Ryan nodded, though he felt a little ill that this man had sired him. “Yes. I need to know everything.”
She cleared her throat. “Okay. At that point my father was done pursuing a solution to what he considered my problem. We went back home long enough to pack up all my belongings. I was sent to Memphis, Tennessee, to live with Aunt Grace until I had you. The only way I got to continue to live with her, once you were born, was to agree to never tell you or anyone about Clayton Davis. My family was afraid, if you knew, you’d try to contact him once you were old enough. And they wanted nothing to do with a nut case.
“With the exception of speaking with my father once, I never spoke to my family again after Aunt Grace died a year after I moved in with her. She was a mean woman, and she kept my father informed of my every move. Once she was gone, and surprisingly left me her house, I sold it and moved to the house you remember growing up in. But I saw the wisdom in keeping information about a mad man away from you. I was afraid you’d be concerned with the hereditary issues.”
Ryan didn’t know what to say, or how to react. Until she’d said it, he hadn’t thought about the possibility of inheriting the condition. It was something he’d have to look into. But first, he needed to meet his father and see what was what, for himself. “I guess I’m leaving tomorrow for Mystic Waters, then. I only have four weeks to get my life in order before I show the world what video games are supposed to look and act like.” He laughed, though he was not amused. “How weird is it that my games are all full of witches and dark magic?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Ellen almost smiled at him. “You finished it then?”
Ryan nodded, all his earlier joy gone. What if he’d inherited his father’s craziness? What if what he’d thought brilliant fantasy for a nerd all these years was nothing more than hereditary memory? The though nauseated him. “Yeah, I finished it.”
Whoop-de-do, and Happy Birthday to me!
Chapter One
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steward, but your father had to be sedated again this morning, so he’ll be groggy, if he even wakes up. This isn’t an uncommon thing with him, though I’d hoped the therapy and medication we’ve been giving him for the past six months eventually might make a difference. Unfortunately, with many of our patients, it never does for long.”
“He’s been in here for six months?”
The doctor nodded. “This time. We can only keep him until his insurance stops paying. Hospital policy.” He grimaced. “Your father needs to be put somewhere permanently, for his own safety. But that isn’t my call.”
“So where does he go when he’s released?”
The doctor flipped through a manila file and looked back up. “He used to go to his stepfather’s house. But the retired police chief has gotten too old and feeble to handle Clayton. I believe the last time he was released he was homeless for about a week or so, then he was found lying in the street, smelling of liquor. When the police questioned him, he went right back to claiming witches had put him to sleep again, only this time, when he awoke, he could only remember he’d found them and had planned when he was going after them. He said he knew one was a cop, and he’d been watching her for months. It wasn’t until he was brought here, and asked the date, that he claimed they’d wiped his memory as well.
“It wasn’t the first time he’d told this story, or some variation of it. He’s been telling the same since he was a kid.”
“Did anyone check into his story?”
The doctor frowned at Ryan. “There is no reason to. Clayton has a lifelong history of mental illness. And no one in their right mind would believe the stories he tells.”
A chill rolled down Ryan’s spine. “Of course.”
“Look, I know this is all new to you, but I’ve spent a career with these cases. The sad truth is your father should be able to live a normal life with medication and therapy. His condition hasn’t improved over the years, and except for the way he acts out at times, it hasn’t gotten any worse, either. That’s actually pretty remarkable.”
Ryan absorbed the information. “How does he act out, other than telling wild stories?”
“He cuts his skin. Since he’s been here, he’s found several opportunities to do so. No matter what we try to do to stop him. If we take away one thing, he finds something else. But there is usually a long lull between episodes, and since he’s so close to being released, again, I’m trying to give him every opportunity to leave his room and socialize with the general population at meal times.”
“You said he cuts numbers into his arm. What numbers? Are they significant?”
The doctor shook his head. “He keeps repeating elevens. At first we thought it was just straight line cuts, but a couple of months ago, when he came back out of his latest manic episode, he kept repeating the number eleven. When I asked him what eleven meant, he said he didn’t remember, the witches took his memory, but he remembered eleven, and he had to keep saying it so he wouldn’t completely forget what they’d done to him.”
“So he still doesn’t know what it means, even now?”
Again the doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it probably doesn’t mean anything. More likely, this number is a repetitive hallucination that torments him.”
Ryan nodded, pushed up his glasses when they slid forward, and hoped his horror didn’t show. He thanked the doctor before following an orderly down the long beige hallway of the hospital’s psychiatric ward. They stopped at the thirteenth door on the right, which he thought appropriate somehow, as he waited until the door was unlocked. The orderly nodded and stepped back, but before he could make himself enter the room, he looked through the small wire enforced window to see his father lying on the bed.
He took a deep breath and moved forward. The door clicking closed behind him once he was inside sent another shiver down his spine. The entire facility gave him the creeps, but this room was even worse. It smelled like pine cleaner, rubbing alcohol, and bleach, a mixture that instantly made his head ache. He tried to ignore the smells and focused on the middle-aged man strapped to the bed. As if sensing his presence, Clayton opened his eyes, glared, and spit at Ryan, causing him to jump back to keep from being hit.
“Get the hell out of my room!”
Ryan stayed where he was, any hope of a good first meeting gone. “I can’t do that. I need some answers.”
“What the hell! I don’t need other psychiatrist picking my brain!”
“I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m your—” Ryan nearly choked. “Son.”
That seemed to startle Clayton, which was good. At least it took the scowl off his face…temporarily. He squinted his eyes and looked Ryan up and down as much as he could.
“I don’t have a son.”
That question answered, Ryan moved closer. “You do. I’m Ellen Steward’s son.”
Clayton laughed, a rough gurgled sound that ended in him coughing until spittle ran down his jaw. Ryan took a hesitant step and then another, before he reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and held it up. “Can I help?”
Eying Ryan warily, Clayton nodded and remained still while his son wiped his face. When Ryan resumed his distance, Clayton blew out a long breath. “How is she?”
Taken aback his father could recall her so quickly, he had to ask, “So you remember her?”
Clayton laughed, “I would think so. She’s the only girl who every listened to me for more than ten minutes back then.” He scowled. “And pretty much since.” His smile returned but was distant. “So that night produced you. That beats all. Why didn’t she ever tell me?”
Not wanting to go into that, Ryan shrugged. “It’s a long story. We’ll talk about it next time. I need to know something right now though.”
Clayton studied him and then nodded. “You want to know if you’ll end up in a place like this, with people constantly drugging you.”
Surprised by his perception, given he probably stayed medicated, Ryan nodded.
“Let me tell you something, son, I am not crazy, at least I wasn’t until they did all this to me. I told the truth from the beginning. I know it’s hard to believe. But I did. I was a little kid, and I told people what really happened. Maybe if I’d been older, I would have known better than to argue with them when they didn’t believe me. But I was accused of lying over and over, and I wasn’t. And then this last time, I was still too drunk to think straight and hold my tongue, and damned if I didn’t end up in here again!”
Ryan tried not to react to the foolishness his father spouted, since it was obvious Clayton believed what he was saying. “So you say witches are here, and they do things to you?”
Shaking his head, Clayton frowned. “No, not here. In the house I used to live in with my stepfather. And they didn’t do things to me, only one thing that first time. I was knocked out cold for a couple of days right after I witnessed that woman doing things with my stepfather. And, last time? They did it again right before I was put back in this hellhole. Only this time they wiped my memory for weeks.”
“Tell me about the first time. What kinds of things were done to a woman? And who was she?”
Clayton eyes grew wary. “Why? So you can laugh at me too?”
Ryan shook his head. “No. I don’t find any of this funny. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Well, I’m telling you!” He took a deep breath when Ryan jumped. “Sorry. Just give me a minute, okay? I’m not as eager to tell it as I once was.” He looked around the room then back at Ryan. “For obvious reasons.”
Clayton closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them, determination sharpening his gaze. “I witnessed them…uh, damn, doing unnatural things, with my own eyes, and then I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was two days later. But no one else knew that. Somehow the witch was gone, and my stepdad was going about his life as if nothing had happened and life was normal. Only it wasn’t. He didn’t even remember her, or…well, any of it.”
Ryan took a deep breath. His father was completely delusional. But he was talking, and that was something. “Why did you think it was two days later?”
Clayton stared up at Ryan, his eyes filled with anger. “I don’t think, I know. But in all the years I’ve told my story, no one ever asked me about that. They never got past me calling that woman a witch. They never believed she existed.”
He took a moment to breathe in deeply and out slowly and then sniffed. “Okay, I’ll tell you how, but you have to keep an open mind.”
Ryan nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”
Clayton nodded, his lips twisted. “That will be a first. But what the hell.
“I was in elementary school. A good student. A good kid, actually. I never lied to my stepfather or caused him any trouble. He was a good guy, and all I had, because my mom had died, and he kept me. He didn’t have to, but he did. I was grateful. And he was kind. So when all this happened and he didn’t believe me, it really hurt my feelings, and I was already scared shitless. That said, I’m going to tell you every detail I remember. Hell, you may as well know what has haunted me my entire life.
“The day I came home from school was a half-day, so I let myself in and went to my stepfather’s room to tell him he forgot to be at the school bus stop to get me. But his door was locked, so I figured he was there but asleep or something. So I peeked through the skeleton keyhole.” He grimaced. “That was my first mistake, but I was just a little kid and didn’t know any better.”
Ryan nodded and held his tongue. After all, what could he say?
“What I saw caused me to scream. I think.” He frowned. “I think I screamed… It’s so long ago now. I’m not sure about that anymore. But anyway, something alerted the witch that I was there, and all the doors in the house slammed shut. I jumped, startled, but other than blinking, I never stopped looking through the keyhole. My stepfather threw her away from him, and her head hit the nightstand before she landed on the floor. He screamed and hit the bed as hard.
“Then he was crying and screaming hysterically. Because he knew what had happened wasn’t normal. And I think he realized the witch was dead, and he’d killed her. I’m sure he never meant to, but he did.”
Ryan scratched his head, trying to decipher all he was being told. “What caused you to scream? Or do whatever you did to get the woman’s attention?”
Clayton stared at him for a full minute, his face expressionless. When he finally spoke, he did so slowly. “They were making love, although that didn’t come to me until years later, but they were floating at least four feet above the bed while they were doing it. That made me scream.”
Ryan backed up a step, his mind rejecting his father’s words. “You know that isn’t possible. Right?”
Clayton closed his eyes. “You may as well leave now. I knew you wouldn’t believe me either. But I’m telling you, knowing I’m about to die in this shithole, it is not only possible. It happened.
“Just like the witches blanking out my memory right before I came here this time. That really happened too.”
He opened his eyes. They were filled with defiance. “And when they are forced to release me this time, I’m going to prove it.”
****
Calling himself all kinds of a fool, Ryan drove the continuously curving mountain road, wondering why he hadn’t just gotten a hotel room in the valley below or, better yet, told the court he wasn’t about to take on a mad man when his life was just getting where he’d worked so hard for it to be.
Still, since he wasn’t one to drop any responsibility thrown into his lap, it would have made more sense to be closer to the hospital and the restaurants, but there hadn’t been much to choose from. From the look of things, the town hadn’t changed much in the past century. The only accommodations he’d found were on the extreme eastern side of the town. He’d made the effort to find more, but there was only the one motel, a single story building that looked like it was built sometime before 1940. His only other option, according to those at the Main Street diner, was to go a couple of doors down the continuous line of stores and talk to a Frank Whitehawk, as he rented out cabins on Mystic Mountain to the tourists who frequented the area from spring to fall. Fortunately or, considering how far he’d have to drive to get back to town, unfortunately, there had been a cabin available close to the top of the mountain.
Sighing, he reached into the passenger seat and lifted the directions and address of the cabin he’d rented from the very elderly Native American, wishing he could just enjoy the view. But there was too much churning in his mind.
It wasn’t that he believed his father was right or even sane, but there was something about his acceptance of never being believed that weighed heavily on Ryan’s shoulders. Maybe it wouldn’t bother him as much if it weren’t the man who had sired him. Or maybe he could dismiss it all if the story were something Clayton made up as an adult. Regardless, Ryan knew he’d have to get some questions answered for his own peace of mind before he left Mystic Waters for good.
The clock was ticking.
Hoping it wouldn’t take the full three-and-a-half weeks he had before having to prepare to showcase his new game, Ryan trudged on and then jerked his wheel when an explosion sounded and the road shook beneath the car. He grabbed the steering wheel tighter, praying he hadn’t rented something close to a coalmine that would turn out to be a constant irritation. If that was the case, he’d go right back down the mountain, give that old man a piece of his mind and demand the rental fee back.
A few minutes later a reflective number stick, indicating he’d arrived, stood beside the gravel driveway he was to take. Ryan turned, surprised he couldn’t see anything but thick trees. He proceeded slowly, glad the driveway was relatively smooth, but the more he drove the creepier it all felt, and he wondered if he’d been set up somehow.
Visions of horror movie plots he’d loved as a kid came back to haunt him now, and he kept glancing around him, waiting for something half-human with spiked teeth to jump out and attack the
car. His shoulders bunched, his neck grew stiff, and he held onto the steering wheel tightly, ready to floor the gas pedal to run down anything that came his way. By the time the trees thinned and he arrived in the small clearing where a little cabin sat welcomingly, overwhelming desperation to escape and leave all his concerns behind had taken over.
He barked out a shaky laugh as he came to a stop before the little house, wondering if his father’s stories had messed with his mind and questioning when he’d become such a dork. Pragmatic, staid, by-the-book Ryan Steward did not believe in things like monsters, witches, or any such nonsense, except where it came to creating interactive games. That his mind had even gone there embarrassed him, and he was thankful no one was around to see what a fool he was being. Especially his mom, who had fussed at him all those years ago when he’d gotten caught in front of the televised horror movies he’d regularly snuck into the house and watched while she was at work.
Still, he gave himself a moment to look around before unlocking the car’s doors, and stepping from the vehicle.
He’d been told the cabin was in a remote area, he just hadn’t expected this. He looked around, but with the exception of the small clearing, which might park six vehicles the size of his Volkswagen, there was nothing to see but trees. Ryan shook his head, wondering if he should just get back in the car now and head straight to the motel.
He sighed, discounting that option immediately. The day had been endlessly long, and given the darkness that was falling ridiculously fast, there was no way he would consider it. At least not until morning.
Ryan reached into the back and lifted the two bags of groceries he’d purchased before leaving town. He grimaced, wondering what he’d do with the meat and dairy supplies if he headed back to more acceptable lodgings, but he hadn’t expected any of this, so he’d figure that out in the morning as well.
He glanced at the single suitcase he’d brought, before shifting the bags into one arm to grab it as well. With his hands full, he looked longingly at his laptop in the passenger seat and decided he’d get settled first before coming back for it.
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 154