Asylum Lake (4 page)
June 29, 1996
Bedlam Falls, Michigan
Brady knew before his father even opened his mouth what was coming. Maybe it was the devilish look in the man’s eye or the way he was clutching the bag of marshmallows, but for whatever reason, Brady felt his face reddening in anticipation of the embarrassment that was fast approaching. “Did Brady ever tell you about the time he tried to roast marshmallows with the hair dryer?” his dad asked, passing the marshmallows around the fire.
“Now, John,” his mother interrupted before the infamous hair-dryer story could be told. A son can always count on his mother to come to the rescue. “Don’t you think the time he got into my make-up bag is a much better story? I know I do.” And she gave Brady a sly wink.
Across the fire pit, April covered her mouth and giggled. Next to her Tammy Franks leaned over and whispered something into April’s ear. Brady could only imagine what they were discussing. Those two were trouble. At fourteen, Brady had already learned that girls were confusing enough on their own, but when you get two or more together, all bets were off.
On a stump to Brady’s left, Jeff eagerly awaited the conclusion of the marshmallow story, as if there was an important moral to be learned. Jeff’s own father had died in a car accident while Jeff was still in grade school, and in his absence it was clear to anyone who took the time to notice that Brady’s friend practically worshipped John Tanner. The fact that Brady’s father had spent fifteen years as the Chief of Detectives for the Grand Rapids Police Department probably factored into it. Jeff had grown up watching COPS on television and made no secret of his desire to wear the shield one day.
“You know, sir,” said Jeff while pushing a marshmallow down onto a roasting stick, “I made a grilled cheese once with my mom’s iron. I bet you could roast a marshmallow better with that than a hair dryer.”
Brady’s dad responded with a look of confusion and slowly nodded his head as he smiled. “Jeff, you just might be right.” Something about Jeff Ryder, although always polite and by all accounts an all-around good kid, rubbed John Tanner the wrong way. But, much like family, a father doesn’t get to choose his child’s friends; his long years in law enforcement gave him the wisdom to realize that an annoying friend was significantly better than some of the alternatives.
John rose to his feet and reached over to rest his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “Linda, I think the kids are in very capable marshmallow roasting hands here." Squeezing the boy’s shoulder, he continued, “What do you say we go watch some television?”
Jeff beamed at the compliment, missing the slightly sarcastic overtone. Not that he was a dim bulb; on the contrary, Jeff was extremely bright and the kind of athlete that comes around once every decade or so. More importantly, he was Brady’s best friend in the world, if it was only for three months every summer with the occasional long weekend mixed in.
“All right, dear,” mom agreed. She leaned over and gave Brady a kiss on his cheek. “But we’re not watching the game tonight. The Tiger’s will just have to lose without you. What do you say we pop some corn and rent a movie?” she suggested, sashaying over to her husband’s outstretched arms.
Brady’s father wrapped her in his arms and waltzed her in a slow circle that culminated in an awkwardly cheesy dip. “Groovy, baby.”
The girls giggled again from across the fire.
Why do they have to be so embarrassing?
Brady cringed as he watched his parents make their way towards the house holding hands. “Goodnight,” he called after them in a tone that clearly meant Good Riddance, too.
“G’night, kids,” a waving reply over his father’s shoulder, “TV says there’s a storm coming in don’t stay out here too long.”
“You’re parents are so cute,” Tammy teased as she moved over to the stump next to Jeff and grabbed a marshmallow from a stick he had been roasting. She picked it apart with her brightly painted fingernails and popped the gooiness into her mouth. Today her nails were lime green to match her shorts. Brady always wondered what she did first, pick out her clothes or her nail color, they always seemed to match. “Nothing like my parents,” she continued, “they hardly speak to each other.”
The last thing a teenage boy wants to hear is how cute his parents are. To Brady, his parents were just mom and dad. He had been around enough of his friends’ parents to understand his weren’t much different than most, only in the small and embarrassing ways.
“Trust me,” Brady responded as he raised a can of Coke to his lips. “My parents aren’t so cute when I forget to clean my room or take the garbage out.” He took a long drink and then added, “That reminds me, what’s with the trash bag, Jeff? I saw you shove it behind the bushes when your mom dropped you off. You don’t have severed heads or something in there, do you?”
“Gross,” April groaned and raised herself off the stump and stretched. She was tall, taller than Brady anyway. Not by much, but just enough to have bragging rights. She had insisted once that they stand back to back just to prove it. Brady watched her turn and look out over the lake. “It’s so quiet,’" she noted, turning to look at Brady through the dancing flames of the fire. “These crickets and frogs would drive me nuts,” she declared over the usual sounds of a northern Michigan shoreline. “I thought the reason people choose to live out in the middle of nowhere was for the peace and quiet. Besides, don’t you miss having neighbors?”
April lived in a trailer park with her parents and younger sister. Brady could understand how not having neighbors would seem so foreign to her. In a trailer park you couldn’t sneeze in your kitchen without having your neighbor’s next door say bless you from theirs.
“I guess you get used to it after a while,” Brady shrugged. “Besides, I get enough noise and people in Grand Rapids,” he added, referring to his family’s house in the city. “It’s nice to have quiet for a change.”
“You’ve got neighbors here,” Jeff said as he retrieved the trash bag from its hiding place in the bushes. And then gesturing to the lake, “That old nut house across the lake isn’t as empty as people think. You know it’s haunted, right?”
“What are you talking about? You mean that old hospital?” Brady remembered asking his father about it once as they sat on the float enjoying the morning sun.
“It’s just an empty building, Brady,” his father had replied casting a nervous glance at the hospital. “Just promise me you’ll stay away from it,” he continued, his gaze returning to Brady. “I’m not saying that the place is dangerous.” His father paused, “But old buildings are like teeth, Brady. They rot from the inside out when they're not cared for.”
His father had hesitated before reaching over and playfully wrapping his arm around Brady’s shoulder. “Which reminds me, did you brush this morning?” Without warning, his dad wrestled Brady off the edge of the float into the water. “Race you back,” he shouted and began swimming for shore. “Loser has to mow the lawn.”
Brady pulled his attention from the darkened hospital to Tammy as she added, “Yeah, the hospital. You do know what happened there, right? Why it closed and everything?” She finished the marshmallow and wiped her sticky fingers on her shorts as she, too, stood. Brady shrugged in ignorance. “He really doesn’t know,” she said, turning to Jeff as he returned with the trash bag.
April came around the fire and stood next to Brady, sliding her hand into his. “Stop it, Tammy. It’s really not funny.” She squeezed Brady’s hand as she turned to face him. “We always thought you knew. I mean, it’s no secret.”
Brady didn’t know how to respond. He’d never given that place across the lake so much as a second thought, and now a million questions formed in his mind but none came to his lips. His eyes moved from April’s face and drifted again to the hilltop structure silhouetted against the moon. Her hand slid from his, moving up his arm to rest on his shoulder. He felt Jeff and Tammy draw closer, too. For a brief time they all stood quietly, gazing out into the moonlit darkness. Brady’s frightened expression drew smiles from his friends.
It was Jeff’s voice that broke the silence. “So, what if you live next to a hospital full of soul-devouring ghosts who’re just waiting to eat the flesh from your bones?” he laughed and then added, “You, at least, have cable TV!” and burst out laughing. The girls joined in.
"You really are way too easy, Brady,” Tammy said as she stepped forward and playfully punched him in the arm. Brady watched her turn to April and soon the two were whispering and giggling again.
“Not cool,” he muttered to Jeff as he turned from the girls and grabbed the bag from his friend's hand. He dropped down on a stump near the fire to examine its contents and instantly his spirits brightened. “Hey girls,” he called out as he dumped the bag’s contents on the ground. “I hope you brought your suits.”
As is the case with most daring adventures planned at the spur of the moment, the act of doing the deed rarely measures up to the anticipation. Swimming out to the float to light off fireworks seemed like a great idea while standing on the shore near the warmth of the fire, but actually doing it had some serious drawbacks. For one, climbing out of the warm water into the cool air was more than a little uncomfortable. The wind had also picked up, bringing with it low hanging clouds that suffocated the moon’s pale light. The clincher, however, was that nobody had thought to bring a lighter or matches.
“So let me see if I have this right,” Tammy asked as she stood shivering on the edge of the float with April, teeth chattering and water dripping from her hair. “You dragged us all the way out here to light off fireworks and you didn’t even bother to bring a lighter?”
Brady was smart enough to know a rhetorical question when he heard one. Sadly, however, Jeff stumbled right in. “How was I supposed to know that aqua-man here,” jerking a thumb in Brady’s direction, “would swim us all out here? I figured we’d light ‘em from the shore.” He took a step forward and reached for her, offering his most innocent smile. “Besides, it’s really not that bad once you get used to it.”
Tammy responded with a look of disgust and more chattering teeth, but she took his hand and let him bring her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest as he stroked her arms and shoulders in an attempt to generate some heat.
Smooth, Brady thought. His plan to impress the ladies with a romantic fireworks display out on the lake was blown, excuse the pun. But sure enough, Jeff had turned misfortune to his advantage. He stood there watching them, one hand folded across his chest for warmth and the other still clutching the trash bag full of fireworks. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice April’s approach.
“Well played. Most guys would have been happy cuddling by the fire, but not you. You maroon us out here in the middle of the lake.” Smiling now, she moved closer, “All part of your master plan, I suppose?”
Brady could see the water running down her goose bumped arms and legs. He had seen her in a bikini before, but always safely in the light of day. Out here, at night, she looked…different. His first inclination was to take a step back, but his heels were already at the edge. “I – uh – um - I,” came his stammering reply as he fidgeted with the bag and his words.
She leaned in and pressed her shivering lips to his, sending warmth through him like a bolt of lightning. The last thing he remembered before closing his eyes to her kiss was the touch of her hands to his face and the passing thought that even without a lighter, these fireworks were amazing.
A short time later, the fireworks from their make-out session behind them, Brady and April sat together. She rested her head on his shoulder. Behind them Jeff and Tammy were also cuddled, the sound of their conversation drowned out by the splashing of the water against the barrels supporting the float. The prediction of stormy weather appeared to be coming true as the raft rolled on the wind-blown and choppy surface of the lake.
“I wish the wind would just blow us back,” April snuggled closer into Brady’s chest. “I really don’t want to get back in that water. I just want to fall asleep right here in your arms.”
Brady didn’t blame her. The air had cooled at least ten degrees since they had been out here and there was no telling how much colder the water would feel. He had already resigned himself to the fact that the night was going to end with a very cold swim back to the shore. Fortunately, however, there was a warm fire waiting for them. He could see it flickering in the distance.
Without warning a jagged finger of lightning splintered across the sky. It was quickly followed by a clap of thunder that shattered the silence and swept over the lake like the blast from a shotgun. Jeff jumped to his feet. “Holy shit, that was close!” He seemed almost excited by the prospect of re-enacting Ben Franklin’s famous kite and key experiment. “Look at the hair on my arm, dude, its standing straight up!” He held out his arm begging for someone to notice. “That-was-fucking-awesome,” he screamed into the night and raised his arms into the air, as if urging the storm overhead for an encore.
Tammy grabbed him by one outstretched arm and spun him around. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t being in the middle of a lake like the last place you want to be during a thunderstorm?”
As the reality of her comment sunk in, Jeff lowered his arms and sheepishly looked from Tammy’s face and over to Brady and April as they rose to their feet. “Maybe we should just, um, head back,” he added and jerked his thumb back in the direction of Brady’s house.
“There’s really nothing to worry about,” Brady said, and then slouching slightly as he stood next to April he added. “As long as the Amazon Woman here,” nudging her with his hip, “is out here with us we’re safe. Lightning always strikes the tallest tree, right?” He knew April would one day regret that half-inch advantage she held over him. For the briefest of moments he stood with that lopsided grin on his face, the one that his mother claimed always meant mischief.
Her response was quick and not altogether surprising. The Amazon Woman easily shoved him off the edge of the float and into the water. His lopsided grin quickly fell from his face as he plunged beneath the waves. He sunk like a stone.
Brady found himself in the lake’s frigid grasp, his very life being squeezed from his lungs as he sank further into the darkness. It seemed an eternity that he fell. He knew from the amount of chain it had taken his father to secure the float that the lake bottomed out at nearly forty feet; Brady had the sensation that he was fast approaching its limit. And then, just as quickly as he had descended, Brady was belched out and upward as if the lake had thought better of swallowing him whole. He sputtered and splashed as he broke the water’s surface.
“Brady! Brady!” He heard Jeff’s frantic call from the darkness somewhere to his left. The storm had finally broken and sheets of raining were ricocheting off the lake’s choppy surface. The water ran from his hair and into his eyes nearly blinding him to the cries of his friend. As he felt the air rush back into his lungs he responded to Jeff’s calls with a stuttering whisper that was no match to the sound of the wind blowing across the lake, “H-h-ee-re. O-ov-e-rr…he-e-re.”
Without warning, the lake reconsidered and, with its icy tentacles, pulled Brady back down beneath its surface. What little air was left in his lungs emerged as a silent bubbling scream as he struggled against the force that was pulling him deeper into the inky blackness. His last thought before giving into whatever awaited him at the bottom of Asylum Lake was of April…the taste of her cherry Chap Stick …and fireworks.
The clouds, which had hung gray and threatening most of the night, fully opened above him, sending sheets of rain across the once placid surface of the lake. The drops washed over Brady and traced salty lines as they ran down his face. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and shook his head in disbelief as he realized the rain was mixed with his tears.
Brady turned to find Gruff standing in the shallow waters near the shore. The dog’s tail was tucked and its eyes were locked onto some distant point out on the horizon. Brady could read the anxiety in Gruff’s body language. A slow and silent spark of lightning arched through the clouds overhead, and for the briefest of moments the Asylum across the lake stood illuminated against the menacing backdrop of the surrounding hills and trees. The sight made Brady’s skin crawl.
The feeling was familiar and it brought his thoughts back to that night on the float, and more specifically to what he had experienced beneath the waves. Quickly, his thoughts jumped forward to the next thing he had remembered after surrendering to the cold darkness of the water – waking up two days later at a hospital in Traverse City, courtesy of a twenty-five minute aero-med flight. The helicopter ride and everything else in between and right after was lost or at least buried in a way that he hadn’t quite found a way to uncover…yet. It gnawed at him from just below the surface of his memory.
Maybe this journey would be little more than a failed attempt to reconcile himself with the painful memories from his past but, as he stood at the end of the dock and gazed out through the wind and rain of a summer storm into the muted grays of the midnight hour, Brady felt both oddly cleansed and at the same time as if he were on the verge of something great…and terrible. It brought neither a feeling of fear nor comfort, but turning to make his way back to the Up North House, he knew at least the few remaining hours of this night would be filled with dreams of a far happier and less complicated time.
As Brady began the trek back from the sandy beach, he was unaware that his was not the only spirit searching for answers and in need of cleansing. Mere yards away, strewn along the rocky and forgotten bottom of Asylum Lake, the unremembered were growing restless.
November 2, 1971
Bedlam Falls, MI
Blood spilled by violence leaves a stain far different from blood which is shed in any other way. As Lionel stood on the tips of his toes at the kitchen sink, he was surprised by how much more difficult blood was to wash away than the dirt he was accustomed to. The dish rag had done little to clean the gore from beneath his fingernails. It had taken a fork from the drawer to scrape most of it out. As for the streaks and spatters that coated his forearms, neck and face - they seemed to be a lost cause. Lionel had considered showering, but that would have meant removing what was left of Mrs. Reed from the bathtub. In the end he did what he could with a wet towel and decided not to worry about the rest.
Not that the mess was limited to the kitchen; bloody tracks led from one end of the small Cape Cod to the other and smeared fingerprints were on everything from the kitchen knives to the golf club he discovered in the hall closet. Even the hedge clippers he had picked up in the garage were bloodied and broken. The blades had actually bent and snapped clear off from the wooden handles. The dull and rusty shears had worked just fine on the kids, but Mrs. Reed was a big woman with thick bones and thick bones, he learned, required a hacksaw. Lionel had to make the long walk from the bathroom to the garage three times for new blades.
The white plastic bracelet hung loosely on his wrist throughout the entire ordeal. It, too, had been stained beyond any hope of coming clean. Most of the words, however, were still legible beneath the smears of blood.
Ellis Arkema #00981
SOUTH WING, LAKE VIEW ASYLUM
DOB: UNKNOWN