Jack, as Roxy had told me. He’d been in 1A for the past couple of years.
“Sad story, that one,” she’d said. I could see her normally chipper mood soften as I asked her why. He was still banging on the door.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets, pulling me aside. She looked around as if to make sure we were alone. Her voice quieted, and I leaned in, ready to take in what seemed to be a dark secret.
“He used to work here.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, stunned. I thought about his assurances that day I met him, when he swore he wasn’t crazy. Panic settled into my chest and didn’t let go as Roxy continued on.
“Yes. He was a janitor here last year. Always a bit kooky, to tell you the truth. Always seemed—distant somehow. Out of touch. But not long after he started, he just snapped, I guess. Went mad. Rumor has it he brought in pig’s blood, tried to get one of the other residents to drink it. Then went crazy and killed the poor kid. I don’t know, poor guy. He did lose his family, his wife and son, to a drunk driver a few years back. But he just went mad. Anna, God love her, worked out a plea deal, though. So he’s been here ever since.”
My chest heaved, but I tried not to let on.
“That’s sad. So how did Anna manage that one?”
“Friends in high places and all that. Good thing, though. Poor Jack would’ve ended up in prison for a long time. No one wants that, do we?”
I turned to the banging.
“Is he okay?”
She shrugged. “He does that from time to time. Tries to convince us he isn’t mad. As if. Anyway, if you want to go try to calm him down, you can. Otherwise, he’ll wear himself out eventually. The room checks are all done. I’m going to go do some paperwork then maybe take a break if you’re all good.”
I nodded as she smiled and walked away, whistling as she strolled down the hallway. I turned to 1A, telling myself to act calmly.
When I approached the door and looked in, he followed protocol of the floor. He backed to the corner of his room and turned so I could enter. The cell was clean and tidy. There were a few photographs around, I noticed. But he was anything but calm. Once inside, he turned around. His hands were at odd angles, shaking violently. His murky eye, bloodshot and crazed, perused me.
“Thank God you’re back,” he whispered. “I’ve been praying they’d send you down. Please. Please, listen. I’m not crazy. I swear. I know everyone says that, but I’m really not.”
I wanted to discard his comments as just that—crazy. I was in an insane asylum, after all, for all intents and purposes. Still, he’d worked here. He’d been one of us. And the longer I spent in Redwood, the more I realized there was something dark going on. Not just the spirits. Not just the residents. There were too many things that just didn’t add up.
“Can you help me? Please?” he asked, his hand shaking.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” I whispered into the air, feeling his desperation but not knowing what to do. And it was true. I felt my own hands shake. It was too much. I was feeling the pressure, just like I had in what seemed like a lifetime ago. I took a deep breath, trying to remind myself to stay calm. But 5B, Redwood, and now this. It was too much.
“Please. Please. Don’t be naïve, girl. Look around you. The spirits around here aren’t restless for no reason. And the dead aren’t the ones to fear, anyways.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing it would all disappear. Why couldn’t I just disappear?
“It’s too much,” I murmured, tears ready to fall.
He sighed, turning to face the corner. I opened my eyes, and he turned back. I saw pity in his eyes and despondency. Maybe he realized I wasn’t the savior he hoped for. I was just another fool strung along in the ominous, forgotten place.
“I know. I know. But please. At least get yourself out of here before it’s too late. You can’t trust them. Get out while you can. Leave Redwood in your rearview mirror. And when you get where you’re going, maybe remember us. Maybe tell someone about us. Because you could be our only hope.”
I studied him.
“Please, I’m not crazy. I know it’s easier to believe that. I believed it, too. But there’s so much at play here. So much at stake. Think about. You’re smart. You’re a nurse. Why would they hire people who are so grossly underqualified, who are all alone? What are they hiding?”
“I-I don’t know,” I replied, but the thought had crossed my mind so many times.
He stepped forward. I stayed put.
“And the fifth floor. Why would those people be up there? The criminally insane? Why would the state pay for them to come to a private institution? Use your head. There’s so much more going on. Anna has it all going on. It’s what I figured out when she got me locked up. I didn’t do it, not what they said.” He gesticulated wildly now as if the memories were too much. I backed toward the door, wondering why I was entertaining it all.
“Why would Anna want to lock you up?”
He scoffed at this, snickering at me. “Don’t you see, darling? It always comes back to the money. Haven’t you realized that? The Weathergates didn’t get rich by being charitable. It’s always been about the money here. And it isn’t just rich families who stow their loved ones away that make this place money. The absolutely psychotic ones have value, too, even if they don’t have wealthy families. Everything has a price—even the rotten brains of society. And Anna would do anything to protect this place, of course. It isn’t just about the cash or money for her, however. No, I think there’s something much darker in that woman.”
“But why would she care? She’s just a nurse?”
He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “You really don’t know?”
I was getting ready to reply no, but there was a rapping at the door that startled me. His face fell, and he trudged to the back corner.
“Everything okay?” It was Roxy’s voice.
“Fine,” I murmured, looking at Jack desperately.
“Just be careful. Get out, girl. Save yourself,” he whispered through hissed teeth, his face turning red with anger and pain and frustration.
“But—”
“Get out!” he shrieked at the top of his voice, pounding his fist. I jumped and then scurried to the door.
“Shit, what’s up with Jack?” Roxy asked. “He’s been quiet as of late. Withdrawn even.”
“He was just mumbling about his wife and son,” I said, painting on a look of solemn introspection.
“Poor guy. So sad how a few tragedies can line up and just drive you mad, huh?”
“Yes,” I replied. Roxy studied me, raising her chin a bit.
“Good thing I didn’t go on break yet,” Roxy added. “Who knows what could’ve happened. You’ve got to be careful, newbie. They seem harmless, but I’m telling you, you can’t get complacent around here. There’s always danger lurking.”
“I’m starting to understand that,” I replied with skeptical eyes.
My head was spinning with so many mysteries.
One at a time, I told myself as I headed to the desk. You can’t save everyone.
In fact, I couldn’t even save anyone, it seemed. Not even myself, apparently. I went home that night, 5B’s drawing in my hand and Jack’s words swirling in my mind. Yet again in my life, I felt complete and utterly doomed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I clutched the new drawing to add to my collection. Pink flames leaped at the boy’s feet, the combover he had making him look eerily older. There was a large ‘O’ for the mouth, and his fingers seemed to be dripping. The surroundings were nothing but grass, no trees in sight. I shook my head. What could I make from it?
I grabbed my computer, feeling antsy and tired. The former janitor’s words rolled in my head. Maybe he was right. I should just get away. But looking at the children in the drawings, I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t just up and leave.
Why not? I had before. And this wasn’t on me. It wasn’t my job. Still, a piece of me knew I was
too absorbed in it all to go. Redwood’s claws had sunk into me in the form of 5B’s secrets and the children who now haunted me.
Missing Children Oakwood.
I typed in the search words and scanned results on my laptop, hoping for a miracle. I widened my search to the town over, and then the town over from that. I combed through pages of faces, the most recent from eight years ago. I looked at the children, wondering how I’d ever figure out which ones belonged to 5B.
A tapping at the window made me avert my eyes from the screen after what seemed like senseless scrolling. I felt lulled by the security that it was a tree branch or the wind or the ancient house settling. Or perhaps one of the neighbors; I’d seen a car out front for the first time in I didn’t even know how long.
But then the tapping grew louder. For a split second, bile rose in my throat. Had I summoned them back with my searching? I took a breath and slowly turned to the window across the room, terrified of what would be there.
Nothing. Emptiness. The tapping stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to face the pages of internet searches once more. But when I turned back to the front, my peripherals caught a hint of something. I moved my head a centimeter and that’s when I saw him.
I wasn’t sure it was a him, though. The only clue I had was that his pink aura matched the pink crayon. He was a glob of skin oozing in the corner, only the basic outline of his body palpable. His skin seeped and bubbled, pink with tinges of black ash. I felt a searing heat as he approached, as if I’d sat too close at the hibachi grill when the fire ignited. I scooched my chair back, my eyes closing as the invisible inferno blazed before me.
I noticed my computer screen scrolling wildly, stopping on an article from a place three towns over called Rockville. It was an article about the missing children of Rockville. I shook, but courage incited me to turn to the being to ask a question.
He was gone. I breathed in, relieved and shocked all at once.
It was a start, but a shaky one at that. I knew more than ever that what 5B had done was atrocious. I knew somewhere out there a family was looking for this little boy. There were more families like his. I owed it to them. I owed it to her. I owed it to the universe to try and find out more. I would tackle 5B’s four.
And then it would be time to tackle my own.
I turned my phone off and climbed into bed. The next day was my day off, and I wouldn’t have my phone on to be called in. I had somewhere to be. It was high time I took things to the next level.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ifelt crazy, driving up the winding, dirt path toward the Ambridge farm. It was a sunny day, but inside, a storm brewed of confusion and terror. What the hell did I think I could accomplish, and what if the family didn’t even talk to me? I thought of Emily Landing’s story about Anthony Ambridge. The family had been through enough. They were probably accustomed to annoying reporters and nosy citizens asking too many questions. Still, it was one of the few leads I had. Crayon drawings weren’t enough evidence to solve a murder. I didn’t think the farm would give me all the answers, but at least it would be a start.
My phone sat on the passenger seat, turned off. I resisted the urge to turn it on and see if I had any messages from Redwood as I pulled up to the peeling white house. The front porch was crowded with abandoned furniture, worn-out recliners, and odds and ends of household items. It was as if the interior of the house had seeped to the outside, as if the walls weren’t strong enough to hold it all in. I wondered what sadness, what secrets crept about amongst the forgotten relics.
I shut my door as gently as possible as a mangey looking dog emerged from behind the house, barking and wagging its tale. Its goliath size was breathtaking, but it seemed friendly enough. Taking a deep breath, I proceeded toward the wooden steps. I said a silent prayer that the impromptu trip would give me the answers I desperately needed.
A woman promptly flung open the door and peered out suspiciously as I offered a weak smile and wave.
“Hi, Mrs. Ambridge?” I asked warmly. I froze in place, the dog’s enormous muzzle nosing at my legs.
She ambled onto the porch, a girthy woman with grayed hair. I thought she must be in her late forties, but she had a weathered face that seemed to suggest she could be much older.
“Yeah?” she asked, her voice quieter than I expected.
“I’m from Redwood Psychiatric Hospital. I work there as a nurse, and I just have some questions about a former employee of yours, Robert Essic. I was wondering if you could take a few moments to talk to me, if it wouldn’t be too much bother.”
She stared at me questioningly, and I noticed she took a step backward. After a long moment of holding my smile, she seemed to soften.
“Okay, come in. I don’t know that I’ll be much help. It’s been so many years since he’s worked here. But come in.” She turned to the house, plucking open the screen door as I followed. She yelled at the dog, Henry apparently, when he tried to follow us in.
“Damned flea bag. I told Russell to get rid of him long ago.” She led me to the kitchen. The house smelled of oranges and cedar, a mixture that was altogether pleasant and inviting. The house was filled with pictures, antiques, and knickknacks. It expertly maneuvered the line between claustrophobic and cozy.
She sat me down at the table and wordlessly headed toward the coffee pot, where she prepared two mugs. I peered around, taking inventory and trying to shove down the awkwardness I felt, the intrusive quality of my visit.
“So what do you want to know about Robert?” she asked when she joined me at the table, sliding a mug toward me.
I inhaled. “Well, I’m just trying to sort through some treatments for him, trying to help him. He’s a very troubled man, as you’ve probably heard. Anything you can tell me really would be helpful. Would help me help him.” I decided that talking about the phantom children I was seeing and how I suspected the man to be a murderer probably wasn’t the best gateway to the tricky dialogue I wanted to open up.
Mrs. Ambridge warmed her hands on her coffee cup. Her eyes looked distant.
“Well, he worked here for several years. He’d gotten back from Iraq and was struggling to find a job. My husband had placed an ad. He was looking for a farm hand at the time, ours just having quit. Back then, Anthony would help when he could, but he was still a boy. Only ten. And we just couldn’t handle it all.”
I could see that time hadn’t dulled the pain of the boy’s name or loss. Her eyes leaked a few tears, which she furiously swiped. She made a tiny, stifled noise that sounded like sorrow.
“And what was Mr. Essic like when he worked here?” I asked, chiding myself for not better preparing questions. I hadn’t, in truth, expected to be admitted into the farm. Still, I needed to make the most of my time.
“Quiet. Troubled even then, I suppose. There was something spooky about him. Not that he caused any major issues. He always showed up early for work and stayed late. He was kind. He even took Anthony fishing sometimes on his days off. Anthony really looked up to him, in truth. But I don’t know, it was like he was vacant, you know? Like you could look right through him, I guess. War messes with a person. But there was just something missing in him. I wasn’t completely surprised when I read about the incident in the paper. Sorry to lose him, though.”
“Where did he go fishing? With Anthony, I mean? Sorry, I just liked fishing, too, when I was a little girl.”
She smiled at me and continued. “There’s a lake about five miles from here. Great place for fishing. Even has a bit of a beach. Not too many people know about it. Anthony loved it there. My husband took him a few times, too.”
I sighed, knowing I needed to ask but afraid it would cause her to clam up. “I don’t want to be insensitive. But I heard that Robert Essic was investigated when your boy . . .” I paused, seeing the lines on her face grow deeper.
She looked away for a moment, out the kitchen window into the vast fields. The sunshine was a foil to the darkness clouding her eyes
. I shuddered, thinking what it must be like to have your child ripped away. My hand started to shake, visions of past nightmares haunting me. I squeezed my own eyes shut for a moment, inhaling and clearing my mind. Not now.
“He was. We all were. But he was cleared, and we were too. It’s crazy, because I didn’t want Anthony to be found dead back then, didn’t want someone to be found guilty. Now, I’d give anything for it, you know? Just to have the closure. All these years, and no body. No explanation. It was like he just vanished, as if he’d never been here in the first place. Enough to drive anyone mad. Sometimes I wonder if it had something to with Robert’s event. If it was just one more loss in his page of many. I don’t know.”
“What happened?” I asked, again afraid to tread into the territory but knowing I needed to.
She shrugged. “It was a Sunday. We were going to church as usual, but Anthony didn’t feel well. Said his stomach hurt. I should’ve made him go. Or should’ve stayed. But my husband said it was probably just from eating too much homemade ice cream the night before. Said to let the boy sleep it off. So I did.” She paused, and I could feel her regret in the air. Guilt and hindsight are never a good mix.
“We came home, and he was gone. I thought maybe he’d wandered away or had lied about not feeling well so he could spend time in the barn with his horse. But when we went out to look for him, we just found Robert grooming them alone. Asked if he’d seen Anthony, but he hadn’t. Spent the whole day looking. Robert helped us look all day. I remember how upset he was, as if it was his own child. His hands were shaky as he helped us look, and tears kept falling. We placated each other by telling ourselves that he probably just wandered away for a little while. But when one day turned into two, we got the police involved. And of course, as you know, they never found anything.”
The Redwood Asylum: A Paranormal Horror Page 11