Jen led her to the examination room where a nurse prepared items on a small table beside a paper-covered bed. The scents of rubbing alcohol and industrial-strength disinfectant mingled in the air, giving the room the feel of every doctor’s office she had ever visited. Soft jazz music drifted from hidden speakers and the pictures on the walls depicted tree-lined lakes and snow-covered mountains.
Consulting her chart, the nurse confirmed her name and basic information before asking more details about her medical history, allergies and current prescriptions. Once all the questions were asked, she guided her to a small step. Paper crinkled as she settled on the bed. The nurse fastened a cuff around her arm and checked her blood pressure. She knew it was sky-high.
The door swung open and a distinguished looking man with silver-tipped brown hair and an expertly groomed mustache and beard strode through. He nodded a greeting to Jen and thanked the nurse for the chart she placed in his hand. He settled a pair of bifocals on his nose and quickly scanned the sheet.
"Ah, Miss Mead," he said. "I’m Dr. Frederick Bexley." His voice boomed strong and confident as he eyed her above the half-glasses. "I’m going to give you a complete physical examination today." He removed the glasses and dropped them into a pocket of his white coat. "Pamela will get you prepared and she will be present throughout the entire exam as per Institute rules. You don’t have to be nervous."
"I would like to stay, too, Dr. Bexley," Jen announced.
Bexley’s brows lifted, but he didn’t argue. "Very well, Ms. Palmer." He refocused on Rachel. "I will be back in a few minutes to get started."
Once he left, the nurse unlaced Rachel’s gown. A flash of fear passed over her at being naked in front of complete strangers. Pamela swung her legs on the table and removed her underwear. She instinctively covered herself. Pamela paid no attention to her, securing her feet into stirrups and then pushed her legs apart. She was open and exposed and horribly frightened. She sighed with relief when the nurse draped a thin cotton blanket over her torso.
Dr. Bexley returned and spoke in low tones with the nurse as he padded to a stainless-steel sink. He thrust a hand under a pump, squirted a glob of soap out and then vigorously rubbed his hands together, foaming the liquid.
"As I said earlier, just a routine check-up," he called out over his shoulder as water rinsed the lather from his hands. "Nothing to be afraid of at all."
Easy for him to say.
Nodding thanks to the nurse, he accepted the towel, dried his hands and continued to speak as she fitted him with latex gloves. "After the physical, you will meet with my brother Oscar, for a complete psychological exam. Then we will let you go back to your room and rest. How does that sound?"
"Fine." She lowered her head, not meeting his probing eyes. She just wanted this to be over.
"Good, good." He approached the table and began the exam, explaining each movement as he checked her eyes, ears, and mouth. Meanwhile, Pamela drew what must have been a gallon of blood and took her vital signs. Dr. Bexley chatted the entire time, informing her that they conducted a full range of tests for everything from Aids to Gonorrhea to Malaria. He made several jokes, putting her at ease—until his hands probed under the sheet. Jen grasped her hand in reassurance and she relaxed.
"You have nothing to fear, Miss Mead, this is just a routine physical," Dr. Bexley reminded her.
Closing her eyes, she pretended she was at her gynecologist. It seemed to be taking forever. Her eyes snapped open to find him jotting notes, not ogling her. He sat the chart aside, secured ear pieces in a stethoscope and listened to her heart. His demeanor was completely professional. He pulled the stethoscope from his ears and settled it around his neck before tugging the sheet back in place. Then he moved between her legs and she flinched. She fought the instinct to jump off the table and flee.
If he thought it odd to find a mental patient freshly waxed and groomed, he didn’t comment. She jumped again when the cold metal of the speculum was inserted and spread wide.
"Is there any chance that you are pregnant, Miss Mead?" he asked from his perch between her legs. She tossed her head back and forth. "Good, good. Well, we will test for that, too. Many times the girls tell us that they aren’t and come to find out they are. If the tests indicate you are, we will have to give you special care, possibly move you to a different facility."
He continued talking and she wanted to scream. Did he truly expect her to conduct a conversation in their current positions? Finally he finished and instructed Pamela to dress her and escort her to her psychological exam. This time she was given a uniform of blue top and pants instead of the gown.
"You let us know if you need anything, Miss Mead," he advised as he stripped off the gloves and tossed them in a hazardous waste bin. "Our goal is to get you healthy." With that, he disappeared through the door.
The visit with Dr. Oscar Bexley proved to be just as disturbing as the one with his brother. Oscar probed her mind as deeply and thoroughly as Frederick probed her body.
Once again she was comforted by Jen’s presence.
Perched in a cushioned chair in front of his desk, she avoided eye contact but managed to study the man, recognizing him as the same person Ben spoke with earlier in the hallway. Did he have something to do with Molly’s disappearance? Did his brother? Were they in on it together?
There was a family resemblance between both doctors, though Oscar was smaller in stature than his younger sibling. Bald on top, strands of silver threaded his light brown hair. His mustache and goatee added an air of distinguished authority to a lightly tanned face. Impeccably dressed in an expensive blue suit and maroon tie, he looked every bit the successful psychiatrist the awards and certificates lining the wall proclaimed him to be.
A carved wooden frame held a picture of the doctor, an attractive woman who must be his wife, and two teenage children: a boy and a girl. All wore wide smiles and the picture appeared to be taken on the streets of Paris. She glanced up when the door to his office opened and a woman breezed into the room wearing a red blazer and skirt. She carried herself with an air of condescending authority.
"Ms. Mead, this is my associate, Dr. Kathleen Butler," Dr. Bexley introduced. "She handles most of the day to day psychological operations at the hospital and will be sitting in on our session." He gestured at Rachel. "Ms. Butler, this is Kellie Mead."
The woman raked her from head to toe and obviously found her lacking. "Welcome to the Bexley Institute, Ms. Mead. I look forward to working with you to regain your mental health." Her speech was practiced, her tone syrupy sweet but patently fake. "Hello, Jennifer."
"Kathy." Jen returned the greeting with a considered lack of warmth.
"It’s Kathleen," the woman ground out between clenched teeth. Jennifer smiled.
Obviously these two had a history.
Dr. Butler took a seat next to Bexley and pulled out a notepad. Bexley donned a pair of bifocals and studied a folder in front of him.
"Miss Mead, you’ve had some serious trauma that brought you to our care." He passed the folder to Dr. Butler. "I spoke to the doctor who referred you to our care. She said you have suffered a serious emotional breakdown. She said that you have no family, no place to go, is that correct?" He spoke in soft soothing tones.
Rachel nodded weakly, praying for forgiveness for the story she concocted. From under her lashes, she saw him pin her with an intense stare.
"The woman who brought you here, she is a relative, friend?"
She shook her head. At least that much was true. The woman was an aspiring actress she paid to drive her to the hospital and give them her fictitious life story. The woman didn’t even know her real name. For additional payment, she pretended to be a psychologist and called to recommend Rachel's admittance, an important factor in guaranteed admittance to the facility. Rachel told her that she was writing a book and needed to get inside for research. She promised her a mention in the book. Another in a long list of lies she would have to atone for once this
was over.
"If we needed to get in touch with someone in case of an emergency, would we contact her?"
Again Rachel shook her head.
Dr. Bexley pulled off his bifocals and sighed. "She indicated as much. Would there be anyone to call, Miss Mead?"
Another negative response.
"No one at all?"
"No," she managed in a small, pathetic voice. Jen grasped her hand again and gave a reassuring squeeze.
"The woman said that you had been living at her boarding house after you witnessed your sister’s murder. She said that you had been brutally attacked as well and although you healed physically, you never really recovered mentally. Is that correct?"
She was beginning to feel like a bobble head doll. He had her file in front of him. Why did he have to go over it line by line? It made her feel uneasy with the magnitude of her lies.
"She also indicated that you witnessed the murder of your parents when you were young," Dr. Bexley continued. "Your sister took you in, the same sister who was murdered."
She refused to answer that one. He knew damn well that’s what happened…or at least what she wanted him to think happened.
Several times throughout the interview, he repeated his question of any family or friends who could be contacted. He grilled her about relationships, her feelings, asked if she had suicidal impulses. She answered as briefly as possible, not wanting to add to her cache of lies more than necessary. He explained the drugs he would be prescribing for her and the effects each drug would have on her system.
"I believe we are finished."
She stood to leave but his last question froze her in place.
"Is there anyone in the world who would miss you if you were gone, Miss Mead?"
"No." A shudder raced down her spine. Why did he keep harping on that?
Chapter Seven
Peter Dennis dragged the mop back and forth across the floor, watching the new security guard with a wary eye. All smiles, Oscar Bexley introduced the man to the rest of the employees. He would never introduce him to Peter. No one considered him to be part of the staff. He was just Peter the janitor or Peter the freak or one of their favorites, Frankenpeter.
Most of the hires at Bexley were of the same mold, always condescending to the janitor, always puffing out their chests like they were important.
He sighed. Nothing ever changed. How would he ever find out what was happening when he couldn’t get anyone to listen? Even the FBI hadn’t taken his anonymous tip seriously. Something bad festered inside these walls—had been for years—and if he had to do it all alone, he would uncover the evil.
Even before the malevolence began, he hated working here. He would have quit years ago but then April arrived and light appeared in his life for the first time. He remembered that day so clearly. She had been very sick, out of her mind on drugs, but somehow she managed to smile at him. She didn’t flinch, scream or turn away in disgust. Instead, her small, cold hand gripped his and held tight. It felt like she had reached inside his chest and embraced his heart.
From that moment on, she owned his very soul.
April’s fragility worried him. He couldn’t, nor wouldn’t, leave her alone and defenseless in this place. So he put aside his desires and stayed.
It disgusted him to think how naïve he had been back then. He never questioned the doctor’s recommendations that she be constantly sedated. Every once in a while, the effects would wear off and he glimpsed the bright, sane woman buried underneath massive quantities of drugs. But then she’d swallow the pills they gave her and that intelligent woman evaporated. Like a fool he just accepted it as the norm.
Until her roommates started to disappear.
He hadn’t noticed at first. It took a while for him to catch on that a different girl shared her room every two weeks or so. When it continued to happen, he started keeping track. A few girls transferred to other rooms. The majority simply vanished. Suspicious, he created a list of every patient who arrived and discovered that not only were women disappearing with frightening regularity, but men were as well.
The patients seemed to disappear in waves. Sometimes a week or two would go by without anyone vanishing and each time he would think that maybe it had stopped. But then one would disappear and another and another. Finally he’d seen enough.
That’s when he took action.
During a sane period, he pleaded with April to fake swallowing the medicine. It took a few tries before he finally convinced her, but eventually she accepted his advice. Every day without drugs dulling her senses, she grew stronger, but she wasn’t ready yet.
April would never look at him as anything but a friend. No woman ever would. But he would love her forever.
Not many people looked at him at all. When they did, they either grimaced or gasped or outright screamed. He didn’t blame them.
Peter dunked the mop in a bucket and frowned, wishing he could get someone to believe him, to believe in him. People thought that because of the way he looked and because he was a janitor, he was dumb. But he wasn’t, he was smart—very smart. He graduated from college by taking courses online. No one knew he possessed a degree. He had a gift with computers, earning straight A’s and encouragement from his unseen professors.
Somehow he would solve the mystery and then he would get April out of here so she could live the life she deserved.
#
Ben tracked Kellie Mead as a perky redhead guided her down the hall. Dark circles surrounded her wide eyes and her hair stood at odd angles in a riot of tangles. Still, there was something about her that intrigued him.
She wasn’t what she wanted everyone to think and that tweaked his interest. An enigma. Kellie Mead definitely fit that bill.
Her eyes met his and she blinked with relief. He nodded slightly, keeping his end of the conversation up with Oscar Bexley. He followed her steps until she entered the examination room.
He refocused his complete attention on Oscar and his boring drone. While pleasant and friendly, this guy was a blowhard and a braggart. It took all of his concentration to stand here and fake interest as he blathered on about some award or another.
Could Oscar be responsible for Donelle’s disappearance? What about the other girls who remained unaccounted for? What role did Frederick play in all of this? So many questions and he had yet to answer a single one.
A striking brunette with a killer body fashionably displayed in a short skirt and sky-high heels strolled over, a briefcase in hand. Oscar’s eyes lit up, his gaze raking her body as he draped a proprietary arm around her waist.
"Mr. Smith, this is my associate, Dr. Kathleen Butler. Kathleen, our newest employee, Benny Smith."
Kathleen extended a hand, her smile both wicked and devouring. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith," she purred in a silky voice.
"Dr. Butler," he returned, gently tugging his hand away from her overzealous grip.
Making a show of checking his Rolex, Oscar said, "Dr. Butler and I need to review notes before our next patient. If you will please excuse us, Mr. Smith."
Ben nodded his goodbyes, avoiding the rapacious gleam in Dr. Butler’s eyes. He strolled into the common area where patients gathered during the day to watch television or movies. Several people milled around, a few reclining on the sofas, some watching television, others staring into space. He did a double take. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was Little Bo Peep glued to the television.
Shaking his head, he continued to study the inhabitants of the second floor. One man carried on a heated conversation while he played chess all by himself. Ben stepped back as a person sporting an orange Mohawk and enough pierced body parts to open a jewelry store brushed by him.
Almost everyone looked lethargic and slow, whether from their respective problems or drugs, he wasn’t sure. He was so engrossed watching a woman who alternated between shaking her head and clapping her hands, he didn’t see the man swabbing the floor. He smacked into him and the mop clanged to the ground.
"That’s okay," the man said, looking him in the eye. "I’m clumsy, sometimes."
Ben met his stare without flinching. One half of the boy’s face was disfigured with puckered red scars, obviously from burns. The damage started on his left cheek and continued down his neck. The back of one hand was blemished but the fingers were unmarred. He stood a few inches shorter than Ben’s six-three, with a shaggy mop of brown hair and kind brown eyes. The name embroidered over his pocket read Peter. He remembered seeing him waxing the floors last night but hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice his scars.
"My fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going." He handed the mop over and extended his hand, making a point of looking directly into Peter’s eyes and smiling. "Ben Smith."
The boy’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he returned the smile. "Peter Dennis." He shook hands and then indicated his one-piece janitor suit. "I’m obviously not a doctor," he said self-deprecatingly.
Ben chuckled. He liked this kid. Gesturing to his own uniform, he responded, "Neither am I."
Peter laughed infectiously. A bond forged.
Raised voices cut through the room. Ben swiveled to see an old woman rocking back and forth on her heels, a growing puddle on the ground beneath her feet.
"Joelle, did you forget Margaret’s Depends this morning?"
A young attendant with thick glasses and a frantic look on her face hurried over. "I-I thought I put them on."
"Well, it looks to me like you forgot," the older nurse chastised. "Peter. What are you doing standing there like a tree stump? Get over here and clean this mess up."
"Nice to meet you Mr. Smith," Peter mumbled before rushing over with his bucket and mop. He mopped the floor as Joelle led the woman away. The nurse continued to bark at Peter, the man’s shoulders hunching in embarrassment and Ben turned away, monumentally disturbed by her insensitive treatment of the seemingly gentle man.
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