The Insane Train

by Sheldon Russell

  “These cells are locked at all times,” Doctor Helms said. “Your duties here are simple. You’ll help administer the medications I’ve prepared, and you’ll bring the meals from the cafeteria. Do not talk to the inmates more than giving instructions, and do not go into a cell under any circumstances. If there’s an emergency, call me immediately, and I’ll arrange for restraints. Is that clear?”

  They all nodded their heads.

  “Good. Now, this man in room six is Robert Smith. He’s a sexual sadist and extremely dangerous. Believe me when I tell you that he would have no compunction about slitting your throat and watching you choke on your own blood.”

  Seth looked into the cell. Smith sat on the edge of his bunk staring at the wall. He was small, not much bigger than a boy, really, and his face, pockmarked from acne, displayed no emotion. Suddenly, he turned toward Seth and blinked his eyes with the slow deliberateness of a serpent. His tongue slid from his mouth until it reached nearly to his chin. Seth’s bowels churned, and he turned away.

  “Van Diefendorf over here is a pyromaniac,” Helms said, “among other things. He is not to be trusted under any circumstances. Any circumstances. Understood?”

  They all nodded and looked in at Van Diefendorf.

  “All of these inmates suffer from a range of psychotic disorders, most so severe that traditional therapy is ineffectual. Whatever dysfunctions you see in the general population exist here as well, except to the extreme, including insomnia, sexual deviance, eating disorders, identity disorders, and substance abuse of every ilk. Self-mutilation is common.

  “This man in room five sawed open his wrist with a can lid. In room eight is a seventy-year-old grandfather who picked his nose until he destroyed his septum. We tried everything to stop him but to no avail.”

  She stopped and turned to the men. “Do not think for a minute that these men see the world as you do. Do not think they are stupid because they are insane. Many planned their crimes with the most exacting detail and executed it in ways so despicable they cannot be described in mixed company. Some eluded their captors for years through carefully planned deceptions. To assume them to be dull-witted could be the biggest mistake of your life.

  “Now, here in this room is a man you do not have to worry about. He will do you no harm, not now, not ever again. He murdered his teenage daughter for kissing the neighbor boy. In order to avoid punishment, he left his car running in his garage. Unfortunately, he bungled the job. The end result is what you see before you; that was over twenty years ago. The state pays for his care.”

  Seth peeked into the window. The man leaned against the wall. His hair had worn from the back of his head, and the smell of feces seeped from under the door. His hands lay open at his sides, and drool spilled from his lips, soaking the front of his shirt. His eyes reflected outward like mirrors, absorbing nothing from the outside world.

  Roy looked over Seth’s shoulder. “I once dated a girl from Pikesville looked just like that,” he said. “Except she wore heels and shaved every Saturday night, need it or not.”

  Helms turned and looked at Roy. “Jokes are inappropriate. I suggest you dispense with them.”

  Roy glanced at Seth and then at Santos, who was busy studying his feet. “Sorry,” he said.

  Helms then took them to the end of the hall. “This is a panic button,” she said. “It’s called that for obvious reasons. If you should become engaged in a situation, push this button immediately. An alarm will be sounded throughout the compound.” She paused, looking at each of them. “It is the only access to help. Be mindful of where it is in relation to where you are at all times.”

  That morning Seth swept the main hall while Doctor Helms prepared medications for each of the inmates, placing their pills in paper cups, writing the room number on each with a pencil. Roy and Santos went for bathroom and cleaning supplies, sneaking a smoke on the way back.

  At noon, Doctor Helms called Seth into the medications room.

  “I’ve therapy sessions scheduled, Mr. Durand. You are to give these medications to the inmates. The room numbers are on the cups. Slide them through the opening and watch to make certain they are taken. Sometimes they hide the pills under their tongues. If there is a problem, simply wait until I return.”

  “You’re leaving us here?” Seth asked.

  “I’ll be back around three. The other men are to go to the cafeteria and bring back the food carts. Count the eating utensils going in and coming out.”

  “But this is our first day, Doctor Helms.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would not leave the ward under the supervision of new employees, but these are hardly normal circumstances. In any case, the inmates need to become familiar with you and your men since you will be working with them during the transfer. In the final analysis, all you have to do is maintain security. Are you clear on that?”

  “Keep them locked up,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”

  After Roy and Santos left for the cafeteria, Seth stacked the cups of pills on the tray. At each room, he handed the medications through the slot and waited for them to be taken. Most took their medications without comment before turning back to their demons.

  Van Diefendorf in room nine swallowed his in a single gulp, crumpled up the paper cup, and threw it at the window. Seth jumped back, nearly spilling the tray.

  Voices rumbled down the corridor. Seth turned to see the inmates watching him through their windows. Their eyes were still and insidious. His ears went hot.

  When he came to room six he called out Robert Smith’s name. Smith didn’t move, staring at the wall.

  “Medications,” Seth said. “Doctor Helms’s orders.”

  Smith rose from his bunk to stand at the window, looking at Seth with cougar eyes, the eyes of a predator that kills instinctually and without guilt. Seth’s pulse ticked up as he searched through the cups for room six.

  When he pushed the medicine through the slot, Smith reached out and touched Seth’s hand. Seth jerked it back, the coldness of Smith’s touch lingering on his fingers.

  Smith tipped the cup up and swallowed the pills. Then, smiling, turned the cup around to where Seth could see that it had the number 9 written on it rather than the number 6.

  “Oh, shit!” Seth said.

  Smith slid the cup back through the slot, went to his cot, and sat down. Seth’s heart thumped in his chest. What had he done, two inmates with the wrong medications? Maybe he had killed them both. But then maybe it would be alright. It was just one dose after all, and crazy was crazy. Maybe no one would know.

  He finished the last three rooms and returned the tray to the med room. He went back to Smith’s window, and his heart stalled at what he saw. Smith lay unconscious in the corner of his room, his head slumped over.

  “Oh, God,” Seth said, looking about. “I’ve killed him. I have killed him sure.”

  But the ward had fallen silent behind him. No one said that it would be alright, that he’d just had an accident, just a simple mistake and that no one could blame him.

  His hands trembling, he fumbled for the room key, opening the door. Bending over Smith, he put his fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. He’d seen plenty of death in the war. He knew the stillness, the cooling of the skin, the smell of leaking bowels.

  But in that single moment, the moment Smith’s pulse tripped on Seth’s fingertips, he realized his mistake, the biggest mistake of his life.

  Smith came up, driving his fist hard into Seth’s throat. Seth screamed, but nothing came out as his esophagus convulsed under the blow. He struggled to breathe, to stand, to make it to the panic button, now a million miles away.

  If only he could get to the door, escape the madness intent on taking his life. But Smith hit him again, a driving blow that sent Seth reeling. Black spots swam in his eyes, and a high-pitched ringing wormed through his head like a corkscrew.

  Through his fog, he could see the top of Smith’s head, the thin
ning spot on the back where beads of sweat were gathered, and he could feel Smith’s hands and his hot breath. Fire ripped up his groin and settled into the pit of his stomach like molten lava.

  Roy caught Smith under the chin with his knee, snapping his head back against the wall. Smith slid onto the floor, his eyes rolling white. Santos pulled Seth from the room by his arms, and within moments the door to room six slammed shut.

  Roy retrieved water from the medications room and dabbed it on Seth’s face. Seth sat up and looked about, his eyes still filled with terror.

  “It’s alright now,” Roy said.

  Seth rubbed his face and looked over at the locked door.

  “The son of a bitch tricked me,” he said.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t tell Helms about this,” Roy said. “She ain’t much for joking around. We’ll all lose our jobs.”

  Seth steadied himself on trembling arms.

  “Roy, I got to tell you, I’m not so sure about taking this job anymore. It’s a hell of a long trip we got ahead.”

  “I’m mighty tired of sleeping under bridges, Seth, and there’s a chance we could hire on with Baldwin after we get there.”

  Seth looked over at room six. Robert Smith stood at the window with blood in the corners of his mouth. He smiled.

  “But what about him?” Seth said.

  Santos helped Seth stand, steadying him by the arm.

  “You don’t need him,” Santos said, grinning. “I share Bertha.”

  20

  Baldwin sat behind his desk, his great, sad eyes even sadder on this day.

  “It feels a hundred years since I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania,” he said. “I had such dreams.” He turned in his chair to face Hook. “My father worked as a physician for nearly forty years. He had all these expectations for me, none of which included psychiatry.”

  Hook said, “Sons fall short, no matter.”

  Doctor Helms folded her long legs one over the other.

  “There’s a great deal yet to do,” she said.

  “Yes,” Baldwin said. “There’s much to be done. I’ve arranged for cuffs and chains for the security ward. After the inmates are medicated, the process should move along rapidly. Once they’re in the train, perhaps we can take off the restraints.”

  “I think that’s a bad idea,” Hook said. “I’d recommend they stay cuffed to their seats. Perhaps we could get by with just the leg restraints.”

  “I would agree,” Doctor Helms said. “These men are capable of great harm.”

  “Well,” Baldwin said, folding his hands over his stomach. “It strikes me as a bit inhumane. The trip will be strenuous.”

  “It shouldn’t take that long if all goes as planned,” Hook said.

  Baldwin walked to the window. “Security is your job, Mr. Runyon, so I leave the decision to you for now. But I want it understood that these people are not criminals. They are mental patients and are to be treated as such.”

  “I understand,” Hook said. “But they are dangerous and cunning. I can’t take any chances with the safety of the others. Perhaps after we are on our way, we can reconsider.”

  “Well, then,” Helms said. “We best get this started?”

  “There is one other thing I’d like to discuss,” Hook said.

  “And what would that be?” Baldwin asked.

  “Frankie Yager.”

  “What about Frankie?” Baldwin said.

  “Do you know anything of his background?” Hook asked.

  “Baldwin personnel are thoroughly vetted before they’re employed,” Helms said. “Frankie Yager came highly recommended.”

  “What’s your point?” Baldwin said.

  Hook stood and rubbed his shoulder. The weight of the prosthesis hung like a sack of rocks.

  “As you know there have been a number of unhappy incidences here at Baldwin. They have all involved Frankie Yager in one fashion or another.”

  “Could you be more specific?” Helms asked. “Frankie just happened to be absent when a fire burned his ward to the ground,” he said. “And then he somehow managed to escape food poisoning.”

  “Go on, Mr. Runyon,” Baldwin said.

  “I found the oven breaker thrown, which just happened to be located next to the cooler breakers.”

  “I don’t understand,” Baldwin said.

  “I believe that someone may have tripped it accidently when they threw the cooler breaker.”

  “That’s quite a stretch, isn’t it?” Baldwin said.

  “I also believe him to be abusive.”

  “Frankie has been effective at keeping his ward under control,” Doctor Helms said. “Believe me, not everyone can handle those inmates. The fact is we have less trouble with his ward than any other.”

  Hook said, “I’m not certain of this, but there’s some indication he might be sexually involved with one of the female patients.”

  “Oh?” Baldwin said.

  “You mean Bertha?” Helms said. “Nurse Andrea mentioned this to me. What you must realize is that this sort of allegation can easily get blown out of proportion in an institution such as this. You see, Bertha is in here for pestering her neighbor until the poor man lost his family over it.”

  Hook walked to Baldwin’s bookshelves. He had a nice 1913 Interpretation of Dreams by Freud.

  “All I know is that in the real world coincidences are rare. At this point Frankie Yager has had more than his lifetime share.”

  Doctor Baldwin paced behind his desk, his hands clasped at his back.

  “Doctor Helms is right,” he said. “This is an insane asylum. One has to be careful with allegations made by patients.”

  “I think Frankie deserves the benefit of the doubt here,” Helms said.

  “Perhaps you should consider removing him from the boys’ ward as a precaution,” Hook said. “Keep him away from the women until we have a chance to check things out. We can’t afford trouble on this trip.”

  “Nor can we afford to run help off,” Helms said. “Frankie is experienced and capable.”

  Baldwin shrugged. “We could assign him to the security ward section of the train, I suppose,” he said. “Until we know if these allegations have any merit.”

  Helms glanced at Hook. “Would that work for you, Mr. Runyon?”

  “For the time being,” Hook said.

  “Then so be it,” Helms said.

  “Fine, then,” Baldwin said. “We’ll assign Frankie to the security ward for the duration. Now, I must be on my way.”

  “Will you not be assisting in administering the chloral hydrate to the inmates?” Helms asked Baldwin.

  “Perhaps you could handle it, Doctor Helms. I’ve arranged to meet with the Howard Real Estate Agency in town. It’s my hope to sell the property here soon.”

  “The train is ready for departure the moment we’re loaded,” Hook said. “Any delay invites trouble.”

  “I’ll meet you at the train,” Baldwin said.

  “I’ve requested sandwiches be prepared at the Harvey House,” Hook said. “Apparently meals were not arranged for today.”

  “My fault. I’m afraid it slipped my mind,” Doctor Baldwin said. “I’ve been preoccupied. I’ll see the food is delivered.”

  After leaving his sidearm at the office, Hook and Doctor Helms walked over to the security ward. Roy met them at the door.

  “I thought maybe you and Seth ran off to Germany where it’s safe,” Roy said.

  “I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” Hook said.

  “I been here by myself,” Roy said.

  “It’s right uncomfortable.”

  “Where’s the security guard?” Helms asked.

  “He just up and left. Said most likely he wouldn’t get his pay anyway.”

  “You’ve been here alone?” Hook asked.

  “No, I been here with the biggest collection of misfits this side of Texas.”

  “I might put you up for a medal, Roy. It’s damn fine duty you pulled.
”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m a little nerved up myself, Hook. The inmates are all in a stir, figuring something’s amiss what with the comings and goings.”

  “I have the chloral hydrate in pill form,” Helms said. “It’s mild enough to induce calmness, not so strong as to put them to sleep, at least not right away.”

  “I could use a little chlorine myself,” Roy said.

  Helms looked over her glasses. “We’ll start at the far end with Van Diefendorf. He’s usually compliant in these matters.”

  Hook and Roy waited as Helms prepared the doses. She placed cups of water on a tray and handed it to Roy.

  When they approached Van Diefendorf’s cell, he moved to the back.

  “We’d like for you to take your medication now,” Doctor Helms said.

  Van Diefendorf turned his back to them and edged into the corner.

  “It’s alright,” Doctor Helms said. “Just something to calm you.”

  Van Diefendorf hung his head.

  “Maybe he’d drink some shine,” Roy said.

  “We want him calm, not comatose,” Hook said.

  Helms unlocked the door. “I’m going in,” she said.

  “Are you certain?” Hook asked.

  “Roy, bring the water.”

  “Me?”

  “He won’t hurt you here,” she said. “It’s not his style.”

  Roy followed Helms into the cell and looked back over his shoulder at Hook.

  “I think I like living under a bridge,” he said.

  She took Van Diefendorf by the arm. “You must take your medications.”

  Suddenly Van Diefendorf lurched toward Roy, knocking him off balance. Roy tipped the tray, sloshing the cups of water. Hook started to move in, but Helms held up her hand.

  “It’s alright,” she said, taking a cup off the tray. “Here, Mr. Van Diefendorf, I know how much you dislike the straitjacket.”

  Van Diefendorf hesitated, took the cup, and washed down his pill.

  “Good,” Helms said. “Now to the others.”

  They worked their way down the cell block. Most of the inmates took their medications without protest, peering over the tops of their cups with blank eyes. It took longer with the inmate who had failed in his suicide. He repeatedly spewed the pill back until it had dissolved on his chin and had to be replaced.