by Gary Jonas
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
About the Author
RAZOR DREAMS
A Jonathan Shade Novel
by Gary Jonas
This one’s for Andrea, who keeps me honest.
CHAPTER ONE
“You don't exist,” the man in the straitjacket said as I walked down the dingy hallway of the asylum. The place looked like something out of a horror movie with dark corridors, abandoned rooms, and weird stains on the floors, but this particular wing was operational.
I gave the guy in the jacket a suspicious look. “I'm here,” I said, “so I do exist.”
He nodded and his greasy hair flopped in stringy whips across his forehead, nearly slapping him in the eyes. He hadn't shaved in days and probably hadn't bathed either. His filthy clothes clung to his emaciated body, and he kept turning his head in little circles as though watching a fly buzzing around his face.
“Don't talk to the crazies,” Esther said.
I glanced at—well, slightly through—Esther’s ghostly form, clothed in her standard flapper dress. Her dark hair was bobbed short.
“Don't call me crazy,” the man said. “That's rude! Rude, I tell you!”
“He heard me?” Esther said, surprised.
“Of course I can hear you,” the man said. “You're floating right there.” He nodded right at her.
“Maybe you're not in full command of your new powers,” I said to Esther. Up until a week and a half ago, she'd been tied to the keys of her typewriter and couldn't venture farther than fifteen feet from one of them. She had been invisible and inaudible to everyone but me and a select few in the magical community. Now she could will herself to be seen and heard, and she was free to go anywhere she wanted. Once she'd been somewhere, she could instantly pop back to that place, but otherwise, she had to make the journey.
“I'm running on all sixes, Jonathan,” Esther said. “He shouldn't be able to see me.”
“But I can,” the man said. “You're pretty.”
Esther touched her hair. “Thank you,” she said then glared at him. “Now scram!”
“No respect from the dead,” the man said as he wandered off, tossing the occasional glance back at us.
“That was odd,” I said. “Now what did you want to show me?”
“This way,” Esther said and moved down the hall.
“You could just tell me,” I said. “This is not exactly a place I want to spend a lot of time.”
“Afraid they won't let you go?”
“Very funny. What makes you think this is what we need?”
“I saw something go in here,” Esther said and pointed at a locked door. Chains wrapped the handles together, and a heavy steel padlock kept everything in place.
A sign on the door read, Keep Out. This Means You.
I stepped up to the chained door and was about to ask Esther a question, but a gray-haired, heavyset woman in a lab coat holding a clipboard stepped out of a room slightly behind me. Her eyes locked onto me with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.
“I don't believe we've met,” she said. “I'm Dr. Anderson.”
I wore an expensive suit and tie beneath a similar borrowed lab coat. I glanced down at the name badge on my lapel. “Colin Fletcher,” I said and extended a hand.
She frowned and looked at my hand as though it might be diseased. “Never heard of you. I know Anthony Fletcher, one of our main doctors.”
“No relation,” I said and stuck my hand in my pocket. Since she wasn't going to accept a handshake, I knew I'd need to change things up on her. I wasn't supposed to be here, and I'd seen the photo of Dr. Fletcher's family on the desk in his office where I'd borrowed the lab coat. His wife and kids were black.
“I know that,” she said. “Tell me why you're here, Dr. Fletcher.” I could tell she wanted to challenge me more directly, but she must have noticed the cut of my Brioni suit or the elegant pair of Tanino Crisci Lilian shoes adoring my feet. I might not be James Bond, but I could afford to dress like him.
“Didn't they tell you?” I gave her a smile. “I'm here to check out the building before I decide whether or not to purchase it.”
“This facility is not for sale.”
I kept the smile going. “For the right price, everything is for sale.”
“Why would you want the building?”
“I'm a neurosurgeon and an entrepreneur. I want the building here on Long Island to set up my own R&D lab. I developed new instrumentation for stereotactic surgery that could prove beneficial to—” I shrugged. “Sorry, I don't need to bore you with all that. Let's just say the location of this facility is ideal.”
“What happens to the patients we have here now?” she asked.
“They'll be relocated, of course.” I held the tone of a man who was used to people doing what he said when he said it, and she fell in line with it. Generally, if you pretend you belong someplace and carry yourself that way, most people will accept it.
The man in the straitjacket wandered up behind me again.
“A demon is killing my friends,” he said.
Dr. Anderson frowned at him. She seemed to do that a lot. “Stuart, go back to your room. How did you get out again?”
“I see the demon walking the halls, checking the rooms, eating the souls.”
“Does it live behind that door?” I asked.
“Don't encourage the patients, Dr. Fletcher.”
“I don't know if it's a demon,” Esther said, “but I saw something in there last night.”
I didn't reply because Esther was translucent. When she let other people see her, she looked more solid to me.
“It's definitely a demon,” Stuart said. “It has razor-sharp claws, and turns to smoke to get under the door.”
“I think it's time for your medication, Stuart,” Dr. Anderson said. She reached to take his sleeve, but he pulled away.
“No!” he said. “This guy can stop the demon!”
“How? By paying it to leave?”
“No, you don't get it.” Stuart pointed his chin at me. “He's the only one who can save us!”
She rolled her eyes. “Why?”
“Because unlike the demon, he doesn't exist.”
“And it's definitely medicine time,” she said and grabbed him. She looked at me. “Nobody told me you were coming. I need to take care of Stuart, but I'll be back. Do you want me to call the administrator to have him give you a tour?”
“No need, thanks.”
“You still don't get it,” Stuart said as she walked him down the hall. “You can see him. You can talk to him. But he's not here!”
He was almost right. I did exist. But I wasn't supposed to.
When they were out of hearing range, I tapped the metal door. “Okay, Esther, is the demon back there now?”
She poked her head through the door then pulled back. “Too dark. Can't see anything.”
/> I hefted the chains then took the lock and pulled on it. “Alas, I'm not Superman. Think you can find a key to the lock?”
“You're the private dick,” she said.
I grinned and opened my mouth to say something witty, but Dr. Anderson yelled down the hall at me.
“Dr. Fletcher! You are not authorized to go through that door!”
I turned and leaned against the door. “Why not?” I asked.
“Nobody goes through there,” she said as she approached. “It's not safe.”
“I'm not worried about safety,” I said. “I accept full responsibility.”
“That wing was scheduled for reconstruction, but the funding fell through. The floors and walls were damaged by an explosion last year.”
“Not my problem. I want to see the closed wing. Do you have a key?”
“No, Dr. Fletcher. I told you it's not safe.”
“Worried about your job?”
“Of course not. I'm on loan to this facility. I have a practice in Midtown.”
A janitor came around the far corner. He was an older black man pushing a dust mop. He wore gray coveralls and had a rag hanging out of his back pocket. “Good afternoon, Dr. Anderson,” he said as he pushed his broom toward us.
“Hello, Martin. Have you seen Dr. Cooper?”
“No, ma'am.” He stopped and leaned on the broom handle, gazing at me with some suspicion. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Colin Fletcher, neurosurgeon.”
“Why are you wearing Dr. Fletcher's lab coat?”
“I'm Dr. Fletcher,” I said. “Just not the Dr. Fletcher who works here. Do you have a key to this lock?”
“The chip in the name badge tells me that's our Dr. Fletcher's coat.” He shook his head. “You may talk all fancy and walk in here wearing thousand-dollar shoes, which got Dr. Anderson all flustered, but you ain't shit in my book. I been working here for forty years.”
“Good for you,” I said. “I'm simply touring the building to--”
“You ain't on the schedule, and I don't buy for a second that your name is Fletcher.”
“How dare you speak to me like that,” I said.
“Who are you really?” Martin asked, looking bored.
“He's not even here!” Stuart yelled as he broke out of his room again.
Martin glanced over his shoulder. “Stuart, get your ass back in your room right now.”
Stuart hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and backed into his room. The door clicked shut.
“For a janitor, you have a lot of power,” I said.
“For a so-called neurosurgeon, you don't,” he said. “Do I need to call the five-oh?”
“Do I need to call the mayor?”
“You don't know the mayor,” Martin said.
“Guess I can't baffle you with bullshit.”
“You're not a doctor?” Dr. Anderson asked. She looked surprised, relieved, and pissed off all at the same time. I ignored her.
“You still haven't answered my question,” Martin said.
“You don't need to call the five-oh,” I said.
“My other question.”
“Fine. Truth be told, I'm conducting an investigation,” I said.
He just blinked, his expression not changing at all.
“A friend of mine heard a scream in here last night, and she wanted me to check into it.”
“People scream in here every night, Bullshit-Man. We call that normal here.”
“I'll go call the police,” Dr. Anderson said.
“Ain't necessary,” Martin said. “Colin here was just leaving.”
“The sheba died,” Esther said. “Tell him that.”
“And what about the girl who died in here last night?”
“How did you--?” Dr. Anderson caught herself a moment too late.
Martin gave her a look that said, Really? “I'll play your game, Colin. We did have a female patient die in here last night, and yes, she did scream a few minutes before the orderlies found her. But—and listen carefully here, sir, because I don't like to repeat myself—the medical examiner said it was of natural causes.”
“Nothing natural about it,” Esther said. “A thing with long claws bumped her off.”
“Any signs of trauma?” I asked.
“Did I stutter? Natural causes.”
“I don't believe you.”
“I don't give a good goddamn what you believe. What happened here ain't none of your business. Now get out before I throw you out.”
I looked him up and down. “I don't like your chances,” I said.
“Son, now you're just pissing me off. Get your ass out of here.”
Stuart poked his head out the door. “Don't go!” he yelled. “You're the only one who can stop it!”
“He going on about that demon again?” Martin asked.
Dr. Anderson nodded.
“Dr. Fletcher shouldn't let him watch them scary movies.” Martin aimed the broom handle at me. “You, get walking. Your ass needs to be out of here inside of thirty seconds, or I'm calling the cops.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “I was never here.”
Esther and I moved down the hallway, turned toward the entrance, passed through the lobby, and stepped outside.
“You need to go back,” Esther said. “Something is there and it's bumping people off.”
“Calm down,” I said as we stood in the warm June air. “We can try again later. What makes you think it will work for our purposes?”
“Before I tell you that, I'm going to pop away for a minute. When I'm gone, you look inside again.”
“Oh, come on, Esther.”
“Don't flap your gums at me, Jonathan. I'll be back, but you need to go back inside while I'm gone.”
She popped away.
I sighed. “Whatever.”
When I turned back to the building, it looked and felt different.
“Okay,” I said as the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.
I moved to the door but it was locked. The place looked to be in disrepair. I picked the lock in less time than it takes to tell you about it, pushed the door open, and stepped into an abandoned psychiatric hospital. Graffiti adorned the walls. Dusty chairs and junk lay strewn about in a haphazard manner. The air smelled ancient, and cobwebs and asbestos decorated the ceiling.
“What the hell?”
I moved inside and maneuvered my way down the hallway we'd just traversed.
The hall was vacant. There were no lights. The place stank of urine and mold. A raccoon skittered across the floor, saw me, and darted back into an open doorway. I moved in that direction, pulling out my cell phone and using the flashlight app to guide my way. A tattered bed held the door to the patient room open.
Where had Martin gone? Where was Dr. Anderson? What about Stuart?
Esther popped back into the hallway, and the lights instantly came on, the graffiti vanished, the smell switched from ancient decay to disinfectant. And Martin pushed his dust mop toward the chained door at the end of the hall. He turned around to come back toward me, and when he spotted me, he frowned.
“I thought I told you to get out of here!”
Stuart poked his head out of his room and said, “None of us exist.”
CHAPTER TWO
Kings Park Psychiatric Center closed in 1996, but some of the buildings still remained. I'd been living in the New York area for less than two weeks, so I didn't know jack or shit about the place, though it was evidently a location used in some horror movies. For good reason.
I spent the afternoon doing research. The previous year, one of the buildings caught fire, but since then, there hadn't been much news about the center.
“It changed on me when I got close to it,” Esther said when I asked her about it. “From a distance, it looked abandoned, but when I got closer, it transformed. Then I heard that scream, and I went inside.”
“And you saw a demon?”
“I saw something with claws,�
� Esther said. “It wasn't human. I scrammed before it saw me.”
“So did we step into the past?”
“Again, you're the private dick. You tell me.”
“I sure hope not. After what we've been through, I'm not a fan of time travel.”
“It's close enough to being a case, though, right?”
“Something weird might be going on.”
“So it will work?”
“I'd rather have something a lot closer to the hotel,” I said.
“I've been searching.”
“It's fifty miles away,” I said, and Esther's shoulders slumped. I didn't want her to feel bad, and we hadn't found anything else, so I finally nodded. “But it's worth looking into,” I said.
“Attaboy!” Esther said. “I knew this was the one.”
So I started clicking around on the laptop. Esther and I were alone in my hotel room. Kelly and Rayna were out enjoying Manhattan, comparing its current state to that of the 1920s, which was where we'd been up until ten days ago. The biggest difference in my view was that now the city looked as if someone had grabbed a bunch of skyscrapers and jam-packed them onto the island. That and the fact that people went into withdrawal if someone hasn't honked a horn in the past thirty seconds, even at two in the damn morning.
Kelly, Rayna, and I had yet to discuss anything about our current situation. They were still pissed at me for a variety of reasons, but while they thought it was risky for me to cash in on my investments, they didn't seem to mind spending my money. We needed to talk, but they weren't ready, so I hoped Esther's mysterious asylum would prove to be a nice distraction.
Poking around online told me that people claimed to see ghosts clad in white with fiery red eyes roaming the property around the abandoned asylum. As someone who could see ghosts, I knew the only ghost I'd encountered there was Esther. But something strange had happened, and if it was a time vortex, I wanted to know.
People often died in mental hospitals, and anything unusual would get listed as natural causes, so I wasted a bit of time looking for lawsuits from family members. No luck.
I Googled Dr. Anthony Fletcher but got no results in New York. I didn't have any other full names. I tried Googling Dr. Cooper and Dr. Anderson, and even janitor Martin and inmate Stuart, but those were pointless.