by Phil Tucker
"Yeah. He said he'd be expecting us." Walking stiffly up the steps, she pulled open the punctured and blown-out screen and hammered on the door several times. Buck slipped his hands into his jean pockets, hunching his shoulders and looking up and down the street, while Julia stared at the door, sipping at her coffee. Thomas looked from one to the other, and then stepped back when the door opened.
Eric squinted into the bland daylight, his coppery curls mussed and wild about his pale face. He looked quickly passed Julia and Thomas to Buck, who nodded his head amiably at him.
"Hello Eric," said Thomas. "This is my friend Buck. He works with me back in New York. He's just along for the ride."
Eric nodded slowly, as if considering, and then pushed the door open. "Buck. Hello. Come in."
They stepped into the vestibule. Daylight filtered in gently through the shuttered windows, illuminating furniture covered in white sheets, chairs knocked over onto their sides, a table listing where a leg had snapped. Warped wooden boards reflected the light back brokenly where the varnish was worn away, and shadows hung uncertainly over everything.
Julia followed Eric without hesitation, pausing only to turn and look down at where the two men stood with an arched brow before gaining the landing. Buck clapped Thomas on the shoulder, shook his head and followed, each step causing the worn boards to groan in protest. Thomas took a breath and followed suit.
Eric didn't lead them into his bedroom, but instead into a larger room across the hall. A long table had been shoved into one end, and piles of rotting magazines rose tottering along its length. A clothing line sagged back and forth before it from wall to wall, with large black and white prints clipped to it. A few chairs were shoved in the opposite side of the room near the door, and two large, shuttered windows admitted slatted bars of light onto the floor where they melted into the amber glow of several lamps.
Eric stopped before his photographs, adjusted one or two nervously, as a groom might adjust his tie, and then turned and crossed his arms and moved to stand by a wall. Thomas drifted forward with Julia to examine the photographs, while Buck stayed by the door, frowning and watching their host.
The photographs were stark close-ups of random objects. The base of a lamp. A crack between two flagstones where a clump of weeds rose in sharp focus. A handful of coins scattered across the base of a porcelain sink. A shattered bulb, filament still intact. A portion of a swirling letter, graffitied onto a brick wall. Each was precisely taken, the center in sharp relief against a blurred backdrop. Eric watched them both with a neutral expression, rubbing his thumb along the line of his jaw as he did so.
"Is this what you've been doing with your time?" asked Thomas, turning to regard him.
"Yes," said Eric, pursing his lips and dropping his hands by his side, only to slide them into his pockets and then draw them free once more. "Yes, you could say that."
Thomas nodded, turning to look at an abstract shot of black square shadows on a white surface, too close to discern what they were a part of. He felt like an art critic, come to an impoverished artist's studio to inspect his work.
Julia ducked under the first clothesline, and then a second, to look at some photographs hanging from a third behind them all.
"Those--" said Eric, starting forward and then stopping, stepping back, "Those were the first I took, with, if you look, a small object that is consistent in each. I started using a marble at first, placing it as a common element in each shot, but then realized that I didn't need it. My seeing was the common element, if you will, and that is what unites each shot into a collective whole. They're--they're all things that I have seen, compositions of a world that I have witnessed, and through the witnessing, asserted." He stopped as suddenly as he began, closing his mouth with a snap, and looking warily from one to the next.
"They're all close-ups," said Julia, still moving from one print to the next. "Extreme close-ups." Eric nodded unhappily, opening his mouth as if to say more and then subsiding. Julia stopped and looked through the erratic arrays of photographs to where Eric stood. "Why close-ups, Eric? You used to just do portraits."
Eric chewed on the inside of his cheek before shrugging to examine the windowsill and brush some dust off with quick sweeps of his fingers. "Well. Portraits. People. I'm more interested in the actual now, the real. The basics." He turned his head and glanced at Thomas. "Everything is complex. The more complex the image, the greater the chance to deceive. You keep things basic, you have a chance to get the seeing right. To see what is there. You take shots of people, and you risk--you risk not knowing--well." He frowned and looked down, shook his head.
"So," said Buck pointedly, stepping forward. "Where's Henry? You got any new info?"
Eric shot Buck an annoyed look and moved away from the window toward one of the chairs, where he sat on the thick arm of an armchair and then rose again to his feet as if it were too hot to rest on. "I don't have any new information. Or, rather, no new facts. I gave Julia the tape, and she showed it to you. It's not evidence, it's not proof, but it's enough, isn't it? Enough to make you come back, to come back and take a second look, or to begin asking questions?" His eyes were bright, very wide, and a hesitant, complicit smile hovered over his lips.
"Yes. I have some questions." Thomas nodded slowly. "What do you think happened at the end of that video? What's your interpretation of it?" Julia stepped forward, ducking under the lines to stand next to Thomas.
"My interpretation?" Eric edged toward the wall once more. "I don't know. I've thought about it." His smile cracked, "Oh, I've thought about it. When we found Henry after the first time, when he dropped the camera, when we found him outside, he wouldn't tell us what had happened. And when he showed me that tape, he wouldn't explain it either. He just wanted to show me what we were going down to. To scare me out of going." Eric looked over at Julia, and smiled again, a hurt, brilliant smile. "Oh, and to show me the two of you kissing and laughing, I suppose. But that wasn't even the point, I don't think. I've thought about it a lot, you see, and I think perhaps he wasn't daring me to go down there. Not really, though that's what he was saying. I think he wanted me to pull him out of it, to stop him from going. Because he wanted to go, he was fascinated, or obsessed, or attracted or something. It scared him, scared him shitless, but there was also something about it that made him want to go back. To go back and see. And I think he wanted me to grab him and make him run in the other direction. But saving him would mean my losing, and I couldn't have that, now could I?"
Thomas listened in rapt silence. Eric finished speaking and he began to rub his thumb along his jaw line once more, and then walked past them toward his photographs, to touch one, to adjust a second.
"So, yes, here I am in this old house, and I'm sure you think I'm crazy, I know my mother does, and mother always knows best, but I can't--well, I can't just pretend nothing happened. But I can't do anything either, now can I? What can I do? Go down there again?" He laughed then, a bitter sound, tinged with hysteria. "No, I can't go back down there. So instead I've been trying to think, to find an answer, and in the meantime I've been taking photographs, trying to put things back together, to examine the pieces and by looking at the world so carefully that I can begin to once more understand the basics. Rebuild a reality from the ground up, start from the very beginning and assemble the smallest parts, and understand where to go from there."
Thomas turned to look at Buck, who made a circling gesture next to this temple with a finger and shook his head. Looking back at Eric, he saw that he had lowered his arms to his sides, and bowed his head. Julia took a half step toward him, and Thomas thought that Eric would spin, would lash out, but instead he did nothing, and it was this silence that defeated Julia so that she stopped and stepped back.
"We're going back down there," said Thomas. "We're going to go back there and see what we can find. I don't know if we'll find anything, but we're going to take a look." Eric turned and met Thomas' eyes. "You can come with us if you like, or y
ou can stay here. It's up to you."
For a long moment Eric simply gazed at Thomas with his clear, crystal blue eyes, and then he shook his head. "I can't go back down there. I don't think--I wouldn't be able to--no. I can't go back down there. I understand that you want to find Henry, but I don't think you will. You won't find Henry. I think Henry is gone. You should go back to New York. If you want, I'll let you know if I figure something out. But the answer's not down there. It's not down there in those tunnels. Don't go."
"So, what, we're going to find ghosts or something?" Buck stepped forward and looked from Thomas to Eric. "I just want to get this clear, because this is all a little vague for me. What exactly is the problem?" Something in Eric's eyes caused Buck to frown, open his mouth and then close it again.
"I don't know what we're going to find," said Thomas. "All I know is that Henry disappeared down there. And that I'm going to go see what I can find. And if we find something--else--then, well, I'll deal with that when I get to it."
"Well, okay." Buck broke eye contact with Eric, unsettled. "I'm not scared of the dark, so I'm good to go. Do we need garlic?"
"Fuck you, Buck," said Julia. "This isn't funny. Eric, I'm sorry--"
"No, it's okay." Eric was smiling again. "I don't care. I don't care at all. He can laugh all he wants. Doesn't change anything. It just means he's ignorant. That's all."
"Okay, okay, let's just calm down," said Thomas. It wasn't that he felt a fight about to brew, but rather that he was himself becoming unsettled. Buck shrugged and walked toward the door, Eric watching him with a mocking smile.
"Do you have anything useful you can tell us, Eric?" asked Thomas, "Anything that can help?"
Eric considered Buck for a while longer, and then turned to Thomas. "I heard singing before Henry disappeared. An Irish voice. You can't quite make it out on the video, but the second time it was quite clear. If you hear singing, run."
"Okay, that's more than enough for me," said Buck angrily. "If we hear Irish shanties, we run. Got it. Okay, I'm done up here. I'll see you guys downstairs." So saying, he marched out the door, and began to descend the stairs heavily.
"Thank you," said Julia, "We'll let you know what we find."
Eric shrugged and turned back to a photograph of a cracked plant pot. "Okay. I hope it goes well." He frowned and raised the photograph as if to inspect it closely. Julia gave Thomas a helpless look, and then when he motioned questioningly toward the door, she nodded and walked past him after Buck.
"Take care, Eric," said Thomas. Eric didn't respond, instead continuing to scrutinize the shot. Thomas watched him for a moment longer, and then turned to follow Julia out of the room.
Buck was waiting by the car, arms crossed and staring fixedly at nothing in particular. Julia rounded the trunk and stood by the passenger door, not looking at him, waiting for Thomas. A frozen tableaux plumes of breath rising up from each set of nostrils, mouths tight lipped and expressions frozen. Thomas walked over, bouncing the car keys in the palm of his hand, and decided to simply unlock the doors and deal with it all within the confines of his car.
They drove on up the street, then took the first turn and then the second. Nobody spoke. Each stared fixedly out of a window, wrapped up in their own thoughts, but the silence was heavy with the expectation of being broken, with the questions that would be asked, like storm clouds pregnant with thunder. Thomas knew that both of them were waiting for him to broach the subject, had their lines ready, knew that he would, sooner or later, but delayed asking, delayed as long as he could, letting the tension grow acute until, stopped before a red light, he looked in the rear view mirror at Buck.
"So..." said Thomas. "What was all that about?" Julia glanced away from the poverty beyond her window to Thomas, and then forward, but Buck continued to stare out at the street.
Finally: "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yeah, nothing. Why?" Buck's voice was uncharacteristically sharp.
"I don't know. Just asking. You seemed a little... tense in there. Confrontational, you know?" Julia was an active ball of silence, noticeably self-restrained.
"Yeah, well, whatever. That guy was full of shit, is all. I don't have much patience for that kind of stuff."
Green light. Thomas eased the car forward, nodding slowly. "Well, I can see where you're coming from. It sure sounds crazy. But... well. You sure you're okay? It looked like he was hitting a nerve or something."
Buck let loose a sharp bark of laughter, "A nerve? What, like he's reminding me of some childhood memory I've been blocking all these years about basements?"
Thomas frowned and shook his head, trying to keep his expression mild. "No, Buck. Not like that. Come on man. What's going on?"
Buck subsided. He looked back out the window, and they drove on in silence for a few minutes. "I don't know. I guess he creeped me out. All that crap about darkness and Irish singing and his weird ass house and crazy photographs. Just messed up, is all."
"Yeah." Thomas nodded. "It's pretty damn weird. You okay to go through with this? Go down into this building and all? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to. I'd understand."
"No, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I'm tense. Just... yeah. I wanted to shake that guy, you know? Snap him out of it. All that weird, vague crap he was talking."
"It wasn't crap," said Julia.
"Oh no?" Buck sounded amused. "We supposed to believe that there are Irish ghosts down there, grabbing kids?"
Julia shook her head minutely, and looked back out the window. "You don't know shit, Buck," she said. "Something happened to Henry. Eric was there. He was there when it happened, and whatever it was fucked the hell out of him. I knew him before. When he was... in control. He had plans. He was going places. He had a future." She stared through her reflection at the abandoned houses and rotting strip malls as they filed by. "Now he's broken. He's going nowhere. Something happened to him. You don't know shit, Buck."
"Well, if that ain't the most constructive criticism I've ever heard," said Buck.
"Enough guys. Okay? Enough already. This is strange enough for all of us, so let's just calm down." Thomas looked at Buck again in the rear view mirror, and then at Julia. "I say we get this over with now. We're tense enough as it is without waiting till dark. All right?"
"Fine with me," muttered Buck.
"Sure," said Julia. "You got flashlights and shit?"
"Yes," said Thomas, easing off an on-ramp into traffic. "I do."
Chapter 11
The State Hospital loomed into the washed out sky, massive and heavy. Shattered windows behind wire mesh, the copper copes, the ponderous walls. All fenced off and strangely innocuous in the daylight. Thomas drove slowly around the perimeter, and then parked his Mercedes on the shoulder of the road.
"This isn't where we broke in last time," said Julia.
"I know." Thomas pushed open his door and stepped out of the car. "I've got wire cutters. I'm not jumping over fences."
Buck and Julia climbed out, and Thomas opened the trunk. Reaching in, he pulled out a black duffel bag from which he drew three flashlights which he handed out. A large bolt cutter came next, and glancing both ways along the street, he stepped up to the fence and began to nervously snip at each wire. They gave without any resistance, and soon he had a small crawl hole cut through. Buck stood by, idly clicking the flashlight on and off. When Thomas pulled the wire section free, he stepped up and gazed through at the building. "Can we get arrested for trespassing?"
Thomas walked over to the car and dumped the wire cutters. "I don't know. I wouldn't think so. It's not like murder or anything."
Julia walked up to the hole, and then ducked through. "You get yelled at and escorted off the premises. That's about it. Relax."
Thomas and Buck shared a look, and then followed her through. Thickets of grass stuck up through the crusts of ice and snow. The blades were long and brittle, whispering against their shins as the three of them crossed the wild lawn toward the massi
ve brick building. Thomas remembered the initial invasion, the dark and the ladder, the camera and Henry running along. The almost innocent, adventurous nature of it all. Five months ago?
Julia led them into the shadow of the of the building, and then along the dark wall toward the hole. It gaped as it had in the video, burst open like a cyst in the edifice. Without looking behind, she clambered up and inside. Buck hitched his jeans up around his waist and followed suit, and Thomas did the same after a final glance at the grass, the distant streets and cars.
The room was illuminated by the white light from without, and though Thomas recognized some of the graffiti tags, it seemed distinct from the room he had seen in the video. Smaller, dirtier, devoid of mystery and threat. There was a faint smell of asbestos in the air, and it seemed dingy and dismal. He moved past Julia and toward the door, pushing it open to step out into the hallway.
"It's been awhile since I've been here," said Julia quietly. "It's pretty simple, though. Down the hall and then down the stairs."
Thomas nodded and walked down the dim hallway. Diffuse light filtered in through open doors. Underfoot, flakes of peeled paint crackled and crunched. Snap crackle pop, thought Thomas, snap crackle pop. He saw one of the old wooden wheelchairs in a room to his left, dusty and on its side, and shivered. Henry had walked this very hall. Twice. Dust hung in the air, and everything was still and silent but for their footsteps. He could almost hear the hushed whispers and laughter from the video, feel the tense excitement that had suffused the group. It was as if he walked in the presence of ghosts.
They stepped out into the hall that contained the stairwell. Everything had seemed so much larger on the tape. Thomas walked forward and stood at the head of the stairs. He turned on his flashlight and waited for that horrific scraping noise to sound from below. None came. Julia stopped alongside him and looked down into the darkness where his flashlight's beam played. She flicked hers on, and looked at him.
"You ready?" She sounded nervous, but steady. He studied her face, and then on impulse reached out to squeeze her shoulder.