Calling Back the Dead: A Northern Michigan Asylum Novel

by Erickson, J. R.

Sarah bounced on the balls of her feet, feeling lighter than she had in days.

  “Is it absurd that I finally feel closer to the truth? Could you be the key to figuring all this out?”

  “I am a paradox wrapped in an enigma sealed in a Monopoly game.”

  “Huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  CORRIE

  * * *

  “CORRIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Sarah’s voice sliced through my thoughts.

  I looked up, surprised, but continued cutting. As I brought the knife back down, I felt the sharp blade cut into my index finger, but it was as if my brain was too slow to catch up.

  Sarah whipped the knife from my hand and flung it away. Blood splattered us both. I blinked at her face speckled in red, wondering at the shock in her eyes.

  “What? My God,” I said. “I lapsed for a second, it’s only a little…” But then I looked down and saw it was not only a little cut. I had several long gashes on the backs of my hands, another on my right forearm - and almost worse, a bird lay on the chopping block, its head severed and its legs sliced clean away from the black, oily body.

  I swallowed rising bile and spun away, trying to breathe, but I couldn’t force the air. My ribs had locked tight around my lungs, blocking passage for the next breath.

  Sarah took my elbow and guided me to a kitchen chair. I sat stiffly, refusing to look in her eyes.

  What could I say? I tried to think back. When had I come into the kitchen? Picked up the knife?

  “Where’s Isis, Corrie?”

  I looked at Sarah, bewildered, and then terror tore me in half before I remembered - Micah, the woman from the party, had picked her up.

  “She’s okay,” I whispered. “She’s on a play date with Micah and Jared.”

  Sarah nodded, a stunned expression frozen on her face. She moved methodically through the kitchen, leaving and returning with peroxide and a roll of gauze. Kneeling in front of me, she poured peroxide into my cuts. They fizzed and oozed, but I did not look at the wounds. Instead, I looked at Sarah with her blood-flecked white t-shirt. I saw drops of red in her blonde hair and realized I did not know what blood belonged to me, and what belonged to the bird.

  After she wrapped my wounds, she cleaned the kitchen, meticulously wiping up blood and scrubbing the counters until they gleamed. She disposed of the bird and the blood-soaked paper towels in a trash bag, and walked them to the garbage can outside.

  I wanted to run up the stairs and cower in my bed, but no, I couldn’t. I had to face Sarah.

  “Corrie,” she breathed when she returned.

  I knew what she would say. You’re insane, you need help, but she said none of those things. Her next words were much, much worse.

  “The police are here.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Then

  Sarah

  “Y ou have a twin?” the woman asked Sarah, eyes huge as if she’d just admitted to having a tail. “Are you identical?” she asked honestly, gazing with round blue eyes from a face heavy with powder and rouge.

  Sammy leaned in, “In every way, except I have a penis,” he whispered, a gleam in his eye.

  Sarah elbowed him.

  “Not identical. I got the looks and the brains in this duo.”

  “Ha,” Sammy bent over and guffawed. “And also, the modesty.”

  The woman looked uneasily between them, her smile forced.

  “Well, nice to meet you,” she said before turning and hurrying back down the aisle.

  “That was a prospective client, you shit,” Sarah told him, snatching the bottle of pineapple juice from his hand and plunking it in the cart.

  “Client, schmient,” he said. “She had no sense of humor. I just saved you months of design hell. I can tell you right now, she’s one of those ladies who wants marble floors and knotty pine in the same room.”

  Sarah cringed and shook her head. She too had the impression the woman would have been a high-maintenance client, but a paying client nevertheless.

  “On to the vodka,” Sammy announced.

  “Let’s get rum this year. I swear the vodka hangover wipes me out for days.”

  “If you drink three cocktails instead of eight, that’d probably help too,” Sammy laughed.

  “This coming from the guy who I saw bong tequila last year,” she reminded him, swerving the cart at his feet.

  “Hey,” he jumped back. “No carticular homicide, please. You’ll have to run me over like eighty times to get the job done.”

  “No death for you, brother. I’m just trying to maim you, so I can take my rightful place as the superior twin.”

  “What are you two laughing about?” Corrie asked, carrying several cans of pumpkin as Isis toddled behind her with a bag of tortilla chips half her size.

  “Oh, the usual twin stuff. I imagine a color, she tells me what it is,” Sammy said, grabbing Corrie around the waist and nearly sending her cans crashing to the floor.

  He leaned Corrie low, kissing her.

  Sarah made a gagging noise and relieved Isis of her chips.

  “Mommy’s crips,” Isis said proudly.

  “Yes, you carried the chips, didn’t you?” Sarah said, picking up her niece and swinging her around.

  Isis squealed and yelled more, which sounded like mo.

  “Toothpaste,” Corrie added, pointing toward the aisle marked toiletries.

  “Umm… Corrie, my queen,” Sammy said cocking an eyebrow. “I swear you came home with three tubes of toothpaste last week.”

  “I know,” she said, frowning and making a face as if she tasted something sour. “I can’t seem to get this metallic taste out of my mouth. Like pennies. Ever heard of that?” She directed the question at Sarah.

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Maybe you have a filling coming loose?”

  Corrie shifted her jaw from side to side.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps a visit to the doctor’s in order,” Sammy said, grabbing Corrie’s hand and kissing her palm. “You could ask him about the sleepwalking.”

  Corrie nodded dismissively and ducked down the aisle.

  Sarah saw Sammy’s face darken. He grinned and shrugged.

  “A stubborn mule, that one. But she’s all unicorn to me.”

  CORRIE

  * * *

  “CORRIE, pop the champagne, I’m hanging the last of the cobwebs in three, two, one. Done!”

  I heard Sammy jump from a ladder and land on the wood floor. He let out a loud moan, and I knew he was likely bending to-and-fro, trying to release the tension in his back.

  “On no, you’re not,” Sarah called.

  I peeked into the great room, where she arrived with another package of the gauzy webs.

  “No, she-devil.” He held his fingers in a cross and hissed at his sister.

  She laughed and threw the package at him.

  “Corrie, where are those dancing skeletons?” she asked, joining me in the kitchen where the counters and kitchen island were loaded with Halloween-inspired treats including spiked punch with floating jelly eyeballs, cookies shaped like bats, eclairs that looked like bloody fingers, and an array of less creepy appetizers like trail mix and bruschetta.

  “Are we feeding the entire Leelanau Peninsula?” Sarah asked, plucking an olive from a tray.

  “According to Sammy we are. Instead of creating a guest list this year, he told everyone with a pulse about our party and told them to bring their friends. We may need to run to the grocery for bags of popcorn if half the people he invited show up.”

  “Don‘t forget the people without a pulse,” Sammy called. “Fear not, damsels. There are fishing poles in the shed if we run out of sustenance. And squirrels in the trees, ripe for picking.”

  “Yum,” Sarah grinned. “I love a good fish-squirrel pie.”

  I smiled and wrinkled my nose.

  “I think I’d rather go hungry.”

  “Speaking of hunger, did you bring the singing jack-o’-lantern i
n from the car?” Sammy asked me.

  “I’m sorry, how does that relate to hunger?” Sarah asked.

  “What do you think pumpkin spice is made from?” Sammy demanded, hands on his hips.

  “Not a plastic jack-o-lantern that sings I like big butts,” Sarah retorted.

  “I’ll grab it,” I told him.

  The sky, sunny and clear in the morning, had grown cloudy as the day progressed. I shivered and realized I should have put on a coat. I grabbed the plastic pumpkin, a last-minute impulse buy Sammy had insisted we needed for the dining room table, and returned to the house. Sammy and Sarah were talking when I slipped through the front door.

  “I’m going to tell her tomorrow,” Sammy said.

  “Why are you waiting?” Sarah asked.

  “I didn’t want to upset her before the party.”

  “Well, I’m happy you’ll be back in Traverse City. This house is too isolated to begin with. I’m not saying it was a bad idea, but seriously Sammy, it was a terrible idea.”

  He chuckled.

  “Well, don’t expect me to admit you’re right, but I’m relieved too. The other day when I couldn’t find her, I almost called the police.”

  I considered listening a moment longer. Instead, I slammed the door hard. I had heard Sammy talking on the phone about a rental property. I knew he intended for us to move out of Kerry Manor. But I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t being honest with me about it. I thought about storming into the room, confronting him. To hell with his stupid Halloween party.

  “Gorey, my love?” Sammy called.

  “Coming,” I murmured, stepping into the room.

  He smiled, holding up an owl with glowing red eyes.

  “I thought we’d name him Igor?”

  I sighed and nodded. I couldn’t ruin Sammy’s favorite night. Tomorrow we’d talk and settle all the secrets, once and for all.

  CHAPTER 25

  Now

  Corrie

  “Start at the beginning,” Detective Collins said.

  I stared at him. The first time I’d met him, his blond hair had been messy, hanging on his forehead. He had since sheared it off, giving him a hardened military look. Blond hair sprouted from his upper lip, revealing he’d skipped a shave for a day or two.

  Sammy couldn’t miss a day shaving unless he wanted a full beard in three.

  “How many times can I start at the beginning, Detective?” I asked. “You think if I tell the story enough times, some new piece of information will suddenly pop out of my mouth?”

  “You’d be amazed how stories change with several re-tellings.”

  “Yeah, because the witness is exhausted, confused, and likely questioning their own version of events after three hours in this fucking room with fluorescent lights that make my brains feel like they’re sizzling in a frying pan.”

  “One more time, and then you’re free to go.”

  “I know my rights,” I grumbled. “I’m already free to go.” But to appease the man who I believed was hunting me, I talked.

  “On Halloween day, I woke up at six a.m., a typical time for me. Sammy was already in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast for Isis. He made her pancakes and fruit. We sat in the great room and drank our coffee. Around nine a.m., Sammy drove Isis to his mom’s house and dropped her off while I started making food for the party. He got home around ten a.m. Sarah showed up a few minutes later. We decorated for the party until five.”

  “That’s a lot of decorating.”

  “Is that a question?”

  The detective shrugged, and I tried not to grab the edge of the table and shake it. I wanted out of there, but I hated to face Sarah.

  How had the bird gotten onto the counter beneath my knife? A long sweater concealed the bandaged gashes on my hands and arms. I had been lucky the police had not handcuffed me, because they would surely have seen them.

  “We decorated until five. The house is huge, it took a long time. I went upstairs to get dressed, and Sammy came in before I finished.” I paused, hating to recount this again, missing Sammy with each retelling. “We made love and then we both got into our costumes.”

  The detective said nothing, and I hurried on.

  “At six, guests arrived. We all started to drink pretty heavily.”

  “And it was typical for you and Sammy to indulge in so much alcohol?”

  “On Halloween it was.”

  The detective nodded.

  “I started off drinking zombie cocktails, switched to rum and Coke. At some point Sammy gave me a few jello shots a guest had brought. We danced. I talked to a lot of people, some of which I remember, but some I’m sure I don’t. After dark I wandered upstairs and sat in the bathroom. I was dizzy and thought I might get sick. The feeling passed.” Corrie replayed the night’s events, her voice flat. She refused to reveal even a hint of emotion to the detective. “I returned to the party. I saw Sammy talking with Jack Williams, another comic book artist, on the porch. After that, everything gets grainy. I think he and I danced again. I vaguely remember hugging Sarah goodbye. And then… nothing.”

  The detective put his large hands, knuckles scabbed as if he’d recently punched someone, on the table.

  “And after you woke up?”

  I rubbed my eyes, careful to keep my sleeves pulled over my hands, and leaned back in my chair.

  “I woke up on the couch. I was dizzy and nauseous. I went into the kitchen and saw the rags by the sink. I looked out the window and saw Sammy in the yard beneath the oak tree. I knew…”

  “That he was dead?”

  “That something was wrong.”

  “How?”

  I stared at the cheap particle-board table, the little black specks swimming in my gaze.

  I didn’t have to imagine Sammy’s crumpled body every time I told the story, and yet I did.

  “I just knew. I ran out of the house. He was covered in blood. His body was cool to the touch and not soft, not like him at all. I…” In my mind he was there again, those empty staring eyes. “I pulled his head into my lap and cried. I couldn’t bear it. I lost connection with reality, I guess. I was still drunk, and I was so overwhelmed. After a few minutes, I just stood up and walked into the lake. It was so cold, and my dress was heavy and I walked out. And then Sarah found me.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police? An ambulance to help Sammy.”

  I stared into the detective’s eyes, cold and hard. He did not care that I died with Sammy that night. He had one goal in this room: to get me to slip up, to incriminate myself.

  “He was dead. Maybe you can’t understand the feeling of a moment like that. It was like I woke up and everyone in the world had died, and I was left here alone without an identity, without an anchor to this place. I couldn’t call anyone. I couldn’t breathe, think. I still can’t most days. Do you know what happens every morning when I wake up? I forget he’s dead. Just for a few seconds, as I’m coming back into the world, I wake up as the same old Corrie. Corrie and Sammy. And then like a tidal wave it rolls over me, pushes me under. I lay there struggling to breathe. After I finally calm down, I have to will myself out of bed. It’s almost impossible. If it weren’t for Isis, I doubt I’d get up at all.”

  “Then why did you kill him, Corrie?”

  The detective’s question hung in the air between us, the accusation he’d wanted to make for weeks, perhaps since the first moment we met.

  “I think it’s time I speak with my lawyer.”

  Sarah

  * * *

  “THEY’RE NOT CHARGING HER,” the lawyer explained, adjusting his round spectacles on his long, narrow face.

  “They put her in the police car, they read her the Miranda rights,” Sarah rushed. “Doesn’t that mean…?”

  He shook his head.

  “A misunderstanding by the deputies sent to pick her up. At least they’re calling it that, but I’ve seen some shady dealings in my time, and nothing breaks a person like getting shoved into the back o
f a squad car.”

  “But she’s not arrested?” Sarah asked again, leaning back relieved.

  “No. Not today, anyway.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The lawyer, Doug Fenton of Fenton, Williams and Associates, planted both palms on the table and looked Sarah square in the face.

  “They want her for this, Sarah. I saw the look in that detective’s eye when I walked into the interrogation room. Let’s just say, if they found so much as Corrie’s broken fingernail by Sammy’s body, they’ll use it.”

  “Corrie found him, for Christ’s sakes!” Sarah bellowed. “Of course they’ll find a fingernail and hair and skin and whatever other evidence they were collecting for two days, but-”

  “The detective mentioned Corrie’s dress from that night. He said you burned it.”

  Sarah felt her cheeks flush red, and the mere sensation made her want to pound her fists on the table.

  “I did it because I knew it would break her heart to see it again. I…”

  The lawyer held up his hand.

  “I’m not the cops. I’m not accusing you. I am here to protect Corrie and her family. Sammy was my friend, and I’ve known you guys for a long time. I believe in Corrie’s innocence. That being said, if there’s anything I should know - the sooner the better, so I can jump ahead of their accusations. Do you understand?”

  Sarah nodded, a jumble of images flashing through her mind - the most recent of Corrie holding a butcher knife and mindlessly slashing into her own skin.

  “I didn’t hide the dress. Corrie assumed they took it, she told me so herself. They asked her for her clothing from that night and she told them I hung it in the laundry room.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, it was so wet I dropped it in the bathtub. Corrie said they must have taken a black evening dress she had hanging in there. It was a mistake. We weren’t misleading them.”

  “I understand that, I do. These situations are messy. The police know that. It’s never black and white.”

  “Corrie’s a wreck, Doug. Since Sammy’s death, she’s barely keeping it together. I’m afraid they’ll twist her reactions into guilt when it’s actually grief.”