Speaking Evil

by Jason Parent

  “I’ve seen the future, and believe me, it ain’t pretty.” He snorted. “If you want to eliminate mental illness, killing yourself and Carter Wainwright would be a hell of a start.”

  She raised a hand and gritted her teeth, then stopped herself from lashing out. “I don’t expect you to understand now. But someday, when the naivety of youth gives way to the cynicism of experience, you will. For now, let me simplify it for you. I believe you Americans have an expression about making eggs—how you have to break the shells to do it?”

  Michael closed one eye and wrinkled his brow. “You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs?”

  “Yes! You see? Though unorthodox, Carter has given me a place unrestricted by the usual limitations and unburdened by regulation with an open pool of subjects on which to test my formula and techniques.”

  Michael closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust. “They’re not subjects. They’re people.”

  Dr. Horvat crossed her arms. “They’re eggs. And I will break as many as needed to make the perfect omelet. Forty years from now—not even, twenty—I will be hailed as a genius for my work. The world will not remember the eggs but only the omelet I create.” She scowled at Michael. “And if you be a good little egg and do whatever Carter asks of you, you may just live to see it.”

  Sam moaned and rolled onto her back. Her eyelids began to flutter.

  “She’ll be waking up soon. Carter will want to speak with you both before we decide what to do with you.” Dr. Horvat walked to the door and knocked on it. “Open.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Dr. Horvat, Michael tore apart his bed. He examined every corner of the room for something to kill Carter Wainwright and his mad scientist groupie. The psychopath was coming, and Michael would fight his damnedest to make sure only one of them left that room alive.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Two little Indians fooling with a gun. One shot the other, and then there was one.” Tessa didn’t know where the rhyme had come from, but saying it over and over again filled her with serene joy. It was as if all her troubles, all the bad things she’d faced in life, were scrubbed clean of their griminess, leaving her unburdened and unblemished. And yet, every now and then, her thoughts would wander to that cute, curious boy. When he’d approached her, she’d felt a nagging tug at the back of her mind as if she might know him from somewhere.

  But the thought always passed quickly, Tessa content to be left without an answer. And she was happy—happier than she’d been in all her years with her stepfather, happier than she remembered being in the years before even, when she and her mother had lived a close, quiet life filled with love. She flinched at the thought of her dead mother, but that pang in her heart, too, passed quickly. She focused on the crossword puzzle on the table in front of her with almost zealous exuberance. She thought that maybe the world would be an amazing place if she could just work on an endless stream of crossword puzzles every day. As it was, life in the nuthouse lately had been better than it was cracked up to be.

  “Where’s Jeb?” A high, tinny voice called, snapping Tessa’s concentration. Francine marched by her table like a soldier hungry for war. Her body was stiff and straight, her walk brisk, and her cheeks flushed.

  Tessa offered Francine a wave and a smile, then shyly let her hair fall over her eyes as the nurse failed to notice her. After all, Francine was busy and had lots of patients to care for. Even if the nurse hadn’t seen her, Tessa knew Francine would be there for her if she needed her. Those nights Francine had checked on her in her bed and eventually brought her to see the doctor—Tessa had been a real jerk to the nurse, not understanding that she was just trying to help. And Francine and Dr. Horvat were her champions. They’d helped her see light when all around her was darkness. They were more than caretakers. They were her friends.

  Not like that dirty Bandage Man. A chill ran through her at the thought of how he’d grabbed her and pulled her into a room, made her believe all sorts of lies about her friends. She cast her head down, a rush of shame welling up in her for having been so easily fooled.

  How she’d needed a friend. But the scowl Francine was wearing then unsettled Tessa, and her fingers began to fidget. “Two little Indians fooling with a gun,” she muttered in a barely audible voice. “One shot the other, and then there was one.”

  Repeating the phrase on silent lips, she watched as Francine moved inches away from the bodybuilder orderly—Curtis, according to his nametag—a three-hundred-pound monstrosity with a surprisingly delicate touch. Of the hospital’s staff, he paid her and the other patients the least amount of attention. In fact, he didn’t seem to do anything but read magazines or play on his phone unless someone told him to do something or a patient needed help or restraining.

  Curtis shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.”

  Francine jabbed a finger into his chest. “That’s exactly my point—nobody has. Dr. Horvat sent him for a patient, and now both he and the patient are missing. That new boy, the kid with the red hair, he’s missing too.”

  The meathead shrugged. “Well, I don’t know where they are. I just got here. Maybe they both just needed to take a—”

  “Find them, Smales! And bring them to the back office when you do. We can’t have them running around unchecked. Besides, Dr. Horvat asked if someone could push her desk back, closer to the far wall, so do that, too, will you? Oh, but wait at least twenty minutes. I think she’s meeting with someone right now.”

  “Dr. Horvat’s jacked.” The orderly huffed. “Can’t she do that shit herself? I mean, how hard could it—”

  “Just do it, Smales.” She softened, put a hand on her hip, puffed out her lips, and stepped closer. “Please? To be honest, I was supposed to, but I have to do some, uh, damage control.”

  “Ooooh, that sounds ominous.” Curtis chortled. “But you need to practice those feminine charms on that officer you’ve been chatting up. If you were going for sexy, I read constipated.”

  When she scowled at him and started to speak, he threw up his hands and said, “But yeah, I’ll do it. Relax.”

  A clack came from the entrance doors, and Tessa turned toward it. She thought she saw a patch of red hair duck under the window and out of sight.

  Curtis, who’d been facing the doors the entire time, hadn’t seemed to notice. “I’m sure they’re fine.” He chuckled. “Jeb probably just got that massive head of his stuck up—”

  “Go!” Francine pushed his arm.

  The orderly barely budged.

  “Find them. Now!”

  Curtis rolled his eyes but finally headed toward the double doors.

  Without so much a glance in Tessa’s direction, Francine walked toward the staff-only door at the opposite end of the rec room. Although Tessa wasn’t sure, she assumed that door led to the other wings of the hospital. Francine held her badge over a device beside the door handle. It beeped, and a small red bulb flashed green. She opened the door and stepped through it.

  “Hey, aren’t you—”

  The big orderly’s sentence hung in the air just outside the double doors, immediately followed by a loud thump that rattled the floor and fluttered the doors. The red-haired boy—Jimmy, if she remembered correctly—pushed through one of them, and behind him, the Bandage Man followed.

  “Whew!” Jimmy said. “I thought for sure you’d have to shoot him, or at least whack him a few times. Did you see the size of that sucker?”

  “Of course you need to hit them hard, but placement of the strike is key,” the Bandage Man said as he tucked something behind his back. “They don’t really teach you that at the academy.”

  “Tessa!” Jimmy sprinted toward her and grabbed her arms as she stood to meet him. “You have to come with us!”

  She smiled sheepishly and twisted on her toes, her gaze retreating floorward. The edge of a plastic bag scraped along her bicep but she couldn’t see what was inside.

  “Are you crazy?” The Bandage Man stared at the boy and placed his ha
nds on his hips. “We can’t take her with us. We’ve gotta keep moving. That nurse could be telling her boss about us as we fart around here.”

  “We have to take her,” Jimmy said. “She’s in danger.”

  Tessa had no idea what danger Jimmy was referring to, but she admired his passion. That said, she had no intention of going anywhere with them. She was exactly where Dr. Horvat wanted her to be.

  “She’s a liability,” the Bandage Man snarled then paced. “We have to keep moving.”

  “What? You mean like you? Or me?” Jimmy frowned. He reached for Tessa’s hand. “Come on. We’re leaving this place.”

  Tessa recoiled and fixed Jimmy with a pointed stare. She wasn’t about to be bossed around by him. “I’m staying here.”

  “Jimmy,” the Bandage Man hissed. “We don’t have time for this!”

  Tessa tilted her head as the boy’s expression contorted into one of overwhelming concern, worry lines appearing in droves. All that feeling, all that fear... Is that for me? She blushed and bit her lip, unable to keep her gaze above his knees. Though she wouldn’t be going with him, some deeply rooted part of her longed to.

  She dismissed the thought. Dr. Horvat knew what was best for her, far better than any silly boy could. A bead of sweat tickled her cheek as she tried to keep her smile from wavering. A soft crack came from her hands, and she looked down to find her crayon broken.

  Jimmy’s gaze darted from her to the Bandage Man and back again. He balled up his fists, stiffened, and let out a grumble of frustration. Then he did something Tessa would have thought completely unlikely had it not just happened—he kissed her. It was light and on her cheek, but it made her stomach gurgle as if it were hungry. She stepped backward, her hand over the spot his lips had touched, not knowing what to say or do.

  “I’m sorry, Tessa.” He had the big-eyed, sad look of a neglected puppy. “We need to go, but I will keep my promise. You’ll see. We’ll come back with help—for everyone stuck in here.”

  He left at that, heading for the door with the bag in his hand, which appeared to be holding a cell phone and something metallic and shiny. He ran to the Bandage Man, who was pressing a keycard over the reader at the staff-only door. None of it made any sense to her, but her mouth uttered a word as soon as it had formed in her mind. “Wait.”

  But Jimmy didn’t hear her. He passed through the doorway, letting the door swing shut behind him. Tessa sprinted for it, lunging forward with her foot to block the door from closing all the way. Something told her she needed to follow them. The boy seemed kind, and for some unknown reason, she worried about him. Maybe it was the Bandage Man, filling Jimmy’s head with lies about Dr. Horvat. Did that nasty man mean to harm the doctor?

  The door’s weight pressed hard against her slipper as she debated what to do—stay put and be good, as the doctor wanted, or follow the Bandage Man to make sure he didn’t hurt Dr. Horvat. Or the boy?

  She slid forward onto her trapped foot, wrenched open the door, then stepped through it, a pinging in her subconscious spurring her on despite her better judgment.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Ugh!” Sam sat up then fell back onto the gurney. She closed her eyes again. “Someone please stop the room from spinning.”

  “Sam!” She heard Michael shout, his voice like an air horn blasted in her ear. He scrambled to her, which meant he wasn’t tied up. In a moment, he was at her side. She tested her arms and legs, raising and lowering each slowly to keep her head and stomach settled. Neither met with resistance.

  “Sam!” Hands groped her sleeve and jostled her. “You need to get up!”

  White lights flashed under her lids. Sam forced herself to open them, squinted, then closed them again.

  “Hurry!”

  “I’m trying!” she snapped, her throbbing skull provoking a more venomous response than she’d intended. “It would be easier if you’d quit shaking me and stop yelling.”

  “Sorry,” Michael said, barely a whisper. “But they’re coming back. You need to get up now. I need you. We’ve gotta do something.”

  “Okay.” Sam forced herself up again then slid her feet off the bed. She stood up, her body shaking as if her blood sugar had taken a nosedive. She froze, vomit threatening to explode from her mouth, but she swallowed it down, its bitterness worse than sucking on a lemon. Her face puckered and she groaned, but struggling through the burning tang helped clear her head.

  The sun coming through the skylight failed to illuminate the room, but even its meager rays stabbed like daggers into Sam’s brain. She squinted then snapped her fingers.

  “The skylight,” she croaked, her voice sounding more like that of an eighty-year-old chain smoker than her own. “Maybe we can get out through there.”

  She grabbed her gurney and half-rolled, half-slid it into the center of the room, pausing only once to keep from puking. With it directly under the skylight, Sam still wasn’t sure she could reach the potential exit. The room’s cathedral-like ceiling put it at least ten, maybe twelve, feet up.

  “Hold it steady,” she told Michael as she climbed atop the gurney. He tried several grips on the rails before he had it. He tightened his grasp, planted his feet, and grit his teeth, his determined expression aggressive, almost savage.

  Sam nodded as she rose from her knees to her feet, the gurney shifting and wheels squeaking as it trembled despite Michael’s efforts. The shaking, though slight, was enough to make her head reel and stomach churn all over again. Taking deep breaths, she reached for the latch securing the skylight, stretching out her arms and rising on her toes. “I... I can’t...”

  She let out a sigh and slouched. “I could probably jump up and undo the latch, but I’m not sure if it’s a crank, or a push will open it... if it even opens in the first place.” She studied Michael, estimating his weight in her head. “Maybe if I lift you up, you could get it open.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows and slowly removed his hands from the rails. “I’ll try.” But as he slid his knee onto the mattress, Sam heard voices talking outside. She thrust out her palm.

  Michael’s gaze darted between her and the door. “What do we do?”

  “Shhh!” She crouched on the gurney as if that would somehow make it easier to hear the approaching voices. She needed a moment to think. Maybe two with the way her head was spinning. If she had just a little more time, she was sure she could think of some way out of there. Only one idea came to mind, and she acted on it.

  “Quick.” Sam jumped off the gurney. “Help me push this in front of the door.”

  Together, Sam and Michael hurried to block the entrance, making it to the door and tipping the gurney on its side just as the viewing slot slid open and a pair of dark eyes peeked through. “Goooooood,” Wainwright’s smarmy voice said. “You’re both up. Step back, please.”

  Sam bolted forward and jammed the railing underneath the door handle. She crossed her arms and stepped back, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction as she took in her makeshift barricade. Michael mimicked her, stepping back from the gurney. Wainwright would have had no trouble assessing their lack of weapons or defense from his vantage point.

  He tried to open the door. The lever clanked against the gurney’s rail then returned to rest. When it moved again, it stayed pressed against the rail. The door pushed open in a smooth gait, the gurney sliding away with it.

  Wainwright clicked his teeth as he stepped over the threshold. His doctor girlfriend followed.

  Sam rushed him, fist raised. She threw a haymaker that would have leveled King Kong had it connected, but Wainwright effortlessly bobbed away from the blows with speed a man his age should not have had. He was faster than anyone she’d faced before. And her own movements felt slow, hampered by both intoxication and nausea.

  She brought her arms back to guard her face, but before she could execute the series of punches she had in mind, the doctor, as strong as Wainwright was quick, kicked her in the side. Sam groaned and folded over the fresh injury.
She’d instinctively deflected it with her elbow, but had the kick been a little higher, she would probably have suffered a few broken ribs. A ruptured kidney, though, didn’t seem much better.

  Still, it was far from her first beatdown. She took in a breath and tried to stand tall, readying for her next offensive against two opponents. As she gritted her teeth and charged, Wainwright drew a pistol. Its nozzle indented her forehead before she could swing, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Come now, Detective,” Wainwright said, his wry smile returning. “We’re all civilized here.” He laughed uproariously as if he’d made the world’s greatest joke then abruptly stopped.

  “There’s nowhere to go, Samantha.” He lowered the gun to his side. “That’s a lovely name, Samantha. Do you mind if I call you that?”

  Without waiting for a response, he continued. “Do you remember what you told me while you were under the good doctor’s spell?” He paced in front of Michael then back in front of her. “You said the boy here could tell the future.”

  Sam stiffened. “I have no idea—”

  “There’s no use denying it, Samantha. You said it. Whether it’s true or not remains to be seen, but if there’s one thing I know about my darling Mira’s serum, it’s that if you said it, you meant it.” He peered at Sam with calculating eyes.

  Unable to talk herself out of what she might have said while under the influence, Sam said nothing.

  “Hmm.” Wainwright scratched his chin. “Well, I believe you, and you believe you, but Mira here... she’s too hard on herself. She thinks perhaps her formula needs a little more tweaking, that maybe you were just too high to think straight.”

  “She is the doctor here.” Sam scoffed. “That doesn’t make any sense to you?”

  Wainwright frowned, and Sam took satisfaction in the small win. His dark, shining eyes, like oil spills aflame, lost some of their twinkle. “Well, your little disclosure is what’s keeping—” He jabbed his finger into Michael’s cheek with enough force to make Michael grimace. “—him alive.”