Seven-X

by Mike Wech

  I could feel it in her voice, she was scared. I told her, “Mel... Mel! C’mon. Ain’t no such thing. When billions are at stake, people make shit up. Break shit up! Fake shit up! You know that. We covered an election for Christ sakes."

  Just then, who should appear out back, but Aida Mae, peeping her head around the corner, saying, “You’re meatloaf is getting cold. Want me to put it back in the oven, honey?”

  “No," I told her. "I’ll be right in."

  Now back to Mel. “Baby, I got to head back. I’m mailing you the hard drive tomorrow. Take the video of Annette Dobson to Carl and tease him with it. Let him know, I’m not messing around, and tell him I want my next advance and all expenses paid now. Got it.”

  “Yeah. Call me tomorrow," Mel begged. "Please, don’t let a week go by, Eddie. It scares me. I worry about you.”

  “Don’t. I got to run," I told her before saying, "I love you.”

  “Love you too. Lot's Eddie.” I knew she meant it. And the next words were hard for me to say, “Bye.”

  "Bye," she said and hung up.

  And that was that.

  God, women are exhausting. See. My brains all off. I can't think about her now. I need to rest. And I'm not getting it at the Mad Villa. She's got me thinking about everything. Damn it!

  I better head back inside and finish my food and concentrate on what I need to do now. I've got water and canned goods. I don’t have my hard drive. All those files are still being copied. I've got to head back. What am I thinking?

  See, bitches make you loco. And as if I needed any more proof, here she comes right on cue, bobbing her head like Daisy May Dukes, with a flick of her hair, asking, “You alright?”

  “Great. Aida, thanks," I told her, trying to keep myself composed. "I’m addicted to your meatloaf.”

  “Thanks," she smiled. "I made it with love. If you make everything with love it just comes out better.”

  “I guess so. Thank you,” I told her. What else could I say? Oh, I know. “Aida, what do you know about Reverend Billings?”

  “Well he seems nice. He comes in after church sometime. But I never go there. I’m not the religious type.”

  “Don’t worry. Me neither. You believe in demons though, right?”

  “I don’t know. I guess," she answered. "People do some bad things. Just God-awful stuff. I don’t even watch the news anymore. They just shoot each other like animals, and carve them up like a chicken, and not even think one was the other. People and animals, I mean. Not chickens.”

  “Believe me, you don’t want to be a reporter.”

  “No. I’m happy here. Real happy," she said, as she cleaned up around me. "I mean everyone here’s pretty nice. Except Geoffrey. Now if anyone’s got a demon, it’s that boy. I’m real sorry ‘bout the blood he rubbed on you. He’s just not all there. His mama drinks all night. She’s mean. She’s an ornery little bitch. I hate to say it, but she is.”

  “It’s alright. Geoffrey. That Goth kid with the eyeliner?” I asked.

  “Evil little child. I’m convinced he killed Rhonda Daniels cat. Not no animal that did that. It was that boy. I know it.”

  “You know anyone in town named Ose.”

  “Not off hand, hon,” she said casually moving between the tables.

  I told her, “You mentioned that name to me. Last time I was here. You said Ose was calling me.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember that. And I’d remember Ose. What an unusual name. Ose.”

  “Yeah, It is," I said. "You told me that. You said you thought Uphir was demon possessed. You called it the heartbeat of hell.”

  “I did. I am genuinely sorry I said that," she replied, moving over to the next table to wipe down. "My memory is not real good. Sometimes I guess I say stuff. I don’t even know what. I guess I just hear things and say them. I say my thoughts, maybe. Is that weird? Am I weird?”

  “I think you’re fine,” I assured her.

  “I just did. I realized it, ‘cuz I was talking about with you. But I heard it again. Should I just say it?”

  “If you want,” I told her.

  “You won’t stiff me on my tip,” she said, turning back to me.

  “No. I promise. I promise,” I said again, reassuring her, but needing to get that information.

  “Okay, well here goes. I’m just saying what I heard," she told me, before closing her eyes and letting out a rush of breath. ‘It’s your last chance to turn around.’ Whatever that means. That’s just what I heard. I’m sorry,” she said, scurrying away from my table.

  “It’s alright. How’d you hear it?”

  She stopped and looked back. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded.

  She got quiet for a second, and then in this girlish, shy voice she says, almost embarrassed, “Like a friend talking to me. Been like that since I was little. We played games and made cookies. I know it’s just my thoughts, but they run wild. It’s kind of how I am. I just always heard stuff.”

  “That’s fine. If you hear anything else. Let me know.”

  “Will do?" she said walking back toward the kitchen." You want some coffee, dear?”

  “I’m good. I need to get going, but thank you for everything," I said getting up and leaving money on the counter.

  “Thank you. You have a nice night,” she replied, putting the money in the register, then heading back into the kitchen. I got about halfway to the door when she ran back out yelling, “I just did. It just came. I heard it. ‘It’s in the cards.’ How do you like that? That’s what I heard. 'It’s in the cards.' I just get the funniest stuff. In the cards. That doesn’t even make sense, but I thought you may need... to know that.” Then she turned and walked back into the kitchen.

  Now that was strange. Aida Mae is no Rhodes scholar. She’s out there. But this did make some sense to me. There’s no way she could know about my tarot reading, or how Sandra told me to turn back. Am I just lying on a pile of coincidence? In a way, it’s maddening. I don’t want to figure it out. I want to drink. I wanna get my story done, get my money and get the fuck out of here!

  I should hit that liquor store on my way back. If El Paso weren’t so damn far, I’d head over and party. But I've got to be ready for tomorrow. Drinking and a two-hour road trip ain’t smart. I’ll be a responsible alcoholic and drink at home.

  JOURNAL ENTRY:

  MONDAY DECEMBER 13, 2010 - 9:43 PM

  I hate driving here at night! First off. There’s no signs and no lights. No GPS. Not even a map. These roads are archaic. I want to use that word. That’s my new word. “ARCHAIC!” If you can’t drive down it on Google, it’s archaic. I’m in The Land of The Lost, without Will Farrell.

  It felt like I was driving in circles and took me over an hour to get back here from the junction at the 160. Winding around trees with dead ends, and roads that split, curve and circle around, you get lost, then wind up in Jason’s cabin from Friday the 13th, or hit some tree, or a deer, or maybe some demon jumps out at you.

  Who knows here? You drive two, three miles around these pitch-black, dirt roads, weaving around like a ride at Universal Studios, then bang you hit this wedge of forest, and there it is, hidden in the back. The asylum.

  Renaldo Gonzalez led the way and I’m going to dedicate this road to him. I hence dub thee, Renaldo Gonzalez Drive. Named after the soon to be famous, prison guard who watched them secretly ship Timothy Nathan Tyler and Annette Dobson into “The Heartbeat Of Hell.”

  If I was a pussy, I’d be terrified. But I’m a reporter. I've seen crazier shit.

  Infiltrate a drug gang. Get that story without getting killed. Been there, done that! You don’t get fat stacks of cash without taking risks, and this boys and girls, is not a risk. Fake crazy for money is a pharmaceutical company’s wet dream.

  I know they only let me in, because I knew about Dobson and Tyler. It makes me think. What if they take other prisoners out here too, not just death row inmates? They could have shipped hundre
ds of prisoners to places like this. Somebody with nothing to lose, who can’t do another day in the pen, or someone who’s marked and going down inside. Send them over to “Club Dread” and let them play with the doctors. It’s their only way out alive. So they come on an all expenses paid trip to the Entertainment Capitol of Uphir.

  Welcome to WARD E boys and girls. Inside Uphir’s Behavioral Health Center.

  “The Dungeon of Death,” on E’s True Hollywood Story. I have to go back there tonight! To Ward E. I’ll bring my camera and get what I missed the first time. One more shot of Jagemeister and I’m good to go.

  VIDEO LOG:

  MONDAY DECEMBER 13, 2010 – 11:25 PM

  ENTERED BY MELODY SWANN

  This is the second part of the second batch of recordings from Eddie. I’ll add my notes as I watch. Eddie’s is pointing the camera at himself. He’s drunk. I can tell by the look in his eye. I’ve seen it enough times. His brass balls pop out and he’s the life of the party. Mr. TV Host. That’s why I love you Eddie. You’re a trip.

  “Hey! It’s the one and only Eddie Hansen, in the flesh, on December the thirteenth. Look at this. Are you scared?”

  MELODY: It looks like a Steven King movie. In a way, it’s beautiful. Gothic architecture is amazing. They don’t make buildings like this anymore. I remember Eddie said before he left that this was undiscovered history, swept under the rug of misinformation. We’re rediscovering our piece of American insanity. That’s what Eddie said. He is in rare form, wasted.

  “That’s Ward E, my friends. Patients, or should I say hostages, call it ‘The Cutting Room’ because inside these insidious walls, their skulls are torn into. You will soon meet two death row inmates reported dead by the state of Texas. And only I, Eddie Hansen, will bring them back from the dead, straight to you!

  Annette Dobson and Timothy Nathan Tyler were bad people who committed atrocious crimes. But is what’s happening to them now, karma or torture? Tyler had an ice pick jammed through his eyeball, directly into his frontal lobe. Is this payback for his crime, or heinous torture for attempting to rat out dirty little secrets from the drug company, he once worked for?

  You may be ingesting their chemicals right now, involuntarily, and you wonder why you don’t feel so good today. Why you can’t shake that headache? Why you feel agitated, uncomfortable, scared to death watching me walk across the grounds of this mental institution, alone at night. Come along for the ride. The stairwell around this corner leads to the dungeon, where evil lives… Hey! What the fuck, man!”

  Melody: Someone shined a flashlight on Eddie. It’s security. That guy looks like a pro wrestler. He’s huge.

  “You can’t go there. Turn around,” the guy warned Eddie.

  “Hey, it’s Curtis. Remember me bro, Eddie.”

  “Yeah. Turn around.”

  “I need to see Timmy Timmy Tyler.”

  “You don’t have permission,” the guy said, stepping in front of Eddie.

  “Doc said its cool. Ask him?”

  “Don’t matter. Turn around.”

  “C’mon man. It’ll just take a minute.”

  Melody: Eddie tried to go past him but that dude knocked him down like a rag doll. He’ll kick Eddie’s ass. Don’t put your beer muscles on, Eddie. He’s serious.

  “Eddie, I like you, man. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Let me go in,” Eddie begged.

  The guard pulled out his club and warned Eddie, “Turn around or I’ll beat you down.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Eddie said, pointing the camera at him.

  “Turn the camera off. Turn it off!” the guard warned, pulling the club out and pulling back to strike.

  “Step back man. It’s off. It’s off,” Eddie answered, laying the camera down.

  Melody: I’m adding Eddie’s audio file here. I guess he had the recorder in his pocket still on, because this file was created December 13, 2010 at 11:28 PM, and it’s the same as Eddie’s tape up to this point. So he must have turned the camera off and had this running. I’ll continue here as I listen.

  “It’s off. It’s off. See! It’s off. Curtis, look. You can hold it. Just don’t break it like Santiago did. That idiot pounded a nail in. Cost me three hundred bucks.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  “What do you mean, no he didn’t.”

  “It wasn’t a nail. That thing ripped part of his leg off," the guard told Eddie. "Skinned him down to the bone.”

  “You serious?”

  "Dead," replied the guard. "He’s laid up in Ward A. Freaked out of his mind.”

  “That’s why I haven’t seen him,” Eddie said.

  “Stay away from E.”

  “Hey Curtis. I got a nice bottle of Jagemeister here. Want it?”

  “Give me.”

  “So you been down there?” Eddie asked.

  “Hell no. Not inside. You need the key, code, fingerprints. Only Doctor Haworth has access. You can only get as far as the tunnel at D.”

  “What’s down there?”

  “Don’t care. Don’t want to know,” the guy told Eddie.

  “How long you been here, bro?”

  “Too long.”

  “Ever want to leave?”

  “Can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” Eddie asked.

  “Make the best of it, Eddie. Obey and you get promoted to guard or cook or maintenance. It ain’t that bad then. Just follow the rules,” the guy told Eddie.

  “Let’s go down. You and me.”

  “No.”

  “Curtis, c’mon.”

  “NO! No. I can’t let you.”

  “I’ll give you five hundred bucks. Cash!”

  “What am I going to do with money, Eddie?”

  “What do want?”

  “You got any more of that?” the guard asked.

  “Two bottles. Case of Bud. What do you want?”

  “All of it!”

  “What? Come on man.” Eddie whined.

  “You heard me. All of it! I’ll get you a key for the tunnel to D. Go wherever you want at night. When I want more, you get it. Deal.”

  “Yeah. Deal,” Eddie agreed.

  “And I ain’t going down to get you. You get your legged ripped off, your heart pulled out of your chest, don’t call me. Got it! You die, it ain’t on me.”

  “No problem, bro. Come by later and I’ll hook you up.”

  “Go! Before anyone sees us!”

  “I need my camera,” Eddie asked.

  “Can’t.”

  “What?”

  “If they find tapes out here. I ain’t going to the hole for you. Pick it up at the gate. And bring me the booze.”

  “Relax man, we’re friends, right. We look out for each other.”

  “If you say. The gate,” the guard told Eddie.

  “Yeah. See ya round…”

  Melody: I hear that guard Curtis walk away. Eddie’s still talking to himself or us.

  “That was interesting," said Eddie continuing his quest. "I hope you hear me friends because we’re going to take a detour when Curtis is out of sight. Who wants to hear the gruesome sounds of WARD E? It’s around the next building. I hear something. Listen.”

  Melody: I can’t tell, but I hear Eddie’s footsteps on the grass and a humming sound like a generator. Wait, I hear something, like an animal groaning. Eddie's talking.

  “Listen close. Hear it… Someone is screaming. I can hear it through concrete walls. I’m going to get closer.”

  Melody: I hear it. That’s desperate. It’s disturbing.

  “Sounds like a horror movie, huh? Listen! I think there’s more than one person there. Listen. I’m getting closer… Ahhh!”

  I think Eddie just threw up. I can hear him gagging.

  “Ahhh. Fuck. Shit. Ahhh!”

  He’s gagging. I hear someone now. I think they are being tortured. Or worse. I think of concentration camps and prisoners of war and I can’t imagine anyone hurting worse than what I’m hearing.
It sounds worse than that movie Hostel. I don’t know why, but that’s what I keep seeing in my mind, listening to this. I feel like I’m watching the scene where that torturer burns out the Asian girl’s eyeball, and it’s just hanging off her face. Why am I even thinking of this and listening. I can’t Eddie. I’m turning it off. I don’t care. You listen. You sick bastard.

  JOURNAL ENTRY:

  TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 3:03 AM

  It’s three after three in the morning. Something shook my bed so hard it woke me up. Maybe a water pipe burst or generator, because I got no electricity. I’m freezing my ass off. The lights are out. I’m using my computer and phone to see.

  It’s a long hike to the guard’s gate. I called. No one answered. Maybe he’s investigating the explosion or passed out.

  I should just wait and see if someone comes here. My nerves are fried. That trip to Ward E wore me out. I can’t even listen to the tape. When I hear it, I start thinking of that smell and want to vomit again. I can’t describe it.

  Burning flesh, sulfur, decomposing animals, rotted fish, piss, shit, bile, infected skin, all came to mind, as that river of sewage punctured my nose. I looked down and realized the soft, wet ground I was kneeling on was filled with half frozen maggots devouring, what looked like the torn off leg of some animal. And my hand was sitting in the guts. But that smell wasn’t coming from the animal. It came from inside the dimly lit fires of Ward E.

  I feel something moving over my head. Watching me. I swear there’s this dark, black shadow moving across my ceiling. Maybe it’s a shadow of me reflected. I’m going to close my laptop and see if I still see it. I wish I had my camera, because I really think I see something. Hold on. I’m going to record this.

  AUDIO LOG: