Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum

by Stephen Prosapio

  Chapter Eight

  Custodian Grant Winkler pulled up in a white, state maintenance pickup truck minutes after 9 AM.

  “Where’s Zach?” he asked, exiting his van. “Which one of you is Zach Kallinski?”

  Dressed in a gray uniform and grungy White Sox cap, he was hardly the tour guide that Zach had expected or ventured that the network had planned on. Considering his sunken cheeks and overall disheveled appearance, Zach thought he looked like a cross between a creepy scarecrow and a—creepy scarecrow.

  “I’m Zack Kalusky. Mr. Winkler?” Zach offered his hand.

  “Well, I ain’t Santa Claus.” He appeared reluctant to accept the handshake, but briefly did. “All these…” He paused to spit, “people planning on coming in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Looks like a damn field trip.”

  Sara had moseyed up oozing the charm she saved for the most difficult of people. “Hi Mr. Winkler. I’m Sara Chen. I’m the producer of this show.”

  “What a joy that must be.” He fumbled for his keys and headed toward the chain-link entry. After a few steps, he hollered back over his shoulder. “Where’s yer security?”

  “Security?” Zach and Sara asked in unison.

  Winkler stopped and looked to the sky as if mentally imploring to be beamed up. He turned toward them and cocked his head. “Well, you don’t expect me to leave these gates open and unattended all night do you?”

  “Oh shit,” Sara muttered under her breath. She reached for her cell phone. “My bad. I’ll call someone!”

  “Or, I could just lock you in all night if you want?” Winkler chortled and dragged himself the rest of the way to the gate.

  “Friendly guy,” Zach overheard Turk whisper to Rico.

  Rico, wearing a black T-shirt with a massive New York Yankee logo, smirked. “It’s…Old Man Winkler!”

  Turk visibly held back a guffaw. “And I’d have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!”

  Zach shushed them. No need for spraying lighter fluid into a live cigar butt.

  Rico whispered something to Turk, and the pair shared a private joke. From the episodes of Demon Hunters that Zach had watched, Rico was a decent paranormal investigator, but the show had aired a few scenes that displayed tension between Rico and Bryce. One episode, the pair had gotten into a shouting match over whether or not a case could be solved due to the client’s house having been built on a Native American burial ground. Zach wasn’t certain how much of their conflicts had been accurate versus manufactured television drama, but he suspected at some point, Rico would branch off Demon Hunters and host his own show.

  Grant Winkler unlocked the series of padlocks, removed the chains and opened the entryway of Rosewood to XPI cheers and Demon Hunter barks.

  Winkler had what could only be described as an ‘I’ll-turn-this-car-around-right-now’ look on his face. “If you’re coming in, come on in,” he said. “I ain’t leavin’ this gate unlocked until your security guard gets here.”

  Both groups passed through the gates. Winkler followed them in, wrapped a chain snugly around the metal bars, and clamped a padlock on.

  Ray walked up to Zach.

  “Nice guide,” he muttered low enough that Winkler couldn’t hear him. “Relative of yours?”

  As though on cue, the custodian pulled a hanky from his pocket, wiped the sweat off his brow and neck, and then blew his nose with it.

  Zach leaned close to his friend. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, he’ll let you borrow that later.”

  “Yeah, to—”

  “Zach?” Sara said. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure,” he said. He turned back to Ray. “I’ll see you up there.”

  Led by Winkler both groups trudged up the incline toward the asylum. Sara stayed behind and gave instructions to the cameramen. “Get some low angle movement shots walking toward the front doors. You know the kind.”

  They nodded and went off.

  “What’s up?” Zach asked Sara when they were alone.

  “Don’t you think you should,” she said and paused. In his head, Zach translated it to mean “I think you had better…”

  “What?”

  “Well, I wonder if we should have you with Bryce on camera most of the time during the tour. I mean, you and Ray can pal around any time, but the viewers are going to want to see you and Bryce investigating this together.”

  After the prior day’s lunch, Zach would have preferred spending time with a foul-breathed Neo-Nazi. He had, to that point, avoided Bryce most of the morning, but from an entertainment perspective, she had a point.

  “Fine. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  Rather than wait and walk up with her, he trotted toward the group that was approaching the hospital’s entryway.

  “Oh, and Zach?”

  She always did this. He turned but continued backpedaling toward Rosewood. He was already starting to feel like he was being pulled in a dozen different directions.

  She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Would it kill you to do it with a smile?”

  You never know, Zach thought. You never know.

  Keys jingling and clanking, Grant Winkler opened Rosewood’s front doors. The smell of rotting plaster and dust was a stale belch into the warm day.

  Winkler casually strolled into the asylum while the paranormal groups ventured in behind him. Beyond a modest foyer, the lobby expanded upward taking up two floors. Strewn with cobwebs and littered with garbage, what had once been the asylum’s reception area did not serve Rosewood’s haunted reputation. It looked like any other ill-kept vacant building. The lobby was absent any furniture, although a few dust brambles the size of rodents rolled across the dirty wood floor, no doubt gathering mass as they did so. First order of business would be cleaning the place, the lobby at least, so that the dust didn’t foul up their electronic equipment.

  On the opposite side of the lobby from the reception area, a curved staircase led up to the second floor. Its white marble steps swept up and around, encircling half of the dingy lobby like a waning moon. The wooden railing appeared relatively new and had no doubt been a product of one of the stalled reconstruction efforts.

  “Can we get a shot from inside of you opening it up?” Sara asked Winkler. She pointed a location to one of the cameramen. “Everyone, back outside please.”

  “What?” Winkler appeared dumbfounded.

  “Please, sir?” Sara’s wink and smile had worked on tougher men.

  “Alright, but make it quick.”

  They repositioned and filmed the reenactment. Sara made sure that Bryce and Zach followed Winkler through the double doors together into the building. This time when Winkler entered the foyer, it was with an attitude—even more of one than he’d thus far displayed. He started talking before most of the people had caught up with them.

  “Up there’s most of the rooms, some of ‘em’s locked, most not,” he shouted pointing at the staircase. “Down this hall here, if you go about a hundred feet, is the cafeteria. Down that one is the infirmary.

  “You are taking us on a tour, right?” Zach asked.

  “Tour? What’s this look like, Disneyland?”

  “Not exactly,” Zach said. “But we were led to believe we’d be shown some of the spots where hauntings were said to have occurred.”

  “Nobody told me nothin’ about no tour. All I was instructed to do was to let you’s in and show you the place.”

  Zach sighed. “Wouldn’t that be—”

  Sara stepped in. “Mr. Winkler, couldn’t you just walk us through Rosewood and point out the specific places you might think might be haunted? You know, your friends and family would probably like seeing you on TV…”

  Zach knew what she was attempting. If she could manipulate her way into at least getting a cursory walkthrough, she’d get video footage and use voiceovers during the clips.

  “Well, I don’t have friends or family t
hat would watch a show like this.” He cocked his head as he’d done earlier. His inflection was sarcastic to the point of being patronizing. “I’ll tell you what? You explain to all three of my bosses why I wasted my whole morning walking you through an abandoned property. Then, I’ll show you where some asshole cut the fence last week. Or maybe you’d like to see the door jam I had’ta replace yesterday from some young punks prying their way into the administration building? Yeah. Yeah, then I can show you where I cleaned up the vandalism. Oooh boy, won’t that be a hootenanny!”

  The echoes of his tirade faded to a dull hum and then were gone. Despite hosting a lobby full of people for the first time in over a century, Rosewood had never been more silent.

  Then came the Grant Winkler coup de grâce. “Besides, I don’t believe this place is haunted none anyways.”

  By the time Zach convinced Winkler to leave a set of keys so that he could open locked rooms and close the main door at night, the early-day promise of Indian summer had delivered in spades. Unseasonably warm autumn temperatures in Chicago typically brought gaiety to those not wanting to release summer’s carefree days, but as the groups realized how much equipment would need to be put in place, the heat brought only anxiety.

  Zach walked up the driveway after having seen Winkler out. He passed the XPI and the Demon Hunter equipment vans parked near the front door. They faced outwards and, had they been any closer to the building, they could have been gargoyles. Sara and Bryce were chatting behind the Demon Hunter van.

  “Is any of it usable?” Bryce asked her.

  “No. It’s horseshit.”

  “Let me guess,” Zach said. “Old Man Winkler?”

  “It’s not funny.” Sara put her hand on her hip. “We wasted most of the morning here, and we don’t even have a client walkthrough.”

  “What the hell was the state thinking sending us a schlock like that?” Zach asked.

  “Follow the money, my friends,” Bryce said. “Follow the money.”

  After less than twenty-four hours, Bryce’s arrogance had worn thin, but Zach was curious as to his theory. “What do you mean?”

  “Okay. It’s like this. They can’t tear this place down because of this landmark status or whatever, right?”

  He waited a second for confirmation, but Zach said nothing. Sara merely twirled her hand for him to continue.

  “So like, they want to sell this place,” he said. “They give a shit if it’s haunted or not. All they need is the publicity. From what I’ve heard, Illinois is one of the more ‘ethically casual’ states in the country right?” Bryce was one of those people who used his fingers as quotation marks around words when he spoke.

  “Go on, please,” Zach said.

  “Dude, they need the publicity. That’s where we come in. If we show that it’s not haunted…Boom! They sell it off or can justify reopening it as some hospital or something. Hell, probably somebody’s brother-in-law gets the construction contract to gut the place and—”

  “And if it is?” Zach asked.

  “And if it is, what?”

  “And if it’s haunted?”

  “If it’s haunted, and we can prove it…” Bryce’s face took on a smug satisfaction.

  Zach looked at Sara; she wasn’t getting it either.

  Bryce sighed and rolled his eyes. “This isn’t 1905. Do you know how many people out there are into the paranormal? Dude, why do you think we and a dozen others like us have TV shows in the first place? You know how many rich people would love to own a ‘verified’ haunted asylum built in the 1800s? I bet there are tax benefits up the yin yang to owning a federally protected landmark. They come in and give tours of the place. Or they turn it into some damn bed and breakfast. I dunno.”

  “A bed and breakfast?” Zach echoed. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, maybe not that, but they could turn it into something….something cool.”

  Zach hated to admit it, but Bryce made sense—at least a little. “So why send us Winkler, then?”

  Bryce shrugged. “He’s the perfect guy for the job. Whoever’s pulling the strings knows how he feels about this place, how he’ll come across on TV. What better person to represent their official nonchalance? This way, they don’t look pushy or desperate. We’re practically their real estate brokers. All they have to do is sit back and field offers!”

  “So, come on guys,” Sara said. “What difference does it make? We’ve got a show to do. We need to film a tour of the grounds. Ideas? Suggest—”

  “I’ve got one,” Bryce said.

  “Go.” Sara pointed as though they were on camera.

  “Well, Patrizia is a bit put out.” Bryce eyed Zach. “She didn’t get any air time earlier and she helped Wendy with the historical research until the wee hours of the night. I say we have her host a tour of the place based on her research. We explain on the air that there’s no guide from the state because we couldn’t get anyone willing to brave the infamous Rosewood Asylum.”

  Zach wondered how Bryce had done it. In one fell swoop, he’d gone from numbskull to white knight. He’d not only rescued Patrizia, but had restored balance to Sara’s show. Worst of all, he’d slyly introduced a slightly dishonest spin that not only seemed justified but entertaining. Sara said nothing, but by the way she gazed at Bryce, she could have been about to say, “My hero.”

  Chapter Nine

  Even with the doors open an hour, they hadn’t completely aired out Rosewood’s stale air. Angel had managed to sweep a full box worth of dirt and dust out of the lobby with a broom procured from the nearby GrocersMart. Pierre and Matthew had unloaded a slew of equipment cases from the trucks and were investigating the hallways for logical spots to place cameras.

  Patrizia was pacing the length of the lobby when Zach walked in. Her rugged boots clomped across the wood floorboards. Her fingers pulled through strands of her long dark hair in slender groupings as she again retraced her steps.

  “Hey,” Zach said, as he approached. “Sorry we didn’t get you on camera this morning. I’m looking forward to your tour.”

  “Yeah.” She absentmindedly flicked her hair from her hand and put both arms down at her sides.

  Her nose slightly hooked, Zach guessed she was of Greek or Italian descent. Equally as tall as him, her boots gave her a few inches height advantage. He found himself sweating under her glare.

  “Are you about ready…ready to begin?” He ran his hand through his hair.

  She didn’t answer and was intently staring at his wrist. It was as if she were about to dissect him. “I like your tattoo,” she said, pointing to the Chi Rho. “You have more, don’t you?”

  “Like these?” Zach was unable to hide his surprise.

  How had she guessed?

  “Just—any?” she asked, and then quickly added, “I’ve got—here I’ll show you.”

  She slipped off her white leather jacket exposing a black sleeveless shirt and slender but toned arms. Covering her right bicep and triceps from her shoulder to her elbow was a sepia-toned tattoo of a buff angel. Dressed in warrior garb, his wings extended up on both sides of her shoulder, beneath her shirt. His arms crossed over the handle of his downward-pointed sword, and disappeared into clouds drawn near her elbow. His jaw was determination incarnate—a badass, guardian angel in repose.

  “Michael?”

  “San Michele Arcangelo.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yes. Michael the Archangel.”

  “So you’re Italian?”

  “Si. At least my parents were.”

  As though the question had inspired her, she untucked her shirt and pulled it up to just below her chest. Exposing more than her spandex top had shown the previous day, she revealed, just below her left breast and close to her sternum, a red heart with a gold dagger running through it. Dripping off the tip of the dagger was a single drop of crimson blood.

  “That’s for love,” she said. “I have one other that I cannot show you.”

  Zach blurted the firs
t thing that came to mind. “A tramp stamp?”

  It was probably the stupidest thing he could have asked.

  Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. “No.”

  Considering the look made him slightly lightheaded, he didn’t follow that line of questioning. The faint scent of Sailor Black tobacco was his first indication that he was getting overly excited. His fingers went numb, and his feet lost some of their feeling.

  “Show me yours,” she said.

  Zach’s heart skipped a beat. “I can’t.”

  She rolled her eyes and scowled.

  “No, I mean there’s nothing really to see. They’re like these.” He flashed his wrists, “Only they’re bigger and I’d have to…”

  “I understand,” she said, and then added a pout.

  Zach relented and reached for the top button of his shirt. “Okay I’ll—”

  “Hey you two!”

  Saved by the Wendybird. Showing Patrizia the tattoo on his side would have led to questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “What’s up?” Wendy asked, looking completely disinterested in an answer. “Zach, I need to tell you something before I leave.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll walk you out.” He turned toward Patrizia. “Can you give me a second?”

  Patrizia merely turned and walked away.

  “God, she’s such a bitch,” Wendy said.

  Zach watched Patrizia make her way down the hallway. Feeling returned to his fingers and toes. His legs felt more stable than when he’d been talking to her. Patrizia was something of an enigma; in his mind, she was anything but a bitch.

  He motioned Wendy toward the front doors. “Okay, shoot. Whatcha got?”

  “First, thanks for waiting until the last minute to give me that information last night. I had to pull all kinds of strings to get what I got at that hour and I’m still nowhere near finished.”

  “The fires? I told you, it was a last-minute tip.”

  Wendy appeared all the more peeved that Zach was ignoring her prima donna act. She wasn’t used to boys not falling over themselves for her when she batted her crystal blue eyes.

  “Anyway, I found something.”

  “What?”