by AnonYMous
Arnold slammed her door shut for her and grabbed a hold of her left arm. He marched her up to the diner’s entrance. His grip on her arm was tight, almost tight enough to leave a red mark. To any onlookers though, it could easily appear that they were a couple and he was maybe just a tad possessive. As Arnold pushed open the glass door at the entrance, Baby took one last glance back at the road and the cars in the parking lot hoping that it might provide her with some inspiration. The red pickup truck might offer an escape route she decided. If only she could find a way of hiding in the back of it.
Arnold hauled her through the door into the diner. Baby hoped she might see some cops having lunch, or maybe someone who looked like they would help her out if she created an argument with Arnold. There were two young men both wearing light blue “all-in-one” mechanic’s overalls. She recognised them as regular visitors to The Beaver Palace. They were sitting at a table on the far side of the diner. These two guys were known as the Friday night types. The kind of guys that would finish work, drink themselves senseless in a local bar and then if they didn’t strike lucky with any local girls, they headed to The Beaver Palace. One of them, the larger of the two, who she knew only as Skidmark, had been extremely rough with her on his last visit. The memory of his open hand being thrust into her face flashed through her mind and she looked away hoping not to make eye contact with him, or his buddy Termite.
Sitting in a booth by the window on his own was a guy she didn’t recognise. He was in his early twenties and was wearing a really cool shiny red leather jacket. His face was chiselled and unshaven and he had wavy brown hair. He was staring down at the menu on the table, but as she looked over at him he glanced up. He stared right at her, his gaze suggesting he didn’t welcome her staring back at him. His eyes were dark and pierced right through her. She looked away, embarrassed, and scanned the rest of the room. Everyone else in the diner either smiled or nodded in acknowledgment at Arnold. Everyone in B Movie Hell seemed to know him well and therefore probably knew not to cross him. The only customer who didn’t acknowledge him was the guy in the red jacket.
Arnold yanked hard at her arm and pulled her towards the counter with him. He grabbed a stool and pulled it out.
‘We’re sitting up here,’ he said, gesturing for her to sit on the stool.
She hopped up onto it. Arnold grabbed another stool from further down the counter and dragged it over, then sat himself on it right next to her. He pressed his hand into her back forcing her to face straight ahead and not look at any of the other customers. There was no sign of any waiter or waitress behind the counter so Arnold shouted loudly in the direction of the kitchen out back.
‘YO CANDY! ANY CHANCE OF SOME SERVICE?’
There was a delay before a woman’s voice shouted back from the kitchen area. ‘Be right with you Arnie!’
Baby leant across and prodded Arnold in the arm, knowing that he hated to be prodded. It was time to provoke him into an argument in public. ‘Arnold,’ she said coyly.
‘What?’
‘I want to keep the baby.’
Arnold took a deep breath through his nostrils and picked up a menu from the counter. The look on his face, and a slight twitch underneath his eye gave a good indication of his anger at her for mentioning her pregnancy out loud in a public place.
‘Shut up,’ he said quietly but firmly.
‘But –
Before Baby could antagonise him further a waitress bounded out of the kitchen area and headed over to them. She was a buxom forty-something lady in a pink apron with big curly blonde hair. A plastic badge on her left breast had the name Candy on it in black lettering. She smiled politely at Baby. But, when Baby smiled back Candy jerked her neck in the direction of the booths by the window. When Baby didn’t react, she threw a glance in the same direction and then stared back at her wide-eyed. Baby frowned, so Candy repeated the actions again, all the while maintaining a fake smile. Baby looked over at the booths. Candy seemed to be trying to draw attention to the guy in the shiny red jacket who was sitting on his own. He was staring right back at Baby like he hadn’t taken his eyes off her from before. His stare was still menacing and unpleasant so she blinked and diverted her eyes back towards Candy, who by now had stopped jerking her neck and glancing at the booths, but was still maintaining her blatantly fake smile. Arnold missed the whole incident because he was studying the menu closely, running his finger down the list of different burgers available.
Candy shook her head, sighed and turned her attention to Arnold. ‘Hi Arnold,’ she said, ‘What can I get for you?’
Arnold stopped running his finger down the menu when he spotted what he wanted. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the Double Boobie burger, with no salad, large fries and a black coffee.’
He put the menu down on the counter and glanced up at Candy to see if she had taken down the order. Candy did the same thing she had done to Baby. She jerked her neck subtly in the direction of the guy in the corner booth and threw a glance his way. It was wasted on Arnold.
‘Did you get that?’ he snapped. ‘Double Boobie burger--
Candy took a step back away from the counter. Her nostrils flared and her bottom lip trembled. The blood seemed to drain from her face in a matter of milliseconds. Her pen and notepad slipped from her hands and fell to the floor as she began edging slowly back towards the kitchen area. She was staring at the booth in the corner. Baby turned her neck slowly to see what had gotten Candy so flustered. What she saw made her blood turn cold.
The man in the red jacket had slipped a rubber mask over his head. It was a yellow mask with two large eyeholes and a red strip of hair along the top of it. He slid out from the booth and stood up. Suddenly nothing else in the world seemed to be moving. For the first time since arriving in the diner Baby became aware of the music blaring out of a Wurlitzer jukebox in the far corner by the washrooms. Gogol Bordello was singing a song called Start Wearing Purple.
As the masked man took his first steps towards her, it finally dawned on Baby that she was staring at the vicious killer the police had dubbed The Red Mohawk. He stood well over six feet tall. In his right hand he was holding a shiny silver meat cleaver by his side. The sun coming through the window glinted off the sharp edge of it. Baby watched in stunned bewilderment as this hulking figure of a man walked towards her and Arnold. He grew bigger with every step he took, blocking out more of the light coming in through the windows with each passing moment. He stopped directly behind the unsuspecting figure of Arnold and lifted the blade slowly up from his side.
Arnold still hadn’t seen him. And by this point he was the only person in the diner who hadn’t. It took the wielding of the blade above Arnold’s head to spark the rest of the diner’s customers into life. Everyone seemed to scream out at once, all warning Arnold of what was to come.
He turned to see what the fuss was all about, but it was already too late. As he laid eyes on the horrific masked figure looming over him, the silver meat cleaver in the masked man’s hand made a swooshing sound as it crashed down onto the counter.
Although the world continued spinning, everything in the diner had begun to move in slow motion. A momentary silence that seemed to last an eternity finally came to an end when Arnold let out an almighty scream of agony. And everything and everyone went batshit crazy. The diner erupted like everyone in it had been thrown from a rollercoaster.
Baby’s eyes bulged in terror. Her plans to escape from Arnold had vanished. Her thoughts were now only of escape from the masked man with the meat cleaver. Should she run straight away, or wait a second and hope not to draw attention to herself? And why the hell was she even thinking about it when she should already be running? The blade had come down on Arnold’s left hand. It sliced off all of his fingers and the top of his thumb.
The other customers leapt up from their seats and began rushing for the exits. Candy screamed and raced out back. Arnold made a choking sound as he lifted his severed hand up and stared wide eyed at it, d
isbelieving of what he was seeing. What remained of his hand shook as if the weight of it were too much, which was ridiculous. Life drained out of him, as blood gushed from the holes where his fingers used to be. His face had gone pale and his eyes were wide and glassy. And then, as if he’d finally realised that most of his hand had just been chopped off, he screamed wildly.
The two Friday night guys from the window booth rushed to Arnold’s aid. Skidmark dived bravely onto the masked man’s back, throwing his arms around him and attempting to drag him away from Arnold. The masked man lowered his head, pressed his chin into his chest momentarily and then smashed it back into Skidmark’s face. Even with all the screaming, thundering of fleeing footsteps and Gogol Bordello singing Start Wearing Purple, Baby still heard the sound of Skidmark’s nose breaking. He slid off the masked man’s back and staggered back, his nose like a bloody spout. The masked killer turned and with one swift swing of his already bloodied meat cleaver, sliced open Skidmark’s stomach from one side to the other. Blood spilled out through the ten-inch long gash and Skidmark doubled over, his hands instinctively grabbing his belly and trying to hold his guts in. He crumpled to the floor as his attacker nonchalantly flicked some blood off the blade and squared up to Termite. Skidmark’s buddy froze in horror at the ruthless attack that had been carried out on his friend.
The look on Termite’s face soon changed from terrified to bewildered when The Red Mohawk gently tossed his meat cleaver over to him. It took the young mechanic by surprise but he managed to catch it by its handle. He stared at the blood on the blade and then looked back up just in time to see the Red Mohawk slam his right fist into his face. From her seat at the bar, Baby got a clear view of the whites of Termite’s eyes as his pupils slid upwards. He fell backwards and the meat cleaver slid from his hand, joining him in a race to hit the floor.
Throughout all of this, Arnold had kept staring at his mangled hand and screaming. The masked murderer reached down and picked up his meat cleaver and turned back to face Baby and Arnold. He took two steps towards them then reached out and grabbed a handful of the thick hair on top of Arnold’s head, which only caused Arnold to scream even more. He yanked it hard and hauled Arnold back off his stool. Arnold landed with a thud on the floor on his backside. He held up his bloody stump of a hand in defence. The Red Mohawk yanked hard on his hair with his clenched fist and dragged him back across the floor of the diner.
Arnold’s eyes rolled around in in his head, unable to focus on anything as he was dragged past the dead bodies of Skidmark and Termite. He yelled out again, only this time he made more than just agonised screams. ‘BABY!!!’ he bellowed. ‘HELP ME!!!’
Even if she had wanted to help him, she couldn’t have. There was nothing she could do to stop the psycho with the meat cleaver from dragging him towards the Men’s washroom on the far side of the diner. Arnold kicked and screamed with every last ounce of strength he could muster, but it was to no avail. His attacker kicked the door of the washroom open with the heel of his right boot and backed into it, dragging Arnold through with him, screaming and crying like a hysterical chimp.
As the door swung shut behind them and Arnold’s agonised screams became muffled, Baby realised she was the only person left in the diner. She heard the sound of car engines starting up outside as other customers fled. And then she heard Gogol Bordello again.
Start wearing purple!
Baby often felt like the lyrics from her favourite songs were speaking to her, offering her important life advice, but start wearing purple? That was not helpful in the current situation. She needed to think for herself. She knew this was the opportunity she had been waiting for, her big chance to escape to the real world. It hadn’t panned out anything like how she had imagined it would, but when God answers your prayers and gives you an opportunity to grab the gift you want most above all else in the world, you’ve got to take it, no matter how ugly the wrapping paper is.
Baby had no desire to hang around and become the next victim of the Red Mohawk. It didn’t sound like it was going to take long for him to finish slicing up Arnold in the washroom. So without waiting for a second invitation she jumped off her stool and ran out through the front door and into the parking lot.
Twelve
‘Well this looks like a fun place,’ said Munson, staring up at the front of Grimwald’s Mental Asylum. He had to tilt his head right back to see all the way to the top. The building almost disappeared into the clouds above. ‘No wonder everyone in here is mental. Look at the place, it’s creepy and depressing.’
For the first time that day it looked like Fonseca agreed with him. She too was staring up at the front of the building, ogling the huge grey exterior. Every now and again at unpredictable intervals an unsightly gargoyle of some kind would be protruding out of the brickwork. And on even more infrequent occasions, there was a narrow window.
‘It’s definitely a shithole,’ Fonseca mumbled, half to herself.
The large arched front doors they were standing outside were made of thick oak wood and painted black, adding to the unwelcoming appearance of the place.
They waited for almost a minute after Munson had rattled the large stone door knocker before the doors opened and a man in his mid-twenties greeted them. He wore a light blue tunic and matching trousers. He had curly ginger hair, possibly permed. It was hard to tell without staring inappropriately. He greeted them with a smile as they approached the doors.
‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Fonseca replied. ‘I’m Milena Fonseca and this is Jack Munson. You should be expecting us.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He outstretched a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. My name is Justin.’ Fonseca shook his hand. His handshake was very limp.
‘Nice to meet you Justin,’ she said courteously. ‘We’ve come to see….’
Justin interrupted her. ‘About Joey Conrad?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Good. If you’d both like to step inside, I’ll take you to his room.’
Fonseca stepped through the open door into the asylum. Munson followed behind and shook Justin’s hand, attempting to crush it for his own amusement. ‘Are you Conrad’s doctor?’ he asked.
Justin winced at the aggressiveness of the handshake. ‘No, I’m just a nurse,’ he said pulling his hand away. ‘His doctor is indisposed at the moment.’
‘Who is the doctor?’
‘Doctor Carter.’
‘And when will he be free?’ Munson asked.
Justin paused, then smiled. ‘She will be free in about half an hour, but seeing as time is of the essence she asked me to show you to Joey Conrad’s room and assist you in any way you like until she becomes available.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Munson.
The reception hall inside the building was almost as depressing as the outside. Everything was grey. Grey floor, grey walls, grey ceiling. All it needed was a Morrissey song playing in the background.
‘Do you need us to sign in?’ Fonseca asked, looking around for some kind of reception desk. The hall was empty with the exception of a small table by a large grey steel door opposite them. The table had a vase on it containing some almost dead flowers.
‘No. There’s no need to sign in today,’ said Justin. ‘This way please.’ He walked towards the steel door.
‘Why don’t we need to sign in?’ asked Fonseca, standing her ground.
Justin stopped and turned around. ‘It was my understanding that your visit here was off the record,’ he said. ‘You might not want to leave traces of your visit here for others to find at a later date. Correct?’
‘That is correct,’ said Munson.
Fonseca glanced at Munson. She didn’t look convinced. He whispered in her ear. ‘We can always sign in on the way out if you still feel strongly about it.’
‘I think we should,’ she whispered back.
‘I bet you ten bucks you change your mind.’
‘You’re on.’
Justin walked ahead and swiped a card through a reader by the steel door. As soon as he heard a loud click he pulled it open. ‘This way please,’ he said holding the door open for them. Fonseca made her way through first. Munson hung back and tried to drink in everything he was seeing around the place, which wasn’t much.
Justin led the way through a maze of dull grey corridors, chuntering away the whole time about various patients who had stayed in each of the rooms they passed. The guy seemed to have a boring anecdote for just about every area of the asylum. It made Munson long for a swig of rum from the bottle he’d stashed in his jacket pocket.
‘How exactly did Joey Conrad escape?’ he asked bluntly, interrupting one of Justin’s pointless tales. The nurse stopped talking in mid-sentence and turned around. He looked somewhat offended by the interruption. Munson took the brief pause as an opportunity to take an extensive look around at the hard stone walls and high ceilings to see if there were any air vents or trapdoors that might be utilised in an escape attempt.
Justin took a moment to respond to the question as if he had more than one possible answer and was inwardly debating which was the best one to give. Eventually he settled on one that sounded surprisingly genuine. ‘Our security is crap,’ he said.
‘I can see that,’ said Munson, exchanging a glance with Fonseca who seemed to be in agreement.
Justin offered no further explanation, possibly because he was miffed by Munson interrupting him. Instead he hurried on along the corridor until he eventually took a right turn and led the way up a stone staircase. At the top of the stairs they went through another door and arrived in a corridor that was much darker than all of the others they had seen.