Frank laughed, happy to be alive, even happier to be holding his wife in his arms again. When their lips met, they felt full of broken glass, but it was a kiss they would remember for the rest of their lives, however long they had left.
17 — The Delusion of Freedom
Frank and Linda sat hand in hand in the backseat of Sheriff Stanton’s cruiser, listening to him explain the situation as they drove the dark, winding road toward the station.
“So really you’re just lucky Deputy Miller and I were aware of the back road to the Hill compound and came that way when we did.” He glanced at them in the rearview with a tight smile. “Those militia folk like to think they live in the shadows, but we’ve been keeping tabs on all of them down at the station house, especially the two fellas who got you the worst.”
“Have they been in trouble before?” Linda wondered.
The sheriff raised his eyebrows and chuckled to himself. “Colby Digsby? You could say that. He’s been in and out of my cells fairly often since he came back crippled from his last tour in Afghanistan. I’ve got a feeling a lot of his anger issues come—came, I should say—from his frustration with how badly the government failed him and others like him when they got home.”
“What about the other guy?” Frank said. “Gitmo.”
“Michael Day Rider. Blackfoot Indian, I think. Not sure why they call him ‘Gitmo,’ seeing as I don’t think he was ever at Guantanamo Bay. He was a Marine. Discharged in ‘08, according to his service records.”
“What for?”
“You’d have to ask him.” The sheriff glowered in the rearview. “Although I don’t suppose you’ll be able to if he’s dead, as you say.”
Linda looked out at the black woods. “Will we be long at the station?”
“I don’t suspect we will. I’ll just need to take your statements and then you’ll be free to go back to . . . Seattle, was it?”
Frank nodded. “That’s right.”
“It’s just that we could really use a change of clothes,” Linda said.
“I didn’t want to be the one to point it out.” Sheriff Stanton gave her a grim smile. “I’ll see what I can do about that back at the station, but the wife may end up having to pillage our wardrobe.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, to a small, single-story building at the foot of the mountains. It could have been a dentist’s office or a liquor store if not for the “Danby Sheriff's Dept.” sign out front.
Sheriff Stanton pulled the cruiser up to the front and got out. He opened Linda’s door, and she climbed out, careful not to hit her head as she had getting in. Frank slid across the seat and got out behind her.
“I’ll have Stephanie ring up Doc Ambers to swing by and take a look at those injuries while you run your story past me.”
He held the door for them. Linda stepped in. Frank hobbled in after her.
The front room looked like they were in the process of moving either in or out, with boxes everywhere and only a few photos of medal ceremonies and previous sheriffs on the walls, along with a “Wanted” list and a “Community Postings” board.
The young brunette at the front desk looked up, and her large blue eyes popped at the sight of them. “Oh gosh!” She laid a hand between her heavy breasts. “I don’t mean to gawk, but the two of you look like you’ve been through the wringer!”
“We’ve had better days,” Linda admitted.
“Steph, ring up Johnny’s and get them to bring by a couple of house specials with extra gravy.” Sheriff Stanton scowled in their direction. “You two do eat meat, right?”
“Even if I was a vegetarian, I would eat a horse right now,” Linda said.
The sheriff grinned amiably. “Doubt it’ll come to that, though Johnny’s takeout has been mistaken for worse. Give Doc Ambers a call too, will ya, Steph?”
“You got it, Chief.”
“Stephanie, how many times do I have to ask you please to stop calling me ‘Chief’?’”
The woman grinned. “Just about every day, Gus.”
The man shook his head with a half smile and gestured for Frank and Linda to go on ahead. Frank shuffled after her.
“Take a left in that room up ahead.”
She stepped into the dark room, and Frank followed. In the light from the hall she could make out a desk and three chairs, a water cooler, and a filing cabinet.
Sheriff Stanton flicked on the light.
The office looked even less lived in, with a family photo on the desk along with a pen jar and a scattering of papers, the sheriff’s credentials on the wall behind the desk. Linda supposed they didn’t do a lot of actual policing here aside from traffic tickets and the occasional late-night drunken brawl, but it still struck her as odd.
“Is this office new?”
“We’re in the process of moving to a new location closer to town,” Sheriff Stanton said. “Now if you don’t mind, start from the beginning. How did you come to be in the company of Gary Hill and his thugs?”
The sheriff gestured for them to sit. They did so gladly, Frank wincing as he sank into the hard vinyl, and he pushed the chair out to give both legs a good stretch. Aside from the one that had popped earlier in the day, his stitches had held on through everything, by some miracle. They’d have to be removed and redone by a professional, but he hoped that by then, he’d be heavily medicated.
Linda began to tell the whole story for the sheriff, and Frank managed to remain focused enough to pipe up with details when she stumbled, misremembered, or simply forgot. Sheriff Stanton listened intently, jotted down details, and asked questions when something required clarification or just didn’t sit right.
Stephanie interrupted on the intercom twice: once to confirm their food order, which the sheriff dismissed with slight aggravation, and a second time to update him on the situation at the lodge.
“Well, we can bring our men home in one piece at least,” he said when told that the state police, ATF, and FBI had taken over the siege at Lone Loon Lodge.
Once Linda had told him all she could remember, the sheriff set his pen on the notebook and leaned back in his chair, drawing his hands behind his head. “That’s quite a story, Mr. and Mrs. Moffat. You don’t think this doctor fella has any involvement with the Hill family, do you?”
Linda turned to Frank, who shrugged. “Do you have reason to believe that, Gus?”
The sheriff lowered his arms and folded his hands on the desk. “Up until an hour ago, I was under the impression Lone Loon Lodge was a rehabilitation center. Now I hear they were treating their patients to intense psychological abuse, and an actor under their employ may have assaulted you.”
“Did assault me.”
“Seeing as the man is dead as you claim, I don’t suppose you’ll want to press charges against him. However if you do want to take these people to task, I’d be happy to fill out the paperwork—”
“Forget it.” Frank shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He hated police stations because of how often his father had been called away to work when he was growing up, and he just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Linda agreed with a fervent nod. “I just want to forget this whole weekend ever happened.”
“Probably a good idea,” Sheriff Stanton said. “Those Hill boys will see the inside of a prison cell by dawn. With all the potential charges against them, I’m sure they’ll be wishing they never met the two of you.”
The intercom buzzed. Sheriff Stanton scowled at it like an annoying child. His chair groaned as he sat up to flick the button. “If that’s the food, Stephanie, feel free to bring it on in.”
“It’s not. I really think you need to come out here, Gus.”
“Stephanie, I’m in the middle of taking a statement here—”
“There’s a Dr. Kaspar at the desk. He says he needs to speak with you urgently.”
The sheriff scowled thoughtfully. “Send him on in.” He sat back with a curious smile. “Well, this ought to be interesting.”
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Frank jerked upright, gripping the armrests of his chair. Linda nearly toppled hers, standing up to get as far away as she could.
Gary “Sarge” Hill stood in the doorway dressed in a neatly tailored three-piece suit, clean-shaven with no cowboy hat. He held a clipboard under an arm. Alex stood at his shoulder, dressed in white like a hospital orderly.
“What the hell is this?” Linda said, taking the words from Frank’s mouth.
“Sheriff Stanton,” Sarge said with a slight Austrian accent, “my name is Dr. Kaspar.”
“What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“That’s not Dr. Kaspar,” Linda said. “That’s him. That’s Gary Hill. Sarge.”
Sarge gave Linda a look of keen interest, like an entomologist studying a new behavior in an insect. “It’s just as I feared, Sheriff Stanton. Their delusion has gotten worse.”
“Wait wait wait.” The sheriff stood. “Mrs. Moffat, this man is not Gary Hill.”
“That’s the man who held us hostage!”
The sheriff surveyed the papers on his desk, found a newspaper, and unfolded it to a page. He slid it across the desk and pointed to a black and white photograph of a mustached man a decade younger than the man calling himself Kaspar, wearing a familiar cowboy hat and duster. The headline said “Hell’s Gate Posse Boss Files Lawsuit Against Montana BLM.”
“No. That’s not him.” The ground beneath her feet felt unsteady. She pointed a trembling finger at the man calling himself Dr. Kaspar. “That’s Sarge.”
Sheriff Stanton regarded her queerly. “Ma’am, my people have lived in this county as long as the Hills have, and I assure you, that’s Gary.” He pointed to the man in the photo. “Doctor . . . Casper, was it?”
“Kaspar,” the man posing as Dr. Kaspar said.
“Right. Maybe you could enlighten me as to what their alleged ‘condition’ is, as it seems to me their only visible condition is badly beaten and possibly confused.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. Frank and Linda Moffat were remanded to my facility last week for possession of large quantities of marijuana with the attempt to sell to an undercover policeman.”
“He’s lying.” Frank tried to rise from the chair, but his legs gave out under him. “This is bullshit—”
“Sit,” Sheriff Stanton said.
Frank plopped back down in the chair.
“If you administer a drug test, you’ll find Mr. Moffat positive for marijuana use.”
Linda shook her head. “You can’t possibly believe him, Gus.”
The sheriff held up a hand. “Sheriff. Let me hear his side, Mrs. Moffat. You’ll have a chance for rebuttal.”
The man calling himself Dr. Kaspar gave him a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Sheriff Stanton. The Billings police department sent Mr. and Mrs. Moffat to my facility due to erratic behavior presented during their interrogation.” He held up the clipboard. “The two of them managed to escape my facility this morning. My team has been looking everywhere for them. I have the Involuntary Commitment forms here, stating they are to remain at my facility until further notice, if you’d like to see them.”
“Your facility?” Frank shook his head. “It’s a couples retreat! Alex, tell him.”
Alex folded his muscular arms across his chest.
“Come on!”
“Frank,” Linda said.
He turned to her. All she did was shake her head.
They had beaten them again, and she knew it. The best she could hope for was a phone call. She thought her boss might be able to call in a favor and get them released, maybe put the screws on these pricks before things got even worse than they already were.
Sheriff Stanton came around the desk, holding out a hand toward the man in the doctor’s coat. “Let me get a look at those forms.”
Frank grabbed the man’s arm as he passed. When the sheriff glowered down at him, he realized he’d likely just turned the sheriff’s department against them with a single gesture, and he hastily retracted his hand.
Sheriff Stanton met Sarge at the door. He took the clipboard and scanned the document. “Hmm.”
“Well?” Linda said.
“Well, it looks legitimate—”
“Goddamn it, Sheriff!” Frank cried. “Gus? Come on! I mean, this isn’t right! You have to know that. You pulled us over yesterday! How could we have been at his bullshit facility since last week when we just got here yesterday?”
Linda looked at the sheriff expectantly.
Sheriff Stanton scrutinized them a moment. Then he handed the clipboard back and shook his head. “I pull over a lot of people, Mr. Moffat. Just that time of year.”
Frank slammed his fists on the armrests. “This is insane!”
The man calling himself Dr. Kaspar tutted. “Now now, Mr. Moffat. You know we don’t like to use that word—”
“FUCK YOU!”
“All right, that’s enough!” Sheriff Stanton growled, slamming a fist on the desk. The jar of pens toppled. They rolled off the desk and fell to the floor at Frank’s feet, one after another.
The man calling himself Dr. Kaspar eyed them shrewdly. Alex wouldn’t look either of them in the eye.
Sheriff Stanton sat back down behind his desk, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. Everybody keep quiet.” He thumbed the intercom. “Stephanie, can you ring Billings P.D.?”
“Will do, Gus.”
The five of them didn’t say a word or move a muscle until the desk phone rang. Sheriff Stanton picked it up on the second ring.
“Danby Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff Stanton speaking.” He paused and nodded. “That’s right . . . oh, do you? Yep, Chipper’s a good man, all right.” He chuckled. “Well look, Captai—James, all right then. James, I’ve got a strange situation developing down here, and I could sure use your assistance. There’s a Dr. Kaspar in my office with Involuntary Commitment papers signed by your office for two individuals involved in a kidnap—no sir, they were the ones who claim to have gotten kidnapped.”
He straightened the pen jar and returned a single remaining pen to it. “It’s a long story, James, but the gist of it is that this Dr. Kaspar character claims these people fled his facility despite being under involuntary commitment due to peculiar behavior they allegedly exhibited during a routine arrest for marijuana possession—”
Sheriff Stanton sat up, suddenly intrigued. “Oh, you do know them? Moffat, that’s correct. Frank and Linda. Well, that is definitely interesting . . . all right then. Thank you kindly, James. I’ll be sure and tell Chipper you said hello.”
He cradled the phone.
Frank held out his hands. “Sheriff, please, you have to believe us—”
“The only thing I have to do is return you to the custody of these two gentlemen.”
“We haven’t done—”
“Shut. The hell. Up,” the sheriff snarled, and Linda startled, arms draped across her chest where she’d retreated in the farthest corner of the room.
Frank sat and quietly shook his head.
“I’d like to know a little about their condition, Dr. Kaspar, if you will.”
Dr. Kaspar cleared his throat.
“Everything he’s about to say is a lie.”
“It’s over, Frank.”
He turned to Linda in desperation. “You’re just gonna give up?”
“They beat us. No matter what we do, they twist it around on us.”
“They’ll kill us, Lin . . .”
“All I know for sure is I’m done fighting. I’m done, Frank.”
“Dr. Kaspar?” Sheriff Stanton said. “If you will.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Stanton. It is my contention that Frank and Linda Moffat suffer from a shared delusion of persecution. A folie à deux in which no one can be truste
d but themselves.”
“We're paranoid? Look at us!”
“Sit down.”
Frank sat. “I got stabbed, Gus. They burned her with a barbeque lighter. Show him, Lin.” She didn’t move.
“A man pissed in my goddamn face, Jesus Christ, Gus! You shot two men with rifles in the road out there! Was that part of our so-called delusion?”
“That’s a good point,” the sheriff said, and turned his quizzical gaze to the men at the door.
Sarge remained unflappable, speaking hurriedly in his phony Austrian accent. “Merely a coincidence. We’ve had difficulties with the Hill family in the past. They claim to be the rightful owners of land which I purchased many years ago. The Moffats were, as they say, in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Frank shook his head. “This is fuckin’ incredible. I don’t believe this.”
“Of course you don’t believe it. Your delusion prevents you.”
The chair toppled as Frank pushed out of it, grabbing for the man’s throat. Alex stepped in between them, holding him back with a hand.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you! Both of you! I’m gonna cut you up and pin your fucked up brains to the wall so future generations can study them under a fucking microscope!”
“That’s egoddamnnough!”
Sheriff Stanton grabbed him in an arm lock. Frank fought back with what little strength he had left, but couldn’t get free.
“Frank!”
He tore his gaze away from the man playing Kaspar to look back over Stanton’s shoulder.
Linda gave him a sad smile. “It’s time to stop fighting. Please.”
He struggled a moment longer and gave up. As he went slack in Stanton’s arms, a very satisfied smile crossed Dr. Kaspar’s lips.
18 — Asylum
Frank and Linda sat in the backseat of a long, white van while Alex drove. Sarge, or Kaspar, or whoever he really was, sat opposite in the jumper seat. Neither Linda nor Frank struggled. It was pointless to fight against the straightjackets.
Sheriff Stanton hadn’t even allowed them to make a call before they were hustled out to the waiting van, claiming the Billings police would have already given them the opportunity.
The Method Page 18