Seven-X (4 page)

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 2:00 AM

It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep. My body feels agitated and my heart’s pumping. I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or a panic attack or worse.

It feels like something is pulling on my chest, on my heart mostly. It’s a gnawing pull that won’t let me rest. 

I’m looking out my triangle window at the institution.  It has this moonlit glow that makes me feel like I am in a horror movie. Like some nut job is going to come busting in any minute with a chainsaw or hockey mask. It’s surreal, this feeling. Everything is heightened, overly sensitive in me.  Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. 

Self-preservation, instinct is taking over before Freddy comes in my dream. I have a feeling they’re watching me too. I never feel alone in here. 

I did a clean sweep for hidden cameras, took down the mirror, checked the deer head, the lamps, the clock. I didn’t find anything. 

But I’m going to type instead of record anything until I know it’s clear in here. I don’t want to give them the upper hand on what I’m thinking or doing.

I’m putting this puzzle together and I know everything was put here for a reason. 

The pile of psychotic movies and books in here.

The hissing sounds on the recordings I made. 

I’ve got to give them credit for trying to rattle me. The Reverend even left a Bible in the top drawer of the nightstand like in a cheap motel. He personally inscribed it:

“To Eddie. ‘My words are spirit and  my words are life. Use them and live.”  John 6:63

What’s that supposed to mean? Is it a warning? Sure enough, I checked his reference and that’s what it says in that Bible. The good priest also took the liberty to highlight in yellow
,
some verses about demons. I noticed this as I flipped the book open and looked for that John 6:63 reference.  It’s a couple of pages after that verse. Page 1898 to be exact. He circled number 19, and then highlighted this.

“At these words the Jews were again divided. Many of them said, “He is
demon-
possessed and raving mad. Why listen to him?  But others said, “These are not the sayings of a man possessed by a
demon
. Can a
demon
open the eyes of the blind?”

He underlined demon each time in pen. Curious, I continued thumbing ahead to see what other clues he thinks he left me. The next one I found on page 2077. The top of the page says 1 Corinthians 10. He’s got number 20 circled and he highlighted this.

“No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to
demons
, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with
demons.
You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of
demons
too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and the table of
demons.

He’s got demon underlined again. Is it a message or manipulation? Who’s sacrificing who? 

Participating with demons. Drinking from a cup of demons. What’s that? What’s going on here? 

Is Annette Dobson the sacrifice?  

I’m trying to figure this out. I see demon underlined seven times. Someone is demon possessed and raving mad? But people are divided. There are two sides in both of these verses arguing opposite points. Billings and Haworth!

Both are trying to get me to see their side of some story or argument that they are presenting or experimenting with. That’s a debate!  

That’s it!  “IT’S THE GREAT DEBATE.”

Picture this. We got this priest and this psychologist, two puppeteers of humanity squaring off over something or someone.

Annette Dobson!  

If she is here, why is she here? What do they want from her? What’s the topic?

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

That’s what came to my mind right now. Haworth asked me that today. He and Billings were so intent on exploring my dark side. What is the worst thing inside me? What creates that evil in me? Evil!  That’s the common denominator. That’s our theme!

“The Core of Evil!”

They ping-ponged this off my head all day.  We spoke of unrestrained violence, fits of rage, outbursts of passion. The things we do so easily without thinking or remorse. So what’s the catch? What’s their motive? 

To actually find the origin or core of evil.   

To discover its birth!  

That is it! I know it is! 

Follow my reasoning. Annette Dobson was twenty-four weeks pregnant when she had her abortion. Supposedly had.  All of the protestors, the right-to-lifers were in a rage, but since it was legal, no one could do anything about it. Public sentiment is against Annette Dobson, so when she makes this plea to have her execution moved up, no one asked any questions. That’s what the people wanted.  To slay the monster!  But to quell any controversy and hide her pregnancy, her execution needed to be closed. 

Why?

If whoever is behind this can keep the media out, there’s no trace of her body. No trace of a baby. They send her husband some ashes with a few personal items and a handwritten letter explaining everything and the case has closure. Everyone walks away satisfied and no one looks for anything. We’re all satisfied that justice was served. A few weeks’ later people move on to the next monster.  So they remove Mrs. Dobson from prison and ship her here, where she can be forced to give birth. It’s the perfect case study. That kid has the blood of a stone cold killer. How is he going to react to that? Is he a natural born killer or an innocent baby?  

AN ANGEL OR A DEMON?

Dr. Haworth wants his mind. Reverend Billings wants his spirit. They can raise him any way they want without question. They can influence him. Study him. Mutilate him if they really wanted to. He’s no more than a lab rat because he doesn’t exist. He’s got no birth certificate. No social security number.  Out here, no one would ever find him. No one would even look. Except me!  

If there’s a chance in hell I’m right, then Annette Dobson is here and she’s about thirty-eight weeks pregnant. So the baby is due in a week or two. Which means– 

VIDEO LOG: 

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 2:13 AM

“It’s Eddie!  I just grabbed my camera.  Somebody’s out here. I just saw something run past my window when I was typing.

Look at this freak pit. That’s the asylum down there. The hospital is on the left side. Housing’s on the right. I’m gonna check over by the hospital side… 

Hear that noise! Listen… It’s like a weird drone. Ehhhh. Ehhhh!  I think it’s coming from behind the building. I’m going over to…”

“HEY!! Hands Up! Where I can see them! Hands up! Turn around.”

The next thing I knew there was this fat Mexican kid about twenty in a security uniform wielding a gun at me while he’s shaking like a leaf, yelling, “Put that down! Put it down! Put it down!”

“Okay. It’s just a camera,” I told him.

“Put it down. Step away. Slow. I’ll shoot! I will,” he yelled, pulsating with nervous energy.

“Okay. Okay. It’s down,” I said placing the camera on the ground.  

He rushed closer to me with his gun pulled out, stuttering, “Hands up. Up! They go up. Who are you? Why you here? You don’t got permission.”

“I’m Eddie Hansen. I’m visiting. I’m a guest of Dr. Haworth,” I told him.  

He looked confused, trying to maintain control. “Nobody told me nothing at the gate.”

“I got ID.” 

When I reached for my wallet, he almost pulled the trigger, shaking as he yelled, “Step back!”

“In the guest house. Up there. I got my ID. It’s right there!”

“No you don’t!” he stuttered. 

I don’t know what I said but it turned him ghost white. He shook his head telling me, “Nobody goes there. It’s been five years. Nobody goes in there.”

“Just follow me,” I said cautiously, trying to reassure him. “I’ll get it…”

Then he snapped. “Don’t touch the camera! Put your hands up. You’re not allowed to tape nothing.”

“Doctor Haworth agreed,” I said with a soothing tone.

“Nobody told me nothing.  I have to shut it off, man. I have to. I have to take it. I do. I have to. You follow orders. Nobody does nothing without permission. Nobody!” 

JOURNAL ENTRY:

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 4:30AM

Lesson #1 

If you ever want to be seen again, never walk around a mental institution without credentials.  I learned this from Santiago, the night security guard who I had the pleasure of meeting during my adventure tonight.  

While I was writing my last journal entry, I saw something outside run past my window. It freaked me out, so I went to take a look. 

Turns out it was Santiago. Nice guy, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe he’s smarter than me, because I’m not still sure if he was messing with my head, or being serious.  He’s got this nervous tick in his eye and he shudders every few minutes like a Chihuahua in the snow.  His whole vibe is off.  Our whole walk back he had this friendly, but agitated demeanor. About every fifty feet he would stop and take a deep breath, like an asthmatic, but when I confronted him on it, he said everything was “great.” He was fine. 

We get to the door and he freezes. It took a minute for me to catch on because I was looking for my badge and ID. I figured he was inside and when I found my badge I called over to him, but he’s staring at the floor with this intense glare. Frozen, standing still at the door, shivering. 

I tell him “come in” and it felt like a minute before he finally blurted out, “The last guy that was here killed himself. Right there.”  He said this pointing at the very bed I’m typing in now. 

Apparently suicide boy ripped the cross off the bedpost and slit his throat with the pointed end. Then he bled himself out on the bed. These stains soaked into the wood floor are supposed to be his blood.  I couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. 

Before scurrying away, Santiago nervously mentioned that this room will make me “loco.” 

That’s “crazy” for us gringos. It has the power of the demon Ose, or Ozzy for all I care, who is assigned to rule here. But he’s not supposed to tell me this and begged me not to mention anything to Dr. Haworth. 

So is this a coincidence, or is this the same little devil Aida Mae, my psychic waitress, was rambling about in Dell City?  It doesn’t matter because I don’t believe in that shit. What I need is to figure out how to get to Annette Dobson.  

When I mentioned her name to Santiago, all I got was a blank stare and his stupid shiver. The same with any mention of a  pregnant women. He’s seen nothing. That’s his story.  That’s all I’m getting.

It’s almost 5:00 AM. I got to get some sleep. Goodnight. Faithful readers.

הנשמה שלך היא שלי

JOURNAL ENTRY: 

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 7:00AM

Don’t ask me what that symbol writing thing above is. I have no idea. I left my computer on and I think I hit a keyboard key or something before falling asleep.  Maybe the font got changed or something. I don’t know.

 I was so wound up and exhausted. I thought I turned it off, but I was out of it. So I left that there just in case it means something. 

I want to make sure everything I type or say or find is accurately recorded. I want clarity to my investigation. I promise not to leave anything out. 

I have to go get blood work done now. They are really working me over here, maintaining total control as I consent to their testing.

My reward. I finally get to eat! 

Breakfast is at eight over at the nuthouse cafeteria. Then it’s off to a meeting with Reverend Billings, a facility tour and I cap my day with a visit with Dr. Haworth. 

It should be eventful.  I’ll keep you plugged in.

AUDIO LOG:                                        

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 8:05 AM

“Good morning Uphir Behavioral. It’s Eddie Hansen. Thursday December 9
^th,
 five after eight in the beautiful AM, and I’m at breakfast with my new friend, Donald. Hey buddy, how you doing today?”

“Listen real close. Hear it?” Donald said, lowering his head into his cereal bowl.

“Do I hear what?” I asked.

“Quiet! You need to listen,” he told me touching his ear to the bowl.

The other patient at the table laughed obnoxiously. I guess his name is Rudy or they call him that because he looks like Sean Astin from that movie Rudy. 

 Donald snapped at him. “Quiet Rudy! Everyone. Quiet! Shhh! It’s talking. Keeeeeeee. Keeeeeeee. Pop. Pop. Pop… Pop. Pop. Pop. They’re talking.” 

“Cool,” I mention to Donald as if the possibility of talking cereal existed.

Then he twists his head around the bowl smiling. “They call me every morning. They snap, crackle and pop but sometimes they tell me secrets.”

“Okay.” I replied.

“I know your secret!” Donald told me snapping straight up in his chair excitedly.

“Really,” I answered.

“Yes. Listen. Snap. Crackle. Snap… Oh. That’s bad.”

Rudy interjected with a childish tease. “It’s bad!”

“Tell me Donald,” I asked.

He smiled with closed lips, twisting his head again as a voice came out of him that sounded a bit different from his own. With a hint of a fiendish growl he exclaimed, “Edward Tyler Hansen. Grandma called you ET but you didn’t like it, ‘cuz you were scared of aliens.  You thought they touched you funny, but that was Mr. Greeley, your science teacher. I made him do it.”

Rudy laughed uncontrollably repeating, “Mr. Greely touched you.”

Then Donald chimed back in that sinister voice. “I made him do it. He always listened to me.”

That was it. I was ready to kick his fucking ass, but I could see one of the security guards eyeing me, so I got up slowly and left the table. I didn’t get far before hearing Donald again in his own voice say innocently, “Where you going Eddie? Don’t you want to eat Crispies with me and Ose?”