A Vagrant Story

by Paul Croasdell

With his back again pressed against the only door between isolation and salvation, Henry watched as the doctor drew over him, standing but a foot in distance.

  The doctor held that sledgehammer triumphantly in hand. “Remember this? You really should pick up after yourself, Henry. You‘d leave less incriminating evidence behind, that‘s for sure.”

  Henry groaned a mindless defence.

  “I have to admit it’s been a pleasure. Certainly, I’d hoped for the police to catch a live suspect rogue out on the streets, far away from here. At least this way I won’t have to listen to you cry about your innocence on the news day after day. The media won‘t get their live convict to boo and jeer, so I’ll give them a hero instead - me. Sure this is inconvenient, but at least dead men can‘t cry innocent. Goodbye Henry.”

  The one some people called a dud craned his neck up without arm strength for defence. He watched as that mad man raised his shoulders on high, the top of that sledgehammer gleaming in darkness. The doctor inhaled for the final strike.

  Henry prayed behind tightened eyes.

  The room shook with a thunderous shriek. The shrieking charged greater and greater, reverberating throughout this room, throughout this floor, throughout this hospital until a great and powerful explosion of light stormed in throughout the room. All shrieking ceased into a slow fade until there was nothing, only light wrapped around the darkened silhouette of his tormentor.

  Henry squinted against the ominous glow until he could see a figure walking toward him. Wrapped in the glow of pure light the figure stepped toward them with proud duress, confident ease and full understanding of this strange occurrence. The figure came closer, clothes hanging loosely, swaying robe like with his gentle walk. A beard waved in the light, gloriously swaying to right on an unknown wind.

  The figure raised a hand, just one hand.

  That was all Henry saw until the doctor’s legs crumbled and blood spurted from his lips. The light vanished by the time he’d hit the ground.

  Henry rubbed his eyes to focus then looked up to see the one who saved him. The light almost gone the figure came to full form, and that glorious beard of his stumbled quite promptly from its pedestal. No longer did that beard sway gloriously on the wind, it merely lay in tangles, gritted solid so it merely stuck out that way. The robe wasn’t so much one, so much as it was a long grey coat reaching down to the knees. Then there was that face with nothing glorious to speak of, nothing unusual save the oddly familiar pattern of scabbed burn marks covering one side of his face, hiding somewhat behind that sickly blondish grey beard of his. Familiar indeed.

  The frail, gracelessly postured man rubbed his eyes as if only woken. “It’s you! Like you know, I mean it’s you again! It is you? Or isn‘t it?” His voice came slow and slurred, like some poor evolution of an Irish accent.

  A smile found its way creeping across Henry‘s scabbed lips. It quickly broke into a light fit of laughter. “I-It’s you again. I can’t believe it’s you!” he returned.

  It was him - that man. They’d met once before on a subway train. He was a senile old hobo who made them feel so uncomfortable as to force them to change carriage. The same senile old man Henry and Alex later found laying in a ditch and summoned an ambulance for.

  “It’s you!” Henry began to laugh. “They brought you here!?”

  “Sure did!“ the old man replied enthusiastically. “Say … who’s your friend here?” The ragged old hobo indicated the doctor plastered to the floor.

  “Just some guy.”

  The old hobo cocked his eyes at Henry, who now sat hunched into himself in hysterical laughter. “Looks like you got some serious issues there, like you know.” And with that the hobo too began laughing for no apparent reason. No apparent reason was needed to laugh.

  From behind the countertop, the downed Sierra began to stir back to her feet. Leaning on the counter for leverage she peeped over to witness a far different scene from the one she’d left. The doctor downed to the floor … Henry and some strangely familiar old man laughing, almost manically, over the unconscious body.

  “Did … we win?” Sierra muttered.

  Henry stopped laughing, as the hobo did in kind.

  “Why me?” Henry said. “Why does all this have to happen to me? God hates me.”

  “Probably,” the hobo stated with little purpose.

  “Where did that light come from anyway?” Henry asked.

  “Fog lights outside. Power came back on y’know … guess it must have overloaded the lights, like you know.”

  “Really?” Henry sighed peacefully. “Wait … how did you get in here?”

  “Fell asleep after eating … guess they forgot about me.”

  “Lucky. Don’t suppose you know another way out of here?”

  “You’re leaning on it.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “No it isn’t. Y‘gotta push it.”

  The old hobo demonstrated by pushing the door in. It swung open and Henry fell back to the floor.

  Laying flat on the cold tiles, Henry couldn’t help but laugh. “A push door!”

  Chapter 35

  Their tormentor subdued, the four tramps were gathered together and taken back to one private room set specially for them. The room certainly looked nicer than those they’d previously experienced. Unfortunately they had trouble reeling in the luxury of it all. They didn’t know whether it was a gift for heroes, or the holding cell for criminals. For all they knew that mad man waited in a room just like this, with his friends of staff at bedside asking all the questions he wanted them to ask.

  At least they felt safe knowing the police were on the scene. Even though they made no formal introduction they did show up briefly to snatch Henry away for questioning. Their choice in suspect could only mean they gave the doctor his say first. The lack of security on their room suggested they weren’t taking it all as seriously as he might have hoped … yet.

  Sure they could have clicked the television over to a news channel for information, if the police hadn’t taken Henry, the only person capable of standing under his own weight. They questioned the ethics of leaving three bed stricken patients in front of a TV with the remote on the other end of the room.

  Sierra’s leg hung suspended in a cast. It would strain her neck just to see half the television screen. Alex remained in the same state. Now he refused to admit his clear exhaustion after his relatively minor, yet pivotal, rescue attempt. Rum’s wounds ran so deep they required little explanation.

  In their waiting they spared little effort relishing that rarest of luxuries some people called a heating system. In this warmth they could hide under the soft bed sheets which these days felt so alien to them, and by all means to anyone forced into this hospital. The restored power, and therefore the television, set the cherry on the cake. Amidst it all, their came an all round feeling that jail mightn’t be so bad for one day of this comfort. And in this frame of mind they began to miss the old novelties they used to have. And on that frame of mind the thought of jail became ever more worse.

  All those comforts came for the most part in vain. It’s difficult to make the most of anything when mummified stiff to a bed. To Sierra and Rum, thick sheets were no more than added strain. Television, with all its benefits, became nothing more than noise and irritating flashing lights. Alex enjoyed it all none the less. The mindless allure of the television screen provided a safe distraction from the less than positive chatter of a certain old bum.

  “We’re screwed,” he’d say. “Cops ain’t gonna listen to us.” And so forth.

  In time the door clicked open. Henry came slumping into the room like the living dead, plonking himself on a stool at the end of Sierra’s bed. For some time he sat there in silence despite all the gawking eyes.

  Then he’d sigh and say something like: “We’re screwed. The cops will never believe us over a doctor.”

  Rum leaned over the side of his bed to grab his coat from the floor. Pulling a cigarette from the pocket,
he placed it to his lips, lit it, and said, “The hell’s up with you? Alex is sick as fuck, Sierra’s legs are buckled and I’ve got the shit beat out of me three times straight, and you look the worst out off all of us!”

  Henry drew attention to the hospital robe he was now wearing. “The police took my clothes … even my glasses. The doctor told me the clothes he gave me belonged to one his victims. They must know. They trust his word and not mine.”

  “They have to examine both sides,” Alex stated.

  “You so sure?” Rum said. “From what you told me this guy’s obviously done some serious forward planning. Those cops are probably sitting in some interrogation room nodding their heads to every word he says.”

  “Not a good time for that unwavering support of yours, Rum,” Sierra replied.

  “I’m just saying-”

  “Don’t!” Henry snapped. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Never said it was. All I‘m saying is this guy does have the brains to get his way out of this. Hell, he planned all this from the start. Those clothes he gave you … how he tricked you into running away from the police … he set it all up. I‘d reckon he was the one who put the cops onto you in the first place.”

  “That’s true,” a familiar male voice spoke from the doorway.

  The doctor named Adam entered the room, dressed in civilian attire and limping on a crutch. He made way to the centre of the room so they could all see him.

  “The police haven‘t been filled in on the whole story yet.”

  Rum eyed him over. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something about that? Don‘t tell me sociopath runs in the family.”

  “I’m … going to tell them what I know … but I wanted to talk to you all first. I think I owe you some explanation for all this. It‘s true … my brother was the one who called the police when you came here first, but it wasn‘t really part of his plan. He messed up and had to adapt.”

  “Speak clearer doc,” Rum said

  “Those pills my brother used on his victims, he robbed them from the hospital. Eventually members of staff began noticing the pills going missing and they were obligated to report it to police. It turned out the missing pills were the same as those used by the serial killer. They checked into it and found they’d been going missing on my brothers watch. So … naturally he needed an explanation.”

  “He needed a patsy.”

  “He told police that on more than one occasion he’d noticed a young homeless man rooting through our medication cabinet. Since police already suspected the serial killer to be a homeless man they ate it all up without too many questions.”

  “I can imagine,” Rum said. “All that time without any leads must have had them desperate.”

  “Eventually the questions began to mount against my brother. As he was the only witness to these apparent thefts they returned consistently for updates. That’s when my brother realised he needed to turn his imaginary character into a real person. He decided to create a genuine suspect. Henry just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It might have been anyone. All that really mattered was giving the police enough to suspect his patsy while making sure they never actually managed to get hold of him, or speak to him.”

  “And that’s why he helped me escape. He made me believe he was helping me … when really he was framing me.”

  “The idea was to let you get away. By the time they’d catch you, if they ever did, you’d likely have forgotten all about my brother’s influence. That is, if you didn’t try covering for him out of sympathy.”

  “Henry would never do that!” Alex interrupted. “Would you, Henry?”

  Henry slumped in his seat. Sighing, he bowed he head into his chest. “Thinking about it now … I think if the police caught me I’d have been so grateful to the doctor … I’d probably have covered for him. He’d have gotten away with it. I’m … such an idiot.”

  Sierra looked his way. “You’re not an idiot, Henry. You’re just a trusting guy, and he took advantage of that. It’s his fault. He’s a manipulative freak. No one should ever have to anticipate something like that in their lives.”

  “But he chose me … no one else. Just me. He knew I‘d fall for it.”

  “Hey doc,” Rum said. “If you knew about the whole setup, then what about the…”

  Adam glanced around the room, staring down to his feet then to an empty chair. He pulled it to the foot of Rum’s bed to sit down. “I knew what he was doing. I found out about the murders.”

  The room silenced in a wave of surprise, confusion and all round anger. The latter being the only necessary emotion for Rum’s response.

  “You knew … all this time you knew he was the serial killer and you didn’t say anything! Eighth people are dead. It was almost ten tonight!”

  “I’m not going to make excuses. I found out roughly around the time of the fifth murder. See, we live together and those boxes you found on the rooftop … he used to keep them in our flat. One day, when I’d been off work with flu I started rooting through the wardrobe for some medicine when I found a box stuffed inside a vent. It was full of his … pictures.”

  “The question still stands.”

  “I didn’t know what to think back then, so rather than doing anything I kept my mouth shut. Then … the sixth murder occurred and a second box appeared in the vent. That’s when I worked up the courage to confront him.”

  “And a fine job you did. Last I checked those murders didn’t end at six.”

  “He promised they would.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t report him? Cause the murderous bastard made a promise!”

  “Look … I know I should have acted sooner … but he’s my brother. He said he’d stop. He said things would change.”

  “Whatever he tried change doesn’t matter, whatever happened happened. His punishment should be based on what he‘d done, not on what he was trying to change.”

  “What happened did happen … it already happened. It should have been over … that’s what I thought. I believed he could stop, I really did. When I did tell him I knew about the boxes he promised to take them away and have them destroyed. He said it would end then. Obviously, it didn’t work out so.”

  “So he hid them on the roof … here,” Rum concluded.

  “Why up there?” Alex asked. “Why not somewhere - I don’t know - safer.”

  “I couldn’t say. I guess he must have been storing them temporarily. Then again, there aren’t too many places to hide something like that, so why not up there on the rooftop? Considering the lack of cameras, the snow, and the all round inaccessibility it’s a pretty safe place.”

  “Except from his own brother.”

  “I never found the crates.”

  “Then how’d you know they were up there?”

  “I didn’t … not really. I’ve told you before … most of the time my brother and I are the only ones working these top floors. Makes sense I’d notice him heading up to the rooftop once every few days. I knew something was there … I decided I didn’t want to find out what.”

  “So you dug a sand pit and stuck your head right in - nice, real heroic,” Rum said.

  “I’m trying to fix things.”

  “Now? Why not sooner!” Rum yelled.

  “Come on Rum. That‘s enough,” Alex pleaded.

  “Don’t ‘come on’ me Alex! This whole thing could have been avoided if this sorry jackass grew some goddamned balls and told the cops! To hell with you … don’t bother apologising to Sierra or Henry, least of all me. It’s too late … you want redemption, go tell the cops before that schizo brother of yours spills his own sob story.”

  “He’s my little brother. I … wanted to protect him.”

  Rum sprang upright in his bed with a rage stronger than the aches in his joints. “So who you gonna protect now? My friend ain’t no patsy.”

  Sierra reached a hand from her bed to his shoulder. “Calm down. You need rest.”

  “I oughta
beat the crap out of this jackass right now. He’s just as bad.”

  “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t going to help you. I‘ll tell the police about the boxes on the roof. I‘ll tell them everything.”

  “Will you tell them you knew about the murders?”

  The doctor nodded.

  Alex acknowledged Rum. “That good enough for you?”

  “You know the sad part … if we never came back here this clown never would have said anything. Make sure you tell them that too.”

  Alex sighed. “It’s probably better if you just go.”

  The doctor bowed his head, edging slowly to the door. Resting his hand on the frame, he stopped with his back to them. “That’s not entirely true you know. Alex … remember the woman who died after the car crash? My brother was assigned as her doctor. He made impossible screw ups … that’s why she died. I’d like to think I’d have eventually told the police everything even if you didn’t show. Well … goodbye.”

  The doctor stood a moment like an empty spirit, then turned, and left.

  Rum allowed his body to slump back into the mattress. Unable to vent the pain caused by his sudden burst of movement, there came just one word: “Jackass.”

  “He’s trying to fix his mistakes,” Sierra said. “Just be thankful we can at least get that much.”

  Alex sat over the side of his bed. “Have to say though, when we first left Middle Park this is hardly the result I expected.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rum said. “Next time I hear about some paranoid git who thinks everyone’s against him, I think I’ll be a little more open minded.”

  “We still have to wait,” Henry said. “We’ll have to sit here and wait to see what the cops think of all this. Even if the cops buy our story tonight, there’s no guarantee we won’t be spending the next day in a cell.”

  Sierra smirked. “Don’t get ahead of yourself … we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Once they talk to us, this’ll all be over,” Alex said.

  “Not that I trust the cops in this city or anything but they’d have to be some incompetent louts to let that psycho off now. I mean, how bad can they be?”