Donahue sputters and spittle sprays from his pathetic mouth as he begs. “Get him outta here! Get that monster away from me!”
The whole time he’s screaming and pleading, Donahue’s eyes are glued to the mirror because he can’t believe what he sees. Anthony’s face. The face of someone who died over twenty years ago. The prisoner’s hair grows whiter as we watch. His mouth forms a black oval and he screams again. He grabs onto Uncle Johnny’s shirt sleeve and begs, “Please, please. I’ll tell you anything. Send it back to Hell. Get it away from me!”
Anthony smiles at me through the glass, a ghoulish imitation of a human smile. No warmth, no humor. A smile born from the cold satisfaction of revenge. A smile with all the charm of a skull’s toothy grin.
“What’s the matter, Mike? Don’t you remember me?” The dead boy’s voice slides up and out of Wyatt’s throat like a vampire creeps out of his coffin at dusk. Slow and pale, but strong and bloodthirsty.
“If I never existed then why are you so afraid? Maybe you should scream louder. I don’t think the girl heard you.”
Mike Donahue lets go of my uncle’s sleeve and stares into the glass with his eyes bugging out and mouth slack. It’s a horrible sight. He’s gasping for breath. If Anthony doesn’t leave the room soon Donahue will have a heart attack and the paramedics will have to come in from the fire station next door. They’ll have to use the paddles to revive him.
“I tell you what, Mike. Let’s make a deal. Officer Blake is going to bring a detective in here and I want you to tell him everything that happened on February 10th, 1986. Then I’ll leave you alone. I won’t return.”
“Okay. Okay.” Donahue bobs his head a few times. He’s shaking.
“But if you leave out even one tiny detail, I’m coming back. When it’s dark and you’re alone in your cell. We’ll have a long talk. Just you and me.” Anthony looms; large and threatening, as he takes a step backward, toward the door and lets loose a cold and hollow laugh.
“I’ll talk. I promise. I’ll tell him everything that happened. I won’t leave anything out. Just go. Leave me alone. Please.” Mike Donahue quivers and begs and still his tortured eyes stay riveted to the mirror. I stare into the hell that lies within them, while behind him Anthony leaves. Uncle Johnny unlocks the door and Wyatt walks out and closes it behind him. When the door to our little room opens, Wyatt stumbles in and falls into my arms. I stagger under his weight and my dad and Oliver jump up to help us. We get him into a chair and resume watching the drama inside the room with the one-way mirror. Uncle Johnny helps the prisoner back to his chair and the badly shaken man collapses into it.
“What the hell just happened in there?” The detective, who’s sitting next to Nathaniel looks mystified.
“Beats the hell out of me.” My dad shakes his head. “Maybe Donahue’s guilty conscience is causing him to hallucinate.”
“Crazy bastard.” The detective shakes his head.
Inside the interrogation room, my uncle beckons for the detective to replace him. The detective leaves us and enters the room on the other side of the window. Donahue’s lawyer finally arrives. The lawyer sits down next to his client and opens a laptop. He glances up at the video camera in the corner. The green light’s blinking. What will everyone see when they review the film?
The prisoner crumples and lays his cheek on the cold surface of the gray metal table in front of him. Through the dim window I can see the goose flesh on Mike Donahue’s bare arms.
Chapter 37
The Last Race
My dad texts my mother and she comes back into the police station. He drags over a chair for her and she sinks into it. Some of us are sitting; some standing. We’re a tired, ragged bunch and we’ve been on an unbelievable journey together. A journey that’s about to end. I’m too agitated to sit down, so I rest my hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and keep wiggling from one foot to another. Wyatt’s still slumped in his chair, exhausted. I study the faces surrounding me. If the road ends here what will happen next?
The look on Mike Donahue’s face makes it clear to us why my mother is able to join us again. His eyes look empty and his face is gray and more wrinkled than it was when he entered the interrogation room. Like an empty plastic bag blowing around in a parking lot, he has no direction, no confidence, no strength and no definite shape. He can’t properly fill any defined space in this world. Anthony stole all of the villain’s power, destroyed his cockiness and shifted his reality. The subdued prisoner waits for his lawyer to tell him what to do.
Someone brings in a tray of coffee. Even I don’t begrudge my would-be murderer this small favor. In fact, I doubt he’ll have the energy to tell his story without at least one cup of coffee. And we all want to hear what he has to say.
The detective unlocks Donahue’s handcuffs. Observing the way his pale hands shake as they grip the cardboard cup and the way he sinks his bedraggled face to the lip of it, I figure it’s the right thing to do. Mike’s hands can safely be freed from the cuffs. The main character in my waking nightmares looks like he no longer has the strength or the will to harm anyone. Donahue inhales the steam and takes several sips before he begins to talk.
He speaks in a monotone at first, but as he gets going, he gains some emotional momentum. All his confidence deserted him the moment he looked into the mirror and saw the boy who’d spent most of his life imprisoned in room 209 at the Wild Wood Psychiatric Hospital. Now Donahue’s fear is also fading. A little humanity enters his expression and his tone of voice as he begins to talk.
“I didn’t kill those boys on purpose. You have to believe me.”
His lawyer interrupts. “Don’t say anything more, Mike.”
Donahue gestures for him to be quiet. “It’s okay. I need to talk about it. Just keep that monster away from me, please. You have to keep him away from me.”
Donahue’s lawyer looks puzzled. “What’s he talking about?”
The detective shrugs and shivers. “Damned if I know.” Then he nods at the prisoner and says, “Drink your coffee, Mike. We all need to warm up. It’s freezing in here.”
“Not as cold as it was on that horrible night. The night that Anthony died.”
“Who’s Anthony?”
“A patient at Wild Wood Hospital. He couldn’t talk. He screamed and yelled but he never spoke a word. When he had a melt-down, things could get scary. He was pretty violent sometimes. We often put him in a straitjacket or sedated him. He was always restrained or drugged. The kid was tall and strong, but pathetic and retarded.”
I cringe at the sound of Donahue’s words. My heart breaks for Anthony.
“So tell us what happened,” the detective prompts him.
Uncle Johnny’s on the other side of Nathaniel and he moves forward, until he’s perched on the edge of his chair. He’s sipping on a cup of coffee, shivering and staring at Mike Donahue. My poor uncle looks worn out and confused. Like he’s seen a ghost and is trying to reconcile what he saw with his former ideas about reality. Mike Donahue starts telling his story.
“One night we caught Daniel, this kid who had epilepsy, out in the parking lot. I suspected he saw me stealing some drugs from the locked medication room.”
“And did you steal drugs from the locked medication room?” The detective interrupts.
“Yes, sir, I did. And Daniel saw me do it and followed me outside. In the parking lot he watched me put the stolen drugs into the trunk of the dealer’s car. Then Daniel collapsed and had a seizure right there on the ground.”
“And did you help him?”
“Yes. Another orderly who was in the parking lot heard Daniel go down and we both ran over. After that night, Dr. Summers moved Daniel into the same room with Anthony, the most violent patient at the hospital. We hoped Anthony would scare him, make him nervous, or even hurt him. Daniel couldn’t talk, so I figured I might be safe. I didn’t think he’d be able to tell anybody about what he saw, but I needed to make sure.”
“And how did you ‘make sure’?�
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“Dr. Summers told me that he hoped Daniel would die in room 209. He hoped Anthony would kill him. Then no one would find out about us and we could keep making money off the drugs.”
“So Summers was involved in the drug business?”
“The whole thing was his idea, but he didn’t want to steal or move the drugs himself, so he asked me. I found him a street connection. Summers made sure I got the key to the locked medication room and I stole the drugs and put them in the dealer’s car.”
“What was your mother’s part in all of this?”
Mike Donahue sighs. “Summers gave my mother a shift working in the medication room. He put her in charge of giving out the early evening meds and locking up afterwards. She handed off the keys to me on the nights when I’d be making a run out to the parking lot to meet the dealer. That’s all. We needed the money. My stepfather was sick. He couldn’t work anymore. My mother changed the drug inventory records so no one would know anything was missing and she gave me the keys. You can’t put a woman in her eighties in jail for something she did over twenty years ago. Can you?”
“It all depends, Mike. It depends on how much helpful information you give us. If you cooperate, your mother will be safe. Just keep talking.”
“Like I said, Dr. Summers and I were making good money. The whole thing was his idea. He was young. I think he had student loans to pay off; from medical school. Maybe he was just greedy. He covered up for me whenever I needed him to and I did all the rest of the work. I made the connection, with an old friend, this guy I knew in high school. He had a group of kids who sold the stuff on the streets, in colleges, wherever people would buy it: sedatives, pain meds, behavioral meds, you name it. Nothing ever changes; you’ll always be able to sell drugs. People are willing to pay big bucks, too. I didn’t use anything myself. I was just the middleman. It was fast and simple. Summers and I split the cash. My family needed the extra money. Dr. Summers was helping us out.”
“Helping you out by enlisting you to sell illegal prescription drugs.”
“Like I said, we were poor. It was an easy way to make some extra cash. But then Daniel caught me in the act. He must’ve been hiding somewhere near the medication room. He followed me out to the parking lot and saw me loading the drugs into the trunk of a car. For a while I stalked him, just to scare him. He started to have seizures more often and they got worse. The doctor probably should’ve increased his meds, but we wanted him to get worse. We would’ve been better off if he died of natural causes. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about him telling someone I was messing with the drugs in the locked room.”
“So the doctor withheld the medication that he knew Daniel needed.”
“I never thought of it that way but I guess he did. Sometimes, if I was near Daniel, he’d drop. It was kinda scary. His face would turn blue. Once when another orderly was with me, he revived Daniel with mouth-to-mouth because he stopped breathing. If I had been alone, that would’ve been the end of him. I wouldn’t have revived him. We were supposed to give him a shot of Phenobarbital as soon as he started seizing. That would relax him enough so he’d stop jerking around and start breathing again. Then we were supposed to roll him onto his side. If I was alone with him when he had a seizure, I never bothered with any of those procedures.”
It makes me feel sick to hear Mike Donahue speak so coldly about a child whose safety was his responsibility and I start shaking a little. Wyatt puts his arm around me. The prisoner continues to tell us everything he remembers.
“Part of the doctor’s plan was for Anthony to make Daniel nervous, so his seizures would get worse. If Anthony saw Daniel seizing, maybe he’d get over-excited and hurt Daniel. But when we put them together in room 209, those two mental cases seemed to calm each other down.”
“Anthony never tried to hurt Daniel?”
“Not that I know of. Daniel was a few years younger and much smaller than Anthony. We were hoping for a violent attack, but nothing ever happened. The doc didn’t give up hope, though; he kept them together, thinking that Anthony was so violent and unpredictable, he’d turn on Daniel and mess him up. But Anthony didn’t and we began to get nervous. Summers and I started worrying that Daniel would find a way to tell someone about the drug deals.”
“What about the night of February 10th, 1986?” The detective steers Donahue toward talking about the night the boys died. Uncle Johnny takes out his cell phone and asks for someone to get a warrant so they can bring in Dr. Summers. No one mentions Mary McGuire, though. The detective keeps his word. He promised Mike Donahue and she is in her eighties.
The subdued villain takes a huge gulp of coffee, shudders and begins to speak again. “I was working the night shift on February 10th, 1986 and I decided to try something new. I was sick of always having to worry that Daniel would find a way to tell someone about the drug deals. I dunno, sign language, pointing to stuff. I was afraid he’d figure out a way to communicate. I thought about it all the time. I wanted him dead, so he could never tell anybody anything.”
“Exactly what occurred on that night, Mike? Take us through it step-by-step.”
“Sometime a little before midnight, I visited the boys in room 209. I brought a syringe of Phenobarbital with me. I wanted it to look like I was trying to save Daniel during a seizure. But really, I wasn’t gonna give him the medication until it was too late. I figured that Daniel would be scared when I walked into his room. He’d have a seizure and turn blue, stop breathing. If he did, I wouldn’t give him the sedative and I wouldn’t revive him.”
Whoa! We all look at each other. Donahue just admitted he planned to kill Daniel and everything he says is being recorded by the video cam in the corner of the ceiling. Whoever watches it will see what an ordinary face Evil wears.
“Sure enough, as soon as I opened the door to the room, Daniel got hysterical. Then something unbelievable happened. He yelled, ‘Anthony!’ and suddenly, I knew he could talk. I knew for sure, right then, that Daniel had to die; the sooner, the better.”
“Then what happened?” The detective leans toward him.
“Anthony was sleeping on his cot, but he woke up when Daniel yelled. Daniel was lying on his bed and I was leaning over him. He was scared out of his mind and he started having a grand mal seizure. Before I knew it, Anthony jumped on my back and I fell on top of Daniel. That crazy bastard was strong. I remember how hard and sharp-edged he felt, all muscle and bone, wrestling with me from behind. I stood up and tried to shake Anthony off my back. Suddenly he let go. He was looking down at the cot. Daniel’s face was blue and he wasn’t moving. He was completely still and his mouth was open wide and there was no doubt in my mind. He died like that, seizing and scared to death, underneath me and Anthony.”
“What did Anthony do then?” the detective asks.
“He came at me like some skinny, crazed wild animal. He clawed at me and kicked me. He bit me; you can still see the mark.” Donahue yanks aside the collar on his jail uniform to show the detective his shoulder. We can all see two rows of dark pink indentations: the imprints Anthony’s teeth made in his flesh over twenty years ago. “The bastard drew blood!”
I wish Anthony had bitten him harder and left a worse scar.
“While his teeth were still imbedded in my shoulder, I stabbed him in the thigh with the syringe. I stuck it in hard. Everything else happened fast. Anthony felt the stab of the needle and staggered backwards. Then he looked at the open door and ran like hell. I didn’t follow him. I left the door open and hurried to the nearest nurses’ station. Nobody was on duty because of the budget cuts. I was the only one working on the second floor that night. I reached under the desk and pulled the emergency lever to unlock all of the exits and then I raced down to the control room and turned off the alarm system. Anthony did exactly what I wanted him to do. He found a way out and ran as fast as he could, into the sub-zero February night, barefoot, wearing only his pajamas. Then I called Dr. Summers and told him everything.”
“What did Summers say?”
“He told me to lock the doors back up and reset the alarms. He said not to say anything to anybody and to wait for him to arrive. We were really understaffed, so no one heard Daniel yell and no one saw Anthony leave. I knew he wouldn’t survive on such a cold night, so I waited for daybreak. That’s when Dr. Summers would be getting to the hospital.”
“What did Summers do when he arrived?” The detective wants to find out as much as he can about the pediatrician’s role in the deaths of the two young patients.
“The next morning Summers came in early, like he said he would. He told me to go outside and look for Anthony. He’d take care of Daniel and he did. He pronounced him dead due to complications resulting from a seizure and then he signed the death certificate.”
“What about Anthony?”
“Hardly anybody even knew Anthony existed anyway. He was so violent he stayed locked up in his room most of the time. A few orderlies and maybe some nurses had restrained him once or twice. Some of the nurses might’ve sedated him here and there, but a lot of them were let go because of the budget cuts. Most of the time, I was in charge of Anthony. That morning, nobody even noticed he was gone. Nobody asked about him.”
“How did his name disappear from the hospital records?”
“Dr. Summers convinced Dr. Peterson, the boys’ shrink, to destroy any records proving Anthony ever existed, for the good of the hospital and so we could all hang onto our jobs a little longer. We told Peterson that Anthony caused Daniel’s death and the hospital would be shut down for sure if the state authorities figured out we kept a nonviolent patient like Daniel locked up in the same room with Anthony. Peterson agreed and just like that, Anthony never even existed at all. I think Peterson might’ve suspected that there was more to the story, but he wasn’t gonna talk. I think he was a little afraid of Summers and me. He might’ve suspected we committed a double murder.”
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