Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds (20 page)

In addition to being a spiteful jackass, Mister Neighborhood Watch seemed to only speak in dumb clichés.

“We really can’t,” I told him, raising my wrist to consult a watch that wasn’t there. Connie sort of half-nodded, half-jerked her head at me. I shook mine back in silent dissent.

“It might be nice to come in for a minute,” I said.

I wistfully recalled a time when people didn’t constantly push me around. A diagnosis of schizophrenia isn’t just about being crazy, it’s about not trusting yourself…at least not like you used to.

The grass was wet as we walked over the lawn toward the home Claude shared with his family. I hoped for his sake they really were asleep. There was no telling what could happen now. The yard felt like it went on forever. Yards didn’t seem this big when I was a kid. But then, my neighborhood wasn’t nearly this nice.

Connie and I sat on either side of a velvety sectional sofa. It probably used to be nice. But now it was covered in snags, cracker crumbs, and something that looked like an old grape juice stain. Connie clutched her bag to her chest nervously, and I was sure she’d put me down like a charging rhino if I did anything.

“Did you tell Connie about Boris?” Claude asked me as if he and I were chummy old friends. That jerkass wasn’t fooling anyone. Connie raised an eyebrow at me.

“Boris?”

Connie’s voice was light, curious. Even she was acting as if Claude and I were best pals, as if I was the only one who wasn’t in on it. A woman stumbled into the room wearing nothing but a long T-shirt. She jumped slightly when she noticed us.

“Oh! I didn’t know we had company.”

Claude’s wife looked the same as in the photo, except she’d gotten some sun recently. Her skin looked ruddy and reddened, even in the dimly lit living room. Connie, for some reason, couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. Claude rushed over to his wife.

“Honey, this is Kirk from next door and Connie.”

He gave his wife a knowing look. I knew it! He’d been talking to her about me. It was all so obvious.

“They wanted to see Boris.”

The couple whispered to each other in the hallway, before she retreated down the hall and out of sight.

Connie stood up and wandered around the room with a kind of forced nonchalance. Whatever she had expected to happen during this farce, this wasn’t it. Hopefully she was realizing what a bad move it was to force me to come here. I was feeling well enough to go to my house. I could sleep on the floor or maybe on that expensive leather sofa. I’d bide my time, wait until I was ready, until I knew exactly what to do. Connie didn’t have to know anything about it. She was too special, too good to know about this.

Connie was looking through the framed photos around the mantle on its little shelves. She picked up one in particular, and stared. Her head lowered, and she raised a hand over her face and stayed like that for a full minute, maybe more. Then her hand went out to the mantle for support.

“Are you okay?”

I went to her. Her eyes were red and teary, when they hadn’t been just moments before.

“Yes,” her voice was low. “I’m going to the powder room. Please don’t do anything until I get back.”

She squeezed my arm and handed me the frame in her hand. I thought wistfully that nobody really called it a powder room anymore.

I looked at the thing that made Connie weepy. A framed photo of what appeared to be a younger Claude and…it was unmistakable. I gasped out loud. My girl. Ten years younger, maybe, and leaning against a young Claude who towered over her by a head. Her bright blonde hair shone in the sunlight, like her smile. Seeing them next to each other, it was obvious that they were related. Their eyes were exactly the same, even though I now knew that one pair of them was good, and the other was evil.

Connie’s question from the car came back to me. Why? Why would Claude hate you. He didn’t even know about your case…

He was a faker, a liar. He did this to me on purpose. He hated me like everyone else. He believed I did it on purpose, or that I should have gotten the chair. People actually asked for that outside the courthouse. They wanted me to be strapped to a chair and burned to death with electricity. People were all evil inside; some just buried it deeper than others. I returned the frame to its former place, face-down on the mantle.

Connie must have left me alone to do what I had to do. Thank you, Connie. Thank you.

“Alright, man, you up for a beer?” The buffoon looked on the brink of another irksome guffaw.

You should have let Boris loose on me when you had the chance, Claude. When I was doped up on whatever poison was in that frosty mug. You think you’re such a smart son-of-a-bitch, don’t you Claude? I’m onto you.

“Sure,” I told him, following toward the basement. The whole way down, my eyes darted everywhere. How would I do it? How would I wipe this mean, nasty bit of filth off the face of the planet? If I took care of everyone who behaved this way, slowly, surely, I could rid the world of hate. Malice and vitriol would breed themselves out of the gene pool. It was the best reason to stay alive. It would almost be worth my suffering to save the world from evil.

There were full, heavy whiskey bottles all across the bar. A weight rack in the corner revealed dumbbells just large enough to bash someone’s head in. Then I saw it. It was just behind the bar. My beloved bat. Well, not MY bat, but the one he’d planted for me to see. The one he’d used to push me back to a time when there was only fear, only terror, a time when all I could do was lash out against the evil. Bashing him with it was just, and apropos.

“Hope you’re in the mood for something extra strong!”

Claude’s unnaturally cheerful exclamation made me wince. Not long now, Claude. Get ready. I took a step toward the bar and took my drink, not daring to touch it to my lips. God knows what was in this one. I tried to take another step toward the bar. I just needed to get behind it. He was blocking my way, pretending he wasn’t, leaning in silent menace to keep me from my target. Did he know?

Too soon, far too soon, Connie’s furious steps descended the stairs. Claude took a step toward her, clearing me to dive behind the bar and pick up the glorious baseball bat. I squeezed it in my hands, relishing the weight on the end. This would fix it. This would end it. Suddenly, it all made sense. Connie was holding something in her hands. I didn’t realize what it was. A flash of blue light streaked the room. I heard electric crackling and a scream of pain. There was a pronounced thud, then silence. I was standing. Holding the bat. Claude lie switching and writhing on the floor as Connie pressed the button down as hard as it would go. After what seemed like a very long time, she stopped and looked up at me. She tossed something yellow and stained on the floor next to the still-twitching Claude.

“They both did it. The wife too. I--” Connie looked like she might cry again. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

It was a blonde wig, stained with blood. I didn’t imagine the thing in my bed. It wasn’t my girl. They were tricking me. Just to hurt me. Just to make me pay, and pay, and have to keep paying.

Connie pressed the taser again for good measure. Claude appeared to have peed himself, but otherwise lay perfectly still. I didn’t know what to say to her. How do you thank someone for believing in you? How do you express gratitude when somebody gives you back your sanity, or at least helps you remember where you had it last? While I was thinking about that, I didn’t really notice that Connie had pulled open the top of the massive snake’s enclosure.

“So this is Boris?” she asked, not remotely fearful as its massive, scaly head moved smoothly up the side of its Plexiglas box. I nodded. Connie took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. She was so much tougher than I realized. She was brave, proactive, forceful, even lethal, it seemed.

I paused just long enough to see all 17-plus-feet of Boris coil around his former owner, who was just then starting to regain consciousness. The last 18 hours of my life were the strangest ever—even after spending a year in the mental hospital. It was profoundly terrifying, exhilarating, shocking. I moved forward up the stairs. I couldn’t help thinking that just like Connie suggested, I was finding infinite joy in the unexpected.

Sheriff Gerald Keylee knows the identity of the man walking down the middle of the road even before he sees his face.

Simon Fielding: White male, six feet, approximately 160 pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes.

At precisely 11:14 p.m., Mr. Fielding was reported as having escaped from County Hospital (his third AWOL just in the last six weeks). On each of his flights he is found wandering down the shoulder of the Jessup County expressway. His escapes are always sudden, always unexplainable and they always occur in the middle of the night.

Tonight is no different.

Law enforcement in Jessup is held together by a handful of officers. There’s hardly any crime. On most nights, only the sheriff and the dispatcher, Debbie, remain on duty. A fellow officer, Ralph Jenkins, is on call and can be alerted to assist if necessary.

Because of Fielding’s history, Keylee had started the night’s search on the expressway, using his searchlights in an attempt to locate his suspect. At 1:26 a.m., after nearly an hour of driving the same 20-mile portion of road, the sheriff had begun to wonder if somehow Fielding had moved beyond the city limits. He had expressed his concern to Debbie over the radio and she in turn had suggested that he check out some of the back roads near the southern county lines. She recommended one road in particular: Shepherd’s Pass.

“And it looks like you were right, Deb,” the sheriff says to himself as he pulls his patrol car over to the side of the road. Simon is 10 yards away, venturing the uneven concrete, the pavement ruined from years of neglect.

Fielding is a notorious sleepwalker. He walks the cool pavement barefoot, dressed only in his state-issued hospital clothes. If he were actually conscious, he would undoubtedly be freezing. Fortunately, (or perhaps unfortunately) he is lost in the depths of a dream.

Keylee reaches for his radio. “Deb? It’s me. I’ve got good news.”

The speaker crackles. An excited woman’s voice asks: “Did you find him, sheriff?”

“Copy that.”

“Okay, great. I’ll get County Hospital on the line and tell them we found their patient.”

“Right. I’ll let ya know when I’m en route.”

“Should I send Ralph for back up?”

“What for?”

“Just thought I’d check.”

Keylee switches off. Next, he opens the driver’s side door and steps out of the cruiser to approach his suspect.

Fielding walks in perfect stride, missing every pothole, every pile of loose gravel, as though he were coordinating each step meticulously. This is impossible of course. After all, his eyes are closed.

 The sheriff knows from past encounters that he could speak to Mr. Fielding who occasionally would even reply despite his lack of awareness. The trick was to speak to him gently, act polite. And most of all: show no fear.

“Evening Simon. Where you off to tonight?”

Simon’s eyelids flutter, his head turns ever-so-slightly. The reply he gives is a soft spoken enigma. “The corner of 1st and May.”

Keylee swallows and takes a dramatic step forward. “Well, how ‘bout I give you a lift?”

Simon halts and Keylee stops with him.

“A lift?”

“That’s right Simon…” Keylee places a hand on Fielding’s left shoulder and guides him back to the patrol car. He gently places him into the backseat without cuffing him. There’s no need. The sheriff straps in his suspect then quietly shuts the rear door. He returns to the driver’s seat and puts the car in motion, making a quick U-turn so he can get back to the expressway.

Minutes pass in silence. Keylee glances up and checks his rearview mirror. Mr. Fielding sits motionless, both hands resting in his lap.

Keylee knows the staff at County Hospital will place him in the Disturbed ward once they arrive. “Disturbed” is a high security section on the fourth floor of a six story facility. The two floors above it are also occupied by men with mental incapacities, some of them mild, most severe. To prevent him from escaping again, the staff will undoubtedly monitor him on camera and possibly strap him to a gurney or hospital bed. Electroshocks are out of the question, but heavy sedatives are certain to be on hand. There will not be another escape.

Keylee’s thoughts shift to Simon’s escapes in general. He suspects someone at the hospital might be assisting him with breaking out, but the real question is why?

Suddenly, the police scanner clicks, the sound of static erupts through the speakers –ssssssssssssssssssssssssss- a voice finally transmits. It’s Debbie again.

“Sheriff? You there? How’s it going?”

Keylee snatches up the receiver. “Copy, Deb. I’ve got our mystery man in custody. I’m heading to the Interstate, but it’s gonna be minute ‘til I get there. He was pretty far out there this time.”

“How far’d he make it?”

“Hmmm, about six miles. He was right where you said he’d be.”

“Did you ask him where he was going?”

“Yes, ma’am”

“And did he give you that same address? First and May?”

“Sure did.”

“God, that’s so strange…”

“Yeah well, this whole thing is strange if you ask me.”

“Well, just so you know, I ran a search and there’s no record of a First and May anywhere in the state. I double checked. I even asked a few locals. Lots of First streets they said, but no May.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say our boy’s from outta town.”

“Yeah, but from where?”

“You know as much as I do, Deb. In fact, I got a feeling you know a lot more. Speaking of which…how’d you know for me to check Shepherd’s Pass? He’s never come out this way before.”

“Just call it a hunch, Sheriff.”

Hearing this, Keylee smiles and shakes his head. “Bull. C’mon, Deb. What’s the story?”

“Well, Sheriff, I can tell you, but you won’t believe me.”

“Try me. I got a good 10 minutes to spare before I make it to the Interstate, another 30 to get to County Hospital. So I got plenty of time to debate your wild theories.”

Laughter comes over the radio speakers. Keylee checks his rearview mirror again to monitor his man in custody through the Plexiglas divider. Mr. Fielding is still asleep, his breathing, slow and even. Debbie’s voice cuts in, but Keylee misses it.

“What’s that, Deb? Sorry. I was checking on something.”

“I said I had a dream about it.”

“A dream about what?”

“The road. Shepherd’s Pass.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Well, you know the old story about it, don’t you?”

Keylee groans into his radio. “Oh boy, here we go. I knew this was coming. You and your old stories...”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

Keylee sighs, still smiling as he plots his next words carefully. “I guess I’m simply saying that you’re…beyond common understanding.”

“Well put, sheriff.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway…what’s your latest? Let’s hear it.”

“Well, since you’re so eager to know, Shepherd’s Pass was where they found that doctor.”

“Doctor? What doctor?”

“County Hospital’s got a history of patients goin’ missing from it, Sheriff.”

Keylee frowns. He has been on the Jessup County police force for 10 years, sheriff for five. And during that time he has never heard of anyone other than Mr. Fielding escaping from the County’s mental ward. Then again, he thought, Debbie has lived in Jessup County all her life. Her father had been a deputy for 36 years. Perhaps she knows something he doesn’t.

“It was before our time,” Debbie explains as if sensing his confusion. “A good twenty somethin’ years ago. Back when Shepherd’s Pass was still open.”

Keylee frowns. “What’s the Pass got to do with it?”

Debbie continues. “A lot of folks in town who were around back then think it’s got a lot to do with it actually. They say that road is…of the devil.”

Keylee sighs. “Deb, some folks in town say everything is of the devil. Cable TV is of the devil. McDonald’s is of the devil. Airplanes…of the devil. Hell, Ms. Clarkson accused my cat once of bein’ ‘of the devil’.”

“I know, I know. But this is different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“The doctor, I think his name was Grover, claimed he knew the cause for all the disappearing patients. He said he’d discovered some secret manuscript, some book. Of course no one ever saw this mysterious book and before he could produce it, the good doctor just snapped.”

“What do mean?”

“Well, he showed up at the hospital one night, took out a guard and then helped one of his patients escape.”

A knot tightens in the sheriff’s stomach. So the hospital had a prior incident of someone helping patients break out.

“Go on,” he says, his level of intrigue rapidly increasing.

“Well, the police were called in, my father included. He said they never found the patient, but they did manage to locate the doctor. And I’m sure you can guess where…”

“Shepherd’s Pass?”

“Bingo.”

Keylee ponders this information then asks: “So, where is this doctor now, do we know?”

“He’s dead,” Debbie says flatly. “When they found him on the Pass he was in his car. Apparently he’d been in a terrible accident. The car had flipped over several times. When the medics arrived and transported him to the hospital they said the doctor was delirious. He died a few hours later, slipped into a coma in his hospital bed, then he flat-lined.”

“Wow. That’s too bad. I would have had a lot of questions for him.”

“You and a lot of other people, Sheriff,” Debbie remarks slyly. “The hospital was furious that they couldn’t press charges. The guard he’d taken out almost died from his concussion. Anyway…that’s the story.”

“So no one knows what became of the missing patient, huh?”

“No, but you can bet there were some pretty wild theories. That’s why the city council decided to close the Pass. Folks in town were scared. Thought the crazy man might still be out there. And sheriff, you’re not gonna believe this next part. The patient? They said his name was Fielding.”

Keylee’s eyes widen in bewilderment. “What? Debbie…why didn’t you tell me this before?”

A dead silence fills the patrol car. The radio crackles, hissing with static. Keylee attempts to switch frequencies, but the white noise continues.

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Debbie? Debbie, come in?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Sheriff? Are you there?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“I’m here Debbie. What the hell’s happening?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Sheriff? Hello?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Debbie, can you hear me, copy?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

 “Yeah, I can hear you now. Did you get him?”

-ssssssssssssssssssssssssssss- (The hissing stops.)

“Get who?” Keylee asks, confused.

“The suspect. Simon Fielding.”

What’s going on here?

“Of course I got him, Deb. I already told you this. Who do you think we’ve been talking about for the last ten minutes?”

 “Uh, sheriff…” Debbie replies hesitantly. “You haven’t called in for over an hour.”

Keylee’s face reddens. “Deb, what the hell are you doing? Quit playin’ games.”

“Sheriff, I’ve been tryin’ to reach you for a whole half an hour, but all I’ve been getting is static.”

Keylee’s pulse quickens. He gazes out the windshield, losing himself in the beam of headlights reflecting on the asphalt. The surrounding night has consumed all visibility. There is only the road ahead.

“Debbie, what are you saying?”

No response. The radio is crackling again. The hiss of static returns.

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Debbie? You there? Can you hear me?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

 “Deb, this isn’t funny…”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“Deb…?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

The radio clicks off. Silence fills the patrol car, amplifying the hum of the engine as the sheriff looks up and stares at Simon’s reflection. His eyes are open now. He’s alert…and smiling.

Keylee turns in his seat, releasing his grip on the steering wheel. “Mr. Fielding? Are you alright?”

Simon remains silent as he reaches out and taps on the divider and points to the windshield, his lips mouthing two words: “Look out.”

Keylee frowns and his eyes shift back to the road. The patrol car is swerving toward a massive ditch on the left hand side of the pass. The sheriff gasps and he frantically realigns his position on the road.

“Mr. Fielding I need you to sit back in your seat, sir…”

Simon does as instructed.

Keylee calms himself by inhaling a deep breath. “Mr. Fielding? Are you okay back there?”

Simon’s head tilts back, his eyelids fluttering faster than before. “Let me out, Sheriff…” His voice is soft, thoroughly absent of malice, yet all the same, it manifests something that causes the sheriff to shudder.

“Mr. Fielding…what’s going on?”

Simon’s lids peel open. “I have to stop the crash,” he says. “I have to stop it…or we’ll never get out.”

I should pull over, Keylee thinks to himself. I should pull over and put him in restraints.

The interstate is less than two miles distance, and this fact deflects his decision to stop. Just keep him calm. Keep him talking. Find out what’s going on.

“Mr. Fielding? Can you hear me? I need you to explain to me what crash you’re referring to.”

Simon bows his head. “I’m lost…”

The sheriff shakes his head firmly. “You’re not lost, Mr. Fielding. You’re right here with me.”

Simon reaches up to his face, emitting an agonized groan. “Oh God, I’m lost…so lost…I can’t get out…I can’t escape it…”

Get to the hospital. Stop screwin’ around and get to hospital now!

Keylee floors the accelerator. The speedometer races to 90mph as Simon cries out in terror, banging at the divider. “You have to get us out of here!”