by Vic Kerry
“Like what?”
“Violent things. Killing people, specifically someone named Corey. Our nurse noted that name in the chart. As you may know, a student at the high school named Corey was killed Thursday night.”
“I was the first on the scene,” Alan said. “He was one of my football players.”
“I’m sorry. Your aunt talked about other people being dead when I spoke with her late Friday. She talked about a Sue and Sheila. I think I remember her mentioning a Tommy.”
“Those are all the kids she found dead back in 1956. You do know about that, don’t you?” Alan asked.
“Of course. She carries a diagnosis of posttraumatic stress disorder. It can cause dissociation and can manifest alongside catatonia or even psychotic symptoms in some recorded cases. All these things have presented in your aunt to some degree.”
“Why are you concerned? You can medicate her, can’t you?”
“Of course, the problem is this. Today, I learned that your aunt’s car is believed to have killed that boy.”
“It was stolen. I came the night he died to check and make sure you hadn’t discharged her without letting me know. I was afraid she might have done it. The nurse told me she was in her room sleeping and had been for a while.”
“That may not be the case.”
Alan looked at the doctor like he was the crazy one. “What do you mean?”
“We record video of all the patients. On Sundays, I reviewed the tapes to watch for any behaviors or symptoms they may be masking. On Thursday evening, the tape for your aunt’s room malfunctioned. Before it went out, she wasn’t in her room. During the span, no other cameras on the unit recorded her. When the tape came back on, well after lights out, she wasn’t in bed. Fifteen minutes later, she was. The tape has a delay of few minutes, but none of the tape shows her coming back to bed.”
“What are you saying?”
The doctor looked very concerned. “Your aunt may have busted out and killed that boy.”
“Then returned? Not Charlotte. She hates these places. If she busted out, even to commit homicide, she wouldn’t come back.”
“Let’s hope so, but I am going to have to report this to the police. I wanted you to know so that it wouldn’t come as a shock.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure they’ll find she was in the bathroom or something,” Alan said. “Can I see her before I leave?”
“That will be fine, but do me a favor. She has not been overly cooperative as of late. Ask her if Connie has come to talk to her today, and what they talked about.”
“Connie? Is that who she says she’s been talking to?”
“Yes, she told me that was the person who told her about Corey dying. Is she a relative?”
“No, another victim of the massacre. She told me that Connie visited her the day we brought her in. It’s what prompted us to bring her here.”
“Please try to find out if she’s still talking with her and let me know.”
Alan nodded to the doctor. They sat for a few moments, looking at each other. This made Alan feel a little uncomfortable. He believed that when doctors stared at you for no reason, they were trying to figure you out. The last thing he wanted was for a psychiatrist to analyze him. With everything that had been going on, Dr. Vanhouten would certainly find something.
“So?” Alan asked.
“I was waiting for you to say you were ready.”
“I’m ready.”
They walked out of the small room into the main area of the ward. The nurse’s station sat in the middle. Three halls radiated off of this central spoke. Dr. Vanhouten led Alan to the right. A sign above this hallway indicated it as the women’s wing.
They stopped in front of room 307. “This is Miss McAdams’s room,” Dr. Vanhouten said, tapping on the door.
His aunt gave permission for entrance. The doctor pushed open the door. Charlotte sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window.
“Charlotte, you have a visitor,” Dr. Vanhouten said.
“It must be someone special,” she said. “I haven’t gotten visiting privileges yet, and the doctor is bringing him in. It must be Alan.”
The doctor nodded for Alan to step inside, and he closed the door behind him. Alan looked around the room. The only window was double-paned with a set of blinds between the glass panes. They looked shatterproof. A small, rolling tray table was near the bed, which looked like a standard hospital bed without the electronic doodads. A door led, undoubtedly, to a bathroom. Beside it was a sink with a highly polished metal mirror. A fluorescent light hummed above that.
Charlotte patted the bed beside her. “Have a seat,” she said. “It’s the only place available. We aren’t allowed chairs in our rooms.”
Alan sat down beside her. The mattress dipped in too far. He could feel the springs poking him. “Not a comfortable bed.”
“It’ll do in a pinch.”
“So, how have things been since you got here?” he asked.
Charlotte looked at him funny. “How do you think? It’s a psych ward—crazy.”
She laughed in her real manner, not the way she did sometimes when she was sick. He joined her.
“Everything is okay at the house?”
“Yes,” he said, almost telling her about the car but deciding it was better to let it pass. “Me and the boys went by to check on it Friday.”
“That’s good. How’s Sim?”
“The same.”
“How bad is my car damaged?”
It took Alan a second to realize what she had asked. He gave her a perplexed look. “What do you mean? It’s sitting in your garage. I told you that Josh, Thomas, and I checked on things Friday.” He tried very hard to make his voice sound normal instead of surprised.
“No, it’s not, and it hasn’t been since Thursday night.”
“How do you know that? Did someone tell you? Was it that night nurse?”
“Connie told me.”
“Is that a nurse or a patient?”
“Neither.”
“Who is it?” Alan asked.
“You know good and well who Connie Dearborn is. She nearly married your daddy,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly.
“She’s dead, Aunt Charlotte. She’s been dead a long time. I think you might’ve been hallucinating or having delusions. The doctor told me that you haven’t been doing very well.”
“Don’t be stupid. Connie was here Thursday night. She said she needed the car for a while. I asked her why, and she told me that some troublemakers had to be taken care of. Her intention was to run them over.”
“And you let her?”
“No, I told her that she couldn’t use my car for that. I told her that I never wanted anyone to get hurt, but she insisted. I had no choice.”
“What did she do to you that made you not have a choice?”
“She took me to this place. It was dark and cold. Sue and Sheila greeted me. Debbie Eva and the boys were there. They were chained together.”
“Where was this?”
“I don’t know, and I shouldn’t have told you anyway.”
“Has Connie been back?”
“Every night, if only to say hello.”
“She’s dead.”
“Tell her that.”
Alan looked at his aunt. For a moment, he saw deceit in her eyes. She was very bad at lying. Over the years of caring for her, he’d learned the look when she was telling a bald-faced lie. She had that look.
“Why are you lying?”
“I’m not.” Her face looked even guiltier.
“Did you break out and kill that boy in your car?” Alan whispered, afraid that if she said she had, the doctor would hear.
“Of course not. I’ve never tried to kill anyone,” she said. “Much less a teenage boy I don’t know.”
“What about Johnny House?” Alan asked, remembering his father talking about her attempt at running him over.
“Whatever your daddy said happened didn’t. It was
self-defense.”
“Did you think it was self-defense when you ran Corey over?”
“It wasn’t me. I’ve been in this god-awful place since you and your daddy put me here. I told you that Connie needed the car.”
“What did Connie look like?” Alan asked. He had seen pictures of the woman in Charlotte’s yearbook.
Charlotte described a person completely different than those yellowing yearbook photos. She described a much younger woman with the wrong-colored hair and none of the features Connie Dearborn had in her yearbook picture.
“That doesn’t sound at all like pictures of her,” Alan said.
“I told her the same thing, but she knew things that only Connie could.” Charlotte’s face no longer looked like she was lying. “Things that I told her and only her. Things about Tobias and me. Things I would never tell anyone, even today. The others in the place told me they were chained to her. They called her Connie”
“She comes every night?” Alan asked, feeling a deep unsettled feeling in his gut.
“Always about an hour after supper.”
“When’s supper?”
“5:30.”
“Did she kill the boy?” Alan asked.
“No, Ben Harris and Sheila Deleon used my car to go necking. They accidentally ran over him.”
“Ben and Sheila are dead,” Alan said. “They have been for forty years.”
“Don’t be silly. They borrowed my car on Thursday and accidentally hit that poor boy.”
Alan could see that she had drifted back to 1956. There was little point in continuing their conversation. She would only recognize him as Sim, and her general distrust of him kept her from saying too much.
“I’ll see you later,” Alan said.
“Come back around suppertime, and you can eat with us. Momma’s been cooking swell lately. It’s the new stove, I think.”
“I will.”
Alan left her room. The doctor met him as he came to the nurse’s station. He shook his head at Dr. Vanhouten.
“She’s still talking to Connie. She claims that she comes every day at around 6:30 p.m. Keep an eye on her with that camera you have,” Alan said. “I’m not sure she’s making it up.”
Dr. Vanhouten smiled broadly, “Of course she’s not making it up. It’s a delusion. Her brain is doing it, and she believes that it’s happening.”
“Please watch the monitor.”
Josh sat in trig class as long as he could. He and Thomas had stopped at a gas station to fill up the car before school. They’d both gotten giant bladder busters of Mountain Dew. Now he felt close to bursting. When Mrs. Watkins paused to pick up a piece of pink chalk, he raised his hand and asked to go to the bathroom. She let him. As he hurried out of the room, much faster than he intended, his classmates giggled. Mrs. Watkins called for quiet as he broke into a run down the hall.
The nearest restroom was at the end of the hallway. Josh usually avoided that place because the smokers and burnouts usually hung out in there. It was a risk when going in there that the principal would bust everyone, but he didn’t have enough time to get to his preferred restroom. The smell of the room hit him like a rank gust of wind when he pulled open the door. The janitors didn’t spend much time cleaning the place. The faint sweet odor of a clove cigarette barely registered as he hurried to the bank of urinals against the far wall. He rushed by the wooden toilet stalls painted royal blue, paying no attention to whoever was there for a smoke.
“Look who it is,” Marcus Smithson said from the stall nearest the door.
Josh stopped halfway to the urinals. He turned quickly enough to see Bill Foreman and Jamie Morris rush from the other two stalls. Bill pinned his arms behind his back. Josh tried to kick out, but Jamie grabbed his legs and smiled up at him. Marcus stepped out of his stall. The dark-wrapped clove cigarette dangled from his mouth. The sweet smoke curled around him. In his all black clothes, he looked like some kind of low-budget thug from a motorcycle movie in the 1950s.
“Let me go,” Josh said. “I’ll fight y’all again, but not like this. It’s not fair.”
“I don’t care,” Marcus said.
He cracked his knuckles as he formed a fist. Josh tightened his stomach muscles in anticipation of the gut punch. The fist landed solidly in his solar plexus. Air escaped from his mouth despite his preparation. With no time to recover, Marcus knocked him across the face with another solid punch. His bladder gave way with the gut punch. His legs grew warm as the urine ran down them.
Jamie let go of his legs when he realized what had happened. Bill let him go as well. Marcus pulled the cigarette from his mouth and laughed.
“He’s pissed himself,” Marcus said.
“I think I got some on me,” Jamie said.
“Wait until everyone hears about this,” Bill said.
The restroom door opened. Josh tried to stop his urinating but couldn’t. He let it finish as the three headbangers turned to see who had intruded on their fight. Harvey sauntered in, pulling a Kool from his shirt pocket. He had it to his lips when his eyes registered what he was seeing. He smiled.
“I see you guys have your hands full,” he said. “I can wait.”
Bill jerked at him like he intended to attack. Harvey rushed back out of the restroom. Josh felt let down as his friend abandoned him. He stood alone against the three boys, pants wet and morale drained.
“He’s probably running to Chapman’s office right now,” Jamie said.
“We better get out of here,” Bill said.
Marcus nodded his head. “All right.”
He took the half-smoked clove from his mouth and pressed it against Josh’s bare arm. His skin sizzled and blistered as the cherry snuffed on his skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Marcus dropped the cigarette on the floor and walked out with the other two. As soon as the door shut, Josh walked to the sink and stuck his arm under the cold tap, letting it cool the burn. It was already swelling around the circular sore. While keeping his arm under the water, he finagled his shoes off to pour out the urine that had puddled in them.
Once this was done, he looked at his watch. There were fifteen minutes until classes changed. He had enough time to run out of the building, get into his car, and drive home. Marcus and his buddies would announce to everyone about his pissing himself, but he’d have to deal with that later—in dry pants.
He walked out of the restroom and started around the corner to the main hall that led to the exit nearest his car. As he rounded the corner, a leg jutted out, tripping him. Josh splayed out on the floor, pointing down the classroom-lined hallway. Bill Foreman made a goofy chuckling sound as someone jumped on Josh’s back and pinned him to the floor.
Jamie Morris leaned into his ear. “We’ve got you again,” he whispered like he was expressing sweet nothings.
The sensation of the boy’s hot breath blowing on his ear gave him goosebumps of disgust. Josh tried to lift himself up. Jamie threw a hard punch to his kidneys, and his arms collapsed below him. He turned his face to keep his nose from slamming into the tile floor. Two heavy black boots paced toward him. Josh strained to look up while Marcus strolled by like a shark waiting to strike. He stopped directly in front of Josh, inches from his face.
“Don’t kick me with those steel-toed boots. You’ll break my jaw.”
“You broke Jamie’s nose,” Marcus said.
“I hope Jessica likes a man who can drink supper through a straw,” Jamie whispered in his ear again. This time he flicked his tongue inside his ear canal.
In something like slow motion, Marcus drew his foot back. The sheer disgusting feeling of Jamie’s tongue licking his ear gave Josh a renewed focus. As hard as he could, he flung his head backward. The bulbous part of his skull slammed into Jamie’s face. Something soft gave way with the blow. Jamie’s weight fell off his back. Josh rolled out of the way as Marcus’s Doc Marten slipped past his face.
Josh got to his feet as quickly as he could, but not quick enough to block Marcu
s’s punch. It landed under his left eye and stung. He stumbled back, catching himself on the wall. Something warm ran from below his eye. He wiped blood away and felt the swelling. In a normal fight, he would not resort to dirty tactics, but he wasn’t faring as well in this fight as well as he had the last. Marcus advanced on him. He kicked out, flattening his foot as if punting a football. His foot made hard contact with Marcus’s crotch. The boy grabbed his junk and buckled to his knees.
But Bill was still coming at him. “Let’s call it quits,” Josh urged him. “Y’all won.”
Bill shook his head. “I’m going to get revenge.”
He threw a hard punch. Josh dodged it, and the meaty fist broke through the plaster on the wall beside a classroom door. Bill let out a yelp and pulled out his hand. His knuckles bled and a piece of plaster stuck out of one. He threw a hard unexpected left that caught Josh on the chin. It stunned him, and he toppled to the floor. His teeth bit into his cheek. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He hoped the blow hadn’t loosened any teeth.
Bill came at him again. Marcus had recovered and advanced as well. Josh scooted across the floor until his back was against the end of a bank of lockers. He started to crawl upward to stand against the beating that would probably knock him out.
Bill’s fist came directly at his face. Josh braced himself for the pain of his nose breaking, but the blow didn’t make contact. He opened his eyes. Thomas had hit Bill from behind, knocking him clear off the ground before they hit the floor in a full tackle. He must have run down the hall at full speed to accomplish that. His brother was big, but not enough to manhandle Bill Foreman.
Thomas straddled Bill’s back and starting whaling on his head with his fists. Josh stood ready for what Marcus had to offer, but Harvey had him in a headlock. Jamie curled on the ground, cradling his smashed nose. Blood seeped from between his fingers.
Teachers and students stared out of the classroom doors all the way down the hall. Principal Chapman stormed toward them from the far end of the hall. He carried his paddle by his side like a riot police officer might carry a billy club.