The 13th

by John Everson

  David reached into his pants pocket and held out the answer. “I have a key.”

  Christy shook her head. “Look, David, I know you want to help. But you’re just asking for trouble that way. If Brenda is there, I promise you, I’ll find out. There are things going on that you don’t know about. And for once, I’d like you to not turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay?”

  She put a finger under his chin and forced him to meet her eyes. And again, David felt himself tremble just a bit at the intensity of her gaze. For an irritating cop, she sure was gorgeous!

  “Promise me?” she insisted. “Go home to your aunt’s, and stay there?”

  Christy watched David pull his bike off the car rack, and ride away in silence. He looked unhappy, but what could she do? Nothing with him. But she could do something with a little help from the chief. Steeling her courage, she marched back into the station, determined to get the chief to get a search warrant issued. Today.

  But when she went inside, the chief instead grabbed her first. He stood at Matt’s desk with the girl, who was now dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that the chief had commandeered from the grocery. Her hair was still damp, and up in a ponytail; while they’d procured her some clothes, she’d taken a shower in the station’s locker room.

  “Sorensen,” he called. “I’ve talked with Oak Falls, and they know Amy Lynn’s story, here. I want you to give her a ride home. Oak Falls will keep an eye on her for the next few days, at least until we track down TG and Billy.”

  Christy’s heart sank. Now she was a taxi service?

  “Chief, can I talk to you before I go?” she asked.

  “After.” He patted Amy Lynn on the shoulders paternally, and then gave a curt nod to Christy before lumbering back to his office.

  Christy forced a smile for Amy Lynn’s sake. “Two rides in a squad in one day?” she joked. “Better be careful this doesn’t become a habit.”

  The girl gave a weak smile in return. “I hope this one will be my last, for a while anyway.”

  By the time she delivered Amy Lynn to her apartment back in Oak Falls and then answered a shoplifting call at Smythe’s Grocery, the afternoon light was fading. As Christy reached for the door of the station, it opened, and the chief came out.

  “Chief,” she started, but he held up a hand.

  “I know what you want, Sorensen,” he growled. His face looked more lined than usual, the silver in his hair a sign of weakness right now, not wisdom. “But you don’t have enough evidence. I can’t pull a warrant on a crazy house just because some girl said a couple of thugs were headed there with someone else. It’ll never stand up.”

  He moved past her and shook his head. “Stay alert,” he said, repeating his police chief mantra. Then he added something to it. “And stay away from the asylum.”

  Christy stood there holding the door open, as she watched him slowly lumber toward the parking lot. He looked exhausted in a way she’d never seen him. She was furious. Her mouth hung open as she followed his slouching figure until it turned out of sight. Taking a breath, she finally went inside the station, and noted that Matt was already gone too.

  Wasn’t the captain supposed to be the last man on deck? she thought, as she sat down at her computer to file her paperwork for the day. But no, instead, it looked like in Castle Point, it was the rookie who manned the last station.

  Or womanned it, she thought.

  It was after six by the time she hit print and gathered the last forms to drop in Chief’s in-box. As she dropped them off, something on his desk caught her eye. A small card folded and tucked under his desk calendar. With the edge of a photo sticking out. Glancing behind her to make sure nobody had walked into the station, Christy stepped around the chief’s desk and slid the photo out. She knew why it had caught her attention before she even got to the face. It was the high school photo of Chief’s daughter, Stacy. A larger version was there in a frame on his desk; she’d seen it virtually every day since she’d started with the force. Slipping the card out from under the calendar, she read the handwritten words inside, and her heart leaped.

  If you’d like to see her again, don’t think about any warrants for the next few days. I think you know what I mean.

  The card was unsigned, but Christy knew instantly whom it had come from: Dr. Rockford. But how? Why would he even know about her push for a warrant? She racked her brain, trying to think if she had mentioned it on the police band when she’d called in from the Terror Twins’ place this morning.

  What the hell is going on out there? she thought. Carefully, Christy tucked the photo back into the card and slipped it back under the calendar. Then she left the station and took a drive over to Stacy’s neighborhood. She slowed when she saw the squad in front of Stacy’s house. That’s why Chief had been in such a hurry to leave when she’d tried to talk to him. He’d been on his way here. And as she made a left turn to avoid passing directly in front of the house, she saw that he hadn’t found anything. The chief was sitting on the porch of his daughter’s house, hands wrapped around his knees, staring off into space. Christy thought that for as big of a man as he was, the chief suddenly didn’t look very large at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  David wasn’t sure if he could watch one more episode of Cheers with his aunt. It was a ME-TV marathon, and they’d been listening to canned laughter since dinner. He didn’t mind the first half an hour, but after that, sitcoms really got on his nerves. It was almost as if they inserted the laugh tracks to tell the sheep watching the programs what was funny. He could hear the studio executives editing the programs: “Here, laugh, dipshits. It’s funny. Trust me.”

  His gaze began to wander around the room, resting on old photos chronicling Elsie’s life, from a recent one of her neighbor’s chubby kids wearing Santa hats last Christmas to a faded one of his late uncle Bill holding what looked to be at least a twenty-pound fish on a line. Over on the table near the front door, a more recent photo showed a woman with chestnut hair on her tiptoes, exaggerating a kiss with a man whose mouth was curled up in a stifled laugh. David remembered when that photo had been taken, not long before the fire. His eyes grew wet at the memory of his parents, and he forced his gaze away to the pile of mail on the catchall table. He saw the People magazine and a handful of catalogs stacked there, beneath what looked to be a couple of bills and an invitation of some kind. She’d opened that and in simple red block letters the card’s front read YOU’RE INVITED. He wondered whose yard party he’d be dragged to. On the TV, Norm put up his hands when Sam answered the phone and said, “It’s Vera.” “No way, Sammy,” the rotund barfly hissed and pushed his empty mug forward across the bar. “I’ll need at least two more of these before I can go there.”

  David rolled his eyes as he brought his attention back to the television. That settled it. He put a fist to his mouth and exaggerated a yawn. “Think I’m going to turn in,” he said.

  “But it’s not even ten o’clock,” Elsie said.

  “Yeah, but…”

  His excuse was cut off by the doorbell.

  “Now who could that be?” Elsie said, and started to pry herself out of the easy chair.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, and motioned for her to stay in her seat. When he opened the door, and saw who stood on the stoop, he could only think of one thing to say.

  “You again!”

  Christy Sorensen brushed a moth from fluttering in front of her face, and smiled grimly. “Yeah, I knew you’d be having withdrawal by now, so I decided to stop by.”

  She was wearing worn, faded blue jeans, and a black T-shirt with the logo of a bar called Red-Eyed Fly. Instead of the police squad, there was an old boat of a car parked on the curb. Clearly this wasn’t an official visit. “You want to come in?” he asked.

  Christy peered around him and saw Elsie craning from her chair to see who was at the door. “Why don’t you come out?” she countered. “And bring that key you were bragging about this afternoo
n.”

  David grinned. “Give me three minutes.”

  “So what changed your mind?” he asked, as the car pulled away from the curb. He’d pulled on his other jeans, grabbed his keys and told Elsie he had to help a friend. Christy already had the engine running when he came out.

  “I shouldn’t tell you, because it’s police business,” she hesitated. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter since if we get caught I’m going to be fired anyway.”

  She pulled to a stop at the light on Main, and caught David again in that look. Instead of feeling uncomfortable this time though, he decided he liked it. Liked her, actually. She might be a cop, but she was all right. Didn’t hurt that she was a total fox either. He almost laughed out loud at that thought.

  “Look,” she said, staring hard at him, as if it was very important that he understood what she was about to say implicitly. “The chief has had a hunch that something was going on out there at the old hotel since the day these asylum people moved in. I was out there trying to figure it out, but you blew my cover. Still, I got inside one night and got a glimpse at some of the patients, and I found out that most of them are missing persons.”

  “So they’re not crazy at all,” David interjected.

  She shrugged, and then looked back at the road as the light changed. “I don’t know, but I’d bet against it. I saw some of the doc’s stuff on the walls and in his exam room, and none of it talks about him being a head doctor. He’s some kind of big-shot genetic scientist. I don’t think he’s worried about whether they’re schizoid, I think he’s doing some kind of experiments on them.”

  “It’s worse than that,” David said. “I told you what I saw yesterday. The guy’s doing some kind of rituals in the basement using these women.”

  “Jury’s out on that,” she said. “But he’s doing something there that he doesn’t want the world to find out about. And here’s how I know for sure.”

  She told him about the blackmail note she’d found with the picture of the chief’s daughter. David whistled.

  “So that’s why we’re going out here on our own tonight,” she concluded. “The department isn’t going to get a warrant. And something’s going on there now; they wouldn’t grab the chief’s daughter to hold indefinitely.”

  David nodded. “Just so they don’t grab us.”

  Christy pulled the Olds off the road just before the cutoff to the old hotel. When they got out of the car, the cricket song was loud as locusts. Stars lit the ground with a steady glow; it was a warm, clear night.

  “Nice out,” David said.

  “Yeah,” Christy said. “Not sure that’s a good thing. We don’t want to be seen out here.”

  “Just stay close to the tree line,” he suggested and stepped off the gravel road and into the brush. She followed, and a few minutes later he led her across the back patio to the rear entrance of the asylum.

  “Think they’ve got a night alarm?” he asked, only half joking as he pulled out the key. Christy held the screen door.

  “Shit,” she said. “If they do, you better be as fast on your feet as you are on that bike.”

  He turned the key in the lock and it clicked. The door whispered open, the light from the summer sky illuminating the dark foyer just inside in long shadows. Christy put her hand on David’s chest and eased past him, taking a flat stance against the hallway wall and slowly easing her way forward. All she’s missing is the gun, David thought, admiring her precision steps. He carefully pulled the screen and inside doors shut, and tiptoed after her.

  In moments they had crept down the hallway to the main reception area. Just as the last time they’d each been here, the main floor was silent, and empty. When they reached the second floor, Christy grabbed David by the arm and pulled him against the wall near room one. For just a second, his pulse quickened as he thought she was about to kiss him. But instead, she dug a hand into her jeans pocket and slid out a photo of a pretty young woman, golden-haired and freckled. She handed it to David.

  “I got this from Oak Falls PD today,” she whispered. “She was reported missing yesterday, and was last seen at the bar where Amy Lynn was picked up. Name’s Mary Jane McCarthy. I’m betting she’s the girl who was passed out in the front seat of the Mustang. The girl they brought here after they dropped Amy Lynn off at the shack.”

  David tried to commit the photo to memory, and nodded. Christy took it back, and reached out to try the doorknob of the first room. It opened easily, but the pounding in David’s chest as she pushed it open was for naught.

  The room was empty. Just a bed and a dresser.

  The same as the next room. And the next.

  When they pulled the door shut on an also-empty room five, David hissed, “I thought they had patients in this whole wing.”

  Christy’s lips turned down. The creases at the corner of her eyes betrayed her concern. “They did,” she said.

  Finally, when she pushed open the door to room six, their luck changed. Christy held up her hand to caution him as soon as the door let light into the room and she saw the sleeping form on the bed. They slipped inside and closed the door. “Is this Brenda?” Christy whispered in his ear. He shook his head no, and she pulled him back out to the hall.

  “I didn’t bring the mug shots of all the patients I saw here last time, because it doesn’t matter at this point. I know they were here, and as the Law, I can’t do anything about it at the moment. But if we see Brenda, or can confirm this other girl…”

  There were women in rooms seven through ten, all of them sleeping deeply. Several were obviously pregnant. None of them stirred as they slipped in and out of their rooms.

  “This is creepy,” David whispered as they left room ten. “It’s like they’re dead.”

  “Sleeping with Prince Valium,” Christy said. “I recognize a couple of them from the missing persons mugs. And I’m pretty sure the Terror Twins brought them here.”

  Christy turned the knob on room eleven as she talked to David, and pushed open the door, expecting another dark room with a sleeping woman inside.

  While that’s exactly what she opened the door into, she hadn’t expected David’s reaction. He pushed past her, running to the bedside of the sleeping patient inside.

  “Oh my God,” he cried, and put his hand on the woman’s cheek. “It’s you. It’s really you. Brenda? Brenda, wake up, please.”

  Christy stepped up softly behind him and put her hand on his shoulder as he pleaded with the unconscious woman. “David,” she said. “She’s drugged. She’s not going to wake up right now.”

  Brenda certainly didn’t look likely to wake. She lay flat on her back beneath dull white sheets, dark hair mussed over her left eye, a strand of hot pink spread like anemone on the pillow. But David wouldn’t give up so easily. He took the sleeping girl by the shoulders and shook her, and then bent to hiss in her ear, “Wake up, Brenda, wake up!”

  He shook her again by the shoulders, harder this time, and Christy pulled him back. “Stop it,” she commanded.

  When he turned to her, his eyes glistened. “It’s my fault she’s here,” he said. “We have to get her up.”

  Christy nodded. “We will. But she’s probably not going on her own power.”

  David shrugged off her hands and returned to the bed. He folded down the blanket and reached an arm beneath Brenda’s head. He lifted her to a sitting position, and her face promptly slumped forward, hair hanging across the faded blue hospital gown like a shield.

  Somewhere in the asylum, a woman screamed.

  David jumped, nearly pushing the poor girl off the bed. Christy reached out and caught her, and the two of them laid Brenda back to the pillow.

  The scream came again, this time more faint, yet somehow, more bloodcurdling.

  “We’ve gotta get out of here,” David whispered.

  “No,” Christy answered. “Someone needs our help.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Brenda.”

  Christy shook her head. “She’s
not going anywhere. We’ll come back for her. But right now, somebody is in pain.”

  She walked away from the bed and opened the door. “You can stay here until I come back if you want. That’s probably best.”

  The door closed and David stared down at Brenda’s face. She was beautiful still, lit only by the faint light of the moon through the window. He ran the back of his hand up the side of her face. Her skin was velvety smooth and warm. Her body seemed to respond, taking in a deep breath and then settling heavily into the mattress.

  Again, a horrible shriek echoed into the room. David bet that it came through the ventilation ducts, and he knew where Christy would have to go to find its source.

  “Shit,” he moaned, and bent forward to kiss Brenda’s forehead. A strand of pink hair caught on his lip. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he promised.

  Christy closed the door to room eleven and slid silently down the long hall past the patient rooms they had already looked into. Then she tiptoed down the wide staircase to the main floor. The scream came again, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Someone was being filleted alive, or so it sounded.

  She stepped carefully across the carpet at the base of the stairs. The floor was quiet. Too quiet. A light shone from the front office just down the hall, but the rest of the place was cloaked in shadow. It seemed far more like an abandoned hotel at midnight than a fledgling medical institution. Who was on hand to watch over the patients?

  The door to the basement was not hard to find. She rounded a corner, and there it was, the red X.

  As if on cue, another scream sounded from someplace not so far away. This time though, it didn’t just end, but sort of quavered and quivered and lingered in the air, as if someone was having their intestines slowly reeled out from inside, one foot at a time.

  Christy flinched from the mental image, and just then, someone grabbed her by the shoulders.