Enter If You Dare

by Alyson Larrabee

  Chapter 21

  Recuperation

  When I finally regain consciousness, all I can see is the faded orange cotton of Wyatt’s t-shirt because my face is pressed against his chest. He’s carrying me through the woods.

  “You can put me down now. I’m okay.”

  “Not a chance.”

  I struggle, but Wyatt only tightens his grip on me. My feet are dangling in midair and I kick them, but it’s futile.

  “Cut it out, Annabelle. I’m not putting you down.”

  I relax for a second and turn my head to see where we’re going. Wyatt’s following Jeff down the path. Eventually, I see a meadow of yellowed grass and then beyond it, the road where Nathaniel’s van and Jackson’s SUV are parked.

  “C’mon. I can walk now. Think how hysterical my mom’s going to get if she sees you carrying me.”

  “Good point, but I’m keeping my arm around you for support and if you so much as stumble once, I’m carrying you. You scared the crap out of me!”

  Ahead of us, Jeff looks back, barks at me once and then wags his tail, as if he’s expressing his agreement with Wyatt. My human protector hugs my waist with one strong arm and we continue to walk toward the van in silence.

  I scared him.

  That’s ironic, seeing as his body was possessed by the spirit of a homicidal maniac and he was chasing me through the woods behind an insane asylum.

  Even though I’m moving just fine, with just a little help from Wyatt, the second she spots us, my mother races over. She never runs and she never panics. It’s weird to see my normally unflappable mother flapping wildly. Strands of her hair fall loose, making it look even more messy than usual. She’s all breathless.

  “Annabelle, what on earth happened? We’ve been worried sick.”

  “I fainted, that’s all. I was running through the woods and I ran out of energy. I’m fine now.”

  “Fainting isn’t fine. You’ve never fainted before in your life. Come to the car and sit down. You already ran one race today. Why on earth were you running again?”

  She sounds exasperated. Nathaniel’s beside me by now and he hauls me onto his lap so I can ride back to the van with him, in the wheelchair. I try to get up and walk, but he holds me down with his right arm and directs the wheelchair with his left. I’m getting fed up with being bossed around, manhandled and carried in one way or another. So I continue to squirm and kick.

  “Annabelle, sit still.”

  Finally, I concede, mostly because I have no choice. His biceps are made of iron.

  “Calm down. I have some Gatorade in the van. You probably just need some electrolytes.”

  Jackson and Oliver are jogging toward us. So it’s five against one; six if you count Jeff. I know I’ll never win. I relax and start to enjoy my spin in the pimped-out wheelchair. When we get to the van, Nathaniel opens a huge cooler and starts handing out drinks. I thank him and proceed to guzzle down half a bottle of Gatorade in less than sixty seconds. Wyatt stands beside me, slugging one down, too. He stops for a second.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this thirsty before. I’m starting to feel really tired and hungry, too.” He looks over at Nathaniel, who hands him another Gatorade.

  “Hang in there, Wyatt. It’s gonna be okay, buddy.” Nathaniel’s words are reassuring but his face looks worried.

  I hop up and sit on the hood of Jackson’s car and Wyatt opens the passenger side door so he can flop down onto the seat. Oliver and my mom hover over us as if we’re invalids about to breathe our last.

  Nathaniel puts his hand on my mother’s shoulder. “Susannah, they’re okay. They just need to rest.”

  Finally everyone calms down and Oliver decides it’s time to talk about what happened.

  “Okay, you two, we need to hear everything.”

  Wyatt and I take turns relating the details of our misadventure. Then Oliver tells us what was happening while we were gone.

  “Jackson and I finished looking through a few more files in another office and discovered some important information. We tried both of your cell phones and got no answer so we went upstairs to find you. Room 209 was empty. I called down to the van on my cell and Susannah and Nathaniel hadn’t seen you either. I’m sure you can imagine, Annabelle, how much your mother began to worry.”

  He shoots me an accusing look. Then continues. “As I was speaking to her on the phone I spotted the books scattered all over the floor and the journal lying open. It was obvious that you two had left in a hurry. Jackson and I stopped for a moment to read Daniel’s diary. We realized you were in danger but tried not to panic.”

  “At least you’re safe now,” Jackson says.

  “Thanks to Jeff.” I rub his ears for him. He loves that.

  “What did you think of the journal?” I’m interested in Oliver’s opinion because it seems like he might have come to the same conclusion I did.

  “Our ghost, whoever he was, had no mastery of language during his life. According to what he explained during the séance, he never possessed the ability to speak. When Wyatt channeled him for the first time the spirit expressed surprise at having words and being able to talk. During the séance he told us that when he was alive, he had a very limited understanding of what others were saying. Based on the facts recorded in the journal, Jackson and I deduced that our ghost couldn’t be Daniel, because Daniel could obviously read. And he wrote beautifully; with skill and creativity. That journal was written by a very literate and intelligent child who’d completely mastered the English language, not someone who’d never spoken or used words.”

  Jackson offers his professional, psychologist’s opinion. “I believe that Daniel was a selective mute. Because of psychological trauma, he either chose not to talk, or he actually couldn’t talk, but it happened after he turned eight. After he’d learned to read and write.”

  Oliver continues. “I tried not to panic when I realized our ghost wasn’t Daniel, but more likely his violent roommate.”

  Jackson adds, “When this dawned on us, we ran downstairs and attempted to figure out which way you’d gone. But we couldn’t see any trace of you, so we hurried back to the van, hoping you’d arrive soon.”

  Oliver joins in again. “After Nathaniel and Susannah quickly read the journal, we stood around for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. I called Wyatt’s cell again and got no answer and your mom tried your cell phone, Annabelle, multiple times, with the same results. Then Jeff started to act agitated. He kept sniffing the air and pacing back and forth.”

  Nathaniel takes over. “Suddenly, Jeff took off like a bat out of hell. None of us could possibly have followed him. Maybe a minute or two later, you guys came traipsing along, safe, but obviously a little worn out.”

  Wyatt explained, “Annabelle found the journal inside the mattress and read it. She started to tell me that the ghost wasn’t Daniel and BOOM, he took over. I couldn’t stop him. You were right about the power-up, Nathaniel. The dead boy took control. The force of his presence squeezed me out of my own body. I tried to stop him, but it was too late. Annabelle was off and running. And my body, possessed by a homicidal maniac, was after her. I didn’t have a chance.”

  “Then what happened?” Oliver asks.

  “I chased her until Jeff intervened. As soon as the dog started barking, the spirit’s will collapsed like a punctured balloon. I think he’s exhausted himself now. We’re farther away from his stomping grounds and I don’t feel any threat from him at the moment. What do you think, Nathaniel?”

  “Wyatt’s right. I can sense the spirit’s despair. He had no strength left; no power. For now you two are safe.”

  Wyatt rests his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his huge hands. “What if it happens again? Annabelle, how can I protect you from the enemy when the enemy’s me?”

  I have no idea what to say to him.

  “I don’t just see dead people. I am dead people.” His face is still hidden in his big hands.

  I make
a weak attempt at comforting Wyatt. “Only one dead person, so far.”

  My mother enters the discussion. “You’re all forgetting something.”

  “What’s that, Mom?”

  “I can ward off evil.”

  “So if he was evil, you’d know.”

  “That’s right, Annabelle. Nathaniel always consults with me before attempting a séance. More than once he’s walked away from a situation because I sensed something wicked, something dangerous and repulsive.”

  “And that didn’t happen today?” Wyatt asks.

  “No, nor any other day. Annabelle’s ghost has been around her for almost a year now. And I haven’t felt anything.”

  “If he was evil, you would’ve known!” I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out before now.

  “Yes, I would’ve known if he had bad intentions. I’d have felt nauseous and sick whenever he was near. And then I would’ve driven him away. However, I felt nothing. If Annabelle hadn’t told me about the rattling doorknob and the opening door in her nightmare, I never would’ve suspected he even existed.”

  “So we’re safe?”

  “Honey…” She takes my hand and her soft eyes gleam. “He means you no harm. He needs our help. I don’t think he murdered Daniel.”

  Wyatt gasps. “Annabelle!”

  I hurry over to him. He stands up and reaches for me, pulling me close. Framing my face with his hands, he tilts it up and stares into my eyes. “He’s trying to tell me something.”

  Everyone falls silent. “He needs us. He ran after you because only you can save him.”

  “Wyatt, do you think he’d hurt me?”

  “Never.”

  Abruptly, Wyatt removes his hands from the sides of my face. “Annabelle, why the hell did you take a swing at me? Next time you take a poke at someone, think first.”

  “You were chasing after me like a murderous lunatic.” He has no right to be annoyed.

  “You would’ve broken my nose if that punch had connected. Damn it, Annabelle!”

  Nathaniel’s laughing. “I wish I was there, Wyatt. I’d love to see you knocked on your ass by someone half your size.”

  “No one knocked me on my ass. I jumped back and she missed. Then that rabid mutt tried to kill me.”

  Still laughing, Nathaniel explains. “Not you, Wyatt. Don’t take it personally. The ghost still had control of your body and Jeff hates all ghosts. When he senses a ghost, he turns into a raging beast from hell. He doesn’t know harmless from evil. He doesn’t care. He just hates them all.”

  “Good to know!” Even my mother’s giggling now. “Let’s get you two home so you can rest and we’ll meet tomorrow to discuss what the next step should be.”

  Nathaniel speaks up. “Wyatt, you’re coming with me and I’m making you a huge, juicy, fat cheeseburger. I know what it feels like to come back from where you’ve been. You need something high in calories and fat. Broccoli and tofu isn’t gonna do the trick.”

  “Okay, Nathaniel, you can have him and you can feed him. When do you think you’ll be bringing him home?” Oliver concedes with a tired smile.

  “Right after he eats. He’ll probably fall asleep in the van and I’ll never be able to manage him. He’ll need your help, Oliver, and probably Jackson’s too. You guys will have to get him into the house and up to bed.”

  My mom’s smiling with relief now that she knows I’m safe. “Annabelle, you look exhausted. Let’s get you home so you can rest.”

  What a day! I saw my mother run and heard her giggle; my confident, levelheaded mother, brewer of magic teas and enemy of evil.

  I turn to the others. “One more thing; after Wyatt and I went upstairs, did you discover anything else of importance in the files, Oliver?”

  “We found a written record of which patients were kept in which rooms during the time surrounding Daniel’s death. After he died, the hospital staff attempted to place other patients in room 209, but no one ever stayed more than twenty-four hours. That means from the day Daniel died until the closing of the hospital in mid-February of 1986, no patients were ever housed in room 209.”

  Jackson adds, “And the hospital was overcrowded. Why couldn’t they put anyone in the room?”

  Oliver answers his question. “The Lonesome Boy was still there. That’s why. Our boy died on February 10th. But his spirit never left the room.”

  “It’s the only open door on the second floor. Maybe he kept opening the door.” I’m thinking out loud.

  “And the patients who were assigned to room 209 kept getting out,” Wyatt adds.

  “Plus it’s always freezing in there.”

  Wyatt and I keep finishing each other’s thoughts.

  “So they couldn’t put anyone in room 209.”

  “Even though the hospital was overcrowded.”

  Jackson glances down at his horrific handwriting. “Now we have some names from the files. Maybe we can locate someone who worked at the hospital during the winter of 1986.”

  Oliver peers over his shoulder, trying to decipher the hieroglyphics. “Strangely, there’s no mention of Daniel’s mysterious roommate anywhere, in any of the files, with the exception of Mary McGuire’s unofficial, hidden note. And even she never mentions his name. Let’s see if we can find out more about him. Maybe the names we do have will help.”

  Jackson reads aloud from his notes. “Dr. Peterson: Daniel’s psychiatrist, Dr. Summers: Daniel’s pediatrician, Nurse Mary McGuire and the mysterious Mike.”

  As we’re preparing to leave, Oliver announces, “I think it’s time to talk to the living.”

  Chapter 22

  What’s Your Name? Who Are You?

  As soon as we get home, my mother makes me eat two bananas, because she thinks all the running depleted my potassium and that’s why I fainted. Then she brews me one of her teas and loads it up with honey. What I’m really craving is something more substantial, though. So Dad takes pity on me and grills up some burgers and hotdogs. Afterwards, we watch a couple of old CSI episodes together and then I head up to bed early.

  In my room, I grab Jackson’s cashmere sweater off the floor. He hasn’t asked for it back yet and wearing it makes me feel warm and safe. When it comes to stealing other people’s clothes, I have no conscience. Nobody should ever lend me anything. I guess I like wearing my friends’ stuff because sometimes I miss them when they’re not here.

  Jackson’s gesture, on the night of the séance, was very sweet. When I wear the sweater he lent me, I feel his kindness all over again. It’s kind of like the sweater’s giving me a hug. I feel safer, like I’m not alone.

  As I drift off to sleep, my mind cruises through all the discoveries we made this afternoon and all the unanswered questions we unearthed.

  At midnight I wake up shivering, even though the covers are snuggled up around my neck.

  He gives the doorknob a half-hearted jiggle. The door’s open, but he rattles the doorknob anyway, to let me know he’s here. But he’s not inside of my dream this time. He’s really here. Drawing some icy-cold air into my lungs, I sit up, to make sure I’m really awake. His frigid breath hovers around my face, causing me to shiver. But I’m not afraid, just freezing.

  When I realize that Wyatt’s still asleep, inhabiting his own body, safe in his own bed, I experience a sense of relief. The lost soul of the unnamed patient isn’t seizing control of him. My nameless companion has drifted in to visit me while I’m alone. And I’m not afraid because my mother explained that he would never harm us.

  Collapsing back down onto my pillow, I pull the covers up to my chin. “Hey, if you’re going to keep hanging around, I’m going to have to give you a name.”

  His voice rises up, out of the cold, and into my thoughts. “I think my first name is Anthony.”

  “You have a voice! Without Wyatt, you have a voice.” His frigid breath floats over my skin as his name echoes inside my head. We inhabit this moment together: Anthony and me. He has a name.

  “What is this, An
nabelle? I’ve found myself and my voice. If not for you and Wyatt it never could’ve happened. In life, Daniel chose not to speak, but I couldn’t. Speech was impossible for me. I remember someone yelling ‘Anthony,’ just once, perhaps hoping to discover some sign of humanity within me. Someone screamed out my name.”

  “Who said it?”

  “I can only hear it in my memory, which has never had words before. When I was alive, I didn’t understand words, but for some reason, at that moment in time, I suddenly knew the difference between speaking and inarticulate screaming. Someone yelled, ‘Anthony.’ It was my name and somewhere, inside a deeply buried part of my soul, I knew it. Maybe, when I was really young, I heard someone say it and that memory emerged somehow.”

  “Then what happened? Try to remember.”

  “I had that one moment of clarity. I recognized my name. That’s all. I’ve only recently been able to think in language; since I found you and Wyatt. I don’t know whose voice spoke my name. I can’t envision a face, just the name Anthony, screamed out loud in that horrible room. I can’t remember words, but I can remember feelings: fear and hurt and sorrow, from both physical and emotional pain.”

  “Pain! They hurt you?”

  “They dowsed me with freezing cold water to shock me into submission. But sometimes they strapped me into a tub of warm water to try to calm me down. When I wasn’t thrashing around in that godforsaken hell-hole of a room with poor Daniel quivering in a corner, I was always restrained in some way. They bound me with leather straps and shot bolts of electricity through me as I howled and screamed and writhed like a wild creature.”

  “You weren’t a wild creature, Anthony. You were a boy and someone gave you a name.”

  “I’m only human because I know you, Annabelle, and I’ve discovered my humanity too late.”

  “No, the part of you continuing on after your death has a purpose. You have a mission. We need to discover more. I know enough from talking to Wyatt and Nathaniel to realize there are facts that need to be revealed before you can leave us. You have a very important story, Anthony. Tell me more. Tell me everything you can remember. If we figure out what happened to you, maybe you can finally leave this earth and find someplace where you belong.”