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A horror/suspense writing about a group of people who visit a haunted insane asylum. |
| Vermont, 2 years ago He had been driving all night after leaving his apartment in Manhattan. Bags had begun to form under his eyes and that purple color had developed in the crevice between his eyes and upper nose. Jamison took a quick glance over at his long-time friend and partner, Sara Henderson. He had swung by her place and picked her up. She had taken an interest in his line of work only a few months before, but was still an amateur. She now lay her head on the window, where only about a half hour before, it was resting on his shoulder. He took it as a sign of affection, there was always the thought of a possibly romance between them, and they've even taken the time out to discuss it. But due to his choice of hobbies, Jamison never really wanted to start something until he was finished with it for good. It was mainly because of the fact that even though she had found a bit of courage now, she had always been afraid. He couldn't blame her. It wasn't easy for someone to get the guts to walk into a house where strange occurrences could not be explained. The night before he received a call from someone in Vermont urging him to do an investigation. He rubbed the sleep (what little he could acquire) from his eyes and made his way to the residence. He let out a sigh of relief when he crossed the state-line from New York into Vermont. It'd still be another few hours until he reached his destination of Vergennes. He imagined the town would have something of interest in his field, since it was established in 1788; however, he realized that paranormal activity wasn't based on how old a city has been. It was still worth a shot, and apparently he had found it. It had been a bitterly cold night, quite natural for December, and Jamison found it increasingly hard to see out the windshield. If he didn't have the defroster on, ice particles would gradually form on the glass, and if it was turned on, over time the glass would just fog up. It was a growing frustration that began to eat at him from the inside. Not only that, but it was already two days before Christmas, and instead of spending quality time with friends and their families, he had to enjoy the snow-covered countryside of New England. Going to help some poor sap who was still afraid of a noise that came from under his bed or in his closet. He might as well check those spots before he leaves his client's house tonight before tucking him into bed and leaving a night light on. He took a deep breath. It was just the agony of the trip and lack of rest that let his mind wander off to think unhappy thoughts. It was a five hour drive from New York, and they were already halfway there. There was a sign for a gas station just a few exits up ahead. Jamison looked down to see how much fuel he had. He would need to fill up at least once before they reached their final destination, and he could always use the coffee. He pulled over to fill up. The slam from the car door awoke Sara. Her dreamy eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light of the day. It was still a light overcast, the sun hidden behind the clouds. It was expected that another heavy snowfall would threaten their return home. She saw Jamison lean up against the car, her aging silver 1989 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. She saw him start to shiver as the wind began to grow stronger and howl outside. She felt compelled to join him and do her best to shower him with warmth and comfort. She could tell he wasn't in the mood though. His tired eyes gave off that feeling of distress. He would appreciate the thought of her coming out; although, she knew he would silently brush her off. He was just that arrogant, he was a traditionalist. He always had that mentality of the man in the relationship puts the food on the table. It annoyed her at first, but over the years she's gotten used to it. They know each other like they know the backs of their own hands. She realized that they didn't consider their relationship a commitment to one another as lovers. They had been friends since childhood, and now it was more of a friends with benefits thing. She had wanted more, even hinted at it. But Jamison's work had always been the deciding factor. She accepts it now, but still can never quite understand why it'd be difficult to start something with each other and do what he does at the same time. Maybe it was the distance he'd have to travel, the alone time they both would have to face. Or maybe it was something more sinister, such as one of them getting hurt on a case. This investigation mumbo-jumbo was still relatively new to her. Although she was getting used to it and found it more enjoyable every time they went out together, she still had that familiar sense of dread. She smiled as he returned the nozzle back to the pump and closed the gas tank. Opportunities like this, the chance to go out with him on an investigation, made her feel at ease. It wasn't the best way to spend time with one another, but in her mind, it fell in her category. She watched as Jamison strolled inside to pay. His broad shoulders hunched up as if to protect his head from the bite of the cold wind. His thrusted his hands into his pockets. She looked to see if anyone was pulling up next to her, and quickly got out. She moved around to the driver's side of the car and got in. He deserved a rest after driving for the past few hours, and she couldn't sleep any longer. She turned the ignition and waited for the car to heat up. Jamison came out a few minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. She had told him she didn't want anything, although she would've felt better if she was surprised. Jamison was just that type of person. You told him to do something, he'd do everything in his power to get it done. You told him not to, he'd go about his business like nothing ever happened at all. "Why you driving?" he asked in a very solemn, tiring tone. "You need some rest, you shouldn't have to look like you haven't slept in days. Besides, I don't want to die today." she replied. Jamison took a hint at the slight sarcasm in her voice. She hated it when he would drive when he was heavily fatigued. He amazed himself that he kept on the roads just fine. "Who says that'll happen?" "It's two days until Christmas, I'd love to spend that time with my family. On top of that, I'd really love to see what 2006 has in store for me." She smiled over at him, he saw it through his drowsy eyes. It was a smile of reassurance. One that he hasn't seen in days. He didn't want her to come on this run, but she insisted, saying it would be "spending time together." Normally, he didn't let their feelings get to him, but sometimes he just wondered why she kept putting the pressure of wanting a relationship on him. He took a long sip of his coffee, a large café mocha. After that, he completely forgot about it as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Present Day. Jamison awoke from a clap of thunder, a deep gasp emitting from his lungs. It was a pleasant dream. A nightmare nonetheless, as it brought back bad memories, but it was much nicer than the usual ones. He was relieved to see his body not covered in a cold sweat for once. He sat up and put his head in his hands once more. He sat there for a moment, disgruntled. He tried to forget her memory, but it lingered like the stink of a rotting corpse. His hands rubbed down his face, and his eyes turned to the rain-soaked window. Flashes of lightning occurred every now and then, but the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. Finally, he stood up, his knees cracking as they straightened out. He walked over to the kitchen sink. He had finally cleaned up a few hours before. The plates were washed and neatly placed back in their respective cabinets. The sink was now dry. Metallic and gleaming with the brightness of a star. He turned the faucet on and lay his head down. Water poured into his cupped hands, which he splashed on his face, hoping to get a rush of adrenaline and wake up. There came a knock on his door. He took his time once more, as he did whenever the phone rang. He opened a drawer next to the utensils. In there sat an envelope entitled "Rent Money". He took one look at it, then closed the drawer. After looking through the peephole, he noticed that the landlord was not standing at his doorstep. He opened the door and a man in what looked like "hand-me-down" clothes stood a few feet from his faces. He looked like someone who just came off the streets. A bum who worked up the nerve to ask to stay a night in his apartment after getting sick of living in the alleys. However, he didn't smell as though he'd been living in a dumpster. "Jamison Priest?" The stranger asked solemnly. "How can I help you?" Jamison replied in a confused manner. "Will Edmundson. I heard about your little get-together. May I come in?" Priest was impressed with the bum's manners. He let him inside and offered him a drink. Will Edmundson thought about it for a second, really wanting the satisfying taste of hard liquor. He had been trying to cut down, but under the circumstances, it couldn't hurt to taste it again. Priest poured them both a small glass of brandy and gestured for Will to have a seat. Will took off his long, dark green overcoat and hung it on a chair. He wore a dirty, ragged red parka and dark loose pants. His boots were worn and scuffed. He took off his beat-up hat to reveal long, brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. He had a thin beard that traced along his jaw line. Other than that, he was clean shaven, and kept himself in a manner that one couldn't judge him as being another homeless person. Priest figured the man was just poor. He already felt sorry for him. He found himself in almost the same situation. Priest turned a floor lamp on and sat in a chair next to the window. Will took a seat across from him on the couch. "So what brings you here?" Priest asked as he sipped his brandy. "Like I said, I heard you on the radio about the get-together. I came to say I'm in." Will Edmundson was very calm. He took his time with everything. He was in no rush to live out the rest of his days at the speed of light. Priest sat silent as the man continued. "I lost my mother at childbirth. My father, who was an alcoholic and abusive, raised me up until he lost his job. I was nine years old then. I had gotten sick of the abuse, so I ran off. I checked myself into an orphanage, stayed there for a couple months. A nice middle-class family took me in. They already had a five year old daughter. Everything pretty much ran pretty smooth up until my senior year of high school. It was really odd, a friend of mine came up to me one day and asked me if I would stay over at his place that night. It freaked me out 'cause this was the first time he's ever asked me to do this, and to be honest, it kind of made me uncomfortable. But the look in his eyes, that look of fright...it burned right through me. So I agreed." Will gulped down the last of his brandy before continuing on. "I've been over to place many times before, and there was always something about his basement that creeped us out. It was an old home, built in the '60s, it just gave off that tingly feeling that you get whenever you think someone's watching you. As it turns out, his house was originally a funeral parlor, the basement being the area where they prepare the bodies and such. Of course, I didn't find this out until he moved. I'll never forget that night. I fell asleep on the couch and it was around maybe...1:30 in the morning or so when I heard my name being called. I thought it was my friend's, I was still half-asleep when I stood up. The basement door was wide open, and his voice kept calling me from within it. I made it to the top step before I fully awoke and gazed down at the bottom of the staircase. There was this guy. He had this old-time black suit on and one of those funky mustaches. His eyes were just so blood-red though. They just kept burning with a vengeful desire I never knew existed." "He took a few steps toward me and about three or four steps up, he suddenly burst into flame and this fireball just swirled towards me. I was just frozen in fear. I probably would've been deep-fried had my friend not pushed me out of the way and slam the door. I thought that was the end of it, but the next day he died of a heart attack. No one in his family had a history of heart problems. Even though the doctors ruled it as that, I always felt it was whatever was in his basement that consumed him." "Rest easy." Priest stood and put a hand on Will's shoulder as tears began to stream from his eyes. He collected the glasses and asked Will if he wanted more. He just shook his head as he gazed down at the floor. Will Edmundson continued to speak as Priest poured himself another glass. "I broke down after that. Grades started slipping, my home life became a wreck. I developed a bad drug addiction, left high school with a GED. Not a day goes by that I don't ask myself why. It's bad enough to lose someone you know, but when it's done in that way, it's traumatizing. It's been 14 years, and it still haunts me." "So you lived on your own? Getting by with whatever you had?" Priest took a seat across from him again. Will nodded in response. His eyes had cleared up, but his mind was still trailed deep in thought. "I did what I could do for the community, making small amounts of cash here and there. Helping old ladies cross the street, mowing lawns, shoveling snow, you get the picture. I grew up in a small, nice town in Iowa. Everyone knew one another, everyone was somebody's friend. After putting the cash into savings, I started getting other rewards. I've had these clothes for years, but every so often I'd either go to the cleaners or be invited in someone's house to do the laundry." "How much you have saved up, if you don't mind me asking?" "Last time I checked, over $3,000." "And you don't want to...have a shopping spree so to speak?" "I've gotten myself an apartment, and I have more clothes than this. I just never wanted to get rid of these. It's all I had when I went through my struggles. To me, it's a reminder of where I came from. What I had to do to get where I am today." Priest nodded in understanding. In many ways, Will Edmundson led a similar lifestyle that he did. He lost his mother to leukemia at a young age, and his father had a fatal accident at his job. He didn't want to move into an orphanage, so he went out on his own. Doing what he could to survive. "But uh...I just thought I'd come by. I'd love to go on this thing, whenever it is. I just want to face my fears, hopefully not have it plague my mind anymore." "Sure thing, good of you to come. Listen, I planned on gathering everyone up here this weekend. Give them a little more detail about what's going on and the like. If you could show up Saturday afternoon, I'd appreciate it. Within the next few weeks or so, I hope to get this thing rolling." Priest looked him dead in the eyes. Will seemed more at ease than he was before. Perhaps all he needed, for all this time, was just someone to talk to. The man was a nomad, moving from place to place, using just his survival instincts until he made enough to settle down someplace cheap. It took a lot to go from a homeless beggar to owning your own apartment and having a stock of money in your bank account. Will Edmundson was a good man. Will agreed to come by on the weekend, around 5 o'clock. Priest was hoping to treat everyone to a dinner at his place. True, it wasn't much to look at, but that was beside the point. This wasn't about extravagant looks and to see who's got the most money. This was about what was to come in the following weeks. Priest and Will shook hands and Priest led his guest to the door. Will put on his hat and made his way down the hall. Priest closed the door after him, and went to the phone. After a few moments, Cole St. James's voice came on. "Hello?" "Hey, it's Priest. Listen um...what do you doing this Saturday?" "I've got nothing planned really, why?" Priest looked out the sliding glass door leading to his pitiful excuse for a patio. "I want to get it started." "Sure thing mate. Oh hey, I wanted to tell ya. I may have found the final member of your little team." "Oh?" Again, Priest felt a rush of excitement course through his veins. "Yes. I got in touch with Lynn Xavier the other day and she mentioned that she told another friend of hers what she was doing, and apparently he's expressed interest. I told him what was up, and he gave me his background on the matter. The house he grew up in used to be an inn back in the day. We're talking American Revolution here. On top of that, supposedly it was a stop on the Underground Railroad in the mid-1800s. There was a fire in the hidden basement compartment. No survivors, their ashes are now covered by the concrete floor. Nothing violent really goes on, but let's face it, anytime you see something you can't really explain, it still gives you the spooks." Priest was silent. He liked the fact that he could probably stop searching, but he didn't like it how a possible loving relationship would be involved. To him, it served as a reminder of what had happened in his case. It was a terrible feeling to lose a loved one. He didn't want to risk seeing someone break down because their loved one was either hurt or killed, especially by something that you can't even see. Still, Priest said nothing of the matter. He did not want to let his personal views get in the way of getting this investigation rolling. Instead, he told Cole about what he wanted for this weekend. The rest of the week flew by pretty quick for Jamison Priest. Before he knew it, it was already Saturday. He had invited everyone over to his apartment that afternoon. He wanted to explain everything that was about to take place, to get a better understanding and make sure they were all on the same page. He had grilled steaks for everyone, except for Lynn, who happened to be a vegetarian, and they were all just finishing up. Lynn Xavier had brought along a child-hood friend of hers, Robert J. Palmer, who liked to be referred to as "Bobby Jay." He was a young black man, a bit shorter than Priest. His head was shaved completely bald. His father was retired from the military, his mother worked in retail sales. He wore oval-shaped, wire-framed glasses. He was a respectable man from the outskirts of Pennsylvania. He was quiet, maybe somewhat shy, , yet Lynn had told Priest earlier that he'll open up more and more eventually. But judging from his green eyes, Priest could tell he had the heart of a lion. Jamison and Cole sat at the ends of the table. The girls sat off to Priest's right side, while Will Edmundson and Rob occupied the left. They had drifted away from talk of things that are associated with the supernatural. Instead, they wanted to focus on getting to know each other, their likes and dislikes. The last thing they needed was to be heavily depressed about the dark side of life and the grief that it brings. It was one of those moments where they knew they wouldn't have many opportunities to have. There was a constant dark cloud looming above them, in the back of their minds, about what they had gotten themselves into. Nevertheless, they had dedication and determination on their side. It was their choice to answer Jamison Priest's calling and they would not falter. Will Edmundson stood from the table, wineglass in hand. "A toast...to a wondrous adventure and to a merry investigation with an assembly full of kind-hearted folks. A few years ago, I spent my nights in a railroad car, now I'm sitting on top of the world with you people." They each raised their glasses in unison and toasted. Cole was the only one to down it quickly, which made Priest smirk. Lynn saw this too and questioned him. "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of religious person or something?" "Aren't we all?" Cole smirked at Lynn. "If you're looking for a priest, reverend, whatever you want to call it, I'm not your man. I don't belong to the church. Now, I do happen to work closely with Catholic authorities in the Roman Ritual of Exorcism of demonic entities; but I'm not someone who conducts a weekly sermon in a crowded room. My main function is to assist at exorcisms, or treating family members of the possessed, as well as the possessed themselves. I also determine if demonic activity is present at locations and actually confront the demonic in both human and disembodied form when necessary." "But shouldn't there be some sense of religious values or something? I'm just pretty sure drinking wine and smoking is frowned upon in the Church." Jamison could see that Lynn was beginning to put pressure on Cole. "Think of this job as a calling. It's something you must feel inside that this is what the Lord wants you to do, not a choice that you choose to make. The cigarettes are an old habit, been doing it since I was a lad; and do you know what wine is Missy?" Lynn just raised an eyebrow in wonderment. "It's grape juice. A very strong grape juice...that bottle has Welch's name all over the damn thing. There's nothing wrong with having some. I don't want to be lying on my deathbed looking back and telling myself that I should of done this or that. When I die, I want no regrets. God put you on this earth. You only live once, why not enjoy it?" No regrets. Jamison said to himself. He had already broken that rule in his life. As hard as he tried to avoid thinking of it, it always seemed to eat him up from the inside. He would die knowing that he made mistakes. That there were chances that he never took because he was blind; and couldn't see the good things that were in front of him. He looked at each of his companion's faces. They had no idea what he had invited them too. They were like cattle being led to the slaughterhouse, and they had no knowledge to think otherwise. He figured he better make things clear, as were his intentions of today. No regrets, these people didn't deserve regrets. "All right, I'll give you a little heads up on what we're all about to face. In 1823, Penta Isle Sanitarium opened it's doors. It was used to house the criminally insane, as well as those that had slight mental illnesses. Men, women, and children. The young and the elderly. For the next 125 years, the asylum became more of a hell-hole than a hospital. After a incident in 1921 where two Catholic priests were found hanging outside a window, the Pope banned any Church involvement at the asylum. This place is 'uncleansed', as they say. This is a place where malevolent activity has been reported pretty much ever since it was built. In desperation to find a cure for mental illness, experiments were performed on the patients. After awhile, with repeated failures of finding a cure, and with the population growing tired of getting no results, they reverted back to just treating them like animals. They were repeatedly beaten for minor things such as bedwetting, and locked in cages or small, dark spaces. The treatments that they endured back then would be considered barbaric by today's standards." "In 1948, the facility was locked up for good. To this day, no one knows the exact reason for it. I've heard everything from financial issues to reports of patient abuse to the government. Thousands of people died on the grounds of the sanitarium, both patient and staff alike." "Why do they call it Penta Isle?" Juliana asked. Priest rolled out an aging map from his briefcase that sat perched up against the legs of his chair. The others helped him hold it flat to the table. In the middle of the map, sat a large island surrounded by additional smaller islands circling it. "The asylum sits here, on the big island. It's roughly about half the size of Texas. And if you look here, at the five surrounding islands, if you take a pencil," Priest retrieved a pencil from his pocket and began to draw very lightly on the yellowing paper of the map, "you can see that they all form one big pentagram, with the asylum sitting smack dab in the middle of it. It's similar to what you were talking about, Juliana, with the cemeteries around Athens, Ohio." Bobby Jay cleared his throat as he slightly raised his hand to speak. "Excuse me, did you say women and children?" Priest rose from his chair and started collecting the dishes to place them in the sink. "In those days, if children were diagnosed with ADD or ADHD and they were too much for their parents to handle, they were commissioned to an asylum. Women from large families who had experienced the hardships of motherhood often commissioned themselves to get away from the stress." "This place is not your ordinary spook house that sat abandoned in your hometown, where as little kids, you always dared your friends to go inside," Priest continued on, "This place is enormous. It's about two football fields long and 60 feet wide, with a square footage of 36,000 feet. It sits seven stories high. The sixth and seventh floors began to be built at the start of the Depression, but it was never fully finished. The Depression was the asylum's booming years. The number of people that walked through the front door's outnumbered those that came through in the years following the Civil War and the First World War. So to accommodate that number of people, additional floors and wings were constructed." "So how do we get there?" Cole's voice pierced Priest's ears. For the first time since they met, Priest saw a stern look in his eyes. A look of determination and cold-hearted seriousness. "I've made arrangements for someone to take us there by boat. It cost a small fortune, not too bad though. He'll drop us off and come back when we're ready to leave. I hope to stay at least a week; however, should something come up where we feel like we should haul ass out of there, everyone bring cell phones if you have them. Save your batteries though, there hasn't been electricity in the building for ages." "With that being said, I have a request for all of you. I hope to begin by next weekend, possibly the next if need be. I need to know from all of you that you're all with me on this, 100 percent. This is your chance to back down if you want, you will not be thought of as a coward. The APS has enacted a No Trespassing law against the facility, so don't go around preaching to everyone about what you're about to do. You all have had first encounters with the paranormal, which is why I've asked you on this investigation. I don't want amateurs on this. I don't want anyone to run and scream at the top of their lungs just because the hairs on the back of their necks are sticking up. So tell me, are you with me on this, or is anyone having a change of heart?" Not one person protested Priest's request. He gave a nod and slight smile. "Settled then. Take a week to pack up, attend to your families, take care of anything else you need to get done. I'll give you each a call next Friday evening to see where we stand. If everyone's good, prepare for an early Saturday morning." Sunday, New York City Will Edmundson was seated hunched over in the front row of chairs inside the Cathedral of St. John The Divine. His hands were folded in prayer and held up against his head. His eyes were closed. His mind lost in deep concentration. He can't remember the last time he was in a church. All he knows is that it was so long ago. Today he prayed for himself and his companions. He prayed for a safe journey and a safe return. He also prayed for the lost souls that are entrapped within the asylum's walls. The cathedral was empty except for himself and an altar boy, who roamed around the altar lighting candles. The restoration work had still been halted due to the financial burden caused by the fire in the north transept in December 2001. Will Edmundson could still detect a hint of the faint smell of charred wood. He heard the door open from behind him, and footsteps entered. Will never broke his concentration. The footsteps drew closer to him. "Marvelous, isn't it?" Will heard the Australian accent of Cole St. James beside him, referring to the beauty of the cathedral. "Isn't it always?" Will spoke softly, yet kept his eyes closed. "Not a day goes by that I don't come into a House of God. I hope that he can forgive me for whatever sins I've committed." Will couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "You, a sinner?" "No one's perfect mate. To be honest, Lynn was right. I've got a problem. Someone in my profession should never consume as much alcohol or smoke for that matter. I guess I could never get over my parent's divorce. I may not have as much experience in demonology as someone who has a lot of years. I know I'm a little young for this, but for what I do know, I try to help people as best as I can. My eternal debt to the Lord for the bad choices I've made. I can only hope that in the end, this addiction is quelled, and I can live a life of purity in the blissful heavens." "Don't be so hard on yourself. You only live once. I've made bad choices too, you don't see me beating myself up about them. I may regret them, but I don't let it affect me." Will did his best to cheer his companion up. It seemed to work a little. He had that effect on people. "You're gifted, that much I can tell you, mate. 'You can tell more about a person by what he says about others than you can by what others say about him'. Leo Aikman once said that." Will Edmundson finished his prayer and rose just a little to take a seat next to Cole; however, he never took his eyes off the altar. Even after trying keep his mind off of what was to come, he kept reverting back to it. The horrors, the atrocities, it was all too much to bear. "Tell me something," he asked silently, "do you think we'll come out of this alive? Priest seems a little on edge at times." "There's something troubling him, I know." Cole answered, the tone of his voice unusually saddened from his normally cheerful personality. "Yet he's the best chance we've got. The bloke's experienced a lot of these things. Had his fair shares with both the good and the bad. Yet, I don't see a reason why we wouldn't come back. As long as no one does anything foolish. As long as we stay together at all times." Will only nodded at the Australian's words. His mind was still a blur. One filled with complete blackness and anxiety. He kept his cool though, and rose from the pew, straightening his coat. "I'm not trying to be a hero here, sir. I just try to maintain a positive attitude, no matter what I may face. I've seen what negativity does to people, especially when too much of it builds up over time. I, myself, have had a taste of it. It almost destroyed me. You ever realize that if you tell yourself to run faster, you will? If you tell yourself to do the best you can do, you will do it? I'm trying to tell myself that I'll come out this alive, and by God I'll see New York again." Now it was Cole's turn to be silent. His heart seemingly stopped every time Will spoke. It was touching, somewhat comforting, better than Priest could ever do. He gave Priest credit, no doubt, the man wasn't a cold-hearted individual who never wants to spread hope to others. He just wasn't as mystical as Will Edmundson seemed to be. Here was a man who had suffered numerous tragedies in his life, yet he has managed to overcome those obstacles and still maintain his dignity. It amazed him how he didn't choose to end up like the millions of homeless individuals he sees in dark alleyways or curled up in a newspaper in a subway tunnel. They drink their blues away. Will Edmundson only drinks in his pride, his will to live. "Well, if you don't mind, be it I return or not, I'd like to have one last drink." "I'll join you". Cole followed him out, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. A mild fog had crept in during their time in the cathedral. It blanketed the city like a haunting omen of what was to come. A light wind swept in from the northeast, the direction of their destination. The companions didn't think too much of it though. They still had time to think of what joys their lives have been like and share those memories between themselves and the others. Sunday, Boalsburg, Pennsylvania "You are absolutely not going!" Stephen Xavier fumed at his daughter's announcement of what she's planning to do for the next week. He had always been overprotective of her. The type of father who stayed up late at night whenever she had a date in high school. Snooping around, peeking out through the curtains to see if she was home on time. It made her feel trapped, enslaved in her own home. "Who are you to say what I can and cannot do anymore?!" Lynn threw the anger and frustration right back at him. For years, a pent-up rage has been boiling inside her. Now every time an argument ensues, a little bit of it is released. "For God's sakes, Dad, I'm 22-years-old, I can handle my own life, thank you!" "Young lady, don't you take that tone with me!" "I'll take any damn tone I want with you! You can't keep trying to control me all the time!" "As long as your ass is still under my roof, you will abide by my rules, or you can go say hello to the sidewalk!" He pointed a reddened finger at her. From what she imagined, his temperature had risen a little. The veins in his head started to emerge from their hiding spots, his face looked as if he received a bad sunburn. She could cocked her head to one side, both hands on her hips. "Oh, I don't think you could do that, Daddy. You wouldn't even allow yourself to throw me out." On the inside, she smirked to herself and gave a round of applause. She knew how much he hated her sarcasm. On the outside, she was numb. She didn't know how to feel at this point. On the one hand, she wanted to just get it over with, leave and forget everything. The other half of her wanted to get her point across and end this here and now. She didn't want to return to deal with senseless fights with her father. "Marilyn Elizabeth Xavier! Get out, get the hell out!" "Not a problem with me, I already packed my bags!" She turned away with both a feeling of both relief and disgust. She had packed a weeks worth of clothes in a duffel bag, complete with a pink bandana tied around the handle. She picked it up from its resting place by the door and slung it over her shoulder. "And just where do you think you're going?" Her father groaned once more. "Out to say hello to the sidewalk!" Her hand had just touched the door handle, when his slammed into it, preventing her from opening it. Preventing her from gaining the freedom she so anxiously desired. His eyes weren't even the normal brown they were anymore. They were blank. Empty and full of hatred. It was a blind rage. This wasn't her father talking to his daughter anymore, this was a dispute between two strangers. "You better quit with the sarcasm, missy! I asked you a goddamn question, you better answer it! Where are you going?" "Just let me go!" She had had enough, she just wanted to go. The corners of her eyes started to tear up. "I know this isn't just a little weekend get-together with friends, Lynn. Where are you going?" "I can't tell you" "You either tell me, or you don't go anywhere." "That's being a little hypocritical of you, Dad." "If you want this door opened, I suggest you start talking!" Lynn could see he was trying to calm himself down. It just wasn't going too well for him. This was a good way for someone his age to have a brain aneurism, and he was pushing 50. "If I tell you, it puts everyone at risk, and this trip is over. It's just a get together with friends." Even in this state, she couldn't really lie. She realized she was holding back from him, but it was all to not only save herself from trouble, but for everyone else. Jamison didn't need to find himself on a wanted list, and neither did anyone else. It wasn't in her nature to lie, but at this point, Lynn had no choice. "Where...Lynnie?" She couldn't take it anymore, the tears started flowing and she broke down. She hated herself for not having enough strength to hold together. She never could do that. She was always soft-hearted and naïve, even when she tried to be tough and throw her weight around. With her back up against the door, her eyes facing forward, she confessed. "An island...off the coast of Maine." "And what's on this island?" "An old sanitarium." Her moistened gaze met his stone cold piercing eyes. "You're not going." "Oh, yes, I am." Her determination started to kick in again. "No, you're finishing up this semester and that's final!" Now it was his turn to walk away, heading into the kitchen where his wife, Marie, had been sitting the entire time. She held her head in her hands, stressed that another argument was going on. Lynn had tailed him in, not but two steps behind him. "I'll be fine, Dad. I'm not going alone!" "You don't even know what this place is!" "I was just told the history of it a few days ago!" "It's a mad house! You want to be in a mad house? You walked into one when you stepped through that door! And who all are you going with, might I add? "Friends of mine!" "I want names!" "I want to win the lottery, but you don't see that happening anytime soon! Why can't you just leave it be and let me live my life the way I want to?" "Because you'd go out and do stupid crap like this! I've always had to look after you Lynnie, always!" "You were always to scared to let go! I'm fine, Dad, I can take care of myself!" Marie couldn't bear it any longer. She pushed herself away from the table and headed upstairs without saying a word. Her husband was leaning up against the counter, arms folded, and softly biting the inside of his lip. He was deeply annoyed, and she knew he wouldn't be himself while their daughter was gone. Lynn took her mother's chair after setting the duffel bag on the floor beside it. "Juliana will be there, so will Robert. There's three other people coming with us." "Why are you going there?" He had finally calmed down a bit, but was still seething with anger. "To visit! Jeez, it's like going to see Gettysburg!" "Who's leading this little expedition?" "Can we stop playing 21 Questions already?" "Just answer the damn question, Lynn!" Frustration overcame her, and like a ticking time bomb, she exploded. "Jamison Priest, OK?!" A peaceful silence finally had the chance to enter the house. Father and daughter continued to stare each other down, neither one of them moving. "That man is going to get you killed. You're not going." "Who are you to judge him?" Lynn arose from the chair, her eyes narrowing at her father. "He was convicted of murder two years ago, Lynn. He's a dangerous person!" "He was found not guilty!" "So was O.J." Lynn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was going nowhere, and there was no sense in carrying it on any further. Regardless of what he said, she was leaving Saturday. She turned back to retrieve her bag and began to head out once more. "Just where do you think you're going?" She smiled sarcastically at herself. Her father just didn't know when to quit. Always so persistent. "Where do you think?" "You're not going to anywhere with that man, Lynn! I forbid it!" "I'm your daughter, not your slave, Dad!" "If I see that man again, and I don't see you, I swear I'll do everything in my power to make sure he's put away for the rest of his life! The system's screwed up once, it won't happen again!" The muffled honk of a car horn came from outside, which made both Lynn and her father to look out the front window. Juliana Wilkinson sat parked in front of the house in her blue 2000 Honda Accord. It was a relief for Lynn, who turned the knob on the front door. Stephen didn't even say a word as the door was slammed shut. He hated getting on his daughter for the stupidest reasons. Maybe he was overprotective, but it was in her best interests. He didn't want to lose her, he really loved her. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get everything back in order. That's when he heard the engine rev and the car pull away. Maybe Lynn would come back from this, and this will all blow over. They can start off with a fresh, clean slate. He quickly erased that thought from his mind. No, not with him being in the picture. He wasn't going to allow him to take advantage and murder his daughter. One family's suffering was enough, he wasn't going to be added to that list. "Honey," he called up to his wife, "get me the phonebook!" |
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