by Angie Fox
There was a rusted metal cover over a six-foot-wide window about waist high.
“Oh,” I murmured.
It was the right size for a prone body. It would also be a convenient height to slide said body straight onto a wheeled gurney and over to the autopsy table, or to one of the body vaults in the back wall.
“Barbara’s killer acted quickly,” Ellis said. “He or she had to have arrived at the boiler room minutes after we left, if it even took that long.”
Ellis was right. So maybe they did use the body chute. I stared at the rusted metal cover. “It’s hard to know if it’s been operated recently.”
“Still, you can’t get more convenient,” he said. “According to Barbara, it’s basically a dumbwaiter system that goes from the third floor straight down to the room next to this one.”
“Wouldn’t one person have to stay upstairs to work the ropes?” I asked. “You’d also need someone down in the basement standing by to open the door from the outside.”
“It could be automatic. Let’s look.” He gripped the handle at the bottom of the sliding metal door. It reminded me of a large grotesque rolltop desk.
Ellis shoved the door upward. It fought him, creaking on its hinges, and then it slowly rolled up.
Ellis shined his light inside, revealing a flat metal shelf in good shape save for the rust at the corners and more rust on the supports above. Coppery flecks had settled onto the shelf, blending into the dust and dirt.
Four rust-flecked pulleys worked the top of the unit, connected with thick ropes.
A wood slab underneath supported the body mover, and a pair of wood beams on either side framed it. They connected to a piece of timber parallel to the metal shelf and only about three feet above it. Enough room for a prone body and barely anything else.
“Okay, so it had to be one or the other,” Ellis murmured. “Perhaps one person to work the controls for the pulley system, the other inside.”
“You think it still works?” I asked, testing the ropes. They appeared strong despite their age. The pulleys were firmly connected as well.
“If it’s functional, this could very well be how the killer got down,” Ellis said, his light sweeping along the sides of the opening.
“As long as he or she doesn’t mind tight, dark places.” Cash and Brett sure hadn’t. They’d locked themselves in morgue drawers, which might even be worse.
“Tom or Joan could have come down through the morgue or even the Delivery room next to us,” Ellis theorized. “They could have killed Barbara and escaped back upstairs in minutes.”
“Only Brett and Cash were hiding in those body drawers,” I countered. I didn’t understand that, either. You couldn’t have gotten me in one of those drawers without a loaded pistol pointed at my head. “They would have heard the metal door sliding if someone came down in the dumbwaiter. Neither one mentioned it. They’re smart guys and it’s a basic observation.”
“So you think Brett and Cash are better suspects,” Ellis mused.
“They had a motive,” I reasoned, “if they were afraid Barbara would have them arrested and charged.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough motive for murder,” Ellis said, thinking out loud.
I didn’t want Brett or Cash to be guilty. Still, I had to say, “We know nothing about them or what other reasons they might have had to want Barbara dead.”
“Let’s piece together our timeline,” Ellis said. “We know Cash and Brett were down here when we first passed by the morgue with Barbara. They heard us come in the room.”
“And I’m saying they also would have heard Tom or Joan if one of them came this way.”
Ellis considered it a moment, then his eyes widened, and his fist slapped the table. “Maybe they did.”
Then it hit me. “Cash mentioned footsteps and a rattling noise he thought I made.”
“Could have been our killer,” Ellis concluded.
“So how does this thing work?” I asked, turning back to the chute. I saw no motorized levers next to the metal frame around the opening. “The asylum closed down in the 1950s, so there’s a good chance it’s automated.”
I passed my light over the wall by the entrance to the room. Nothing there.
“Let’s check inside the body chute,” Ellis suggested.
“Easy for you to say,” I joked. But he was right. There could be a button near the pullies. It was too tall for me to see clearly, so I ran a hand along the top, wincing when I encountered something hard and furry.
Ohmygosh. I whipped my hand back with a shriek. That definitely wasn’t a button or a lever.
“What is it?” Ellis nearly tumbled off the autopsy table.
“It’s okay,” I declared, holding my hand up in the air as if I could somehow quarantine that sick, soft, dead-mouse feeling. “Just…not what I was going for.”
I wiped my hand on my jean shorts, unable to get the feel of that hard, furry object—don’t think mouse—out of my mind.
“Just…take it slow,” Ellis said, wincing. He stood against the table, favoring his broken leg.
I could say the same thing to him. Although I didn’t think he’d appreciate it right now.
“Let me try a different way,” I said, grabbing the folding chair that had incapacitated Ellis when we’d first arrived. I steadied it outside the body elevator and hoped whatever ghost had flung it at my boyfriend was done playing games. I needed it to be steady, at least for a minute, as I climbed on top.
I shined my light over—sweet mercy—dozens of dead brown mice until I found a lever only a few inches from the marks in the dust where I’d grabbed hold of my little petrified rock of a rodent.
But more disturbing than the dead creatures or the spiderwebs strung between, under, and over them…the lever was clean.
No dust. No spiderwebs marred the simple metal switch.
“I think someone used this recently,” I said slowly.
“Then don’t touch it,” Ellis cautioned, grabbing for his crutch.
“It could easily have been Barbara, moving supplies from the basement to her ‘haunted’ first floor.”
“It’s possible,” Ellis conceded. “But you’d think she would have at least cleared the dead mice off.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
I hopped down off the chair and shined my light to guide him as he made his way over. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, and I redirected the light up onto the lever.
“A little more to the right,” he said, lifting his chin to inspect the device.
“That good?” I asked, following his instruction. I wasn’t tall enough to see the lever without the chair.
“I’ll test it, see if it’s operational,” he said, using the handkerchief to preserve any fingerprints.
I waited, holding my breath. Ellis let out a soft grunt. “I can’t get the lever to budge.”
Well, if it didn’t work for us, it most likely hadn’t worked for anyone else.
“Maybe there’s a trick to it,” I said as he tried again.
He winced, struggling. “I don’t know what,” he said, flexing his fingers. He studied the lever like it held some kind of secret. “It can’t have been this hard.”
“Maybe it’s stuck from the other side.” Something could be caught inside one of the gears. “Maybe our killer left a clue.”
I leaned inside and directed my light up against the top of the structure underneath the lever. If one of our suspects had gotten a piece of clothing stuck inside the mechanism or anything that tied them to this body mover, it could mean a big break in the case.
My light cast more shadows than it illuminated. It was a bad angle.
“Let me get a closer look.” I climbed onto the platform. It was relatively clean—or at least clear of dead, furry things. Except for the far corners.
Don’t think about it.
It was just a shelf. Used for transporting bodies. In a busy hospital where too many had died.
; I lay back on my butt, almost prone, and directed the light up the inside wall, where there could easily be a button or lever or—
The shelf underneath me shifted.
I froze. “I felt something. Just now. Did you notice a—”
Ellis’s crutch clattered to the floor. “Get out of there, Verity,” he ordered, too calm, too clipped.
The drawer jolted and the ropes crackled above my head.
“I’m coming,” I said, tossing a leg out as the chute jerked up a foot. “Whoa!” I pulled my leg back in as the body elevator trundled upward. I scrambled to my hands and knees and watched Ellis’s face disappear as I rose above the opening. He looked as helpless as I felt. Then the platform rose beyond the opening to the morgue, and all I saw was the inner wall of the chute rushing past.
“Ellis!” I screamed, not caring who heard me.
My light trained on the crisscross of ancient wooden beams inside the chute, and all I could think was what if it stops? What if it shut down between floors, leaving me trapped in this hole?
Worse: what if it kept going? It could take me somewhere I really didn’t want to go. The ghosts had to be very aware of this body mover, given the number of newly dead it had carried, and now I was in it, and I still had Frankie’s power, and there was no telling what would pop out at me, and I had nowhere to go.
Nowhere but up, up, up.
“Ellis!” I called as the platform ground to a halt in front of a rusted metal door.
“Verity!” His voice echoed up the chute. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” I said, hoping that would stay true. “I’m going to figure out a way to get back down. Don’t worry.”
“Too late,” Ellis said from below.
Well, it wasn’t as if he could make it up to the third floor with that leg of his. “I’ll holler if I need help.”
I reached out and thrust my fingers under the metal door. There was no handle on this side, so I’d have to improvise. I dug the keys out of my pocket and jammed one in between the panels. It hitched in there good and I pulled up. My key began to bend. I worried for a moment that I wouldn’t be able to drive my car when we got out of here, but it was my strongest, thickest key and this was my only shot at getting out on my own terms. I pulled harder. The key bent farther. And then the door lifted slightly.
Yes! I shoved my fingers underneath and pulled hard. The door moved, and I kept working it more and more until I couldn’t even feel my fingers gripping the metal anymore.
I crouched on my knees, working to get a better angle when I knocked something with my hand. Glancing down, I realized—too late—that I’d sent my car keys tumbling off the edge.
My heart dropped. Or maybe that was just the muscles in my chest twinging because I wasn’t in shape to hoist a rusty door open at this angle. Either way, I sure as heck wasn’t staying in a body elevator any longer. Gathering my strength for one more heave, I raised the door higher and saw I had an even bigger problem.
A large shadow shimmered into view directly outside. I watched in horror as it grew larger and larger in a narrow hallway lit by bulbs that hadn’t worked in decades. Not in my realm, at least.
The shadow took on the form of a person—a man with a wide girth, stubby limbs, and an overlarge head. He reminded me of Andre the Giant, with a great big scowl.
His eyes narrowed at me as he towered over the tiny escape hatch I’d opened. His voice was thick and deep, a melodious warning: “You don’t belong in there.”
13
“Believe me, I’m done with the ride,” I said as I scrambled out of the body elevator. From what I could tell, the chute ran down the center of the hospital, which put me in the middle of the third floor.
The giant ghost tilted his head and watched my every move. He didn’t appear overly friendly, but he wasn’t attacking either, and I was stuck. I didn’t know how to make the elevator go back down, nor was I game for another trip.
“I’m out, Ellis,” I called into the hole, keeping an eye on the specter looming in front of me. “I’ll be down soon.”
I just had to find my way alone through the asylum with a murderer on the loose.
And with a large menacing ghost blocking my way.
He wore a black suit jacket with an uneven collar and too-short sleeves. His white shirt lay open at the neck and appeared rough and cheap.
“My name is Verity,” I said, giving him a small wave. “Sorry to intrude. Are you a visitor as well?”
The ghost stared at me as if I’d just sprouted wings.
“I promise I’m not here to cause any trouble,” I added. At least not for him.
He said nothing. He had to be at least seven feet tall and as thick as a linebacker. Light, wiry hair stood from the man’s head at all angles, as if he’d never owned a brush or a mirror.
“Say, have you run into any other live people tonight?” I asked. He might be able to tell me what had happened earlier.
He ground his jaw and stared at the floor.
“You can tell me,” I pressed, observing the narrow hall behind him, the rows of doors that appeared to be patient rooms. “I’m only trying to help.”
The ghost clenched his fists at his sides so hard I could hear his knuckles cracking.
“Well, it was nice talking to you,” I said, trying to scoot around him. “You said I don’t belong here, and you couldn’t be more right about that. But I am glad I ran into you. You seem very nice.”
Quiet, but pleasant enough. I mean, he hadn’t attacked me or yelled at me. And so far, he was nicer than some of the other ghosts—and live people—I’d met that night.
“Stop,” the ghost ordered. He closed the distance between us, and I flinched at the chill of him. I had no idea what kind of power he had or what he was capable of.
I backed up slowly as he reached a hand into his pocket. I recoiled as he drew out a delicate, precisely folded origami swan.
Wait. What?
He held it out to me, and I stared at the paper bird in his hand. I couldn’t have been more astonished if it had been a real bird.
“Is this—” I cleared my throat “—for me?”
He nodded without speaking.
All right. I rubbed my hands on my shorts because my skin had gone clammy and because I would have to accept this ghostly gift. Touching objects from the other side didn’t exactly feel like puppy fur and roses.
“Thank you,” I said, holding out a hand.
His fingers shook a little as he placed the little origami bird in the center of my palm. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, even as the chill of it invaded my skin. Its head curved in a lovely bow, its three-dimensional beak open, its wings spread to fly. It was a miniature piece of art.
It was a shame I couldn’t keep it. My touch caused objects in the ghostly plane to fade and return to their owners in time.
I lifted my gaze to the ghost to see him watching me admire his gift. “Did you bring me up here?” I asked. “To give me this?” It wasn’t as if he went around carrying birds just in case he’d run into girls who rode up body movers.
He nodded without speaking.
“Why?” I pressed.
He didn’t know me. He’d never met me.
The ghost stood silent.
“Verity?” Ellis’s voice drifted up the shaft.
Stars. I’d forgotten all about Ellis in the basement. I didn’t want him trying to come for me. He needed to be there if the killers returned to the body in the boiler room, and he’d never make it up to the third floor anyway with that broken leg.
I should get back down there. But I didn’t want to dismiss this ghost so quickly. He hadn’t spoken, but it seemed as if he had something to say.
“It might be a second,” I called down to Ellis, keeping an eye on the humongous ghost. “I’ve met a new…friend.” Might as well be optimistic about it.
“You’re not here to make friends.” His warning echoed up from the basement.
Now he sounde
d like Frankie.
“Don’t mind the guy in the morgue,” I said, mustering up a companionable smile, like we were two friends meeting on the street—old pals—instead of an interloper and an inmate facing off in an abandoned hallway. With a bird.
A furrow formed between his brows. “Who is he?”
“My friend. It scared him when I went up in the body elevator.”
I hadn’t been too happy about it, either.
He blinked slowly. “Most people go down.”
“Ah,” I said, trying to pretend it was normal when his beady eyes flicked all over me. There was something worrisome, something off about him, and it didn’t help that I was alone with him in the hall. That he’d brought me here.
Still, he hadn’t made any aggressive moves.
Yet.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
“So you live up here?” I asked, by way of conversation.
Now that he’d gotten me onto the third floor, he didn’t seem to have a plan. He simply watched me, like I was on the other side of the glass at the zoo.
His lip curled. Not a sneer. Not a friendly look, either.
I had no idea why he’d singled me out, but if I could get him talking, maybe he could tell me a little more about what had happened on the third floor, even what Tom and Joan had been up to after I’d left.
I worked up a smile. “It’s a nice hallway.” Once you got past the dirt and the rotting mattress. My stomach danced. “Cozy rooms.” At least I could say that about the one I’d seen, with the pretty young woman writing It’s not my fault over and over.
The muscles in his huge neck flexed and he let out a low, growling breath. “Thank you for keeping the people out of my room.”
“Oh.” Blood pounded in my ears. His must be the first room I’d encountered with Tom and Joan, the one I’d claimed was locked. “You’re welcome.” That was unexpected. His voice sounded rusty as if he hadn’t used it in a long time. I tried to stay calm. Didn’t really pull it off. “You should be able to make your art in peace,” I said, even as the bird began to fade in my hand.
He scratched his head with gigantic sausage fingers. “I’m not an artist. I have books.” He looked down at the floor as if the admission had made him shy.