Cherry Hill

by James A. Moore

  “Why?”

  “The less people know about me, the happier I am.”

  “Even me?”

  “Especially you.” He caught the look on her face as he spoke and suppressed a brief, gloating satisfaction.

  She didn’t speak in return. Instead, she reacted like she almost always did when he chastised her and looked down at the ground. Crowley cursed himself and shook his head, disgusted.

  “You need to get over that, right now.”

  “Get over what?”

  “You keep looking to me for approval. You’re not going to get it.”

  “Jonathan, you’re important to me.”

  “No! I’m not important to you! Get that out of your damned fool head right now.”

  “I don’t mean—”

  “I don’t care what you mean. Get this through your head, Amelia. I’m not your friend, I’m not your mentor and I’m not your lover. I’m a guy who has shown you a few tricks to keep your darker instincts under control. I’m also the guy who will snap your neck if I ever find out you’ve started messing with people’s heads.”

  “Yes, Jonathan.” Once again her gaze lowered to the grass beneath her feet and he gritted his teeth.

  “You need to understand something here. I’m not a nice person. I just played at it for a while.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Her tone was conciliatory and condescending at the same time and it set his nerves on edge. Without even thinking about it, he reached out and grabbed Amelia’s shoulders.

  “Listen to me, Amelia! You listen and I mean really, carefully pay attention to my words.”

  Her eyes were wide with fright and the sight made him grin.

  “Jonathan, you’re hurting me.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m making sure you pay attention. I know what you do isn’t your fault, but I know you chose to call me back when I was finally getting my ticket out of here.” His voice went lower and her face fractured in his vision as the tears threatened to fall.

  “I needed you, Jonathan. They needed you.”

  “I don’t care!” He pushed her away. He didn’t want her to see him like this, didn’t want to feel like this, but damn it, the memories were relentless. “You screwed me up, Amelia! I’m remembering everything and I don’t want to remember any of it!”

  His mind chose that moment to throw another storm of memories at him, many of which he had been forced to relive over the last few days again and again.

  John shook his head and glared at Amelia. “You know what I’m going through? Do you have any idea?”

  She tried to shake her head and nod simultaneously. No, she didn’t know the actual experiences, but she could feel the emotional repercussions coming off of him.

  “Here’s one for you, sweet pea! In addition to watching my family get murdered again and again, I’m also reliving being dead for the last six years.” He moved closer to her again his hands balled into trembling fists. “Six years, Amelia. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything but feel my body try to decompose again and again! News flash, something out there wouldn’t let me die in peace. I was reduced to a fucking animal! Try that one on for fun sometime!”

  That was enough. More than he wanted to share with her or with anyone, so Crowley turned away from her and pulled her trick back on her, staring at the ground until he calmed down.

  “Stop asking me questions you don’t want to know the answers to, Amelia. We’ll both be better off for it.”

  Crowley started walking, looking around the premises and trying to find the source of what was going on inside the asylum. Amelia followed along, silent now, and no doubt hating him a bit for using her as a scratching post. He felt the same way about the situation himself, but wasn’t about to let her know that. Better if he could drive her away and keep her away in the future.

  He was still trying to focus through the maelstrom of memories. It was hard to concentrate enough to use his talents and having her around was an added unpleasant reminder of the recent past.

  Amelia knew all of that and didn’t let it faze her. She kept with him despite the abuse and he didn’t know if it was out of loyalty or desperation, but either way it was another reason not to want her near him.

  The wall he was looking at changed before his eyes. He was standing outside the north wing, looking at the ground near the actual building to see if anyone had done something from outside. The ground looked fine, but the wall itself flickered. One second there was the familiar brick pattern and the next there was a stone wall.

  Crowley looked at the change and frowned as it continued: a shifting kaleidoscope of rough hewn stone and carefully laid brick that was disturbing to watch.

  It got worse when portions of the wall simply vanished, showing uncut grass and shrubs where the building should be.

  John stepped back and tried to take in the whole asylum: for brief moments he could see the central hub through the walls that should have blocked his vision. Only the original building remained relatively unchanged throughout the entire process, which lasted for almost a full minute.

  Amelia tried to speak several times, but he completely ignored her, focusing instead on the unusual phenomenon.

  As abruptly as it started, the odd overlapping effect faded away.

  “Well, that was different.” He spoke, forgetting that he had company.

  “What was that Jonathan?”

  “I have an idea or two. Nothing solid.” Without another word he started walking, circling the grounds of Cherry Hill until he reached the front doors and walked back inside. Amelia followed him as quietly as a shadow until he was done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  No one inside of Cherry Hill noticed anything strange. They were all too busy with other things; top among them the sudden and violent death of Walter Sawyer.

  Kimberly Walker was taking care of clean up duty on the man when it happened. Like almost everyone else on the ward, Sawyer was quiet. Even before his surgery the man had seldom spoken to anyone, choosing instead to let his teeth answer most of his questions. He’d earned the nickname Jaws just before his surgery as a result of his penchant for biting. Now, he was as quiet as a library at midnight.

  She was just finishing up with the soiled sheets when Walter let out a low, hoarse scream. Kimberly carefully set aside the soiled linens before she looked back in his direction.

  Walter was thin and currently naked, she hadn’t yet put on his new robe, and every detail of his body was clearly defined. So she knew she wasn’t imagining things when she saw the pallid skin just above his navel start twitching. Walter’s eyes flew wide and his mouth curled down into an open frown as his flesh suddenly expanded. It wasn’t quite like watching someone playing under a blanket, though she thought that way for a moment. No, blankets don’t bleed when they move, and she could see the blood swelling under his flesh, bruising pale skin and then spreading in a crimson stain.

  “Billy! Call for Dr. Finney, right away!” Billy didn’t question her; he just ran. Kimberly moved closer to help the poor man, terrified by what she was seeing, but still needing to do something. His pulse rate was through the roof and his skin was feverish. Fifteen seconds earlier he’d been clammy and now he felt like he was ready to combust.

  Walter bucked and let out another wretched scream as the red stain under his skin moved violently upward. Kimberly heard the sound of muscles being separated from flesh, a wet shushing noise that slid up to the edge of his collarbone before stopping.

  Whatever was left of Walter’s mind shut down enough to let him slide into unconsciousness and she had to believe that was a blessing. Still, awake or not, his body was far from relaxed. Walter’s body jerked several times, and on each occasion the red stain grew larger and darker. His chest swelled with internal hemorrhaging and worse. She heard the sound of his sternum rupturing, saw his ribcage expand and then spread wider as his ribs went in their own directions.

  Kimberly was trying to be as observant as
possible: She knew that there had been other strange events at Cherry Hill that had similar symptoms and she wanted to let the police and doctors know exactly what she’d seen. But watching the devastation became a nightmare very quickly. Walter was dying in front of her and there wasn’t much she could do to stop it.

  Once again the man’s chest expanded, and this time she could see a shape moving inside of him, something was growing, a large ill defined shape. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have been possible. The growth pushed harder, stretching the skin like leather drying over a drum. Kimberly closed her eyes as the skin started tearing. She didn’t want to see anymore. She didn’t want to know.

  Look at me, Kimberly.

  Her eyes flew open of their own volition, and she stared again as the shape moving inside of Walter Sawyer stood and stretched, tearing through his torso like a mad stripper popping out of a fake wedding cake. Only there was no dancer to see, merely a darkness that lifted into the air and seemed to look at her.

  Look at me, Kimberly. Know me. I am your friend. I will never hurt you.

  She tried to speak, to ask it what it wanted, but the words eluded her.

  I am your friend. You have shown me so much kindness, and I will return it to you.

  She stared at that coalescing blackness and looked for anything like a recognizable feature, because she could almost swear she’d heard that voice before. Her ears were ringing and her body twitched. She felt warmth running down her legs and knew that she’d wet herself, but none of that seemed as important as understanding what was going on just a few feet in front of her.

  You will be among the blessed, Kimberly. Give me your faith, give me your love, and I will grant you all that you desire.

  “I—” She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The words thrilled her and scared her at the same time. Worse, she sensed that the words were only a diversion, something to keep her busy. Maybe not only that, but at least partially. She tried to look away but couldn’t. Something about the pulsing shadows held her attention. There was nothing to see there, but it was a powerful nothing.

  Kimberly forced herself to look away, physically wrenching her head to the side in an effort to stop looking at whatever it was trying to entice her.

  She was still looking to her right, and down at Walter Sawyer’s face, when his entire skull collapsed in on itself.

  Kimberly closed her eyes after that, savoring the lack of sight. She wanted to run, to scream, to hide, but her body refused to move.

  The voice kept talking, and Kimberly, more afraid than she’d ever been in her entire life, listened.

  ***

  They found Kimberly Walker crouched in a fetal position, rocking slowly back and forth. Her clothes were slightly soiled and she refused to open her eyes. Roger diagnosed her condition as extreme catatonia, likely brought on by what she’d witnessed. A misty layer of drying blood spread across the entire cell, covering Kimberly’s hair and the front of her body where she squatted.

  What had been Walter Sawyer was identified later by the remaining fingerprints, but Roger knew who it was. Billy had done a fine job of finding him, and brought him immediately to the cell. He never left the floor and no one could have come in or out without somebody seeing them.

  He looked at Sawyer’s remains and immediately left the room: it wouldn’t be appropriate to ruin the crime scene by losing his breakfast all over it.

  Then he made the necessary calls, including to Branaugh upstairs, to Harrington, and to security. He wanted Jonathan Crowley brought down to see this. The words the man had spoken previously kept echoing in his head: I think something wants to get born into this world and doesn’t know how to do it yet.

  “I think it might be getting better with practice.” He spoke the words to himself and felt a shiver run through him. This was all getting to be far too much for him. First he had dead bodies and mutilations, now he had Crowley telling him about ghosts and making him believe they were real. Throw in exploding patients and nurses covered in the bloody remains and his career as the chief of Cherry Hill was looking less fulfilling by the second.

  Jonathan Crowley moved past him with a nod and stuck his head into the room for a moment, staring at the carnage with a neutral expression on his face.

  “There’s not enough body left.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw him yesterday. Walter Sawyer. Wanted to look at his file, remember? There’s not enough body left. Something took at least half of him when it left the room.”

  Finney resisted the urge to heave all over the floor. “How can you know that?”

  “Simple math. Weigh the remains, if there’s more than sixty pounds left, I’ll be shocked.”

  “How does someone walk into a room and do that sort of damage without anyone seeing him?”

  Crowley looked over at Kimberly Walker and pointed a finger. “Somebody did see. She’s just not going to want to talk about it.”

  “What’s happening here, John?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that part out, Roger. But I have to tell you, it isn’t looking good.”

  Carl Branaugh showed up with Rico Montoya in tow. Both men looked over the scene as best they could without actually entering the room. A few minutes later they came over to talk to Finney.

  Crowley looked at both of them and a smile played around his lips. He was either amused by what was happening or putting on a damned good front. “Detectives…”

  Branaugh nodded. “Mr. Crowley.”

  “Jonathan Crowley?” As soon as Montoya opened his mouth, Finney felt his heart sink.

  “One and the same, Detective Montoya,” John’s voice was dry and restrained. “Aren’t you supposed to be in California?”

  “I got a call telling me your situation had changed. Thought I should come see for myself.” Montoya kept staring, his expression one of doubt and confusion, which was perfectly understandable under the circumstances.

  “I’m still here and I’m still me, Detective. I’m just feeling a little spryer these days.”

  “Any chance I can get a set of fingerprints from you, Mr. Crowley?”

  “I guess you’d have to check with my doctor about that.”

  Montoya looked directly at Roger and he felt he had no choice but to go along. Crowley simply smiled as he answered. He’d half expected the man to start swinging.

  “Well then, get your ink and your paper and you can have my fingerprints.” The men stepped aside as the coroner came through. Unlike most of the people in the room, the old man didn’t seem fazed by what he saw.

  Montoya looked back at Crowley and produced both an inkpad and a thick piece of cardboard from inside his jacket.

  “Let’s get this part taken care of, and then we can get to business. Sound good to you?”

  John nodded. “By all means. I have things to do.”

  ***

  It had fed on both the living and the dead, but none of the meals it had ever taken in had filled it with so much vitality. It couldn’t even guess how many times it had bypassed Walter Sawyer without a second thought, but now it thought it knew why. Sawyer had held within him a seed of greatness: the very same essence it had grown from. That seed, whether or not it was truly sentient, didn’t want to be discovered.

  That others might have the same potential had never occurred to it before. Now it had reason to be careful. It didn’t want competition on its search for godhood.

  It watched from a safe distance as the humans looked over its latest work, and pondered what they made of the situation. Mostly it sensed fear.

  The memories from deep inside of Sawyer showed carnage and violence and the same odd tendency to commit acts on other people to placate whatever power was inside of the man; the same power that it had now consumed and made a part of itself. Though it had lost a potential devotee by killing the man it was still pleased.

  Its senses expanded, allowing it to see further than before. Without moving, it could feel Alex Granger�
�s body slowly dying, and could touch every aspect of the asylum. The living and the dead alike were all around it, and some of them shone brighter than others. The once old man stood out, as did the woman who hovered near him. And another was fairly glowing with untapped power, down in the lowest levels of the building, not far from where Granger normally rested.

  First, it would try to take care of Granger. Then, perhaps, it would visit the other down in the dungeon.

  Despite the newfound confidence, it decided to handle Granger up close. There was no room for error, at least not until it knew for sure whether or not it could repair the damage.

  Alex Granger lay in a hospital bed, his skin sallow and his pulse weaker than ever before. It had always taken from others to feed itself in the past and now it tried to reverse the situation. After it had submerged itself completely within its host, it began the slow task of repairing systems it had come to better understand within the body.

  Alex Granger’s body twitched, and otherwise remained unmoving.

  Alex, how do you feel?

  Granger was in there still, but weak, fading away.

  “Like I’m dying.”

  You are dying, Alex. But that can be fixed.

  “Will you help me?”

  Yes.

  “I knew I could trust you.”

  Nothing will harm you, Alex. Sleep now. Rest.

  “Yes, God. Thank you.”

  It made no reply, choosing instead to continue the repairs it had started. Muscles that had atrophied were rebuilt. The heart, poisoned slowly by toxins within Granger’s body, was made stronger again, and the kidneys and liver that had begun decaying were replenished. It was pleased by how easily it made the repairs, now that it understood the basic functions of the organs within its host’s body. Its confidence grew exponentially. It thought, briefly, about repairing the damage to Granger’s mind, but decided against it. What if, by fixing that damage, it managed to get caught within him once again? That would never do.