The Banishing (21 page)

There was a woman seated behind the desk, a phone beside her, and lots of paperwork scattered all around her. She was middle-aged, with short, blond hair, and glasses perched on her nose. She peered over them at Melissa and Josh as they approached.

Melissa smiled—despite the horrible smell of bleach, urine, and chemicals that pervaded the air around them—and walked over to the desk. “I’m Melissa Sanderson. This here—” she turned, motioning to Josh, who was standing beside her—“is Doctor Howell, a psychiatric professional. We’re both here to see if it’s possible to visit with Richard Danvers.”

The woman behind the desk remained expressionless, her eyes flat and unreadable. “I see. You don’t have an appointment, I’m presuming?”

Melissa shook her head “no”, but quickly said, “I know it’s not ideal, but I’d really appreciate even 10 minutes with Mr. Danvers.”

“May I ask why? Nobody ever comes to see him. Not ever.”

Melissa forced a smile. “I knew him from a long way back, at school,” she lied. “I found out he was here, and I’d love to just see him.”

The woman nodded and said, “Give me a moment. I’ll see what I can do.” She turned and left Melissa and Josh standing at the desk, tired and irritated.

They were climbing a large, spiral staircase. The middle-aged woman—she said her name was Chloe, but Melissa thought that didn’t suit her at all, for some reason—was bringing them upstairs to Richard Danvers. Apparently, she had said, they had told him he had visitors, and he was now waiting to see them in a communal area upstairs.

Chloe shifted her heavy weight as she ascended, pausing occasionally to catch her breath after the steep climb.

They eventually reached the top and found themselves at the far end of a long hallway. The walls were dark green and the carpet was gray. Melissa thought it looked depressing, lifeless, and wondered why they wouldn’t make more of an effort in a place where they were supposed to be lifting people out of their daily depression and stress.

Imagine being stuck inside here,
she thought.

Melissa and Josh followed behind Chloe as she started down the hall, silently.

A strong smell—a fusion of body odor, cooked food, and urine—made Melissa want to gag, but she knew her stomach was empty. She hadn’t eaten all day, and that even if she did need to vomit, her retching would be dry and would produce nothing.

After they had shuffled a few feet down the hall, Chloe stopped abruptly and nodded toward a door. It was closed, and on the front in small, black letters it said: visitor’s room #2. Chloe smiled and said, “I’ll give you 15 minutes, then I’ll be back up to escort you out. Most people don’t like coming back down without a member of staff…they don’t like it when other patients tail them.”

Melissa nodded but wondered how any patient could follow her. She hadn’t seen another person since she arrived.

Chloe turned on her heels and headed back to the stairway. “Here goes, then,” Melissa said quietly, looking over to Josh.

Josh raised his eyebrows and reached for the door handle, turning it and pushing open the thick, wooden door.

Melissa stepped inside. The room was small, no, tiny. Inside, there was one table with three chairs scattered around it. Next to the table sat a small, stained sofa. Aside from that, it was empty, void of anything—any character, any homely feeling. It was cold. Basic.

Melissa’s eyes drifted to the sofa and the hunched figure sitting on it. She didn’t even know Richard Danvers, but immediately, something inside of her stirred, and she felt touched by the broken, damaged sight of the man.

He was tall, with a thin layer of brown hair. He was wearing a blue dressing gown, and on his feet were a pair of slippers that seemed too big for him. His face was lowered, staring at the ground, so Melissa couldn’t see his face. She could see only that his eyes were open, fixated on nothing but the floor beneath his feet.

He didn’t look or move as Melissa stepped over to the sofa and sat down beside him.

Josh closed the door behind him and pulled a seat from the table and sat there, watching them both. Removed, outside of the situation.
He’s frightened, and he doesn’t know what to believe,
Melissa thought, glancing over at him.

She turned back to Richard and said, “I know you don’t know me, and I’m sorry to just arrive on you like this. Please, forgive me. I’m here for something really, really important, and I think you might be able to help.”

Richard looked up, and his eyes finally met Melissa’s. “Who are you?”

She smiled, “I’m Melissa Sanderson.”

The man nodded. He had dark, brown eyes. Although Melissa knew he was only in his thirties, she could instantly see the way his experiences had drawn the life out of him and had drained part of his life away. He had the look of a man on death row—defeated, helpless, and desperate.

“I know you lost Grace, your wife,” she said, feeling a pang of guilt at bringing up the dead woman’s name. Melissa heard Josh shuffle in his seat and saw from the corner of her eye that he was staring at them both intently. “I also know you told the police and all the doctors here that it was something in the house you used to live that really made her…” Melissa didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t believe she needed to.

Richard Danvers remained still, like a waxwork. Only the blinking of his eyes portrayed any hint of life beneath his hardened exterior. “It’s all true,” he said, almost to himself. His voice was barely a whisper.

“I believe you.” Those three words changed something in the room, changed something in Richard. Something came to life, an electric charge scattered between them in the room. Richard looked back at Melissa, his eyes wide, his mouth open as if he was about to speak.

Melissa spoke first. “It’s true. I believe you. Nobody has until now, have they? I do. I promise.”

Josh reached over from where he sat, whispering, “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. You might make his condition worse by adding to—”

Melissa waved Josh off, annoyed with his interruption. “Richard, listen. Please. I believe you. When you lived at 46, something was there, wasn’t it? You spoke about it before. You changed, didn’t you? You hurt Grace? You didn’t even know what you were doing, though. It was something in the house. This is so important, Richard, because it’s happening to me, now.”

Richard leaned forward and shook his head. “It’s happening, again?”

Melissa nodded. “Yes. To me. I’m living there, Richard. My husband has changed. To a whole other person. He’s doing things to me the way you did…” here she faltered, unsure about referring to the abuse he inflicted on his dead wife.

“I can’t help,” Richard said, his voice flat and resigned.

“You might be able to!” Melissa pressed. “Anything you can tell me, anything at all. I have to know what is in that house. Before something worse happens to me, to Mark, my husband. Please. You’ve seen what it can do. What do you know?”

Richard sighed heavily. “I couldn’t help then. How could I now?”

“You couldn’t help before, because it…took you over, somehow. The way it is Mark. It has some sort of power over men. I don’t know how or why, but that seems to be what it does. I can see what’s going on, and I might have a chance to stop it all.”

Richard laughed. A hard, dreadful sound. “No. It can’t be stopped. Not what’s in there. It’s pure evil. Now that it has your husband, I don’t think it will let go.”

Melissa felt goosebumps run along her back. From the cold or her fear, she couldn’t tell. “What do you know? Please. What do you remember? What did Grace tell you?”

“Nothing. Leave, please.” Richard turned from her, his eyes locked back to the floor and his feet.

“No. Richard, how can you not help me? I thought you wanted people to believe you? I do. I know what you went through with Grace. I know that none of that was your fault.”

“I can’t,” he repeated.

Melissa grabbed his arm. “Please?”

Richard turned to her, his eyes narrowing on hers.

“You’re scared, aren’t you? Still. After all this time. That house scares you. Is that why you won’t help?”

Richard, ignoring her words, stood up and began shuffling out of the room, his slippers dragging along the thick, green carpet.

Josh stood up. “We should go. This was a waste of time. I don’t know what we were thinking.”

Melissa blinked back tears. “Shit, Josh. He was my only hope.”

“He’s a man locked in a psychiatric unit. What did—?”

“Stop it! You know what this meant.”

Melissa stood up and walked out of the room. Josh followed her. They descended the staircase and headed through reception.

The receptionist looked up from her computer. “You’re done already?” she asked. “I’ll press the buzzer so you can get out,” she said.

Melissa forced a smile and nodded. She waited until the door clicked, and she pulled it open.

They both climbed into the car, eager to get in from the rain, which still fell in heavy drops from the black, night sky.

“Well, that’s that, then,” she said, fumbling for her keys.
Shit. What now?

“I’m sorry,” Josh said. “I know you really wanted this to lead to something.”

She turned on the ignition, and the car whirred to life. A knock on the car window made her jump, and her heart hammered as she turned and saw a face pressed against the glass.

It was the receptionist. Chloe.

Melissa rolled down the window. “Yes?”

Chloe smiled. “Sorry. I wanted to catch you before you left. Richard Danvers just asked me to give you this.”

Chloe handed a brown paper bag through the window, and Melissa took it from her. “What is it?” she asked, looking down at the package, now damp from rain.

The woman shrugged. “Have no idea. He just said you should see it. He said you needn‘t bother returning it.”

Melissa thanked the woman and shut the car window. She turned to Josh. “Maybe it wasn’t a waste of time, after all.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

One large notebook. Handwritten. Some sort of diary or account written by Grace Danvers before she died. Melissa stared at the black book and felt hungry to devour its contents, but she couldn’t.

In the porch of her house, she hesitated at the threshold, wondering whether she should go somewhere where she could be alone to read the notes. She knew Mark was inside, though. Waiting. Wondering where she’d been, again. She’d arrived home late from work, without a word of explanation. He was on edge on a good day, but now?

He’d be mad. Angry. More than that.

Suddenly, the front door opened and she saw Mark, his eyes narrowed onto her, looking puzzled. “Are you going to stand out there all night or something?”

Melissa lowered the bag containing the book. She didn’t want Mark to see it. She forced a smile. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I just got caught up. They’re so short-staffed on the ward right now.” She moved forward to step in, hoping against all hope that Mark wouldn’t force her to say anything more—what
could
she say?—but stopped short when he raised his hand to stop her.

“No,” he said, a smile curling his lips. “Let’s go out. I’ve fancied getting out all day. You and me.”

Melissa hesitated on the doorstep. “Out?” The entire concept that she, that they, would go out and do something, share anything together, seemed alien to her. Something from the past. A relic from a time she barely remembered.

She stared at him, looking deep into his eyes. Searching for something there—malice, trickery.
It has to be a joke. He has to be messing. This isn’t what he does. Not anymore.
“Out where?”

Mark smiled again, warmly, and shrugged. “You can pick. How does that sound? Cinema? Something to eat?” he waited, leaning his weight against the front door. Melissa didn’t know what to say. She felt exhausted beyond belief, drained, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and read Grace Danvers’s diary, but how could she say no? Was the man she loved, the man she had been missing for so long, standing before her? Here again?

She finally nodded. “Okay, but can I go upstairs and get changed quickly? There’s no way I can go out dressed in my work clothes.”

Mark nodded, stepping aside. “Okay.”

Melissa ran past him, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. She peered around the door and saw that Mark was pacing the hallway downstairs, waiting. The front door was still open, pushing in the cold, night air.

She went over to her underwear drawer, pushed the diary—still wrapped in the brown bag—into the bottom drawer, beneath a layer of bras, and closed it. She went to the wardrobe, pulled out a long, black skirt, a tight-fitting black top, and a red scarf. One of her favorite “going out” outfits, as she called it, and quickly changed.

So, what’s this about?
, she thought. Mark wants to take her out. The first time in…she couldn’t remember in how long. Lately, he would barely speak to her, barely look at her, except when he was…doing those awful things. Those evil things. Now, he wanted a good night out? It didn’t seem right. Didn’t fit, somehow. Yet, it was happening.

Inside, Melissa could feel her guard rising, steel barriers of defensiveness and fear surrounding her heart and mind.