Reunion (A Psychological Suspense with Murder, Mystery and the Paranormal)

by Jeff Bennington

  “We’ve got to fight back!” he said. “He’s toying with us!”

  Tanner looked out into the dark cafeteria and raised his arms up to provoke David’s spirit. “Come on, you son of a bitch! Show yourself! We’re not afraid of you!”

  “Why do you want to kill us?” shouted Kate with tears in her eyes, trembling. “What do you want?”

  Noah shushed them, with a finger to his lips. Everyone stood still. He shouted into the echoing space, “Do you want us to kill you?”

  A loud hammering noise pounded in the distance.

  Tanner flinched. “Is that a yes?”

  “What was th—”

  BANG! BANG! The noise interrupted Kate.

  “There it is again! It’s coming from the boiler room,” said Noah.

  “It’s just thunder,” blustered Bryan.

  “No! I think it’s David,” asserted Noah.

  “How can that be?” asked Lana. “David’s dead!” She started crying. Noah put his arm around her.

  “Yeah. How can we kill someone who’s already dead?” asked Kate.

  “You can’t.” Noah answered sternly. “What’s dead is dead. He’s just trying to communicate with us. And sometimes the message gets distorted. Sometimes what we hear isn’t always what the spirit wants to say.”

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Kate and Lana shrieked in fear.

  “That’s it! I’m going after him!” insisted Tanner as he picked up the flashlight. He stepped away from the group and looked toward the hallway leading to the boiler room. “Anyone wanna join me?”

  Bryan replied, “I’ll come.”

  Tanner’s shoulders dropped in displeasure, knowing that he was coming only as a show of penance for Kate. “Fine.”

  “I’ll stay with Lana and Kate,” said Noah. “You two go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

  Tanner and Bryan walked back down the hallway to find the source of the noise. The voices of those remaining behind grew faint as Tanner and Bryan walked on. Bryan took the flashlight from Tanner and swung the beam, looking into the darkness. They moved forward, silently, toward the boiler room.

  23rd

  Outside, the light rain had escalated into a clamoring thunderstorm. The air coming through the vent filled Larry’s car with the smell of wet earth. His windshield wipers moved at full speed, splashing sheets of water off the front window with each swipe. Larry’s eyes strained to see the road ahead as he passed a green sign that read “Mount Carmel State Institution—2 miles.”

  “Thank God,” he said to himself.

  He nudged Nick with his elbow.

  “Nick!”

  Nick grunted.

  “We’re almost there. D’you see the lights up ahead?”

  Nick nodded.

  “That’s Mount Carmel.”

  Nick stretched his legs and sat up.

  “Get any sleep?” asked Larry.

  Sluggishly Nick replied, “No. Just watchin’ the rain and thinking.”

  The yellow lines on the road zipped by and the lights from the institute grew larger by the second. Larry slowed down and merged onto the exit ramp. To his right, he could see the lighted courtyard guarded by a tall chain-link fence. Were it not for the rain, darkness and the present circumstances, he thought he might have enjoyed the picturesque campus. Constructed on eighty acres of rolling woodlands, the craftsman-style buildings accentuated the beautifully landscaped facility. Sadly, it housed people who could seldom appreciate it.

  • • •

  As they pulled into the parking lot, Nick sat up and glanced at the three-story dormitory that he knew housed the state’s most hopeless mental patients. The rain pelted Larry’s car, sounding like a popcorn machine going full bore. Nick looked at the lighted windows across the face of the building and wondered which room belonged to David Ray and if Larry’s claims were true.

  Questions about David’s existence entered his mind with each splashing raindrop. Could he really be alive after all these years? Impossible. Surely, he’d passed away—death by brain tumor or other complication? Maybe he drowned in his own vomit. Drug overdose? Perhaps a staff member had poisoned him, slipping him a few too many meds.

  Larry parked the car and turned to his seemingly serene passenger.

  “Ready?”

  Nick acknowledged by nodding his head.

  Larry gripped his key chain and said, “Let me take the cuffs off. I don’t think they’ll let you in if they see ‘em on you.”

  Nick grinned and stuck his hands out toward Larry. “Sounds good to me.”

  Larry unlocked the restraints and snapped the cuffs back on his utility belt.

  The two men stepped out of the car and sprinted through the pouring rain toward the main entrance of the building. Larry opened the door and they both ran inside. They brushed water from their clothes and hair and wiped their feet on a big Welcome mat. Nick immediately noticed a stubby middle-aged woman sitting in an enclosed booth. She could only be seen through a small, sliding glass window. The woman opened the window, exposing her round face, and then she recited her standard monotone welcome.

  “Welcome to Mount Carmel. How may I help you?” She sat back in her chair, chewing gum. Her eyes glanced at the puddles of water accumulating near the men’s feet.

  Larry responded, “We’re here to see David Ray. I made arrangements yesterday.”

  The woman looked at him sharply.

  “Uh…David who?” she stammered.

  “David—Jonathan—Ray,” reiterated Nick, leaning forward and accentuating each word.

  The woman cocked her head and stared at Nick.

  Nick smiled and turned away, rubbing his sore wrists. He walked through the room studying its contents. The foyer measured ten by ten feet and consisted of brilliant-white marble tiles on the floor with white plaster walls. The receptionist’s booth stood directly in the middle of the interior wall. She glared at Larry and Nick as if they were in the wrong place.

  “You’ll have to sign in before you can see anyone,” she said with a gravelly voice.

  They obeyed.

  While signing the visitors’ log, Nick read the name tag pinned to her white smock: Meredith Stanford. She picked up a telephone and made an announcement over the PA system. Nick watched her as he casually walked about.

  “Doctor Mueller dial 8-1-1, please. Doctor Mueller, dial 8-1-1.”

  She turned her suspicious eyes back to Nick and Larry.

  “Thank you, Meredith,” Nick said with another smile.

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” she mumbled.

  The phone rang. Meredith covered her mouth, whispering with someone on the other end. Larry and Nick dawdled through the foyer continuing to brush off as much water from their hair and clothing as they could. Nick pretended to study a wall of pictures that chronicled the institution’s staff and history.

  After hanging up the phone, Meredith cleared her throat to get their attention.

  “Ahem,” she said. “Dr. Mueller will be here momentarily.”

  Larry grinned and said, “Thank you.”

  Minutes later, Dr. William Mueller stood in front of a thick glass security door leading to the foyer. He pushed a button that buzzed inside the booth. Meredith unlocked the door and it swung open. Dr. Mueller approached the two visitors. He was much shorter than Larry and Nick, with cold blue eyes, short white hair and a well-trimmed beard. He shook hands and greeted them, but like Meredith, as if he were suspicious of their presence there. Nick stared the doctor down, unimpressed with his white coat.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” said the doctor. “What can I do for you?”

  Larry smiled and said, “We’d like to see David Ray. That is, if he’s still with you.”

  The doctor opened his mouth to reply, but paused before speaking. His brow furrowed in response to Larry’s request.

  “David Ray? Why do you want to see him? Is it official business?”

  “Yes it is,” insisted Larry. “I spoke with the registrar yesterday a
nd he said there would be no problem, to just come right over.”

  “Ah…well the registrar cares nothing for policy on my wards and I was not informed of your request. Visiting hours are over for today, but…” He tilted his head at Larry’s protest. “I suppose a short visit couldn’t hurt. You do realize he’s in a PVS?”

  “PVS?” asked Larry, although he knew what it meant.

  “PVS—a persistent vegetative state. He arrived in a coma. Days later, he fell into an unresponsive vegetative state and has remained that way since.”

  Nick suddenly jerked back to full attention. His eyes were riveted on the doctor.

  “Are you saying David Ray’s still alive?” asked Nick. “Seriously?”

  “Yes…but I thought you already knew that,” said the doctor, puzzled.

  Nick pressed for more information. “And he’s here…in this building?”

  “Yes.”

  Nick acknowledged the doctor’s response, but kept his true feelings hidden. His heart burned with a rekindled hatred for his brother’s murderer. He took a deep breath and put on a fake smile. No matter how he felt, something told him he’d ended up in the right place.

  “I’ll take you to his room,” said Doctor Mueller. He examined Nick with a suspicious glare, gestured to Meredith to buzz the door open, and led the two men up to the third floor of the facility.

  As they walked through the white hallways of the building, Doctor Mueller made occasional remarks, pointing out the different features of the facility. Nick studied the orderlies and patients. He watched a woman in a dressing robe and slippers shuffle her feet across the floor into a lounge area. She was keeping herself busy counting on her fingers, one after the other, over and over again. As they passed the cafeteria, he noticed that all the orderlies, both male and female, were tall and strong. He assumed that their work was mainly physical, assisting patients in some way. His assumption proved correct when he witnessed one of the orderlies assisting a patient with his meds. Wearing only a long white robe and with thinning, disheveled hair, the patient turned his head, refusing the medicine. He compressed his lips to prevent the orderly from administering the drugs. The attendant pushed the pills to his lips, but could not get the patient to open his mouth. Expertly, as if he had done it countless times, the orderly grabbed the man’s chin, forced his mouth open, and stuffed the pills in. He handed the man a Dixie Cup filled with water and helped him drink it. Most of the water spilled onto the patient’s robe.

  Nick sniffed the air. “It smells funny in here. Smells like dirty socks and toilet cleaner.”

  The doctor laughed dryly at Nick’s remark. “That’s a pretty close description. We have many patients who require maximum care. Your friend, David Ray, is one of them.”

  “Oh no…not my friend,” Nick muttered under his breath.

  “How do you mean?” asked Larry.

  “Ahhh. Mr. Ray is what we call a golden patient.”

  “Golden patient? What’s that?” Nick asked.

  The doctor smiled. “Confidentially, since you obviously know about him, a golden patient is one who has been given to us by the state. As long as he remains alive, we will continue to receive the generous funds provided by the state of Idaho for his care. We always have to fight for our share of the research grants in this place…but he belongs to me and my team. The money cannot be funneled by the administration to any other ward as long as he’s in the PVS program.” He paused triumphantly. “David is part of a study in PVS longevity, so he requires constant care around the clock. We monitor his vital signs every hour. Also, because he cannot move, we are constantly dealing with his bedsores and infections. He has a daily dip in a hot tub and a full-body massage. This minimizes contusions and bruising and as a result…our golden patient remains amongst the living.” The doctor spoke enthusiastically, as if he were very pleased with this outcome.

  Larry stopped walking and looked him squarely in the eye. Nick watched the two men interact.

  “How long can he survive like this?” asked Larry.

  “Well, that’s what we are trying to find out. We experiment with an assortment of therapies and log the results.” The doctor paused and added, “He certainly has beaten all the odds. He should be dead by now, but we pump him full of antibiotics at the sign of any infection and he continues to survive. The state has no protocol for someone like David, so we keep him clean and feed him intravenously. Gratefully, he lives, providing much needed funding for my team’s research here.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Nick. “The guy kills eight kids and a teacher and gets to live the rest of his life in a day spa?”

  “Yes. You are correct. But he’s not really living. He doesn’t enjoy the treatments. He has no feelings or emotions. He just lies in bed all day…waiting to die. He’s nearly brain-dead, you know.”

  The men stood silent in the hallway. Dr. Mueller paused near a door.

  “Is he aware of his environment?” asked Nick.

  “Not likely,” said the doctor. “Although he has sleep-wake patterns.”

  “How do you know?” asked Larry.

  “We know because of his eye movements and change in heart rate. Remember, we log his vital signs, so we know exactly how stable or unstable he is.”

  Dr. Mueller put his hand on the polished brass knob to his left, and looked in through the small window in the center of the door.

  “There he is. Sleeping like a baby.”

  Nick burned with anger, because of the consideration the doctor showed David. He couldn’t comprehend any compassion for the monster.

  Nick thought, that son of a bitch deserves to die a thousand deaths. Yet he remained silent. He kept his thoughts to himself, carefully studying every inch of his surroundings.

  “Right this way, gentlemen.” The doctor opened the door and indicated that they could enter David Ray’s suite. It too glistened with white, like the rest of the facility. However, Nick felt an eerie sense of malevolence as soon as he stepped across the threshold. The temperature dropped by ten degrees as soon as they walked in.

  “It’s freezing in here,” said Larry.

  “Yes. We like to keep the body cold, but not this cold. I’ll speak to someone about it. Maintenance men just aren’t worth their salt nowadays.”

  Nick crossed his arms to warm himself and fixed his eyes on David for the first time since the shooting. He trapped his hands in his armpits to stop himself from grabbing him. He studied the wires and tubes that controlled David’s body, and listened to the steady beeping of the monitoring system. The bed was raised high off the floor for ergonomic purposes. Nick liked that, and made a mental note as he silently made his plan.

  Dr. Mueller stood next to Larry. He had his arms crossed as well, but in a superior way.

  Nick stared at David lying on the bed, and remembered the moment the paramedics lifted his brother onto the gurney. He remembered when they covered Randy’s face with a white sheet. It was the last time he ever saw his brother outside of a casket and the last time he saw David Ray.

  Now, twenty years later, Randy was gone and David Ray was alive and lying there so peacefully. Nick’s blood boiled inside. Although David had not lived life, his scraggly, salt-and-pepper beard and the dark rings around his eyes indicated his age and condition; his bony cheeks revealed his emaciation. Nick couldn’t lament David’s situation; his restful countenance left him fuming.

  Dr. Mueller walked closer to David. “I remember the day they brought this young man into the hospital. At first, knowing the circumstances, I remember that some of the staff were hoping he’d die…but he never did. He never gave up the ghost. Twenty years later, he is right where he started…barely alive. Although, at times, some of our employees wonder if there is more to this man than we know.”

  Larry froze. “Pardon me?”

  Nick listened with intent.

  “Well, there’ve been some reports by the night shift of strange occurrences inside this room. Being a man of science
I have given it very little thought. The night shift staff often have their own problems, you know: substance abuse and that kind of thing. You don’t have to be highly qualified to get a job here as an orderly!” He laughed and shook his head arrogantly. “But sometimes I wonder if there is more. I’m aware of his medical history, and personally, I think that his dark past may be catching up with him.”

  “Medical history? What are you talking about?”

  “Ah…” The doctor pointed his finger at Larry. “I’ll never tell! Doctor-patient privilege! Besides, it doesn’t matter now.”

  Nick stared at David, clenching his fists.

  “Nick? Are you okay?” asked Larry.

  “Is there something wrong with him?” asked Dr. Mueller, as if Nick were stupid.

  Nick took a step toward David.

  “Nick?” Larry pressed.

  He took another step.

  Larry put his hands out, making a warning gesture. “No! Don’t do it, Nick!”

  Nick stopped and turned his head toward Larry for a moment, and then he turned back toward the body on the bed.

  “Nick, I’m warning you!”

  • • •

  Bryan and Tanner traced the noise to the boiler room. They hurried down the hall and then felt damp air wash over them as they entered the humid chamber. Steam rolled out of loose fittings, causing the pipes to whistle and sweat. The red exit light over the door flickered, intermittently exposing the murky steam-filled room.

  Tanner searched through the mist and then shouted, “Okay! You’ve got our attention! Now what?”

  The banging stopped. The two men stood still listening for David’s response. Bryan heard a noise mesh with the whistling.

  “Do you hear that?” Bryan whispered.

  “No. What is it?”

  “That!” whispered Bryan. “It’s a squishing sound. There it is again!”

  “I hear it,” said Tanner. “Sounds like wet footsteps.”

  Tanner squinted deep into the billowing vapor. He grabbed a length of pipe that had been left leaning against the wall and lifted it like a baseball bat, ready to strike.

  At that moment, a pressure valve depressurized near them, exhaling a small cloud of steam that rolled directly toward the two men, startling them. The cloud swirled around Tanner first. He jumped away from the vapor crying out, “Man! That’s hot!”