“It’s been a lot for you both to deal with,” he said sadly. “I wish I’d been able to inspire more confidence in you, you could have come to me about this long before now.”
“Did you know that our hall was built to be an asylum?” Chloe asked.
“I’d heard rumors of it since I was a student here. Yes, I know it,” he admitted.
“You knew that a patient named George Townsend had tried to burn it down?” she demanded.
“Nothing more than campus legend,” Dr. Willard said, “I never saw a name, only heard a story about a mental patient confined there who had tried to burn the building down. The place was never actually an asylum, that much I had determined, so I never gave the old stories too much credit. It appears I was wrong.”
“So the name George Townsend….?” Chloe prodded.
“Was exactly what I told you it was, a name that showed up on a register as a patient with multiple admissions,” Dr. Willard confirmed.
“It was a new discovery?” Chloe asked, to be sure.
“Yes, I received a new log book, just in the past week. I have a contact, an antiques dealer in Traverse City that calls whenever he acquires something he thinks I may be interested in. People in that area that used to work at the old asylum will occasionally sell things, sometimes he visits area estate sales, sometimes even former patients. Though George Townsend…it seems that the name has come up more than once. There was the log book…I’m sure there was something else,” he mused quietly, talking more to himself than to Chloe, “something…some letter or such thing he showed me. I didn’t think it was quite relevant enough to purchase then.”
“A letter? Something this antiques dealer still has?” Chloe asked.
“I believe so,” Dr. Willard said slowly, “I’ll call him, ask him to hold it. I’m heading down that way over Christmas break anyhow-”
“That’s two months from now!” Chloe reminded him, “Couldn’t you just have him read it to you over the phone, or maybe fax a copy to you? It might be important.”
Dr. Willard shook his head. “That would be rather rude of me I think. I haven’t paid for the piece and it’s not as though he owes me any favors. He’s been such a good finder for me, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize-”
“What if I went and got it for you?” Chloe pressed.
Dr. Willard seemed taken aback, he cleared his throat.
“Ummm…well…I suppose it…I truly appreciate your enthusiasm but-” he stumbled.
“You don’t understand!” Chloe insisted, “My name is up there on the wall. It wants something from me. It wants me too-” she snapped her mouth shut over the words. Dr. Willard had never actually said that he believed any of it. He could have meant that it was too bad they hadn’t come to him before they’d jumped off the deep end.
“What do you think it wants of you?” Dr. Willard asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “I really don’t. You don’t think…you don’t think that I’m overreacting and that it’s possible that this is all just…just coincidence?”
“What is all of life but one great coincidence?” Dr. Willard asked.
“I don’t understand,” Chloe slumped miserably in her seat.
“Life develops from primordial soup because of a unique combination of factors which are optimal for encouraging such development. Hence fish swim, amphibians crawl onto land, monkeys swing from trees, and a teacher gives a student a ride to drunken field party,” Dr. Willard winked at her.
Chloe smiled, because she felt he wanted her to. She didn’t feel amused, she felt more confused than anything.
“I was kind of asking if you believed me or not,” she explained. “and I feel like you’re answering by saying you don’t believe in God.”
Dr. Willard slowed the car and ran over the curb onto Goodge Field. Chloe noticed that the cars parked there were already five and six deep. He threw the car into park and left the sedan idling. In the dark he turned towards her. She swallowed nervously.
Religion was an area she didn’t ever want to wander into. If anyone had asked, she would have said she was Catholic. Her mother insisted they went to mass every Christmas and Easter, and she had never given it too much thought. She knew, however, that there was some sort of stigma attached to religion in scientific circles, and Dr. Willard was a psychologist. Maybe she had just painted a bulls eye on her forehead. Catholic was an easy target, and as a non-practicing Catholic, she was probably the easiest of marks. She sent a half-formed prayer skyward, asking whoever may have been at the receiving end not to let it degenerate into a debate between an avid atheist and a lapsed Christian.
“God? I don’t know about any celestial design committee, I suppose I’m more determined to believe in humans,” he began.
Chloe coughed nervously and stared at the floor mat.
“I’m more inclined to believe that God is nothing more than a metaphor for the strength of the human spirit,” Dr. Willard announced.
New age philosophy, her helpful voice determined smugly, just as full of holes and even less defendable than what you believe!
“So…you’re saying that you don’t believe in God, but you do think ghosts are probable?” Chloe asked, her confusion evident.
“I don’t know about God,” Dr. Willard pursed his lips as though contemplating something. “If you believe we were formed in his image, shouldn’t he be just a bit more concerned with justice? Bad things happening to good people and all that…isn’t it more likely that he was formed in our image? He can’t even live up to human standards of right and wrong-”
“Ghosts…possession…” Chloe redirected him.
“Precisely!” Dr. Willard agreed. “A human being with a will stronger than nature…than death itself. What could be a stronger argument for man creating God?”
“Ummmm…” Chloe said.
“It’s Odd Ends…the name of the place,” said Dr. Willard, reaching over the seat and fumbling for his bag, “You want to talk to a man named Matthew Gold.”
He found his check book and snatched a pen out of a cup holder. Chloe watched him sign his name with a flourish.
“You’ll be very careful with this, Miss Adams?” he reminded her, “it’s a blank check. Purchase the letter and see if there’s anything else pertinent. I’ll call ahead, let him know my assistants are coming, you’ll bring Miss. Klingeman as well?”
Chloe nodded.
“Very good,” he said, decisively ripping the check from its leather binder and handing it to her. “Call me when you have it.” He jabbed at the phone number he had written at the top of the check.
Chloe nodded again, folded the check and stuck it in her pocket.
“Well, Miss Adams,” he said.
“Well, Dr. Willard,” she replied teasingly, trying to inspire a feeling of camaraderie.
“We’ll hear from you soon?” he prodded.
“This weekend still, if I can manage,” she vowed.
Chloe got out of the car, and stood in the grass. She waved at the headlights of his car as he pulled out. In the distance, a roaring fire blazed around a teepee of scavenged wood. She saw sparks glint in the eyes of dark figures huddled inside nearby cars, watching her. Chloe jammed her hands in her pockets and wandered towards the fire.
She saw the crowd first. Black silhouettes moving against the orange light, a ring around the fire, a fluid black circle that moved, pushed, raced, rose and fell. There was music too. A couple of cars had driven farther in field and parked with doors open, streaming several competitive booming beats. Techno drums waged war with the twang of Country rhythm guitars. Chloe sidled around a large group of upperclassmen, loudly calling to each other, staggering and dancing to some pop beat that she didn’t recognize.
She had almost reached the outskirts of the main party when someone tackled her from behind. She almost fell under the weight. Chloe staggered and spun to confront her attacker.
“There she is!” a man yelled in her ear, h
is arms still tight around her, “there’s that one girl. He’s been looking for you, girl!”
Chloe looked up to see a face she half-recognized. Some guy that had sat with Seth at a table in the Eat a while ago. Was it Mike…or Lane? Something…she would smack her head when reintroduced. Chloe was half-dragged, half-walked closer to the fire. Several people hooted or called to the boy who hung on to her. He was on the hockey team, she deduced quickly. A friend of Seth’s. He was drunk to the point of not being able to walk. They zigzagged instead of walking a straight line.
Seth was easily recognizable, even in the red-orange flickering light. He was just a bit taller, his hair a little longer, his stance more confident that anyone around him. He wore a black BHC t-shirt and a dark relaxed fit jean. No coat, but then there was a pile of flannel next to him, and girls. Girls, of course, thronged around him in a chattering circle.
As she approached, Seth flipped his head to the side and ran a hand through his hair, brushing night-blacked strands out of his face as he talked. She would have felt jealousy if she wouldn’t have noticed his profile against the fire at that moment. Something wrong with his nose, thicker or lumpier, something definitely wrong with it.
“Hey!” called the boy, now using her for support, “Hey Seth!” Chloe turned her head to avoid the fumes of alcohol metabolism. “Looka what I got!”
Seth was nonchalantly extricating her from under the drunk boy’s arm before she had a chance to say anything. Close up, she could see a metal arch taped across his nose.
“Wha-” was all she got out before the drunk boy cut in.
“S’what happens when you don’t keep your head in the game,” drunk boy nodded wearily, his eyes half-closed. “He wasn’t paying enough…enough tenttion. Looking into the stands and smash! Into the boards, he goes!”
“That check I took in the second period,” Seth clarified, “It’s probably not broke, but-”
“But he shoulda been looking out for the Alaskan defense instead ova red hat!” laughed the drunk boy.
“Alright, Mike,” Seth said, steering Chloe away, “stop while we’re still laughing with you, buddy.”
Away from the fire and relatively isolated from the rest of the crowd, Seth twined an arm around her shoulders.
So what did you think?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent. “It was your first game, right? Mike thinks he’s funny, I wasn’t actually looking for you, but I didn’t notice where you were when I checked between plays. You must have come late? It’s not broken…my nose I mean. At least, I don’t think it is, it’s just to be cautious. It was bleeding, that‘s all.”
Chloe decided that she had just reached the lowest point of one of the worst nights she had ever had. She didn’t even know if the team had won the game. She hadn’t seen the play where Seth had been slammed into the boards…whatever that meant…and he was talking as though he was trying to reassure her, as though she must have been so worried.
She couldn’t help it. At that moment, the exact second when she would have chosen to be absolutely perfect and healthy and happy, she felt tears well up in her eyes. She swiped at them angrily, but the tears had already started. She buried her face in her hands and turned her back. All the stress of the night. Watching Melanie’s body jerk around on its invisible strings, her name on the wall, the discovery of George Townsend’s name in the library, her mother popping up and demanding she come home, the talk with Dr. Willard, and then, of all things, Seth’s taped up nose and him trying to reassure her, as though she must have been worried, that he was just fine. Too much for anyone really, wasn’t it?
“Clo!” Seth said, his concern evident, “Don’t worry! Hey, it doesn’t even hurt! Look I don’t even need it.” He started picking at the tape along his nostril, intent on peeling the whole contraption off.
“Stop!” Chloe wailed, “You don’t have to mess your nose all up to make me feel better. I’m not worth it. I’m awful. I wasn’t even there!”
“You weren’t-”
“No! I got stuck at the library, with that stuff Sam and I are doing for Dr. Willard, and then we went back to the dorm, and we were trying to hurry, to get to the game, but Mel and Jen were all messed up, and Mel went crazy and was drawing stuff all over the walls, just like when the ghost did it in our room and-”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. Seth’s eyebrows shot up in a way Chloe wasn‘t sure if she should chalk up to confusion or surprise. Since she had already let that much out…
“And my mom showed up again too,” Chloe said in a small voice, and then hiccupped miserably.
“Awwww, Clo!” he said.
“I’m the worst girlfriend in the world. You got smashed into a board and I didn’t even know it, and my Mom was just…just evil to you, and I missed your first home game because…because I’m such a mess. I think our dorm is haunted and Sam is probably wondering where I am because I just left her there with Mel and Jen, so I’m an awful friend too, and-and…”
Another sob stopped up her throat. She coughed on it and squeezed her eyes shut against the puzzled expression on his face.
“Alright. Don’t…don’t cry. At least we won the game…” he offered lamely.
She felt a wild laugh rip out of her throat, and tried to throttle it.
“At least,” she agreed.
“And there’s another game tomorrow night. And we’ll go home right now- no! We’ll take a drive or something. It’s Friday, we’ll go to Manistee or Sault Saint Marie, somewhere where they have a hotel so you don’t have to sleep there tonight. We’ll talk about it. You can tell me everything. We’ll figure something out.”
“How far is Traverse City?” Chloe asked.
“Why?”
“I have to go there. I have to get something, this weekend,” Chloe explained.
“We’ll go together, I’ll drive,” he volunteered.
“You have a game tomorrow night.”
“Then we’ll hurry,” he said.
“I have to tell Sam,” she decided.
“Let’s go then,” he said, steering her towards the cars.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She should have realized Sam would want to go. Her roommate stood blocking the doorway, hands on her hips, glaring at Chloe as she dumped the contents of her backpack onto the floor and began stuffing it with clothes.
“Sam, come on, someone needs to stay with Jen and Mel,” Chloe insisted.
“Mel’s boyfriend is on his way here right now, he’s picking them both up and taking them home to Ironwood for the weekend, right Jen?” Sam snapped.
Jen nodded quickly and glanced at Melanie, who was sitting up, but held her head in her hands and swayed as though riding a train. An untouched bottle of water and a package of saltine crackers sat next to her, compliments of Sam.
“Besides,” Sam continued, “They’re fine now. Or Jen is at least, if Mel would just make herself throw up she’d probably feel better too. If Willard thinks there‘s more on George Townsend, then we should go together. We can go out and drive by the asylum too. I think it‘s abandoned. We can see where Elizabeth lived.”
Chloe didn‘t answer. She tore through her bath caddy, snatching her toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Then I’ll drive myself,” Sam threatened, “I’ll follow along right behind you guys, you can’t stop me, Chloe!”
“Sam, it’s not that I don’t want you to come,” Chloe soothed, grabbing a pair of clean underwear, “but Seth is driving and I think it would be rude to-”
“So…what? This is a romantic foray or something?” Sam demanded.
Chloe laughed harshly.
“Yeah, Sam, sure it is,” she shook her head.
“You’re going to Traverse City?” Mel asked in a rough voice.
Chloe and Sam looked at each other and then at Mel. She hadn’t spoken since Chloe had come into the room.
“Yes,” Chloe said.
“He’s from there,” Mel whispered. “Some huge building…gas lights,
wood floors. There were a lot of them there.”
“Who, Mel?” Chloe asked, dropping her bag and slowly walking over to the bed. “Who is he?”
“The one we were trying to find out about, George. He was…I saw things that he knew. He’s trying to stop them…they all are…all the people on the wall,” Mel shook her head slowly back and forth.
“Who are they trying to stop?” Chloe asked, getting down on her knees in front of Mel.
“There’s so many of them, those…those bad ones. I saw them. White coats, and long dresses…hard faces, all in black and white,” Mel swayed harder and swallowed thickly.
“You need the trash can, Mel? You gonna puke?” Sam asked.
Mel put her hand over her mouth cautiously, but she shook her head no.
“She hates puking,” Jen said.
“What does he want me to do, Mel? Why is my name on the wall?” Chloe tried to keep her voice calm.
Mel covered her mouth and shook her head.
“He wants me to stop something that happened a hundred years ago?” Chloe raised her voice. “I can’t! It’s over now, it’s all done and over a long time ago! Most of those asylums aren’t even open any more. There’s nothing left to fight!”
“Don’t yell at her!” Jen snapped.
Chloe threw her hands up and looked to Sam. Sam was stuffing clothes into her own backpack, not paying any attention.
“Doesn’t he know that?” Chloe asked the room. “Doesn’t he know he’s dead, that he’s been dead a long time?”
Mel’s hand faltered and dropped from her mouth. She stopped swaying and fixed Chloe with a stare that seemed to look right through her and deep into something no one else could see.
“He knows,” she said quietly, “It’s always dark to him and he’s caught there. He knows he’s dead… I want to go home. I want to go home now.”
“David’s on his way, Mel,” Jen said, she crossed the room and sat down next to her friend, slipping an arm around Mel’s shoulders for comfort. “We’re going home…tonight.”
“Well lock the door when you leave, alright?” Sam asked. She shoved a pair of socks in her bag and zipped it shut. “I’m ready, let’s go.”
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