Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  “Dr. Langford?” I had paused as we had turned to leave, and looking back in question, discretely asked, “What will become of your guest, over time?”

  He had seemed pressed for an answer, scratching at his head and looking down. After a moment’s thought, he peered nervously between us and quietly said, “As you were both witness, he is beyond hope of medical treatment or application. I suppose that we will have to detain him indefinitely and until he expires.”

  “Once again—thank you for your time.” And with that we turned and parted ways.

  Rich had remained silent, only nodding as we departed the third floor and followed the intern down the stairs. It was somewhere on the second story landing where the young man had turned toward us and quietly said, “My name is Dennis, Dennis Monroe—I overheard what happened with patient 1366.” He extended a hand, offering a piece of paper with a scribbled telephone number, “I’m off shift at seven—I might have some information that might interest you.” Glancing nervously from side to side, his eyes appeared desperate, frightened.

  “If it involves patient 1366 you’ve got our undivided attention.” Rich swallowed hard, “He looks like he’s been here for years….”

  “I know that you won’t believe me, but I can prove that he’s been here since the facility first opened in 1878.” Dennis frowned, as looking between us in utter horror, he said, “A lot of unexplained things have happened and are still happening here. They usually destroy the files, but they couldn’t find them—I took them. I was waiting. I didn’t know who to approach with the evidence.”

  “He’s been here since 1878?” Rich questioned the statement, “But that’s not possible! That would make him--.”

  “Over one hundred years old--,” I thought aloud, “Taking into consideration that he had to have been at least fourteen years of age to have been admitted, back then.”

  “But he only looks to be in his early to mid-fifties? And, how would one account for the fact that he has been referred to as patient 1366?” Looking between the two men, I shrugged, “Surely, the number alone suggests that he has been here for some time, and accordingly, was labeled one among 1366 patients.”

  “I know how it may sound, but I can prove it all--,” Dennis spoke in little more than a whisper, “I have the original documents—and he’s been in that room the entire time. The records clearly state dates and most of the details.”

  “Most of the details--,” Rich looked between us, “Can I ask what might be missing?”

  “The true identity of patient 1366--,” Dennis swallowed hard, “The mysterious disappearance of a resident doctor, and a number of other missing patients over the years.”

  “We are definitely interested.” Gently patting his back, I nervously peered about, fearing to have been heard or seen, “We will meet with you this evening. I will contact you at home, shortly after eight. We can make arrangements at that time. Please do not say anything or involve anyone else. I must ask for your absolute discretion, and that you keep our meeting secret.”

  “I will—I promise.” He had the appearance of a trapped animal.

  Accepting the note and quickly slipping it into a pocket, I thanked him. No sooner had I done this, than was the stillness shattered by the slamming of a heavy door! We all turned toward the echoing sound of swiftly approaching footsteps that came from the staircase below.

  Attempting to appear inconspicuous, we had continued down as nurse Roberta appeared on the steps. She had halted, gripping the rail, leaned over and simply stared up at us. There was something deep and dark within those eyes, it was an unsettling reminder of patient 1366….

  “Is everything alright, gentlemen?”

  “Oh to be sure, we are all just fine--,” Reassuring her as we passed on the steps, I politely nodded, “But I am certainly grateful for your concern.”

  She had looked to Dennis who, refusing to return the glance, had hurried past the woman. There was a strange tension between them, bordering on hostility, and we hastened our departure as she followed closely upon our heels.

  It had been raining when we had departed the old building. There was a heavy fog rolling across the grounds, as long shadows crept like blackened claws from beneath the ancient trees. I had avoided looking around too much, but seemed to feel what I refused to see. The spectres of those long lost which, lurking within the mist and shadow, seemed to observe our every movement….

  We had hurried down that old stone path, passing through the iron gates and onto the sidewalk, as Rich had turned to look at me.

  “Are you going to be alright?” Placing a hand upon my friend’s shoulder, I felt him still trembling.

  “I think that Carrie was right about what was happening in this place.” He swallowed hard, and looking past me, stared back at the old sanitarium, “When she first mentioned that she had a friend who had worked here over thirty years ago and, told us about the death of that young girl, I was shocked. But after seeing this place and patient 1366, nothing would surprise me now….”

  “The girl was murdered according to the story.” We stood as the rain ceased, and looking up into the dark heavens, I could only frown in reflection, “Assaulted and drowned in those baths that Dr. Langford had mentioned.”

  “And then she was secretly buried--,” Rich nodded, looking upon the grounds with an obvious loathing, “There was no death certificate and her name was never added to the hospital registry. You would think that someone might have come forward sooner?”

  “Someone finally did--,” I slipped a mint into my mouth, pondering before saying, “And, as you have seen for yourself now, most of the employees are as disturbed as some of the patients. I can hardly blame them. I’m certain that this place could drive even the sanest person off the deep end, given time and opportunity.”

  “So--,” Rich wiped the lenses of his glasses and looked back at me, “What about patient 1366?”

  “Is he possessed? I would assume that it’s more than likely.” I thought briefly, “Is he telling the truth about everything? I’m not absolutely certain.”

  “Well, he sure knew a lot about us—things that no one could possibly know, or have just guessed. How did he know about Dr. Marlowe, the book and the demon? He even knew about the golden beryl sphere on your desk. And what about that comment that he made about your heart?” He suddenly appeared quite solemn, his eyes darkening with suspicion, “You don’t really think that there might’ve been any truth in that claim?”

  Sighing deeply, I felt no purpose in keeping the truth from him any longer, to which I simply replied, “He was telling the truth about that. I haven’t told Caitlin yet, but I was diagnosed with Ischemic heart disease. It’s a hardening of the arteries and one day, my heart will just fail….”

  Rich’s eyes became filled with tears, an expression of grief twisting his features. There were no words that would comfort him, and he suddenly fell forward, tightly gripping and embracing me.

  I held him close as family would and whispered through the grief, “Let’s not worry about endings, my dear friend. They come to us all sooner or later. Let’s just utilize the time that we have left to make the best of everything.”

  “I just can’t imagine the world, my life without you.” His sincerity was heart-breaking and I struggled with my own emotions.

  “We have a lot to do yet. I’m not going anywhere in a hurry.” I looked to him as he stepped back, removing his glasses as he had fogged the lenses with tears, “Let’s keep this between us for the moment. Promise me.”

  He only nodded in reply. Wiping his reddened eyes with a sleeve, he sniffled, “So, what are the chances that he told us the truth about the hidden graves?”

  “Well, it’s common knowledge that the cemetery here utilizes circular and numbered stones. Each number representing a patient listed on the hospital registry. So it’s unlikely that anyone would have interred her there.”

  “So, where would someone hide bodies around here?”

  �
�He said, quote--,” Rich thought aloud, “Seek where none dare wander.”

  “And if the deaths were concealed, it’s unlikely that they would have carried the bodies any great distance for fear of being noticed….”

  We both turned, looking into the East, and focussed upon the gulley adjoining the Penitentiary grounds….

  The ravine was huge, steep and filled with numerous trees, shrubbery and enormous blackberry bushes. The rain had made it unbearable, as making our way down along the muddy slope, we slipped and grabbed at saplings for support. Attempting to investigate such a place in the dark would have been utterly hopeless. So, given to the moment, we proceeded to make our way down and to where the earth became level.

  It was a frightening place as the leaves fell, the branches crept like claws into the heavens and the damp earth gave way with each step. Ordinarily, I found such places intriguing, even peaceful in many respects. But not where this ravine was concerned. It rested exactly between the Sanitarium property and the Penitentiary grounds. It was a wild and dismal place that both bordering on and existing between, was neutral territory and claimed by none. As we stood there fully aware of this fact, I still had the distinct impression that we were trespassing. Not upon government or even private land, but in a place forbidden to the living….

  There was an unsettling stillness here where no bird sang or any other sound seemed to penetrate. It was like a bottomless pit, a void that absorbed all things.

  “Now, where would you hide a body down here?” Rich pondered, as tapping a finger to his lip in thought, he examined our surroundings.

  Though the ground was level in some places, most of it contained boulders and the enormous rotting stumps of fallen trees, the moldering remains of which still littering the forest floor, barring passage to a large degree. It would be unlikely that anyone could have located, much less excavated here, especially in the dead of night.

  There was a look in Rich’s eyes, something that spoke of some inner suspicion, impression, or growing sensation. It now caused him to move, slowly at first, but then with a certain urgency. Quickly following, we navigated among the fallen trees and boulders, moving ever deeper into the ravine.

  We had arrived within a small clearing at one point, to which he had stood and appeared to contemplate, turning this way and that as he looked from stone to broken branch, and then down before his feet. At this point we were both muddied and looking an absolute mess. But he seemed absent to some degree. Entirely consumed within thought, he suddenly looked to me and said, “It’s here—I know it is….”

  “The girl’s grave?” I began looking beneath hedges and stones.

  “All of them…”

  He had caught me off guard with the statement, as looking back at him, I said, “All of them?”

  “This is a mass grave—I can feel it.”

  The little clearing was surrounded by thick blackberry bushes that crept across what appeared to have once been a trail leading out of the ravine. I moved to examine the path closer and within doing so, stubbed my toe against a rock. Looking down, I gasped in astonishment while noticing the partially buried, disc-shaped stone….

  “It was true--,” Rich gawked, and pointing to just beneath the hedge, said, “And there’s another one over there.”

  “We should mark this place and return with some tools.” I peered about, my nerves tingling as I glanced back at my friend, and said, “And my camera.”

  I had broken off two long and dried branches from a fallen tree. Stabbing them into the mud, I crossed them so that they would be noticeable. Rich had discovered a shred of blue fabric that had been carried in the wind, and tying it about the branches, stepped back to admire his work, “That should do the trick.”

  “Alright--,” I patted his shoulder as the first droplets of rain struck my face, “We’d better get going before we get caught in a downpour.”

  The rain had begun again as we clambered from out of the ravine, our clothes muddy and shoes soiled beyond redemption. But when we had finally breached the top and stumbled from out of the dense bush, we were greeted with an unpleasant surprise!

  “Mr. Schreiber and Mr. MacDonald, I presume.” Detective Raymond Emerson stood by the sidewalk, smiling as we slowly approached. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. Being in his mid to late forties, he was athletic, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Wearing his usual cream-colored trench-coat and dark blue suit, he twirled his fingers at a neatly waxed mustache.

  “Detective Emerson--,” I sighed as we halted before the man, “What a surprise to find you here.”

  “I was about to say the same thing-,” He grinned, shaking his head and inquisitively examining the soiled condition of our clothing, and asked, “Might I inquire what you two gentlemen were doing in that ravine?”

  “It’s not private property--,” Rich intervened and politely said, “It’s public domain. Is there a law against going for a walk?”

  It was apparent by the Detective’s expression that his patience was limited, and trouble was brewing behind those deep blue eyes. Rather than wait for something to happen, I interrupted, and said, “The truth of the matter is that we recently visited the sanitarium, and just wanted to have a look around.”

  Obviously unamused with Rich, he turned toward me, “Because this ravine adjoins the Penitentiary grounds—and although its public domain--,” He glared back at Rich, “It presents a security issue where the prison is concerned, and therefore becomes a police interest.”

  “That is totally understandable—and I can appreciate your concern.” Swallowing hard, I now dreaded the extent to which he might be willing to pursue the matter, “I am terribly sorry for creating any kind of an inconvenience. But in all truth, we really were just looking around down there.”

  “Might I ask what you were expecting to find?”

  “Soda bottles--,” Rich rolled his eyes at the question, and grumbled, “I collect them.”

  “Well then—you’ll need quite a few to cover the towing and impound fees--,” Detective Emerson pulled a ticket from his notepad and presumed to offer it to Rich, “You were parked illegally, so I had your vehicle towed. Unlike your friend—who parked his black 1972 Eldorado just up the street. You know--,” He put a finger to his brow and shook his head, “You guys should ride together more often. It might save us all a little time and maybe even a couple of tickets?”

  Rich looked as though he had almost reached his limit, so I quickly intervened, “Once again, sorry for any inconvenience, Detective. You won’t catch us down there again.”

  “Oh, you never know, I just might if I keep my eyes open?” Producing a note pad and pen, he looked at his watch, scribbling down our names, the date and exact time, “It seems that in the past you’ve turned up under some very questionable circumstances. The case in point being the Hedley incident in 1972, a homicide investigation in Rogers Pass, and most recently the mysterious death of one Frank Jorgenson in Harrison Mills. If you asked me, I’d say that’s a whole lot of strange coincidences, wouldn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t there--,” Rich growled, adding in thought, “Hedley 1972.”

  I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach as the Detective now stood and stared.

  “Are we being accused of anything--,” I had asked, “Or arrested for any reason?”

  “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, yet…. But, you gentlemen can expect to see more of me from now on. Oh, and by the way, just because you don’t see me—doesn’t mean that I’m not there.” He grinned, and winking, tapped a finger to his brow, “Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.” And with that he simply turned and walked away.

  “I’m really starting to hate that man…”

  “Who knows?” I watched as the Detective hurried away, swiftly vanishing into the dense fog, “The universe has its reasons for everything. We may just need him before this is all over….”

  We had both returned home to shower, change and invite our wives out to dinner
. We had chosen a local place and unwilling to upset them with the details, played it out as though nothing of significance had occurred. Though to be honest, I had felt a little awkward when Rich had suggested the fish rather than the pork, and insisted that we skip dessert. I knew that it had been done purely out of affection and concern, but feared that Caitlin might question the matter. She knew that I cared little for fish, rarely ate salad and never missed dessert. In which case, she had suspiciously eyed me when, after having agreed, I had pointed out the fact that I should watch my weight, and laughing, mentioned that the suits were feeling a little tighter as of recent.

  The evening had passed quickly, as returning home just after six thirty, I had decided to inform Caitlin of my condition. We had just taken tea and gone into my office when I had turned to her, and taking her hand, said, “Sweetheart, there is something that I have been meaning to talk to you about.”

  She had just looked at me, those big green eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of concern.

  “I was meaning to tell you sooner--,” Speaking apologetically, I slowly petted her hand, looking deeply into her eyes, “I went to see the doctor several weeks ago.”

  “I knew that something was wrong. You never eat fish—and never turn down dessert. What’s happened, and how long has Rich known?”

  “I only told him this afternoon.”

  Moving closer she embraced and held me tight, “Please, just tell me that you’re going to be alright.”

  It broke my heart to even utter the words, as tears filled my eyes, and I looked to her and softly said, “I have been diagnosed with Ischemic heart disease. It’s a genetic disorder, a hardening of the arteries that eventually, well, affects the heart.”

  She wept, sniffling as she buried her face within my breast, the hot tears soaking through my shirt.

  “Now, the doctor explained that on a proper diet, exercise and the medication that he prescribed--,” I swallowed back my own emotions as she cried, “That I can--,”