“What about the ward for the psychos?” Nick asked. “Can we get in that one?”
Tom pressed his lips together in response to Nick’s disrespect and said, “That building’s too far gone. It’s not structurally sound. The committee’s talking about razing it.”
My spine straightened as my eyes shot to full alert. “What? They can’t do that!”
The thought of them destroying any of these buildings terrified me. How could they even think about destroying something so…beautiful.
I glanced at Kaitlin and she held the same look of concern on her face.
“Why would they even think that was an option?” I continued. “This place needs to be preserved. It’s full of history, and it’s still so, so alive.”
My words hung in the air between us all, trapped in the awkward gazes of everyone staring at me. I listened to them again and swallowed hard. I sounded like a lunatic to anyone who didn’t understand. And quite possibly, Kaitlin was the only one who did.
Tom stepped closer. “I agree.”
I stared into his face, trying to determine who he was. Did he love this place as much as I did? His volunteerism—he was committed to this place as much as I was. More, even.
“Why do you like it here so much?” I asked him.
He put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve always felt a connection to this place. Like it needs someone to care for it. Someone to protect it. Without me, it would have been sold long ago and turned into cookie-cutter condos.”
The thought chilled me. “Well, thank you for looking out for it. It needs you.”
“Yeah. It’s kinda my side job at this point, in my retirement. Just can’t walk away from it, I guess.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “So, what do you all want to know about the place? I’ve pretty much got the entire history up here.” He tapped on the side of his forehead. “Worked here long enough to stow away a fair bit of intel.”
I stepped closer to him, my stare dead-on.
“I want to know about Emma Grangley,” I said.
Kaitlin moved closer by my side.
Tom’s eyes darted to the hanging tree as if by instinct, then returned to mine with an uneasy look of dread.
Chapter 18
Tom’s eyes shifted to the Excited Ward, then back to mine. His unsettling surprise at hearing Emma Grangley’s name was written all over his face. He’d looked at the hanging tree and then at the ward. He knew something. Or everything.
“I don’t know much of the actual patients, but I can tell you about the history of the…” His rambling didn’t distract me from what he’d already exposed.
I moved up to him, shoulder to shoulder, and whispered, “You do know.”
He pulled back slightly and examined me, as if calculating how much to tell.
“This way,” he began again, then took a few steps toward the chapel. “The chapel was a place for service on Sundays but also for…”
I cut him off again. “We’re not here for the formal tour, Tom. No offense. But I already know too much about this place. Way too much.”
He gave a subtle nod, then continued. “You’ll see that the benches had extreme straight backs and the seats were far from any level of comfort.”
We approached the chapel and stepped onto the large stoop, overshadowed by a protective archway. Tom wiggled his key into the padlock on the oversized double door and snapped it open.
We all stepped back as Tom pulled the huge black doors, as if removing the seal of a centuries-old tomb. The stink of musk and mold wafted out first, and Tom waited a moment to allow the fresh air in.
“Please don’t disturb anything, but feel free to have a look around,” he said. “It’s important to me to share these places with the public, to be sure the asylum’s never forgotten.”
We moved through the doorway of the chapel, and the sound of our footsteps echoed inside the cavernous space. It was like stepping into a time machine. Flying buttresses and row after row of hand-carved wooden pews. A simple altar stood at the front, cold and unforgiving. A chill ran through me as I imagined seeking repentance in a space so filled with judgment from the highest power.
The guys wandered toward the altar and stepped up to it.
“Tell me your sins, son,” Nick boomed, standing as tall as he could.
Braden rolled his eyes and leaned in. “I had dirty thoughts, Father,” he whispered. Clueless that his deep voice reverberated through the entire building.
“Blasphemy!” Nick taunted.
Idiots.
I moved up along Tom’s side and spoke in the lowest tone possible. “Can you tell me about Emma Grangley? I need to hear whatever you know.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you a relative? What’s your connection?”
“No, I don’t know her, really.” I stumbled on my words. “I found her name in the Excited Ward and well, I just want to know more about her.”
He nodded and took a moment to think. “I am familiar with her.”
I turned to see where the boys were. and saw them sitting on the stairs of the altar, waiting. Bored. Kaitlin had wandered over to them and reached for a sip of Braden’s water.
“Can you tell me about her?” I asked. “Like, why she was here. What happened to her.”
He thought for a moment. “I’m afraid she was one of the unfortunate, forgotten ones. Sectioned against her will, likely for offending her family reputation rather than true mental illness. That was the way back then.”
I nodded, knowing it to be true. “What else? What happened to her?”
He hesitated but then caught my intensity. “She was kept in the Excited Ward as one of the ‘disobedient ones’.” He rubbed his chin, considering his words. “Patients in the Excited Ward were restrained to the beds or sent to solitary for indefinite amounts of time. The sane became insane very quickly.” He paused. “I believe she was one of the fighters. You know, strong-willed. They prescribed a lobotomy to subdue her.”
I knew it. Her medical papers said the same.
“How could they do that?” I whispered.
“It was their way of keeping the patients under control in the overcrowded conditions,” he added. “They’d end up in the Quiet Ward after the treatment.”
Oh my God. My stomach turned.
“But she never got the lobotomy, right?” I said.
His chin pulled back in curiosity, but instead of asking me how I could know that, he went on. “That’s right. She hung herself before they could carry out the procedure.”
“At the tree by the ward,” I stated.
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped away from me. He turned to the others and called, “Let’s move out. Best not to disturb the calm in here for too long.”
In a matter of moments, we were outside. Tom clamped the padlock onto the arched doorway, beads of sweat shimmering on his brow.
Kaitlin grabbed my elbow, pulling my attention to her. “What did he say?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you everything in a minute.” I hushed her. “He knows about Emma. I’m not sure how much else he knows, but if you can keep the guys away a bit, I’ll try to get more information.”
“Got it.” She moved closer to the guys. “You wanna see the research lab?” she enticed them.
I turned back to Tom hoping to get his full attention again. It was still hard to tell how much he knew, but my acquired sixth sense was definitely picking up on something extra.
“It’s like I felt her here,” I said, testing how far I could push him.
He regarded me with worry in his eyes, like I’d gone somewhere I shouldn’t. And then warned, “I feel her here, too. All the time.”
My hand flew to my mouth and covered it. Fear moved through me like ice as I realized Emma’s presence was all around us. Even Tom felt it.
My curiosity exploded on how much he knew and if he felt the presence of other patients as well. Could he see them too? Would he be willing to admit it, even if he had? I was still sane eno
ugh to know when to filter my thoughts and experiences, but Tom was different. He could be a link to all of this.
“Have you ever seen her?” I asked, barely able to look at him.
He gazed back at the hanging tree. “No. I don’t think so. Sometimes I’m not sure, but…the mind can play funny tricks in a place like this.”
“Yeah. It sure can.”
“Why, have you?” he asked.
“What?” I fidgeted.
“Seen her?”
“Oh, umm, no, well, I guess, I’m not sure, really.” I stumbled on my words, uncertain how much to say. Tom listened with every part of his being, focusing on each word as if waiting for one in particular. A yes, maybe. But then my mind cleared, and my focus fell to my father. “Do you know of other patients, too?” I asked him.
I couldn’t help but jump to my father. My brain just made the switch on its own, leaving me no choice but to follow its lead.
Tom was likely the same age as my father, or as he would have been. Maybe he would know something about the patients from not so long ago.
I pulled courage from deep within me and spoke of my father’s time here. “I think my father was sent here when I was small.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Really? When?”
“Well, about nineteen years ago. Basically, right after I was born.” It was pretty easy to be precise with the timeline.
“That was during the time when I worked here.” He stood taller with pride. “The men’s wards were the last to remain open,” he said. “Only two of them, housing patients who were well enough to care for themselves. More like halfway houses, you could say. They finally closed for good just around that time.”
I took a deep inhale. “I believe his name was Foster.”
I wished I had a last name for him now. I hadn’t ever thought to ask my mother. I only knew she had dropped his last name and taken her maiden name for both us. But now, it was the only thing in the world that mattered, because in that moment, I realized it was my name too.
Tom halted his steps toward the research building. He looked back toward the hanging tree again. His gaze hovered on the tree, seemingly lost, as his hands began to shake.
My jaw dropped. He knew something.
“That was the year, just before the facility closed altogether. A man named Foster hung himself from that same tree.” Tom’s voice shook. “He’d cry out every night for God’s mercy, asking for His grace. But even the grace of God couldn’t have saved him that day.”
I gasped in shock, and tears filled my eyes. With one blink, streams poured down my cheeks.
“Could it have been your father?” Tom asked. “It’s an unusual name, one not heard often in those days.”
I searched for my voice, trapped in the endless maze of my spiraling mind.
“It was,” I choked out. “It was him.”
Tom stiffened. “You’re sure?”
“My father hung himself here. I knew that. But that’s not how I’m sure.” I hesitated and glanced back at the tree. “He wasn’t calling out for God every night. He was calling for me. My name is Grace.”
Tom wiped at his sweating brow, shifting his weight as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the situation.
“I’m sorry. I…” he started.
But I didn’t need his sympathy. I just needed more answers.
“What happened to him?” I pressed. “How did he lose hope enough to want to die?”
Tom hesitated, staring at the others. They walked around the perimeter of the research building, looking up at its shuttered windows. Then he said, “He used to come to the tree every day. No one questioned it. It was as if he was drawn to it. But I knew different. It was like he had a sixth sense and felt something from it.”
I thought of my own new sixth sense. And the visions of Emma that it brought to me.
“What do you mean, sixth sense?” I choked.
“It’s going to sound crazy, but he would say Emma’s name. Like he knew it was the tree she hung herself from. He would say she was in his head, trying to get to his daughter, and he would do anything to protect her, you, from her.”
I stepped back in horror from his words.
My mother had told me he went crazy, trying to protect me. And now I had to believe it was his visions of Emma that frightened him. She had been in his head, too, but he had no understanding of it. She haunted him, trying to get to me, enough to make him appear like he’d lost his mind.
Emma had been trying to find me, even when I was a baby.
My knees wobbled beneath me, threatening to buckle completely.
“Is there a connection?” Tom asked. “Does any of it make sense?”
I shook my head, too scared to reveal what I knew. “I don’t know. It’s too much to take in,” I murmured.
My spine stiffened as I studied the tree. The image of Emma’s lifeless body hanging from the branch returned to me. It was blurry and faded at first, but as she slowly spun at the end of the rope, her face became clear.
As I focused on her purple, bloated features, a scream formed in my throat as her face morphed into that of a man’s. The eyes were open and fogged by death, but the vivid blue color, speckled with golden hues, was clear as day. I recognized him as if I were looking into a mirror.
And then the scream reached my mouth.
Just before it blasted out of me, Tom’s voice hit me right between the eyes.
“I remember now. His full name,” he shot out. “Foster Frances.”
My guttural scream brought everyone running. They surrounded me and Kaitlin grabbed my arm, shaking it. Braden held my shoulders as his voice begged for an explanation. I dropped down to a squat, hiding my face in my hands.
Foster Frances. The name struck me with a force that nearly leveled me to the ground. My own mother’s irritated voice scraped at my brain. “Grace Frances, clean your room. Grace Frances, do not disrespect me.” She’d use my middle name only in times of anger or disappointment in my behavior. The name of her annoyance was Frances. And it was my father’s last name. And now his face had been revealed to me as well.
Braden lowered down to my level, then whispered gently, “What is it, Grace? Something scared you?”
Leaving my face hidden in my folded arms on my knees, I collected myself as best as possible. There was no way I could explain what I just saw to Braden. I needed to convince him I was okay so I could get to Kaitlin.
I imagined Tom was probably freaked out as well, so damage control was my current priority.
“Sorry,” I mumbled into my knees. “I’m embarrassed. I kind of spooked myself. Seriously thought I saw a ghost in one of the chapel windows. Dumb I know. I’m just creeped out right now. Big time.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” Braden said. “It sounded like a death screech.”
“Oh my God. I’m sorry.” My voice muffled through my sleeves. “I let my mind run away with me.”
Tom stepped closer. “I think we all have, a little bit. But that’s the fun in it, right?”
His words sounded like he was trying to help. Trying to redirect everyone’s concern off me. But why?
My eyebrows pulled together as I homed in on Tom’s mellow voice. He continued to distract the others with stories of neighbors hearing screams at night. Saying I wasn’t the only one who had a vivid imagination.
I wiped at my tears. Pulled myself together. As he stood, Braden reached for my arm to keep me steady.
“I’m fine,” I gently pulled away from his grasp. “I totally freaked myself out. I’m better now.” I smiled, attempting to brush off any scrutiny and unwanted attention.
“So let’s have a look at the lobotomy labs,” Nick interjected.
Tom shook his head at Nick’s crass tone, but he smiled and led us back toward the research building.
Kaitlin scrambled up to me. “What the hell happened? Did you see something?”
I hushed her with my hand. “Hang on. When the others are more distra
cted. You’re not going to fucking believe this.”
Her fist went to her mouth, and she bounced nervously as she considered whatever it could be.
Tom brought us up the crumbling cement stairs to the side door of the research building. It held the least architectural features of any building on the grounds and the only decor worth looking at was the crooked green lamp that protruded from the bricks, just above the stoop. I imagined its glaring light examining and judging the poor patients who were led into this building—headed toward their demise.
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go in, the feeling in my gut sent warning signals. The events that occurred in the past, malpractice and unethical treatments, all without patient consent, made me sick to my stomach. But it was clear this was the most fascinating of all the buildings to the guys at the moment. Braden and Nick nearly bounced out of their shoes as we waited for Tom to open the door.
As soon as the padlock was removed and the thick metal door pulled open, the three men stepped inside. Kaitlin and I waited a moment on the stoop, hesitant to go in.
“Come on,” Braden called as Nick moved ahead without hesitation.
Kaitlin and I stepped inside, then allowed the heavy door to slam behind us. A hollow chill ran through me as the sound resonated around my body, like the sealing of a coffin. We shuffled along the tiled hallway to catch up to the others.
“What ever happened to the kid in the psycho ward?” Nick asked Tom. “Did he just rot away there?”
I cringed, embarrassed by my friend’s disrespectful approach. But it made sense Nick and Braden would be obsessed with that story. It was the closest thing they could identify with since the boy was similar in age to them when he was sent there.
“Yeah, his was an interesting case,” Tom agreed. “He seemed like such a normal kid. An athlete and a college student. They actually built a basketball court here on the grounds, just for him.”
“Oh, I saw that court near the dining hall,” Braden added. “The hoop’s still there, broken and rusted.”
“Right,” Tom added. “That was it. He would shoot hoops all day. His treatment never seemed to make a difference for him. He continued to claim to have no memory of the murders.”
The Shuttered Ward Page 16