  “Hey, hey you!” a voice shrilled behind him.

  Max didn’t stop.

  The voice grew louder. It boomed across the lawn, and Max slowed. He feared if he kept running, a row of orderlies clad in white would suddenly step from the shadows of the buildings to block his path.

  He turned to see a man lumbering toward him. The man wore a black coat and black pants. A doctor surely, but then Max noted his disheveled hair, and when his eyes drifted down to the man’s feet, he saw slippers.

  The man was a yard away when an orderly ran up behind him. The orderly was young, his face full of worry as he grabbed the patient’s arm.

  “Mr. Bernard, you gave me quite a scare.”

  Mr. Bernard spun to face the orderly, shaking his head. “I have to go with these men,” Mr. Bernard announced, gesturing toward Max and the catatonic patient. “We have an appointment with the judge. Mind yourself, young man. Don’t you know who I am?”

  Mr. Bernard tried to shake off the orderly’s grip, but the young man held tight.

  “Sorry, sir,” the orderly called to Max as he led Mr. Bernard away, insisting he needed a shower and suit before he could meet with the judge.