by Adam Zorzi
Blind Trust
By Adam Zorzi
BLIND TRUST
Copyright © 2017 by Adam Zorzi.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: April 2017
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-047-3
ISBN-10: 1-64034-047-5
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
Ai fantasmi di Richmond
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
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CHAPTER ONE
March
“One patient was killed and more than a half dozen suffered smoke inhalation injuries when a two-alarm fire broke out at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital in Petersburg, Virginia early this morning. The fire, which started at approximately four o'clock, was confined to one section of the main hospital ward. No statements from the Petersburg Fire Chief or the Virginia Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Services, which oversees Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital, have been made.
“However, in an exclusive interview with a staff member who asked not to be identified, this station has learned that the fire started in a patient's room. The patient has not been identified, but the staff member indicated that a male had been restrained and placed in seclusion due to his multiple violent outbursts as well as his threats to harm staff and other patients.”
LouLou recognized the TV reporter as the guy who'd interviewed her about her latest album. Music and fires. What a beat. He obviously couldn't access the hospital grounds, so he stood at the gated entrance with a 3D map projected on the TV screen.
“As you can see, the hospital is a sprawling campus. The forensic hospital, which is the only one in the state, is housed in a secure freestanding building. It's where defendants who are awaiting competency hearings reside along with all of Virginia's violent persons found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or NGRI.”
Mug shots of patients who had spent time there scrolled across the screen while the reporter continued. “The most famous patient was Lorena Bobbitt, who cut off her cheating husband's penis while he slept. The newest resident is a thirty-year-old woman and mother of two children who shot and killed her Iraq war veteran husband when he came home from work as a civilian computer programmer.
“Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital has come under increased scrutiny by mental health advocates. I interviewed advocate Marion Navarro of the Virginians for Better Mental Health Society, who told me any patient in seclusion is required by law to be under twenty-four-hour surveillance. She questioned how a restrained patient could acquire material to light a fire while in seclusion or start a fire without immediate intervention if he'd been under the required surveillance. She also told this reporter that state Reductions in Force had eliminated more than twenty-seven percent of clinical jobs at the hospital over the past two years. The jobs lost were in security and nursing.”
Footage of a woman in a white beret and black parka speaking at a rally outside the Virginia House of Representatives rolled. The woman said, “Cuts at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital are a disgrace. What do our legislators have to say? That jobs have been added to the hospital. That's right. The hospital hired people in high paying computer and administrative positions at the expense of those caring for patients. Clearly, the state cares more about paper pushers than people.” Loud applause cut off the rest of her remarks.
In one quick cut, the reporter's face again filled the screen. “As most of our viewers know, Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as Commonwealth Lunatic Asylum, was established in 1869 as an institution for African-Americans of unsound mind. It was opened to all races in 1967. The hospital has a long history of suspected hauntings and paranormal sightings. The oldest section of the hospital is on the National Register of Historic Places.
Back to you…”
***
LouLou knew about the fire before she saw the news. She'd spent the night in Petersburg with a fireman called to the scene.
“Gotta go.” The guy shook her awake. He hustled to pull on his clothes and get out of the apartment. “Two alarm at Commonwealth Psychiatric.”
LouLou sat up. Braced on her elbows, she asked, “Can I stay here?” She didn't want to haul herself to a new place or sleep in her car for what was left of the night.
He looked at her for a split second and said, “Yeah. Make sure you lock the door behind you. Be out by ten.” He left.
LouLou slid back under the sheet and scratchy blanket, rolled herself in the middle of the lumpy double bed hoping to find a comfortable position, and exhaled. She was grateful he'd decided she didn't look like she'd take off with the family jewels and could stay.
Not that there was much here. It looked like what it was—a furnished apartment in a community known as a refuge for the newly separated, divorced, and displaced. She hadn't seen a single personal item beyond a toothbrush
between the front door and bedroom. His most valuable possession was probably the remote to the flat screen TV hanging on the living room wall. Even that was rented as part of the furnishings.
He was right to be skeptical. He couldn't know she wasn't the type to root around the drawers and cabinets after a one-night stand in search of cash, evidence of other women, or his cell phone number. LouLou wanted a place to crash after her DJ gig, then to shower and dress in fresh clothes before getting back on the road to Richmond.
She closed her eyes. Sleep would elude her. He'd left the fire department scanner on, so she heard the details as they emerged through dawn. A patient in seclusion burned to death in bed. Such unimaginable horror made her shake. She curled on her side and tightly wrapped the blanket around herself. She rocked back and forth. Back and forth. The motion soothed her. She was safe.
Patients at the state's only psychiatric hospital weren't safe. Security monitoring hadn't helped that poor guy who'd burned to death in bed. Surely, this was an isolated incident. Nothing like that had ever happened when she'd been a patient. She had to stay vigilant about taking her meds. She couldn't go back there. She wouldn't survive another stay.
CHAPTER TWO
LouLou smiled as she pulled into the parking lot beside her loft building. Home. There was Roy with his bald head, dressed neatly in a white shirt, black pants, and a crisp white apron that hid the paunch on his otherwise slim frame, standing on the sidewalk waiting for her. He and his wife Sara owned the deli/patisserie/bodega where LouLou ate most of her meals. They watched over her as though she were their oldest daughter even though they weren't that much older than her. LouLou hadn't told him what time she'd be home so he'd probably been pacing the sidewalk this morning on the lookout for her since just before six o'clock, when the deli opened. He'd either left Sara or Caesar, his assistant manager, in charge while he’d waited for her.
LouLou had barely turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car before he was beside her. “Welcome back to the world's greatest DJ. Here, let me give you a hand,” Roy said as he grabbed her duffel bag and tote from the back of her black compact Honda SUV. “You look and smell like hell, no disrespect.”
“Does that mean no hug?”
Roy softly kissed her cheek. “The hug can wait.”
“Whew, that was a long tour. Hot. I'd no idea temperatures reached the eighties north of Florida in January and February.” She carefully stacked equipment cases in an order known only to her and strapped them on a wheelie. No one touched her gear.
Roy moved ahead to her building, held the door open for her, and rang for the industrial elevator. LouLou quickly caught up.
“Roy, don't send your kids to college in the south,” LouLou advised during the short ride. “Way too much partying. I expected twenty-somethings at my shows, but I had a lot of college kids, even in the middle of the week. Most of my sets didn't start before ten o'clock. Those kids should've been studying in their dorms or sleeping. I didn't party during college.”
“LouLou, you didn't go to college.”
“Did so. Two semesters at Virginia Commonwealth University. Art, music, and dance. There wasn't anything else to take after that.” The elevator stopped. Roy opened the gated door and used his key to open the steel door to her loft.
“Right.” He nodded. “No point taking anything that might lead to a degree.”
LouLou brushed past him with a smile and started to unload the equipment boxes and place the contents into custom-fitted shelves in an alcove in her otherwise undivided loft. The brick wall next to them was filled floor to ceiling with vinyl records.
After putting her cases away, LouLou stood to face him and stretched her back. “How about some breakfast?”
Roy stepped back to appraise her. “Not until you shower, wash your hair, and put on some clean clothes. Breakfast will be waiting for you. Right now, you're bad for business.”
She blew him a kiss. “House special? You won't run out of anything?”
“All the sacred ingredients await you.” He walked across the gleaming wood floors to the industrial door. “When are you going to get some furniture for this place? Seventy-five hundred square feet of nothing.”
“I've got furniture.” She pointed to a Steinway ebony concert grand piano, a sleek bed with platform lights and speakers, and a designer, striped sectional sofa that once had been photographed for an interiors magazine in her parents' villa in Ibiza.
“It'd kill you to have a table and chairs?”
She silenced his fretting about furniture by closing the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Although LouLou had refused her mother's generous offer to decorate the entire loft, the one luxury LouLou had accepted was a snazzy steam shower with a bench seat and multiple jets. She punched the pre-set pad that gently sprayed warm water on her from all angles. Dirt and fatigue sloughed off her body and down the drain. Her hair was matted in a few places and really needed conditioner. She couldn't see with shampoo in her eyes, so she blindly felt along the cool, marble wall for the ledge that held toiletries. The tall curvy bottle felt like her conditioner.
She rinsed her hair, applied conditioner, and hummed while it set. So soothing. She'd decided to skip the shower at last night's accommodations before getting on the road. She was unnerved by the news about the fire at Commonwealth Psych and tired from the drive and being away from home for two months. Who knew whether the guy even had clean towels? This. This was home. She almost nodded off to sleep, she was so relaxed. She forced herself to rinse her hair and cream her body before reluctantly getting out of the shower.
She put on a paisley mini dress and burgundy suede boots and checked herself in the mirror. Pretty good. Her cornflower blue eyes stood out like they belonged to someone else. She was ordinary otherwise. Straight blonde hair, medium height, slim build, JLo ass. She grabbed a stack of vinyl next to her duffel and headed downstairs and around the corner to the deli/patisserie/bodega called Roy's. She and Sara had a bet as to whether Roy would ever determine exactly what his establishment was and tell them what to call it. The bet was still going after five years.
“A new woman,” pronounced Roy as he placed a vegetarian omelet, buttery croissant, and a large cup of black coffee with steamed milk in front of her. A bowl of blueberries sat on the side.
She took the first bite, closed her eyes, and swallowed. “This was what kept me going those last miles from Petersburg.”
“Virginia State on your tour?”
She shook her head. Her mouth was full. She swallowed, took a deep sip of coffee, and said, “Club. An old friend has an underground blues club in Petersburg. People come from all over. A lot of musicians seek it out after playing Washington, Richmond, or Virginia Beach. Great audience. They understood me. Played a lot of my new stuff and they loved it. Cecil was really supportive. Made me feel like a star.”
“Good way to end the tour.” He refilled her coffee. “Were you spinning when the fire at the hospital happened?”
She shook her head. “Done by three o'clock. I think the fire was about an hour later. What's the deal?”
“According to TV news, and we know that's iffy, some poor guy in his thirties, tentatively identified as an ex-Marine with PTSD, was restrained and secluded for being too much to handle. Supposedly monitored 24/7. Somehow, he managed to light the bed on fire and being in restraints, couldn't escape. Crisp.” Roy shook his head. “Can't believe that goes on in the United States in the twenty-first century.”
“Wonder how he managed the fire,” LouLou mused. “They're pretty hard core about searching for weapons. Hard to cheek a cigarette and matches or a lighter. One or the other, but not both. I hate to think he didn't intend to smoke. That he intended to set a fire.” She shivered again.
Roy and Sara were among the few people who knew LouLou had been a patient at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital three times. Diagnosed with schizophrenia in her teens, she got into trouble if she went off her meds.
“Was anybody else hurt?” she asked.
“Not that I saw on TV. Smoke inhalation by a nurse and an aide. Nothing about patients.”
“Doesn't mean it didn't happen. I know, I know. I'm a cynic. I’m just wondering about Big. I hope he's okay.”
“Big?”
“Obviously, a big, tall guy. He must be there for life. Sweetest guy in the world. Knows everything about that place. Sits in the same corner of a beat-up leather couch in the common room every day. I used to wonder if he had a room. He's there every morning when it opens and every night when it closes. Always wears the same outfit. Jeans, white cotton tee, and red suspenders.”
“And he was nice to you? Looked out for you?” Roy probed.
“Always.” She looked to her right as if she could see the hospital in the distance.
“That's good enough for me. I hope he wasn't hurt.” Roy made two mocha lattes, capped them, and handed them to the delivery guy. “Where are you headed next?”
“I just got back.” LouLou laughed. When she did, it sounded like the music inside her. “A month off. Then Tokyo, Beijing, and Bangkok with stops in between. Back here. Fall in Scandinavia.”
She sighed and put her elbows on the counter. She turned again in the direction of the hospital. “I never want to go back there.”
***
Cloudless blue sky. This was one of those rare days in Richmond's spring when the sun was out, the air was warm, and no precipitation fell. Rain, sleet, and snow were always possibilities in early spring. She walked to her favorite—actually, the only—music store left in the city aptly named Vinyl. Everyone downloaded anything they wanted, but she loved the feel and smell of vinyl. She walked down a flight of steps to the store.
Music history. Album covers that were works of art. Bright yellows. Moody black and whites. Sensual sepia. Smooth brown or stiff white sleeves that held records so they wouldn't be scratched. Autographed first presses. Liner notes and lyrics. The smell was clean and fresh. No dust or musty odor for these fine records.