“I can understand that,” I said. “So what type of patients do they get up there? It’s private, you said, so it’s not like the state is sending them. You see the relatives, so I bet you have some idea.”
“Rich,” she said simply. “There’s a lot of rich folks coming here to visit their niece or nephew or someone. Black sheep, I bet. Stick your undesirable family member in Bellingham, right in the heart of Vermont. Cheaper than sending them abroad and less embarrassing.”
“So a rich kid holding cell?” I said. “No real patients? Check-ins?”
“They take some others, I think. Ones for their research. Some occasional check-ins or transfers from other hospitals. Every so often someone rolls into town dragging some crazy teenager and wants to know where the hospital is. As if they can’t see it up there on the hill.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Have you had any within the last year? Say back a few months, around last winter.”
She gave me a long look. “Are you a cop? You don’t seem like a cop.”
“No, no, nothing of the sort,” I said.
“But you’re looking for someone?” she said suspiciously.
“Yeah, my niece,” I said.
I have a niece, actually. My brother’s little girl, Sarah. She’s about thirteen years old and the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. Big smiles, dimples, beautiful blonde hair. Every Christmas I spoil her. My brother tells me not to dote on her, but I can’t help it. I admit that since my relationships with women never go well, I have spent far too much time spoiling my niece. She's not missing, of course.
“Is your niece…” she asked, pausing until I understood what she was implying.
“Disturbed?” I suggested. “No. Or, she wasn’t. I’m not sure how she is now… She’s missing.”
“That’s horrible!” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “She was out with friends and just disappeared. The friends disappeared too, but I don’t really care about them. It was in Vermont, we know that. We tried contacting authorities, but the cops are useless. She wasn’t mentally ill, but we’ve looked all over. When I saw… ‘The Beast’, I wondered. I hated that I wondered and thought such horrible things, but I still wondered. I remembered that she was always a fragile girl. But with her friends… They used drugs and already had criminal records. Once you get those types of things together with someone so fragile… Well, I worry about her and worry that maybe she hasn’t called home because her friends got her so messed up she doesn’t even know how to call home.” So it was all a lie. But I thought of my niece when I said it, imagining her missing, which helped me emotionally get into the role. Otherwise I feel like Lorraine would have seen right through me.
“That poor girl!” she said with a gasp. She put her hand over mine reassuringly. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah,” I said gloomily. “It’s been nearly a year, so I’ve lived with it for a while. I know that after this amount of time, the outlook isn’t good. I’ve tried to get past it in my mind. But I saw the hospital. If she was checked in there, maybe she’s being cared for. She might have… survived for a year.”
“Poor man,” she said, “I hope she’s okay. What did she look like? Maybe I saw her.”
“She was twenty-four,” I said solemnly, “Short blonde hair, beautiful green eyes, about five-foot-four. I have a picture, it’s a bit old.” I pulled a picture I had taken from the dossier. It was a high school picture of Katie. She’s gawkier looking, but it’s clear that it’s her. I didn’t want to use a newer picture because the connection to the photos for SVMM’s record would be too obvious. As Lorraine looked at the photo, I looked at it again. To be honest, in this picture she looked a great deal like my niece Sarah. Similar blonde hair, braces, goofy and hesitant smile. For a moment, I was scared and hoped nothing like this ever happened to Sarah.
“I can’t say that I’ve seen her,” Lorraine said with disappointment. “Very pretty girl. It’s sad she fell in with the wrong crowd.”
“She would have had shorter hair than in this picture. Spiky, actually. You know how kids are these days.”
“Yeah,” she said, “I do. Had one of my own at home. A boy. He used to help me here at the restaurant until…” She stared at the photo again.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s just… spiky hair,” she paused. “There was someone. Last winter. He wasn’t a young kid, but an older man. Forties at minimum. Looked rough for the road, five-o-clock shadow. He was asking about the hospital. It was the middle of the night; I remember the late night regulars looking at him funny. I looked in his car and saw a young man and young girl with spiky blonde hair. I thought it was just his daughter, but it could have been your niece. But an older man like that… Did she hangout with an older crowd?”
“I wasn’t aware of it, but it’s possible,” I said. I had a lead! “I wasn’t as familiar with her friends as her father was. Do you remember anything else? Anything they said? Anything about the car?”
“I wish I could, hon,” she said with a frown, “but it’s been a while and I didn’t think much of it. He was dressed well and his car was nice, but that’s all I can remember. I’m sorry, sugar.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But there’s a chance she was checked in.”
“True,” she said, “it’s something at least.” She grabbed my wrist gently. “Don’t give up hope, hon.”
I hung out for a few hours in the diner, thinking over a plan. I took a seat in a booth near the back and ordered myself a sandwich. Best Reuben I’ve had in a long time. The bread was nice, the sauerkraut not overpowering, the corned beef nice and lean. This blew away any sandwich shop in Austin by far and rivaled Manhattan deli level of Reuben perfection. Remote or not, Lorraine knew her business very well.
After the sandwich, I picked at my French fries and watched the diner, toying with the plan in the back of my head. I also enjoyed people watching, since I was killing time. From the booth I could see both the road and the entrance to the diner. My goal was to wait until after dinner, so I could watch who came in and how many cars passed by. I wanted to hit the hospital when it was the least staffed. Lorraine didn’t mind me spending hours in her restaurant. Periodically, she would come over, refill my coffee, and make sure I wasn’t “getting lonely.” I doubted anyone who came into Lorraine’s felt alone; every customer must be special to her.
As the dinner rush hit, the diner began to fill up. I saw the owner of the grocery come in and pick up an order, exchanging pleasantries with Lorraine. A group of big men in scrubs came in; orderlies, I assumed. At about five-thirty I saw the biggest rush of cars down the road. ‘Rush’ might be the wrong word, as there were not enough cars to cause any sort of traffic delay. But I saw the most cars drive down the road around that time, some stopping at the diner, but most driving on. This was what I was waiting for, the end of the day shift. The shift end meant fewer employees at the hospital. I wanted to count on a lack of authority when I went up there. But I didn’t want to head up there just yet, I wanted everyone to settle into a shift. I wanted night time. For the next hour and a half, I watched Lorraine make her way around the diner to each table. To some, she offered motherly wisdom and hospitality. To others, she flirted shamelessly, like a young schoolgirl. In each case, it was appropriate to the customer, provoking warm reactions. I could probably watch her for hours and learn so much; she had mastered the fine art of the social chameleon.
By seven, the sun had completely set and the cars had stopped passing. The diner had emptied out except for one nurse with a lazy eye and some strange kid with long hair in a leather jacket and Batman shirt that was talking way too fast for Lorraine to keep up with. I dropped a large tip at my table and then settled up at the register, rescuing Lorraine from the fast-talker. She wished me good luck as I left. I got into the car and started on the road to the hospital. Though not a very long drive, it wound up the hill with sparse trees on each side. I drove slow, using my headlights to scan the side of
the road. I found a spot and pulled the car off the road, under the tree cover.
I opened the trunk and grabbed my suitcase. Typically I have three pieces of luggage I bring with me in the car on jobs. The suitcase has my regular clothes, specialized clothes for specialized occasions, and my toiletries. My backpack has my laptop, notebooks, files, chargers, calculators, microphones, and cameras. My emergency bag is always in the glove box of whatever I’m driving. It’s a black leather toiletry bag that looks suspiciously like a doctor’s valise. It contains my gun, a pocket knife, a small tape recorder, a pocket camera, a flashlight, a notepad, a pen, and a pack of stale cigarettes from before I stopped smoking. The backpack and emergency bag usually fit in luggage, but I take them out when driving. Right now, I was fishing in my suitcase for the right clothes for the job.
For this one, I wanted to wear a crisp suit and tie. Suits are an interesting thing. Everyone respects a suit. When you see someone you don’t know wearing a suit, you see the suit not the man. A suit equals respectability, a suit equals authority. A suit equals normality, formality. The response garnered from people is based on the suit, not your haircut, not your face. An unknown man in a suit is just a man in a suit. He is never “some guy”. He is the man who wore the suit. The suit changes a “no” to apologies and compromises, it transforms reluctance to a desire to do something for you even if they can’t. The suit is regal finery, a uniform of honor, a symbol of class and importance. More practically, you get more out of businesses and institutions with a suit. Receptionists talk to you differently. And if someone asks them later who they talked to, they’ll remember your suit first and your face second.
If I had more forethought, I would have grabbed a room at the motel and changed, but at this point I wanted to move forward and confirm my suspicion. Without a motel room, I was taking off my clothes in the dirt, hopping out of my pants by the red glow of my tail lights. I carefully pulled on my grey suit, taking extra care to not get it dirty. I grabbed the tie and put it on while staring into the darkness; I had tied a Windsor knot enough times in my life that I could do it on autopilot. I grabbed my travel mirror and opened the car door, trying best to see how I looked in the tiny mirror. I ran a comb through my hair and decided I was ready. I got back into the car and pulled out.
I drove up to the road, through the still-open gate for the hospital grounds and conspicuously parked in the largely empty parking lot. Carrying a manila folder full of largely meaningless papers, I got out of the car and turned toward the hospital. Up close, it was far more impressive, but it was impressive-bad, not impressive-good. They had washed off the main building of the hospital, but there was a dark dirtiness that came through. The wings of the hospital spread out to either side of the main building, giving the impression it hunched on the hill, breathing out a vile air that billowed across the parking lot, down the hill, and into the trees. A multitude of windows dotted the front of the building, light glowing out of many, giving the impression of a many eyed beast staring down at me, the glass doors of the hospital its small rectangular mouth. I could see why the locals would call this place The Beast. I stared through the mouth, to the entrance. I still saw a light inside. Someone would be there.
I flexed my shoulders and got into character. I took a deep breath and walked toward the glass doors, into the mouth of the Beast. I pushed the doors open and walked into a small reception area. There was an entry foyer where chairs were set on either side, two by two, a small table with out of date magazines between each pair. There was a door on either side of reception area, glass and possibly magnetically locked. The reception desk was a large white desk with a staircase curving behind it to the second floor. At the desk was a nurse, perhaps a receptionist. She wasn’t wearing scrubs, but she was wearing white. I adjusted my tie and my cover story, then walked up to her.
“Hello,” I said, “I’m…”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but our visiting hours are closed. All our administrative staff has gone home as well.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I really am,” I said, “but I’ve traveled so far and I just got to town. I know I should wait until tomorrow, but I just needed to know. I needed to know if she was here, if she was safe…” Okay, I admit, I was laying it on thick.
“I’m sorry…?” she said, both concerned and confused.
“My niece,” I said, “she’s been missing. We’ve been looking everywhere for her. She’s been gone a year and the police can’t do anything. We’re at the end of our rope, but we had an idea. Just an idea. Maybe, just maybe someone checked her in here… maybe she’s been safe all this time. Maybe her friends were wrong when they said that she…” I trailed off for dramatic effect. Even acting, it was hard not to act sad and flustered without feeling that way myself.
“I-I’m sorry, sir, I really am,” she said, “but patient records are not something I could open or disclose. If you came back tomorrow, I’m sure our hospital administrator could help you…”
“Wait! Wait!” I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the high school picture of Katie, putting it on the table in front of her. “Do you recognize her? Have you seen her?”
She stayed silent, staring at the photo. I watched her face. There was some sort of reaction, but I couldn’t read it. I prompted her with my frantic act. “Have you seen her? Is she here?” She looked up at me and we shared a look, her face shocked, and I knew. “She’s here, isn’t she?” I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her and her look revealed more. “She’s here? Thank the Lord, she’s here! Please tell me she’s here!”
“I-I, M-Mr…” she stammered.
“Vanderholm! Scott Vanderholm!” I said. “Please tell me our dear Katherine is here!”
“I-I,” she stammered. She looked down again, taking a long look at the photo. Her next words were a whisper. “She’s here.” She looked through each of the glass doors and then leaned close to me. “Kate Doe… I mean Katherine. She’s here.”
I stood back in my best impression of stunned. Then I gave my best doe-eyed smile and stood there. “We’ve found her,” I said. I kept track of the nurse’s body language out of the corner of my eye. She seemed relieved and leaned backwards. I reached forward and grabbed her hand, scaring her for a moment. I pumped her hand up and down in a furious handshake. “Thank you, thank you!” Her face was pale. For a moment I worried it was too much. I had pushed the act too far.
She finally smiled weakly. “I’m glad I could help,” she said. “But please, don’t tell anyone I told you. I could lose my job. I just… I just wanted you to know. But please, don’t tell.”
“I won’t!” I said. “At this point, I’d name my first child after you!”
She giggled. “Please, just act like you didn’t know tomorrow.”
“I won’t, I swear it!” I said, which was true. Once I called the record company in, they would have their own way to verify she was here. “Thank you, very much. I’ll be back tomorrow!”
She smiled and said goodbye, as I left, stopping to say an excited, “God bless!” before leaving through the doors. I walked through the parking lot with a large smile, not from an act, but rather from the promise of half a million dollars and a job well done.
Believe it or not, I don’t like lying. I like the truth, I enjoy telling it. Lies are complicated, lies are work. Lies beget more lies and just weave a tighter and tighter net around you if you keep telling them. I try to be as honest as I can in my personal life, a trait that has gotten me in trouble before and ruined a few relationships. When it comes to a job, then things get a bit different. Gaining information is difficult to begin with and some of the best things to know come from people. The problem is they’re never going to tell it to me, John Keats. They might tell it to me, the sympathetic uncle, or me, the air conditioner repair man, or me, the fast-talking talent agent with an upcoming role in a blockbuster film just for them. They’re perfectly willing to give up that information to the right person. It’s just a matter of making
myself the right person. Sure, you could call it dishonesty, but it’s more of me taking on a particular persona so that people become more glib. It’s not lying, it’s acting, and something I’ve worked on improving. Consequently, I’m a big fan of the Rockford Files.
The sky was dark and the moon visible in the sky when I got into my car. I pulled out of the parking lot, through the gate, and onto the road. Rather than drive back to town, I was excited and wanted to share my good humor. I pulled off the road into the same spot within the trees as before. I looked out the window where I could still see the sinister hospital through the trees. I grabbed my cell phone and autodialed. It was six rings before I got an answer.
“Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art -- / Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night / and watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite.”
“Jesus, Morty,” I said, “Did you run and get the book? Is that why it took you so long to answer?”
“I actually keep it right here by the phone,” he said. “I bookmarked this one. I found it when I was in the bathroom earlier and decided I liked it.”
“I’m not sure if I should be disturbed that you’re thinking about me in the bathroom,” I said. “But I do have news. Very good news.”
“You found her?”
“Everything but laid eyes on her,” I said.
“You’re kidding,” said Morty.
“I’m not one hundred percent yet, but I have two positive IDs on Katie’s high school picture. She’s here, I’d bet money on it.”
“Where is here?” he asked. “You were flying out of Chicago, but you were vague on the what-next.”
“Vermont. Sommersfield.” I looked out the window at the hospital on the hill. “There’s this… really creepy mental hospital up here. And I mean creepy. Seriously, you should see this place. We’re talking House on Haunted Hill creepy. I’m going to have nightmares about this place.”
The Lost and the Damned Page 5