Soul Suites

by Hulden Morse

  “Alright, Pearson,” Dr. Raymond said to him. “I do not have time to deal with you now. Lucky for you. But you have misbehaved, and that requires some form of punishment. So how about we do a water trial on you.”

  “A what?” Charles said in confusion.

  “Do you want that, Mr. Pearson? Would you like to do a water trial?”

  “What is going on?” the CEO cried.

  “Schedule him for one in two days,” the doctor said to Eddie. “He’ll have more than enough rest by then. Does your chest hurt, Pearson? Does it still ache?”

  Charles did not know how to respond, so he glared at the man, clenching his fists in anger and pulling against the leather straps. He wanted nothing more than to obliterate that smug face with his fists. That man was the one standing between him and his family, and the CEO, well-practiced with heated negotiations, would find a way to get past him.

  Damian looked around the strange room and wondered what he had done to end up in a place like this. It was clean, quaint, with a private bathroom and a comfortable bed for him to lay upon. There was another bunk above him, and he assumed that whoever had caused the commotion when he was brought to the room was most likely his roommate. Damian was worried that he would be bunking with someone who could possibly do him harm, though he tried to maintain an open mind about the situation. He wasn’t sure what was going on or why someone would be so desperate to leave that place, though he hoped he could speak with the man soon and maybe make a friend in the process.

  Damian walked to one of the chairs at the table and sat there for a while, unsure what to do with the passing time. He was surprised that the room didn’t have something for him to read. Most of these types of places did. There was typically a small cart of books to pick through or old magazines on a wall that people would grab and sometimes return. But here, the walls were completely bare and there seemed to be absolutely no form of entertainment provided by the facilitators.

  Like a child in class, Damian leaned his chair away from the table until he was balanced on its back legs, lightly maintaining grip on the table for support. He wobbled there for a moment before growing bored of the game and returned all four legs to the ground. Damian laid on the bed again and ran his hands through his curly, black hair. The man had a dark complexion, was in his mid-thirties, and was built like a runner. He had been thin his entire life, something genetics had granted him from the very beginning, though being homeless and struggling to find three meals a day made his scrawny stature reach unnatural levels. He was no hungrier than those around him, but Damian found that people seemed to pity him more given that he appeared to be in a state of severe starvation.

  He had grown accustomed to living on the streets, finding the lifestyle unrewarding yet absolutely liberating. He had only himself to worry about, and he never felt burdened by having some place to be or anything to do. While he longed for more stability in his life and more money to spend on luxury items, like toothpaste and showers, such things were not necessary to survive. He was content with his choices in life and besides, look where they had led him! There he was, in that brilliant room with a bed to call his own and a doctor to tend to his needs.

  The last thing he remembered before ending up in that comfortable room was crawling into his tent beneath a freeway overpass and tucking himself in for the night. He would sometimes stay in shelters if the weather was bad, but it had not been a particularly cold night and so he had chosen to enjoy the peace and quiet of sleeping by himself under the open sky. Though soon after he had fallen asleep, he woke up strapped to a metal bed or some kind of table and people were attaching electrodes all over him. At the time, he was certain that it was a dream, but he had felt a sharp pain in his chest and somehow fell asleep again. After all that, he had been asked some strange questions and was led to this room. Damian could not make any sense out of the seemingly random course of events. He still wasn’t convinced that it had even happened. Maybe there really was a doctor that had treated him and given him some weird medicine that created vivid dreams. But that wouldn’t explain why he still felt a dull ache in his chest.

  Despite the strangeness of the people around him, Damian remained positive about the experience and curled up comfortably on his new bed. He hoped that the center would not turn into a temporary housing situation and that they would allow him to stay there indefinitely. What a deal that would be.

  The door to his room creaked open, and Damian watched in wonder as two guards threw a man into his room.

  “Keep yourself out of trouble!” one the guards said before closing the door on them.

  Damian rushed to the person’s side and helped him into a chair. The man was light skinned, with a patchy beard coming in and bloodshot eyes. His dark, brown hair was disheveled, sticking up in odd directions like it had been pressed and slept on at weird angles.

  “You alright, man?” Damian said in a deep voice.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks,” the newcomer said as he leaned on the table. The man then looked at Damian, seeing the same grey outfit that he wore and the friendly smile he presented in welcome. “What’s your name?”

  “Damian. You?”

  “Charles.”

  “Well, looks like we’re roommates, Charles,” he said happily.

  The CEO paused pensively, as if attempting to discover the source of this man’s upbeat personality. He took a quick step back, seemingly hesitant about Damian’s intentions, though he soon regained some faltering confidence and continued the conversation.

  “So, Damian. How’d you end up here?”

  “No idea,” he said bluntly. “I woke up on some table, fell back asleep, and then they brought me in here.”

  “Did they hook you up to a machine?”

  “Damn, man. That was real?” Damian said, his expression changing to one of surprise.

  “Yeah. Your chest hurt?”

  The man placed a hand over his heart and stared at it, concern spreading across his face.

  “So, you know anything about this place?” Damian asked fearfully.

  “No,” Charles responded. “I’ve tried to get answers, but they won’t tell me shit. And I’m not sure what these trial things are that they keep mentioning.”

  “Trials?”

  “Yeah. And did someone ask you a bunch of questions when you woke up on the table?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “What’d you say?”

  Damian paused for a moment, trying to remember what it was they had asked him and what he had said in response. He remembered they were curious about the moment before he woke up and after he had fallen asleep again, like those people in blue were hunting for dreams. He thought it was strange because he didn’t remember anything. The moments seemed separate, not seamless. Nothing occurred between them.

  “I didn’t see anythin’. That’s what I said.”

  “Alright. Well, I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on around here. I don’t trust that doctor guy. Doctor Raymond.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s bad news. He seems to be running everything.”

  “But he sounded so nice. He said he was here to help.”

  “Yeah. I don’t believe him. Something’s not right about this place. We are not supposed to be here.”

  “I don’t know,” Damian said incredulously. “I kind of like it here. Lot nicer than the other places I’ve stayed.”

  “But they lock you in here. And you have no control over anything. The food may be decent, but this—”

  “You get meals too?” the man said with excitement. He started to look around the room as if a plate of food would suddenly materialize before his eyes, begging to be devoured on the spot.

  “Yes. You do. But look, things just don’t make sense. I think we need to stick together, trust each other. You think we can do that?”

  �
�Huh?”

  “Can I trust you, Damian?”

  “Yeah, Charles. You can trust me.”

  The men shook hands for the first time, looking into each other’s eyes with a sincere, immediate bond. Damian remained optimistic, hopeful that he would enjoy his time in this new home. The actions of those nameless people were strange, he had to admit. In addition, the feeling of being strapped down, completely immobile, was undeniably terrifying and utterly unnecessary as far as he was concerned. He had awoken confused, petrified. The only consolation erupting through the drowning fear like a gasp of oxygen was the reassurance by that intelligent-looking doctor, a professional promise in a powerful voice that everything would be alright. And before long, Damian had been freed from the restraints, was given clean clothes, was respectfully ushered into an immaculate room, and may even be receiving a full meal in the near future. He questioned his new roommate’s sanity, concerned about his state of mind. This was probably the kind of man who assumed the worst in people. How can someone live without faith in others?

  Chapter 19

  “Elias. What’s going on?”

  “I was thinking about our conversation, and I suddenly remembered something that happened a couple years ago. There’s a shelter in Detroit that I used to run when I lived back there. This was a long time ago, but I’ve stayed in contact with them. Maybe two years ago or so, they also started having people disappear.”

  “Oh my god. In Detroit?”

  “Yeah. They did an investigation of sorts but didn’t find anything. I called them just now, and they say that it still goes on, but after so much time has passed with the same pattern happening now and then, they all consider it normal. With the increasing homeless population, they figured that people have organized some ways of moving together to different cities or they try living without anyone’s aid.”

  “Wow. Um, what’s their contact info?”

  “I’ll text it to you. But I think there may be something here. The more I think about this, it just doesn’t seem normal. One place dealing with this is strange enough. But multiple shelters? In different cities? Seems odd.”

  “Yeah. Well, thanks. I’ll look for your text.”

  “Alright. See ya.”

  As she walked away from Father Brown’s, Hamilton called Gutierrez and the executive board members from Reaching Dreams. She asked that they contact at least one homeless shelter in every large city in the country and determine if they had had any occurrences similar to what was going on in Chicago. Every person she called responded with some variation of, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Paula held her ground and demanded that each person do his part. She knew there would be some overlap in the cities that were contacted, which was part of her plan. She wanted multiple opinions, multiple executives calling, and she wanted it done as soon as possible.

  Hamilton found a nearby park, riddled with thinning trees that outlined a large, grassy area and a children-infested playground. She found a creaking bench upon which to sit. The sun was shining, but it was slightly cold outside, or at least compared to San Diego. She pulled out her sandwich and happily scarfed it down, thanking the lord that she finally had some kind of sustenance in her stomach.

  Within 15 minutes, she began receiving text messages, reports about the conversations people were having with homeless shelters. Sandra Pinner, the CFO, had talked to people in Los Angeles and found that they had no idea what she was talking about. Hamilton didn’t know if that was a bad thing or a good thing for the situation. The Chief Operating Officer, Philip Morris, had also contacted Los Angeles with similar results. He then contacted a location in San Francisco and found that they had never had a large number of people stop coming to the shelter without an explanation. Gutierrez then texted her and mentioned that Indianapolis had experienced similar disappearances but Milwaukee had not. She sat back in the bench, awestruck, as the responses continued to flow in.

  The Chief Health Administrator had called Denver and New York and been told that an investigation would have certainly followed such a situation if it had ever happened. For a couple years, Cincinnati had large groups of people stop coming to shelters. Atlanta had never experienced such a thing. Hamilton quickly pulled out a pad of paper as her phone continued to explode with texts. She jotted down all the cities that had reports of disappearances versus the ones that did not. Miami was in the clear. Detroit had disappearances. Pittsburgh also had disappearances, but Philadelphia was fine. What did it all mean? What the hell was going on?

  She opened a map application on her phone and began to place markings on all the cities that had shelters where people were seemingly vanishing, or possibly taking off as a group. Hamilton knew that it could not be a result of Reaching Dreams, because the majority of places where RD operated did not have such an issue. In addition, some of the Residents that went through the rehabilitation program would ultimately relapse into a life on the streets and return to those shelters. Five cities, five large US cities, stated that those homeless people never returned—women, children, and men alike.

  After she had placed the pins on the map, Hamilton realized that there was something very strange going on. Those five cities—Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and Pittsburgh—formed a small ring on the map. For some reason, that particular region of the country was experiencing something that no other cities were. She continued to stare at the ring, analyzing its structure as if a hidden meaning could be found in its form.

  And then it hit her. All at once, like a punch in the gut, those five names together held a very specific significance to the assistant.

  She felt sick.

  Hamilton called the COO.

  “Paula. I’m still contacting—” Philip Morris started.

  “Stop. I need you to do something else,” she said as fast as she could.

  “Okay. What?”

  “You have the report of recruitments versus rehabilitations?”

  “Sure. The one Charles asked me to do?”

  “Yeah. We used it to determine where he would go undercover. You listed the top districts, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s what he asked for. Uh… yeah. Got it right here.”

  “Are there some districts that seem to be outliers? Far more successful compared to the rest?” Her heart was pounding.

  “Um, yeah. Kind of. Well, definitely yes. The top five are way above everyone else.”

  Shit.

  “What are those five cities?”

  “Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, and then Cincinnati. In that order. Why?”

  Shit.

  Hamilton’s stomach turned uncomfortably. “There may be something happening within the company.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Morris said in alarm.

  “Homeless people are disappearing. So far, based on the shelters people have called, the only cities they are disappearing from are those five you just listed.”

  “Well, um, that could be a result of . . . maybe they’re going through the program? That’s why they’re not going back to the shelters. They’re Graduates of the program and are now—”

  “Look, that is a good thought. I sincerely hope that’s the case. But something isn’t making sense. Charles and those other people went missing in the middle of the night. Reaching Dreams doesn’t recruit in the middle of the night.”

  “But that’s just one case.”

  “What if there really is a problem? We owe it to Charles to at least look into it.”

  The COO paused. She could hear him tapping his fingers on his desk.

  “Alright. Look into it. But I can’t really do much. I’m swamped trying to keep this company moving without Charles. Everyone is.”

  “I know. I should be finding a temporary replacement. But we can’t give up. He’s out there. I just know it.”

  “You have the contact info for
the head of each district?”

  “Yeah. It’s all on the cloud,” Hamilton responded.

  “Okay. I suggest you contact each one of them. Have them do an internal audit. See if they can find any discrepancy in their numbers. That way we can at least say with confidence that RD isn’t doing anything wrong. Alright?”

  “Yeah. Will do. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “I know you will.”

  She had five people to contact: five districts to clear. Part of her hoped she would find something, anything to explain this strange situation, simply to fulfill her own need for answers but also to bring the entire search one step closer to locating her boss and the other missing people. However, the other part of her dreaded what such an answer could mean for the company. If Reaching Dreams was somehow at fault for . . .

  She shuddered.

  Chapter 20

  An explosion of light snapped Charles away from his dreamless sleep and into utter befuddlement. He stared at the ceiling above his head and noticed that it seemed closer than usual. The sheets wrapped around his body were plain white, not the usual teal ones his wife had picked out because they matched her crocheted pillows. And his clothes! What were these drab grey sweats that replaced his favorite plaid pajamas? Within seconds, a period of time all too rapid for his liking, Charles became aware that he was once again waking within the confines of that impenetrable room. He leaned over the railing of the bunk bed and glanced at the space below to find Damian still asleep, rolled onto his side and snoring without a care in the world.

  The CEO sat up and rested against the wall, looking across the small space like a mouse surveying the safety of an open plain, knowing that hawks could be present and wondering whether that moment would be its last. The silence in the room was unnerving, something to which he had not yet grown accustomed, and he listened intently for the beating of his heart, the flowing of his blood, and the movement of his intestines. Charles purposefully rustled his own sheets in order to create some ambient noise, though he did so in a quiet fashion in order to avoid disturbing Damian.