THE SECOND VISIT…
He didn’t want to leave his cell. He was safe here, and women were safe on the outside with him in here. Also, he was making progress with his doctor and in his therapy groups. She’d even said that to him herself.
“Norm, I think we are making real progress. You’ve finally come to terms with the fact that your wife, Angharad, is dead, and that it wasn’t really her telling you what to do. That it was all in your head.”
Progress. That’s a good word, he thought.
That word was Norm Jenkins’ safety blanket. He clung to it much like a three-year-old clings to a blanky, which, in return, had helped him through his darkest days at the hospital.
Through the progress had come reward. Through reward had come more progress, until they’d moved Norm from maximum to medium security. In time, if he continued to progress and show willing, he would be moved to minimum security. But first, his doctor had to know he was no longer a threat to himself or others.
If he had to wait, then he would. For now, Norm was happy. He had the pleasure of a cosy room instead of a cell, with no bars or locks, and he could come and go as he pleased. He wasn’t caged like an animal any longer, and for that, he was grateful. Probably happy enough to see out his days in this part of the hospital – he didn’t really require minimum security.
He just didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not ever again.
But then the note had come.
And just like that, he could almost feel the regression kick in.
Having come back to his room from a game of chess with one of the other patients, Norm had found a small, stuffed package on his pillow. Intrigued, he went to it excitedly and tore the envelope open in one vicious pull. A wire, along with a large key, fell to the bed and puzzled him, until he found the accompanying letter. It was slightly ruffled by his eagerness.
He made sure no one was around. With the coast clear, he began to read, hoping to make some sense of it all.
Dear Norm,
Angharad is waiting…
That first line made his breath lodge in his throat. He fell against the wall as a wave of nausea and dizziness kicked in. His knees felt weak and his brow broke into a flood of sweat.
Giving himself five minutes to recover, Norm took to his bed and sat on its edge. There was a glass half full of water on his bedside table. He swallowed the lot in one go, not caring about the tracks that dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin, spattering the letter he held in his shaking hand. The paper rustled.
Panting, he closed his eyes and counted to ten, which helped calm his inner self, breathing and heart rate.
He opened his eyes. The letter was still there. He was glad of that, fearing the hallucinations may have been coming back. The paper was real. The words were real.
Angharad is waiting…
He turned his gaze away from the offending words, about to call for the nurse housed in her little station just down the hall. But something stopped him. Her name, that’s what it was. Angharad. It stirred in him something unstoppable. All consuming. His heart began to pound, but he managed to slow it by doing his breathing exercises.
“Breathe, Norm, that’s it. One…two…one…two…” he said aloud. “One…two…one…two.” Feeling better, he lifted the letter and reread the offending line.
Angharad is waiting…
So too am I…Along with a whole host of other guests at my home – 379 Eagle Moss Av, Porthcawl.
I’d like you to join us, as would your delightful wife. She tells me she is missing you deeply. Surely you wouldn’t want to disappoint her?
Take the wire from the parcel and kill the male guard that walks the corridors outside your door at night. Make sure you make your move at midnight. Also, take the key, as it is a skeleton key and will open every locked door between you and the outside.
When the guard is dead, take his clothes and make your escape. By this time, all hell should have broken loose inside the hospital, which will make your escape easier.
Once out, locate your pickup truck, which is awaiting you on the grounds. Once inside it, you’ll find another letter. That one will give you further instructions on what to do.
Yours sincerely,
Wadsworth
Where the reforming Norm went to, he had no idea.
All he knew was that his wife was still out there, and she was waiting for him. It enraged him to think that these bastards here had told him she was dead.
The rage was like lava spilling out of an erupting volcano. Killing a single guard to be reunited with his Angharad was a small price to pay. Especially after everything he had done for her.
He hid the letter, key and wire under his pillow and climbed under the sheets. Clive, the guard who always worked the late shift, would be in to check on him at around ten for lights out. He could strike then, but the letter told him he should wait until midnight because “all hell should have broken loose inside the hospital” by then.
He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but if Angharad was behind his escape, then he fully trusted her…
At precisely ten o’clock, Clive came to Norm’s room to wish him a good night. He then left to do the rest of his round. Norm had asked the ageing guard if he would mind popping back in on him from time to time, as he was having a restless time of it. Clive had been happy to oblige, which would be his ultimate downfall.
Just after midnight, when Clive returned to Norm for the third time, Norm was waiting behind his door, the wire taut between his hands.
The thin cord cut deep into the man’s ageing flesh as Norm pulled as tight as he could. Clive choked and tried to pull the wire from around his throat, but it was all in vain, as his strength was no match for Norm’s.
When Clive was finally dead, Norm took his clothes, shut his door and proceeded without a problem. As promised, he managed to pass through the corridor and doors with the key he had been provided with. No one seemed to notice him. Sirens wailed far off in the hospital as nurses and guards at their desks and front door let him stride by, causing him to laugh at the simplicity of it all.
Finding his pickup, which was unlocked, he got in. “Good old Angharad,” he said. “She always thinks of everything.” Smiling, he ripped the second envelope off the steering wheel and tore it open.
Dear Norm,
If you are reading this, then you have made it to the outside, untroubled, I hope, and are sat in your pickup. Inside the glove box you will find a map to a place called Hob’s, which is a café on an old road close to Hirwaun.
You’ll need to go inside the café and ask for the owner, Hob. He will be expecting you, and will provide you with everything you need: Food, clothes, money and a bus ticket, which will see you to Porthcawl. He will also give you a third and final letter. When we do meet, I can promise you that it will be more than worth your while. And, as promised, your lovely Angharad is waiting…You have my word.
Warmest,
Wadsworth
Balling the letter and tossing it onto the passenger’s seat, Norm opened the glove compartment and took out the road map.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held one. It was practically double-Dutch to him as he looked at the directions marked out in front of him. Thinking he’d grasped it, he started the engine, pulled off, and headed for Hob’s café.
After losing his way countless of times, Norm finally pulled up outside the café at God knows what time. It was still dark, yet the whole of Hob’s was lit up like a Christmas tree. He watched as a young, thin woman left the place with a bag over her shoulder. She appeared to be in a great hurry and was swallowed by shadows before Norm could get his cumbersome frame out of the van.
He had little fear walking up to the door of the café, because he knew Angharad was involved in all of this.
Walking through the door of Hob’s, his ears picked up the sounds coming from the kitchen – something was being fried in a pan. Bacon or eggs, maybe even sausages. This told him he was i
ndeed expected by the owner, who was probably cooking food for him, as the place was empty.
Walking towards the counter, Norm scanned the place with erratic eye movements. Should I call out? he thought. It might be a good idea. He stopped in his tracks, about to open his mouth, when a face popped out from behind a door that Norm assumed led to the kitchen.
The chubby face looked hot, flustered and not at all amused. Maybe even a bit anxious or weary. “Norm?” the man said.
Norm nodded.
“Norm Jenkins?”
How many other Norms are you expecting to drop by tonight, Norm wanted to say, but didn’t. He just nodded and uttered, “Hob?”
“Yeah,” the man said, stepping out of the kitchen. His large, wobbly frame filled the doorway.
Norm’s gaze met the steel bat that the restaurateur held in one had whilst he lightly clubbed the other. “Are you going to be a good boy, Norm?”
Norm nodded and smiled. Hob reminded him of a fat Texan tycoon – all that was missing was a belt buckle complete with bull horns and a ten-gallon hat. “You don’t have to worry about me. All I want is the food, clothes money and ticket you’re supposed to provide me with. After that, I’ll be on my way,” Norm said in a calm tone.
“Go and grab a seat over there,” Hob said, indicating with a dip of his head. “I’ve put your letter on the table. After you’ve eaten, I’ll show you where you can shower and change before giving you the rest of your stuff.”
“Okay,” Norm said. “Have you seen my Angharad?”
“Who?” Hob said.
“My wife. It said in the first letter…”
“Look, like I told the one before you, I know nothing about what’s going on, okay? Please, just do what you have to do and go. All I’m trying to do is run a business.”
Norm eyed the man for a second, seeing and hearing the fear in him, before nodding and turning to head for his seat.
“Your food will be over in a mo. You want anything to drink?”
“What have you got?”
“We have hard stuff, if that’s what you mean?”
“Just something soft. Maybe a juice. What are you cooking up? It smells lovely!” Norm said, taking his seat and picking up the third and last envelope.
“Full English.”
“Lovely. I’ve not had one of them in a long time,” Norm said, his mood cheery. He couldn’t wait to see his beloved.
Sitting at the table, which had cutlery and condiments awaiting him along with the envelope, he drank the place in. The American theme amused him. He giggled, shook his head and picked up the letter. It felt thicker. Slightly heavier. On tearing it open, a photo fell from the neatly folded paper, which had a perfume aroma on it.
“Angharad,” Norm whispered as he feverishly opened the letter and ignored the snapshot that lay picture-up on the table.
Dear Norm,
My love,
I hope this letter finds you well and safe at Hob’s Café? I eagerly await you at the home of Wadsworth. He has been nothing but friendly towards me. Enclosed in this letter is a photo of me in the company of our host for this evening’s gathering. Do hurry, Norm – I’ve missed you.
All my love,
Angharad
Norm held the sheet of paper close to his nose and deeply breathed in the sweet smelling perfume, which had been lovingly squirted over the letter. Tears slid down his face as he cast the letter to one side and looked at the photo. It depicted his beautiful wife in her wheelchair, and standing behind her was a well-groomed man, his face darkened by poor lighting. But that was Angharad. Definitely.
Hob’s voice startled Norm from his hazy daydreams. “You okay, pal?”
Norm looked up at the café owner and wiped his tears away. “Yes,” he said in a gentle manner.
“Right you are,” Hob said, placing a plate in front of him. “A good old English for you, son. It’ll help build your strength up.”
Norm looked at the stodgy food before him. He wasn’t normally a fan of fried foods, as he liked to look after himself, what with his previous job and everything. But he guessed that didn’t matter much these days, and began to dig in, happy with the thought of seeing his woman once again. I won’t mess it up this time, he thought. Huh-uh. No chance. He grinned as he chewed and tore at his food.
Hob turned and walked away, slightly chilled by Norm’s behaviour. “I’ll let you get on with it, pal. Just give us a shout when you’re ready to get cleaned up.”
“Will do,” he said.
The vicious scraping of cutlery on plate set Hob’s teeth on edge. His insides shivered. “Hurry up and get the fuck out,” Hob said under his breath as he stepped back behind the counter and eyed Norm for a while. He watched as Norm grinned and spoke to himself.
Hob’s hands found the shaft of Old Rosie, just to make sure she was still where he’d left her…
Fifty minutes later, Hob handed Norm a plastic bag filled with the dinner suit, watch, bus ticket and cash. The dishevelled man that had walked through Hob’s door over an hour ago was gone, scrubbed away with the grime and sweat.
“Thanks,” was all Norm said as he took the plastic bag from Hob.
“You’ll find a bus stop down the road. I would drive you, but I can’t leave the place…”
“It’s okay,” Norm interjected, turned, and left.
Hob felt relived as he watched the man go. He didn’t take his eyes off Norm until he was out the door and out of sight. “Two down, one to go…”
THE FINAL VISIT…
He stood facing his cell door and waited with impeccable patience for it to be unlocked. The light inside his six-by-four room was out, along with the ones in the corridor.
The holding cells were much smaller in this part of the hospital, known as ‘The Bowels.’ They were tight and claustrophobic, and only the most dangerous and depraved were kept this far down. Some joked that the rooms were a hundred feet below surface, but Klaws knew that to be a lie – it was more like two hundred feet. That thought made him smile. “Like a rat in a tunnel…” he whispered.
Turning his head slightly, he looked at the crumpled letter on his bed. Whoever’s doing this is being a very, very naughty child. They won’t be getting any presents this Christmas. Uh-huh, he thought. It’ll be a whipping to the death for that bad boy or girl.
But, as they lay dying, I’ll thank them. Thank them for setting me free and returning my special, special keepsake. Opening his hand, he looked down at the earring with cutlass pendant. Again, he smiled. A low rumble filled his throat as he affixed the piece of jewellery to his ear.
Now all I need is my suit and boots, he thought.
That had been promised in his letter – that and other things he needed were awaiting him at a café called Hob’s. Klaws knew the café owner and his wife. They were extremely naughty – had been for many years. Paying them a visit this evening would be most fitting, what with it being Christmas Eve, he thought.
With the earring attached, he gave it a flick and listened to it rattle before walking over to his bed and picking the letter up. He looked over it again. “At precisely midnight, your cell door will be unlocked…I’ll be waiting for you…” He read, then reread the address to make sure it was Hob’s he was heading to next.
“A limo will be waiting for you on the hospital grounds…It’ll take you to where you need to go.”
Crushing the letter into a ball, he threw it over his shoulder and listened to it bounce off the wall and land on the floor at his feet. He pounded his open right hand with his left fist. The sound of flesh striking flesh caused the hairs at the back of his neck to rise.
With his left first cupped by his right hand, he cracked his knuckles, then did the same to his right. Klaws then rotated his head and shoulders until the bones cracked and settled. He felt good and loose.
Excited energy caused him to start bouncing on his toes. He swayed from side to side like a boxer – for a large man, he had the nimbleness of a ballerina. As
he moved about energetically, he started to recite ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.
Before he could reach the end of Clement’s beloved Christmas poem, Klaws heard keys rattle in the door’s lock. He stopped talking and stood still. When he heard the bolts disengage, he moved forward – his hands were held up in front of him, ready to strike.
The door groaned as it was pushed open.
“You’re free,” a voice whispered into the room. All Klaws could see in the poor light was a dark, blobby form at best.
“My, my, what a naughty one you are. Trying to stay up to catch a glimpse of Santa, young one?” Klaws roared as he put his massive hands to the door and ripped it wide.
“Huh!” the freer gasped. A heavy jingle-jangle sound filled Klaws’ ears, making him assume a bunch of keys had hit the deck. “No, please!” the man cried as Klaws grabbed the smaller bloke by his jacket. “I—” the person was about to plead again, but he was roughly pulled into the tiny room.
Klaws threw the man against the back wall, then jumped on him and crushed him to the floor. He then sank his teeth into the man’s cheek and tore parts of it free. Before the captured man could scream, Klaws clamped a hand over his mouth, then spat the loose, bloody mess onto the floor.
“’Twas the night before Christmas…” he started, then forced his hand into the jailer’s mouth and grabbed his tongue. With one fierce yank, the organ came flapping out – the squelching sounds delighted the deranged Santa as he spoke the merry, poetic words.
Sugar plums danced in his head.
As the man lay choking on his blood and vomit, Klaws made his way over to the open door. He licked his fingers clean before picking up the keys and heading out into the corridor.
Behind him, he could hear the vicious sobs of a pained soul.
Escapees and Fevered Minds Page 6