The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  Raiya crossed her arms, pairing raised eyebrows with a surprised, open-mouthed smile. “They like you. I must say, they don’t take kindly to many strangers. I’ll take that as a very good sign. Come in. I’ve made tea.”

  Dez and Sully followed Raiya into a bright, plant-filled conservatory at the back of the house, which overlooked a wild garden full of trees, shrubs and tall flowers on their last legs as summer drew to a close. A set of white wicker furniture circled a sturdy-looking table onto which Raiya had placed a teapot and a few mugs, as well as other items that appeared to Dez’s untrained eye like they might be Wiccan.

  Raiya shook each of their hands before her eyes settled on Sully’s upper chest where the crucifix dangled on its cord. “I haven’t seen that amulet in many years. I’ll cleanse it and re-bless it for you before you leave, but for now I’d like you to fill me in on what’s been going on with this spirit.”

  Raiya listened attentively to the explanation the brothers provided before launching into her read of the situation.

  “Marc tells me you’re surrounded by bright light, Sullivan, which is a wonderful thing. It tells me you’re a beacon to those who need help. But as with anything that attracts, you will never solely draw the good. There is a natural balance between the light and the dark; both must exist and both always will. But you’re young and I get the impression you’re not quite sure how to control the things you see and experience.”

  “I know a little,” Sully said. “I’ve figured out how to block some of the feelings I get from them. And I’ve been seeing them long enough that I don’t freak out about them anymore. Not until this guy, anyway.”

  “He’s different.”

  Sully nodded. “Maybe it’s just that he’s more intense, or his emotions are. I’m not sure. I’ve seen people who’ve gone through some pretty awful deaths, and it always shows on their bodies. I don’t see anything like that on him, and yet he throws off more fear than I’ve ever felt. It makes me wonder if he just lived in a constant state of it.”

  “That could well be,” Raiya said. “Or it could be he’s simply trying to make you feel that way. What concerns me is this connection he’s been able to establish, which has allowed him to physically and mentally possess you for a short time. That takes the sort of power one rarely sees in a typical earthbound human spirit. Those of a Christian background would likely attribute it to demonic possession.”

  “He’s not a demon. I’m not even sure I believe they exist.”

  “Oh, they exist, though perhaps not in the form Christians believe. There are spirits that were never human, ones that fall along the spectrum of light and dark. Some are benevolent—angels, in Christian faith. Some are not. But you believe this man you’ve been seeing was human in life, so let me propose an alternative. Perhaps he was, like yourself, capable of moving in the world most of us cannot see.”

  “You mean a psychic?”

  “And a powerful one, I’d venture to say. Unfortunately, not all are capable of holding the power they’re born with. Perhaps this man’s gifts were too much for him and drove him insane. Now in that other world, there’s something he needs to resolve, and he’s found you.”

  “So why try to kill him?” Dez asked. “Why wouldn’t he just try to possess Sully to do what he thinks he needs to?”

  “I wish I had the answers for you, but I don’t. As much as I’ve become a student of that world, I don’t possess the gifts others do. I don’t see the things your brother does. All I can tell you is what I believe to be true. Only you, I think, can find the answers you’re looking for. What I can do is try to help Sullivan build and strengthen the protection around him and teach him to maintain it. It isn’t foolproof. Nothing is. There will always be spirits that are stronger, and it could easily happen that he will attract them.” She turned back to Sully. “But this will help, as long as you’re diligent about maintaining it. There will be times you need to focus in order to keep them out. You’ll know when. But if you’re tuned into yourself, into your own strengths and weaknesses, you’ll be better able to tune into them from a safe place.”

  For the next half hour, Raiya worked with Sully and, to Dez’s chagrin, him as well. Dez came away knowing more about white light, protective circles and meditation than he’d ever imagined he’d be subjected to. Raiya then performed a cleansing ritual on both Mariel’s amulet and Sully himself before preparing to send them on their way.

  “Come back to me anytime,” she said. “I will always be here to provide what help I can.”

  As he and Sully walked back to the SUV, Dez asked, “You buy all that?”

  “Not everything. But I think what she said about this guy possibly having been psychic makes sense. It would explain why he’s so strong—and maybe why he gives off so much fear. Could be seeing the things he did is why he ended up in Lockwood. God knows where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for you guys.”

  Dez dropped into the driver’s seat and waited until Sully joined him on the passenger side. “We didn’t do anything, Sull. It was all you.”

  “All those nights when we were kids?” Sully said. “You put up with me even though you were almost as scared as I was. I felt like nothing bad would happen as long as you were around. That kept me sane, D. Don’t think otherwise.”

  Dez couldn’t hide the smile and responded by mussing up his brother’s shaggy mop of hair. He’d turned to start the vehicle when Sully stopped him, changing the atmosphere in the vehicle almost as quickly.

  “I think we need to go talk to Dr. Gerhardt.”

  “The psychiatrist? Why?”

  “I need to find this patient.”

  “Sully, no. We’re not going to Lockwood. In fact, we’re not going anywhere near Lockwood. It’s too dangerous for you right now.”

  “Things are already too dangerous.”

  “Listen to me. You’ve told me ghosts are strongest when they’re in a place where they draw power. You said a lot of the time that means they’re the most powerful where they died because of the intensity of the emotion connected with the location. If this guy you’ve been seeing is strong already, think how bad it might be if he died at Lockwood. I don’t want you near there, Sully. No.”

  “And this doesn’t have anything to do with the possibility this doctor might try to diagnose me as clinically insane and try to get me committed?”

  “The thought doesn’t help. You’re not crazy, Sull, but to the unbelieving general public, opinions may vary. We both know that.” Dez paused, giving it further thought. “Tell you what. I’ll go talk to him, give him some story about being worried about you, wanting to explore options. That will get me in the door. Maybe I can go have a look around after.”

  “By yourself? No way.”

  “Relax, Sull. I’m built like a brick shithouse. It would take twelve orderlies to hold me.”

  “Which I’m sure they could find. I don’t want you doing this. Not by yourself. If this guy was murdered there, someone’s got a lot to hide, and they won’t take kindly to someone digging around.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “We go together. You keep the doctor busy with questions, and I’ll have a look around. And if I get caught, hey, I’m crazy anyway, right?”

  “And what if it isn’t the staff who catch you? What if it’s this ghost?”

  “Then I’m just going to have to hope everything I’ve been given today is enough.”

  “Hope’s not good enough for me,” Dez said.

  Sully gave him a reassuring smile. “Dez, I think the way things are shaping up here, hope might be all we really have.”

  12

  The afternoon was nearing its end when Dez steered his SUV off the main road and onto the lane leading to Lockwood Psychiatric Hospital.

  A set of wrought iron gates marked the entrance to the property, having stood sentry there from the time the facility first opened. Dez imagined procedures had changed in that time, and he expected the treatment of the menta
lly ill had too. After all, Lockwood had become a place some people came of their own free will. While the hospital took medical committals, some deliberately came here when they felt overwhelmed by life. With the economic situation and everything that came with it, Dez had read that Lockwood had reached the point of having to turn people away.

  It had also branched out from treating just the mentally ill. The first building they passed, which Dez thought had probably been a nurses’ residence back in the day, was now a seniors’ home, caring for those with dementia and other forms of mental illness and, again, some who just liked the place or the staff.

  Lockwood had a decent enough reputation and had even achieved acclaim for the way staff here looked after their patients.

  It didn’t make Dez any more comfortable bringing Sully here. Despite the desire to just turn the vehicle around and put the large stone building in his rearview mirror, Dez pulled into a spot in the parking lot.

  “I still don’t like this, Sull. I feel like we’re opening a door we’ll regret walking through. I mean, bringing you here is exactly what that doctor at the hospital wanted, and we both know he was wrong about you needing this place.”

  Sully, as usual, was the voice of reason. “Dez, I know you’re not going to leave me here, all right? Come on, let’s just go in. For all we know, Dr. Gerhardt’s left for the day anyway.”

  He hadn’t, of course. And he was more than happy to see them.

  Approaching with a cane, Dr. Roman Gerhardt was only an inch or two shorter than Sully’s six feet and was just as lean, save a small roll around his mid-section likely the result of aging. While his hairline showed signs of receding, his scalp still boasted a fair amount of now-grey hair, and he kept a neatly trimmed beard. He wasn’t wearing the obvious garb of a doctor, clad rather in tan slacks and a pale blue polo shirt that revealed toned and sinewy arms. His handshake was firm, a small vice sealing itself around Dez’s large fingers.

  “Thank you for coming in,” the doctor said, before turning to Sully for a similar handshake. “And this must be Sullivan.”

  “Must be,” Dez said as Sully offered what amounted to a polite rather than warm smile. “Um, listen, this is kinda awkward. I don’t really want to be here, but Sully wanted to see the place. He thought maybe it would help him decide some stuff.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Gerhardt said. “That sounds like a superb idea. I can show the two of you around.”

  Dez took a step forward and spoke quietly. “Uh, actually, I really hoped I could talk to you in private for a few minutes. I’ve got some concerns about all this. Sully’s aware. I was thinking maybe he could wait somewhere until we’ve had a chance to talk, and then you could take us around?”

  Dr. Gerhardt smiled knowingly. “Of course. I understand. But it’s getting near to supper time here and we don’t typically allow visitors then. Tell you what, to save time, I’ll have our head orderly Larson Hackman take Sullivan around, show him the hospital. That will give you and me time to speak. Then, if you’re interested in seeing the place yourself—and I expect you will be—we can schedule a time tomorrow for you to return. How does that sound?”

  Dez faked a grin. Sully wasn’t going to get very far with an orderly on his arm. But to Dr. Gerhardt, all Dez said was, “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  As solid as Dez and only a couple inches shorter, Larson Hackman had the appearance of a man who had earned the spot of head orderly on sheer size alone. He smiled as he approached, hand extended in greeting, but Dez’s police-trained eye picked up on something guarded and watchful in the man’s expression. His grip was expectedly firm, but went one step further with a squeeze that seemed intended to challenge.

  Dez met it with his own extra-solid grip, but tried not to make too much of it. It might be that Hackman was jaded by a tough job, one replete with emotional turmoil and more-than-occasional calls for physical intervention. Dez had dealt with his fair share of mentally unstable people during his career, and it always left him feeling drained, sad and helpless. To be surrounded by it day in and day out, that was a reality he wasn’t sure he could bear.

  “Mr. Hackman,” Dr. Gerhardt said. “If you’d be so kind as to take Mr. Gray on a tour of our hospital, I’d greatly appreciate it. His brother would like to speak with me.”

  “Of course, Doctor.” The orderly extended an arm toward the hall to the east. “This way, Mr. Gray.”

  Sully met Dez’s eye, offering a flicker of a faked smile which Dez returned. Sully was on edge. Dez could only imagine. While Sully’s ability to see the dead was restricted to those who had been victims of homicide, he’d told Dez once or twice he could still sense the spirits of others.

  Like any other hospital, this place had to be crawling with them. The difference was there might be some reasoning with those at a regular medical facility; here, there might easily be more just like the one with whom Sully was now struggling.

  Dez felt a shiver coming on and gave up fighting it after the attempt edged toward futile. Gerhardt caught it and offered Dez a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Braddock. Your brother is in good hands here. Why don’t we head to my office? We can speak there.”

  The doctor’s office was on the main floor, behind a set of doors kept locked by key code. Gerhardt pulled a card from where it hung around his neck by a lanyard, beeping them into what proved to be the business offices.

  They passed a reception desk staffed by a grinning young woman before making their way inside the doctor’s large office. The room seemed dark to Dez, an appearance he put down to the wood panelling and what looked to be original light fixtures. Gerhardt slid behind his desk and flicked on a desk lamp, which helped some, but still didn’t seem to suck all the shadow from the room.

  Dez took one of the leather-backed chairs Gerhardt waved him toward and had barely gotten settled before the doctor opened with a comment.

  “You and Sullivan seem close.”

  “We are.”

  “But I gather you’re not blood brothers?”

  “My family took him in when he was a kid,” Dez said. “He was a foster placement and it became permanent. So as far as I’m concerned, he’s my brother, blood or not.”

  “Of course. That would certainly explain your worry. Why don’t you detail your concerns for me so I can address what I can?”

  “The thing is, Doctor, Sully’s not crazy.”

  “We don’t use the word ‘crazy’ here, Desmond. May I call you Desmond?”

  “Yeah. And sorry. I should have said mentally ill.”

  “Not to worry. Many people have a great deal to learn when it comes to mental illness. We all do, even me. We’ve made great progress in studying it over the years, and have arrived at a far more humane place in terms of treatment, but there are still a great many mysteries to be solved. People fear what they don’t know, and—as you no doubt know as a police officer—it often causes them to lash out. That often makes the mentally ill a target for abuse of all kinds, including verbal. And so we’re careful about the words we use here.”

  “Makes sense,” Dez said. “My apologies again. Sometimes the drawbridge between my brain and my mouth gets a little stuck. At least that’s what my mom used to tell me.”

  Gerhardt chuckled, one of those closed-mouthed ones that still managed to sound pleasant enough. Dez relaxed a little.

  “How’d you know I was a police officer?”

  “Dr. Garva told me a few things when he contacted me about Sullivan,” the psychiatrist explained. “He mentioned you and your father are with the Kimotan Rapids Police Department, and had opted to look after Sullivan yourselves. No offence to either of you, nor your mother who I understand is a family counsellor. But there are times when it’s helpful to have someone from the outside examine a situation or, in this case, a person. It’s difficult to remain objective as a family member.

  “Whether or not we have biases or pre-conceived notions about mental illness, I know of no one who want
s to believe their loved one is affected. Many people live in a state of denial simply because they cannot or will not admit it to themselves. In the meantime, their loved one gets no better and sometimes even worsens.

  “Many sufferers of mental illness, not understanding what’s wrong or in no state to comprehend, begin to self-medicate. We have a great many patients here who were admitted only once they became too much for their families to manage, and many had chemical dependencies when they came to us. And sadly, many had already lost contact with family and were living on the streets. I’m sure you’re aware of the problem. Like me, you must see it every day.”

  “Yeah, I do. Look, I’m not trying to devalue the work you do here. Not at all. It’s just that I truly believe Sully doesn’t need to be here. He isn’t ill.”

  “Dr. Garva told me Sullivan described a blackout, and that he caused himself a serious injury as part of an apparent suicide attempt. I don’t intend to sound critical of your assessment of your brother, but what other explanation can you offer for his actions and what he says he experienced?”

  Dez’s gaze dropped to his fingers, entwined around each other in his lap. He hadn’t noticed until he looked, but they were clenched so tightly together they were showing white in places. He made a conscious effort to relax. He knew the truth about Sully, of course, but wasn’t at liberty to share that here. Not with this man and not with anyone else.

  Thankfully, Gerhardt didn’t pursue an answer to his question, rather changing course slightly.

  “Let me ask you something that might seem strange. Does Sullivan ever speak of hearing voices, or seeing people or images no one else can?”

  Dez’s head snapped up. The psychiatrist smiled, recognizing the unintended movement for what it was: confirmation.

  “How long has this been going on?” the doctor asked.

  Dez took a moment to consider how best to answer before deciding there was no best answer. “I really think Sully’s the one you need to talk to about all that.”

  “You say last night was not the result of a mental illness, that your brother doesn’t suffer from one. And yet last night happened. Did he report it as a spirit possession?”