Seven-X (18 page)

He’s flipping the switch. I hear it click. 

“It’s dead… What the fuck?”

Melody: Something just ran past Eddie quickly, maybe an animal. I can hear tree branches whistling and cracking.

“Something’s out here.  Animals or something. I ain’t walking anywhere without a gun. I’m  going inside, to stay warm.”

The door just slammed shut hard. Eddie’s breathing heavy. 

“That shadow’s still on the ceiling. I shined my phone at it and the light wrapped around that black body, then the wings popped out! 

Eddie just threw something at the wall or something crashed
.

“What do you want? Come on!” You want to kill me. Eat me. Say something!”

I hear footsteps and heavy breathing. Eddie sounds like he’s stumbling around in the dark. 
 

“Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe they drugged the water or what if the heater’s pumping some chemicals into the air here. I’m lying on my bed and these things still hover over me. Go! Go!  Get the fuck out!”

I think he’s jumping on the bed.

“I just swiped at the little one, but my hand went through it. He merged with the big one, hiding like a kangaroo in its mother’s pouch.”

Eddie crashed down on the bed again
or he fell. I can’t tell.
  

 “My chest is pounding. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack. This is serious. I know I don’t pray, but God if you’re out there, don’t let me die.” 

Melody: Oh God, Eddie, what is wrong. I can’t listen to you suffer like this. It hurts me too. Don’t you understand that. I feel that pain. I hear Eddie cry out.

“I just want to sleep. I need sleep. Make it go away. I just want to sleep. Please! Let me sleep. I just want to sleep!”

That’s it. The recorder went dead. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take not hearing from you. Not knowing what is going on, and hearing you suffer. My mind runs wild, imagining what you are going through, and the pain you feel. Eddie, please, please! Come home.

JOURNAL ENTRY:                                         

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 9:23 AM

The knock on the door scared the hell out of me. I was out cold. I don’t know what I did, but I scratched the hell out of my left hand. It’s all swollen and I feel like shit. I was so sore; I didn’t even want to get out of bed.

But the daytime security guard woke me up with his constant pounding on my door. Where do they get these security guys? 

I got up to find Simon, this lanky Englishman, who looks like big bird. He has that same nervous jitter as Santiago, and watching him twitch, made me realize, my paranoia may have substance to it, or chemicals. 

Something tells me my gut is right and “The Birdman of Alcatraz” is another prison refuge who couldn’t do another day in the pen. So he took the Club Dread vacation package.

He banged on the door until I yelled, “come in.” He stopped for a moment, then continued banging until I answered. 

I opened the door and the idiot just stood there holding my camera nervously in his hand.

I don’t know what’s with this whole “permission” scenario. Who are you, Bill Compton from True Blood? “Get your ass in here,” I told him. “I grant you permission.” But he wouldn’t step inside. 

He set the camera down at the door in front of me and told me Annette Dobson went into labor. I need to report to Dr. Haworth’s office immediately. Then he left.

AUDIO LOG:                      

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 9:42 AM

“Bullshit! I have to wait for permission to see if they are going to let me in to see Dobson’s delivery. Apparently, Preston and Billings are already in there and Dobson is about to pop.

Haworth’s over there, checking my status now, leaving me alone in his office. He told me he wasn’t staying for the birth. It is up to Billings to let me in. They love messing with me. They give me just enough to keep me needing more, but never enough to get my whole story. 

Guess what? I’m messing back. It’s my turn to get my answers. I’m going to see what’s in Haworth’s computer while he’s gone! I permit myself I said, as I made my way to his desk, and sat in his throne, looking at his computer.

Damn!  It’s password protected. What would he use, I asked myself? “Jackass?” No. “Uphir?” “UBHC?” “Leopard?” Shit! How ‘bout “Alan? AlanH?” Nope. “Ward A? Ward B.” No wait!  I got it… Let’s try, “Ose.”  

Holy shit! That son of a bitch!  It’s “Ose!”  That’s his password. How insane is that? 

Who cares? I’m in and now I’m going to copy his files to my memory stick… Here we go. Find his documents folder and copy. That’s it. Come on…. Come on…How many files are here for God sakes? I hear something. Any day!  Copy faster… Shit! It’s footsteps!  Haworth is coming back! Copy! 

I got to finish this and get this stick out, then log out. No… No! C’mon finish… Log out… Log out!  Damn it!  Log me out!

I got it!  I got it. Whew… Thank God. Now I just need to get up and walk around like nothing happened, and in 5-4-3-2…” 

“Mr. Hansen,” Haworth stated as he entered, watching me stroll around his office as he made his way back to his desk. 

I casually asked, “Hey Doc! What’s the good word?”

“Sit down,” he instructed me as he sat at his desk and observed me.

“So she’s having the baby, huh?” I said as he checked around, like something was missing or wrong. It seemed like eternity, before he finally picked up a pen from under the keyboard and told me,  “Reverend Billings and Dr. Preston were very specific with their method and instructions for this birth. Only Nurse Evans will accompany them. You and I will not participate.”

“What?” I groaned.

Haworth jotted something down on his notepad saying,  “I’m allowing him to use his discernment. For the sake of this experiment.”

“How do I skew the result?” I asked, getting up, agitated.

“That’s not my decision,” Haworth continued, as he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a file.

“Great!” I responded, thinking of some solution to get my story. Then it hit me. “Is anyone taping this? I asked Haworth. “Are there cameras in there?”

“Yes,” Dr. Haworth replied.

“Can you pipe me a feed,” I asked, waiting for his response… “Please.” 

“I’ll consider that option,” he said as he logged into his computer, looking at me for a moment with concern.

“Thank you,” I said, acting innocent to any accusations his eyes might have made. Then I saw it, my death certificate signed in the upper corner of the room. It was the video camera above Haworth’s desk. It was staring down at me, convicting me of my crime. 

I looked up, trying not to let Haworth notice me as he stated firmly, “You may not bring any recording materials inside with you. Is that clear? You may only observe if Reverend Billings approves.”

“Yes, that’s fine” I said, feeling some relief as he began working again. But the back of my mind kept wondering what that security camera recorded. I stood there dwelling on my guilt as Haworth looked up at me and said,  “We’ll reconvene at ten thirty in front of Ward A. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said as I made my way out the door, taking one last look at the inventory of that room.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hansen,” Haworth replied coldly, never looking up at me as I left.

JOURNAL ENTRY:                      

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 10:12 AM

I got that file by the skin of my ass.  I was so close to Haworth walking in on me, while I was at his computer. The only thing that worries me is that camera in the corner, above his desk.  If it recorded me, I’m in deep shit!

But it made me think. With all of the cameras planted all around this place, there has to be a control room somewhere.  A storage place. A database for all this video and the case files acquired through the ages here. That archive is a goldmine. I can only imagine the treatments, torture, mutilation, exorcisms, demonic activity that was recorded here. 

If I could access that control room and secure those files, I’d recover a missing piece of history. I’d get a Nobel prize or some shit like that.  It would be enough to make a whole series of films. The Smithsonian, museums, the public, private collectors. Everyone would want this.  It’s like a pirate’s treasure. You can’t even begin to count the wealth it would bring me.

But for now, I’ve got to play their game. I’ve taken enough risks today. I’m only bringing my laptop to take notes. I’m not going to push it, but I’ve got to get proof of this birth. I need concrete evidence that this baby is alive. That Annette Dobson delivered him and did not abort her pregnancy. I need that evidence!

AUDIO LOG/JOURNAL ENTRY:                  

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 11:06 AM

Here’s the compromise. I’m sitting in the Doctor’s lounge in Ward A, watching a video feed from one of the cameras they brought into the birthing room. 

There’s no way they’d ever let me see the control room, or know it’s whereabouts. That information is probably as classified as a government test site. 

What I do get to witness is quite the spectacle. What’s odd is that Dr. Haworth doesn’t seem remotely interested in what’s going on. Maybe there’s more pressing events elsewhere, but this my friends, is a sight to see.

Let me describe the carnival because I don’t think anyone has ever seen a birth like this. First off, never underestimate the sheer paradox of watching a reportedly dead serial killer sitting in a warm tub of waist high water, about to birth a baby. 

Annette Dobson is wearing this white gown like she’s getting married, not popping out a kid. Her arms are raised and she’s smiling in complete bliss as she breathes in and out rhythmically. They’ve been singing and laughing, like they’re on crack, since I’ve been watching.

 Reverend Billings is either strumming on a guitar or praying over Annette, putting his hands on her stomach and head most of the time. 

He put a Bible on her belly once and started shooing demons away saying that there rights were broken, and they had no legal ground to be there, or affect the birth of this child, yada, yada, yada! All that religious mumbo-jumbo tunes me out, makes me agitated for some reason.

Maybe it’s because I need to get evidence. I should be in there. No one will believe what’s happening here. This is history, our history. The history that people won’t talk about. Don’t dare talk about!

And like a circle, it repeats itself, asking the same questions about who we really are under the surface. 

Speaking of which, Preston just reached his hands into the water and instructed Dobson to push. It looks like the head of the baby may be coming soon. I wish you could see this. Dobson’s face is glowing. 

It’s weird. She doesn’t look like she’s in pain. She even started singing again. Wow, that’s different. With Jamie, all I remember was cursing. She squeezed my hand so hard it turned black and blue, and she yelled at me for being an irresponsible lout.

But here I am, listening to a serial killer, Annette Dobson sing while she does it. Her voice is so pure. There’s no strain at all. It’s like this fountain pouring out life. I really wish you could see this… Oh Wait!… Wait!  You can! You can! 

I got it.  Why didn’t I think of this before? 

I can turn the camera on my laptop on and record the monitor. Watch this my friends, serial killer Annette Dobson’s singing birth.

“Incomparable, unchangeable                                   

You see the depths of my heart                                  

And you love me the same                                      

You are amazing God. You are amazing God.”

As insane as this looks, there is a magnificent beauty to this. I can’t even comprehend it. How can such a beautiful voice come out of this woman?  It went right through me and actually brought a tear to my eye. Maybe I’m soft. Part of me wants to be pissed and see that monster for who she is, but she looks beautiful. She’s giving birth to a child and there is something so organically pure and beautiful about this moment. The miracle of a child being born.

It feels like it was yesterday. That was me in there, with Jamie when I saw Kennedy take her first breath in this world. She was so beautiful. My little girl. I was the first one to hold her too. The doctor gave her to me. She looked into my eyes and smiled and I melted.  I just broke down right there. I felt pure joy. I was so happy, so grateful for everything.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that way since.

Right now, there’s a glow in that room that pulsates with peace. Annette Dobson is engulfed in pure bliss. This woman, a serial killer, looks like an angel. Her voice pierces through me. She’s laughing as Preston is delivering her baby. 

Oh my God. Here it comes. Here it comes.   Wow. It’s a boy. A baby boy. He’s beautiful. Wow. Wow. Wow!

 He’s not even crying. The little guy’s laughing like someone is tickling him. I don’t know why I feel like I’m the daddy again.  That’s so stupid, but looking at him makes me forget everything else in the world. I just want to hold that kid and hug him. I’m looking at her holding him now, watching her cry with joy. I know those tears. They are the most beautiful tears, you will ever cry. The tears of a brand new parent.

JOURNAL ENTRY:                                        

TUESDAY DECEMBER 14, 2010 – 3:00 PM

I was a blubbering idiot. I guess a visual reminder of Kennedy’s birth, combined with the fact that I just had, what might be the greatest success of my career, broke me a little.  

Serial killer Annette Dobson, once pronounced dead, gave birth to a baby boy, and I have it on my laptop. This video’s worth at least fifty grand. Between this journal, my recordings and Haworth’s files, I almost have my million-dollar story.