by Brian Kirk
“What the hell is going on?”
There was silence on the other line. Then she whispered, “He’s right outside the door.” Now her voice sounded louder and away from the phone. “Jerry, everything’s okay. Just give me a minute and I’ll be right out. Okay?” It sounded like she was walking across the room. “I’m sorry, this just caught me off guard. He’s been doing so well, and then this comes out of nowhere. He’s got this look. It’s like a dog defending its litter. The distant eyes. The tilt of the head. I’m sure it’s nothing, but it’s starting to scare me. Now with the knife.”
“It’s okay. Are you safe?”
“Yes, I think so. I mean, yes, I’m sure it’s fine, it’s just—”
“No, you’re doing the right thing. Where did he get a knife?” There was a rule against sharp objects at the assisted-living-facility apartments, even childproof scissors were prohibited.
“I have no idea. He just walked in with it.” Alex heard a distant knocking sound. “Wait,” Rachel said. “There’s someone here. Thank God, that was fast.”
Alex frowned. He hadn’t called the facility.
“Jerry, wait. Let me answer it,” he heard Rachel say. He heard the door open and Rachel walk through. “Jesus,” she said. “Jerry’s tucked himself in the corner. He’s shaking. What is going on?”
Alex had stopped listening. His mind was spinning, obsessing over the implications that this apparent regression would have on his plans to begin clinical tests on his refined formula. Clearly the new formula worked. It must be a matter of maintenance and treatment frequency. That should be an easy fix.
Alex’s attention returned to the phone. He heard another knock, closer now, and a deep voice muffled by the door.
“Here, let me call you back,” Rachel said.
“No, keep me on the line.”
“Okay.” Alex heard a door open. Rachel sounded surprised. “Oh hi. Wow, that was fast. Alex must have alerted you. Thank you for coming.” There was a pause; then Alex heard a deep, mumbling voice and Rachel respond, “Right, come on in. Oh, look at this little cutie? Is he yours? I had one just like him.”
Alex cringed as a burst of barking came blasting through the phone. “Hey, down boy,” Rachel said. Her voice was drowned out by a series of sharp, high-pitched barks. She sounded panicked. “No! Down! Hey, please help get him off me!”
A jostling sound came from the other end, and then the phone went dead. Alex sat there listening to the drone of an open line.
He pulled the receiver back and furrowed his brow. He dialed Jerry’s line and listened to it ring. Next he tried Rachel’s cell phone. No answer.
Slowly, he stood up and walked stiffly towards his office door. He threw open the door and began to run, his leather-soled shoes slipping on the linoleum as he gathered speed. Alex slid blindly around the corner, breaking into a full sprint, and then was sent crashing against the wall as he collided into someone on the other side.
“Damn, Dr. Drexler. You okay?” Devon said, reaching out a hand to help Alex to his feet. “Where you rushing off to?”
“Family emergency,” Alex said as he stood, pushing past Devon and scrambling down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder before rounding the next corner and saw Devon looking at him through crooked eyes like he was crazy.
If you think I’m crazy, you should see my brother, Alex thought as he windmilled around the next turn. Oh wait. You already have.
Part Two
Inner Demons
Chapter Twenty
The parking lot was filled with police, their silent rooftop lights flashing red and blue, like beacons of sorrow. The residents, all either disabled or mentally ill, stood dressed in their robes and unkempt clothes behind a barrier of yellow tape. They made for an unruly group of spectators. Much of the staff was on hand, attempting to settle them down.
Alex maneuvered through the crowd and approached the officer standing sentry beside Jerry’s apartment door.
“Sorry, no one’s allowed in,” the man said.
“What’s happened?”
“You’ll need to step back, sir.” The officer instinctively placed his hand upon the Taser clipped to his belt.
“This is my brother’s apartment. My wife’s in there.” Alex looked over the officer’s shoulder at the closed door, its flimsy pine surface withholding some grim secret.
“Sir, we have your wife. She’s with the paramedics, but she’s doing fine.”
Alex was too wound up to feel relief. “What about my brother?”
The officer’s shifty eyes answered for him. “Sir, please clear this area and we’ll fill you in on everything we know.”
Alex turned and located the ambulance. His eyesight felt enhanced, his senses intensified. The scene was now moving in slow motion, while he was operating at regular speed. The crowd of onlookers became a snapshot of staring faces. He saw a man with Down syndrome slowly sip red liquid through a straw. They met eyes and the man offered a friendly smile, raising his right hand as though taking an oath.
The ambulance came rushing towards him in a silent tunnel and he staggered on wobbly legs, feeling the strange distortions of a world rearranging itself into a different place. One harboring a dark secret behind a flimsy pinewood door.
Rachel was breathing into an oxygen mask. She was pale. Damp hair clung to her face and wound around the plastic tubing leading to the oxygen bag. She was breathing deeply at the urging of a female medic who was rubbing her back. A policeman stood by the back of the van, looking on with obvious impatience. When Alex approached, her eyes went wide and she began hyperventilating. The cop cursed and turned his back.
“I’m her husband,” Alex said as he entered the van.
Rachel tore the mask off her face and wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly cutting off his air.
He grimaced, then noticed the medic watching him and changed his expression to concern. He repositioned his hands from Rachel’s rib cage, where he had been preparing to push her away, and placed them on her back, pulling her tight.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He summoned his most soothing voice. “Take deep breaths.”
The policeman walked up to the back of the van and leaned in. “Sir, I understand that emotions are running high right now. But it’s important that we collect a statement from the witness as soon as possible.”
Alex felt Rachel nodding against his shoulder. She inhaled, sniffling against a blockade of snot, swallowing a wad of saliva. She pushed back. Color was returning to her pallid face, splotches on her cheeks and scarlet rivulets streaming up from her neck.
“It’s okay. I can talk.”
She took a deep breath, tucking frizzed hair behind each ear with trembling fingers, looking at Alex with red-rimmed eyes. He saw the tears well up, her lower lip curl in, her chest begin to hitch.
“Christ, will you give her something, please?” he said to the paramedic.
She became much calmer after the shot.
Alex saddled up next to her on the bed and leaned over. “What happened?” he asked.
The policeman hopped into the van and placed a pen against his notepad.
Rachel stared up at the grey-cloth ceiling and sighed. “The door rang,” she said. “I answered it. It was that guy from the hospital.”
“What guy?” Alex said.
Her eyes floated as they peered inward, trolling for a memory in her medicated mind. “I don’t know. The one who helped Jerry to the car. The large African-American man.”
“Devon?”
Rachel nodded her head slowly. The drugs were making her drowsy. “He had a dog with him.” Her tongue became obese. It struggled to lift itself up from the bottom of her mouth. “It was Popeye,” she slurred. “He attacked me.”
Alex’s lips formed a white line. His ears turned red.
The policeman
inhaled, hesitated and then spoke, “Who’s Popeye?”
“Our dog,” Alex said.
“So, this guy…” the cop consulted his notes, “…Devon, he came to the door with your dog?”
“No,” Alex said. “That’s impossible.”
“Sir, let’s let your wife answer.”
“Go ahead, but you’ll have to disregard what she says.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because our dog’s dead. I buried him last week.”
“Okay,” the cop said slowly, tapping the pen against his teeth. “So this dog resembled your recently deceased pet.”
Rachel shook her head. It rocked back and forth on loose bearings. “No, it was Popeye. I know it was. He even had—”
“Look, just keep going,” Alex cut her off, his voice strained.
“No, wait, hold on,” the officer said. “Let’s back this up.”
“Listen.” Alex glared at the cop. “I don’t give a shit about the dog. I’d like to know what the fuck happened to my brother.”
“Sir, I understand. That’s what I’m trying to determine as well.”
“Just shut up, then, and let her tell the story.”
The cop’s jaw muscles clenched, his eyes narrowed. He turned towards Rachel and nodded. “Go ahead, miss.”
Rachel exhaled through rubbery lips. She lifted her hand an inch off the gurney and let it drop back down. “Popeye chased me back into the eating area. He was barking, biting at me. I ran around the table to get away, but he followed me. When I came around the other side, I looked up and saw Jerry and the orderly fighting. They were fighting over the knife. The man, he was so much bigger. He took the knife.” Rachel’s voice was trailing off, becoming softer and harder to hear. “He was smiling. Jerry turned to run, but he grabbed him from behind. He pulled him back, and—”
The cop scooted forward. “Wait, wait. What knife? Who had the knife?”
“Good Christ!” Alex shot off the gurney and stormed out the back of the van. He marched straight for the apartment door. The door opened before he could reach it and two paramedics came out, wheeling a stretcher with a thick, white sheet draped over the outline of a body. A murmur erupted from the spectators and they pressed forward. Two policemen stepped up to perform crowd control. Alex skirted past the distracted officers, following the paramedics to the van. This one black, sans siren. It was in no rush to reach its destination. The morgue.
“I’m Dr. Drexler.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification card. “I’m family.”
“Sir, I’m sorry,” one of the men said. He dealt with death every day and still his sympathy looked sincere. He moved out of the way as Alex walked forward.
“I need to see,” Alex said. He reached out towards the head of the gurney and pulled aside the sheet.
Jerry looked just like he did when they had shared a bedroom, asleep on his back, with the sheets pulled up to his chest. The soft glow of moonlight shining through the bedside window, turning his pale face blue. But this wasn’t sleep. He was much too still. And his face was far too pale, his lips more purple than blue. There were just a few specks of blood freckling his cheeks, but the ragged gash running across his neck was still seeping. It was like a canyon ridge with a stagnant riverbed at the bottom.
The paramedic grabbed the sheet from Alex and pulled it back over Jerry’s head. It fell against his face and outlined his features. A few drops of blood spotted the sheet and spread.
It didn’t make sense. He had just seen Devon. Had literally run into him on his way out of Sugar Hill. Rachel must be mistaken.
Well, of course she was. She was hysterical. Delirious, convinced Popeye had returned from doggy heaven to exact his canine revenge.
The sound of the ambulance doors shutting startled Alex. He took a step back, blinking, as the engine started and the ambulance drove his brother away.
That left…the dog. What about the dog?
He turned and jogged back to the van where Rachel was being questioned. She offered a bleary smile when she saw him, a sedated grin.
“Honey, what happened to the dog?” Alex said, hopping back inside.
“You mean the imaginary dog?” the cop replied.
Alex ignored him. “Where did it go?”
Rachel raised her head from the pillow. She fought to focus her eyes. Her lips moved, but Alex could hardly hear her. He moved closer and asked again.
This time Rachel raised her hands in front of her face, mesmerized as though they held some mystical import. “Poof,” she said, spreading her hands outward like a magician making something disappear.
“What?” Alex said.
“When Jerry died,” she whispered, laying her head back down and closing her eyes. “Popeye just…disappeared.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The police came after Devon with their guns drawn, nearly causing a riot in the hallway of Sugar Hill. Patients scattered, squawking, flailing their arms like quail being flushed from a field. Orderlies chased after them and tried to instill order as the police formed a circle around Devon and forced him to face the wall.
Eli had been sitting alone outside, reflecting on his ruined staff meeting while staring at the stone maiden filling the fountain. Miranda’s pool.
He had, therefore, not received the cop’s cursory warning call. When he heard the commotion, he came running up the hallway, weaving through the startled patients, nearly too stunned to talk.
“What is this?” he said when he reached the nearest officer. The man’s head was shaved in a flattop that showed his pink scalp. Loose skin was bunched together in a series of rolls at the base of his neck. He looked bored as he watched two other policemen drive Devon into the wall, while a third wrenched his arms behind his back in order to apply handcuffs.
“Stand back, sir,” the officer said, placing a heavy hand against Eli’s chest, shoving him backwards. The weariness he had felt just moments before was replaced with a wash of adrenaline. He swatted the officer’s hand aside and stepped forward, getting right into his face.
“I’m not going to step aside. I’m in charge of this hospital. Tell me what’s going on.”
The officer inched forward, his rotund belly pressing against Eli’s like a cannonball. “We have a warrant to bring this man in for questioning. I advise you, sir, not to interfere.”
“On what charge?”
“Murder.”
Eli’s eyes flashed wide. The surge of adrenaline left him like a reverse tide. He turned and stared at the side of Devon’s face that was not smashed against the wall. “Jesus,” he said. “Of whom?”
“A former employee and outpatient of yours.” The officer looked at Eli with disdain, as though he were partly to blame. “Jerry Drexler.”
“I didn’t do shit!” Devon yelled when he saw Eli talking with the officer. “Hey, Dr. Alpert! I been here all day. Man, tell them I didn’t do this shit.”
Devon’s outburst provoked a series of wild hoots from the riled-up patients. Suddenly, it seemed as though the whole hallway was jostling.
The scene took on a surreal quality, almost like déjà vu. The colors turned dull, the sound became muted. Everything slowed way down. Eli shook his head and tried to focus as his vision took on a grimy film. “When?” he said, the word resounding hollowly in his ears.
“When what?”
“Jerry. The… When did it happen?”
Devon’s dulled screams were fading farther away. The officer reached out and gripped Eli by the elbow. His expression softened. He now looked concerned.
“Hey. You okay, there?” the officer said.
Eli’s knees buckled and he staggered forward.
At the same time, Devon pushed back from the wall and began struggling against the men arresting him.
This reignited the patients into
a wild frenzy. The orderlies were hopeless against the horde as they rushed forward, colliding into Eli and the officer from behind.
The officer released Eli and he went sprawling to the ground, his face crashing against the floor. The linoleum tiles smelled of scoured rubber. They felt gritty against his face. He barely felt the feet trampling on top of him, rocking his limp body back and forth as the light dimmed from white to grey to nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Angela was finishing up in the bathroom when she heard the commotion. Her bowels were rebelling from the night before. She washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy. Her skin was red and dry, her hair lank. The lack of sleep was finally catching up with her. Why do you do this to yourself? she asked herself for the thousandth time.
She stood, staring into her eyes, seeking out the strength she knew was there. Somewhere inside. The part of her that performed so well at work. The part of her so capable of helping others, yet still bent on destroying itself. Where does the one person end and the other begin?
The commotion continued. In fact, it was escalating. She turned off the faucet and waited for it to pass. She wasn’t sure her head could take it.
It didn’t pass. It continued to swell, taking on an even more riotous tone. Something was wrong.
She opened the door and started off towards the patients’ wing. Now that she could hear the screaming more clearly, she quickened her step. She stuck her head into Eli’s office. It was empty. Farther down, she checked in on Alex’s. He wasn’t there. She raced to the end of the hallway and scanned her keycard to access the patients’ area. She went through.
A few patients were wandering the hallway, clutching their heads and crying. But the main commotion was coming from around the corner, down by the nurses’ station.
When she rounded the corner, she stopped, stunned. She had never seen Sugar Hill so out of control. The orderlies, far outnumbered, were being overwhelmed by a swarm of patients rushing towards what appeared to be a team of police. She started forward, slowly, wondering what she could do to contain the patients. Trying to determine how best to help diffuse the situation.