The Shadow is born

The Dark Shadow is born

Sawyer and Leslie found themselves on the fourth floor, home of the infamous Sonny Ray Jones. The foyer was empty, quiet. Sawyer looked through the window of the west wing. It looked additionally sanitary, as if these patients necessitated a cleaner, whiter hall than the all the others. The freshly buffed floor shone, reflecting the overhead lights. Regardless, the hall was empty.
“Over here, Doctor,” Leslie said from the east wing door.
Sawyer crossed the foyer to the east wing and gazed through the glass. Partway down the hall, Dr. Wesley and a nurse were in the middle of discourse while two orderlies stood nearby, their arms crossed, and faces serious in anticipation of the impending task.
The nurse wore an unhappy expression as the doctor gesticulated angrily; he suddenly stopped speaking, turned (as he turned, he caught a glimpse of Sawyer watching through the small window), and motioned for the orderlies. He offered a detached glance at Sawyer.
One of the orderlies unlocked the door to the room in front of which they were standing, and both orderlies quickly entered followed by Dr. Wesley. The nurse unwrapped a clean syringe and stabbed it into a small bottle, extracting a small amount of the clear liquid.
Something drew her attention and she disappeared from the hall; she returned almost immediately, followed by Dr. Wesley. The orderlies appeared, and one of them locked the door behind them.  The doctor started for the east wing entrance, leaving the others to their business.
Sawyer swiped his card across the scanner and the door buzzed, when upon Nurse Blake pulled it open for Dr. Wesley.
“Thank you, Nurse. Hello, Dr. Sawyer, nice to see you again.”
“Likewise, Doctor,” Sawyer said. “I noticed you were having a little trouble down there.”
“Nothing we can’t handle, Dr. Sawyer. You’ll get used to it over time. The patients here require an entirely different type of care than those of the lower levels. I know your background, Dr. Sawyer, but I didn’t see anything about you working with the criminally insane.” He put his hands on his hips as if to embellish the work to which he was referring.
“No, I don’t have the experience you obviously have, Doctor. I chose other fields.”
“Well, that’s good,” Wesley remarked. “Because it’s not for everybody. Just as you embrace the mentality of an introvert with Dissociative Identity Disorder, I almost have to take on the mentality of a killer. Think like them, and you can stay one step ahead, or else you may end up on a slab!”
“Yes, I realize that all too well, Dr. Wesley,” Sawyer said, somewhat irritated.
Wesley seemed about ready to bolt. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor? I’m very busy today, especially when a nurse and two orderlies are having troubles medicating one patient.”
“No. Actually, Nurse Blake was nice enough to offer to give me the grand tour of the place.”
“Well, I hope you like what you see so far. I’m sorry to be so brief, but it really has started out to be a rather infuriating day. The patients just do not want to cooperate, and it is on days like this when I could just become one of them. Just for one day. I would show them a thing or two!” He laughed evilly, and the other two merely smiled. “But like I said, Doctor, I really must go. Feel free to look around all you want. I’ll run into you soon.” He swiped his card, and returned to the east wing. Sawyer watched as he made his way back to the nurse on rounds.
Sawyer looked at Leslie and they both rolled their eyes and laughed. “Why don’t we have a quick look at the fifth floor, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Something alerted Anna, and she looked up from her daze…
“There really is nothing up there, Doctor. It’s a very small floor that they never finished refurbishing. Only sixteen rooms. They were going to fix it up and use it for something else, but after that guy fell and died, they just kind of gave up. It’s not good for much, really.”
Sawyer smiled. “Well, I’m more curious now.” He went to the stairwell and stopped. Leslie was standing there shaking her head and smiling. “You coming?”
“Yes, Tom, I’m coming.”
They climbed the stairs together, and at the landing halfway up they could already smell musty atmosphere of their destination. At the top, the gray metal door was ajar. Sawyer pushed it open to reveal a small, narrow foyer. Leslie glanced to her right at the square counter that used to be the nurse’s station. “This place is nasty!” she declared.
Sawyer looked around, and then headed for the east door.
“Where are you going?” Leslie asked.
“Just looking around, my dear.” Sawyer said, before disappearing through the doorway into the east hall.
Leslie followed him into the darkened hall. “Wow, it’s way too dark to see anything.”
Sawyer went into the room opposite the doorway and put his hands on his hips. “You’re right. This place isn’t good for anything except maybe storage. Come here and take a look.”
Leslie brushed up next to him; Sawyer could smell her perfume – it made her seem even lovelier. He stared at her as she studied the room, taking care not to be discovered.
“Well, this sure isn’t a room with a view,” she said, and they laughed good-naturedly.
“It comes with the economy package,” Sawyer said.
Anna, you need to talk to that doctor – he can help us both…
They returned to the foyer, and went over to the dingy windows. “I saw something this morning, Leslie. Something very bizarre.”
“You mean, like that shadowman?”
“Kind of. One second, there was nothing out of the ordinary, and the next, well…”
“What was it?” She drew closer to him.
“The entire East wing looked like something out of the thirties or forties. There were cots everywhere, half –dead looking men laying on some of them. Some were standing up. Leslie, I could actually see where some of them had had surgery! I mean, it freaks me out just thinking about it. There is something very wrong going on here. I knew the place was haunted before I decided to transfer here – that was part of the attraction – but I didn’t expect all this.”
“What are you going to do?” Leslie asked.
“Talk to Dr. Marsh again. Something tells me he knew more than he told me when I first spoke with him. Maybe Dr. Barrows had seen things, too. I wonder…” Sawyer rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He didn’t realize Leslie was quietly watching him. His eyes confronted her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor. I was just…”
Sawyer leaned over and kissed her. They stayed that way briefly, spellbound with each other, until Sawyer finally stepped back. “I’m sorry, Leslie, I-” She put a finger on his lips.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not like I didn’t want you to.”
They stood there smiling, their eyes locked. “Well, we better go. I have some things to take care of.”
“Me, too,” Leslie said.
They silently walked down to the fourth floor and caught elevator down to the first. Mary Price was at the nurse’s station, restocking her med cart. “I’m glad you too are here. I found something you should know about,” she said in her gravelly voice. She told them of the writing on Anna’s wall, and both of them went to investigate. To their dismay, Nurse Price had been right. Scratched into the wall opposite Anna’s bed was one word: shadow.
“What do you think it means, Tom?” Leslie asked, whispering.
“I don’t know. I’m beginning to think that Ann is connected to this shadowman. I’ll talk to you later on, ok? I’m going to talk to Dr. Marsh.” Before Sawyer left, they gave each other a knowing glance; and after he was gone, Leslie stayed and contemplated Anna, but her thoughts were on Sawyer.
Sawyer tapped several times on the open door, and Dr. Marsh looked up from his desk. “Come in, Doctor. How can I help you?”  Sawyer sighed, burdened by everything happening as of late.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about several things. I guess we could start with Dr. Barrows.”
“Sit down, Sawyer, you look troubled. Now what’s this about Dr. Barrows?”
“Well, it’s not really about him, though there may be a connection. The nurses say that Barrows was making some real progress with Anna Tanner. Apparently, he had overheard her speaking to herself, or someone, from outside her room on several occasions. This would have been quite a breakthrough. They said he spoke to you about it.”
“He did speak to me, actually,” Marsh said, standing and walking around from behind his desk. He sat on the edge and looked thoughtfully out the window. “Jacob was so excited about Anna. He came and spoke to me the night he died. He had managed to invoke some facial reactions from her – acknowledging his presence, smiling, that kind of thing. Not a whole lot, but enough to deem it a success. I was very happy for him.”
“But, he also got her to speak to him, right?”
“Why, yes, I’d almost forgotten – he did mention that she had spoken a few words to him. I recall him telling me this, because it was the night, well, the night he died.”
Sawyer stood, went to the center of the room, and turned. “This is very important, Dr. Marsh. Did Dr. Barrows mention specifically what Anna had said? I mean, to herself and to him?”
Marsh adopted a look of concern. “Just what is going on, Dr. Sawyer?”
“Some pretty strange things, Doctor. I’ve heard Anna talking, too. Saying things, short phrases, as if she were talking to someone.”
“Well, that’s good news, Sawyer. You looked so shocked.” Marsh chuckled, but Sawyer maintained his air of urgency. “There must be something in particular bothering you. Out with it, man.”
“She keeps repeating the same word, or words, as if the center of attention. Did Dr. Barrows mention the words ‘shadow’ or ‘shade’ when he spoke to you?”
Now Sawyer had Marsh’s attention, as he stood and addressed Sawyer. “Why, yes, he did mention those words. He said the same thing – that she had been repeating those words for some unknown reason. He had overheard her saying things like that while outside her room. And to him. Disjointed words, fragments. In particular, those very words you just mentioned.”
“Does the name Timothy mean anything to you? An old patient, or employee.”
Marsh stroked his gray beard. “No, I can’t think of anything. Barrows asked the same thing. I’m sorry, Doctor, but the name doesn’t ring any bells.”
“Ok, Dr. Marsh. Now it gets weird. Patients have been seeing a ghost, the same one – a ‘shadow’ or ‘shadowman’. It’s like a black, smoky shadow that appeared in their rooms and talked to them, but apparently was not very friendly. Tony Burns and Frank Evans both claim it was in their room. They were scared to death – Frank claimed it spoke to him in his head! And Tony Burns, well, he said he could feel it trying to get into his mind. He said another ghost appeared, a soldier or something, and drew the dark ghost’s attention. And then they both vanished. He said the other ghost even looked scared. I realize the type of people we’re dealing with here, Dr. Marsh, but I believe him.”
“It’s understandable you would believe, Sawyer. Naturally, a doctor wants to form a bond with his patients to be able to dig in a little deeper to the root of the problem. And the patient wants the same thing, of course. Even if they have to create a threat to gain outside support. These are lonely people, Sawyer.”
“I’m not sure if you’re getting my point. Both of those patients, and who knows who else hasn’t reported anything yet, or just won’t say anything out of paranoia, have seen a ghost. A ghost they describe as a ‘shadow’. Exactly the same thing Anna has been saying. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Yes, I do find it odd, and don’t get me wrong, but patients can talk to one another, spread stories -”
“Even Anna?”
“Well, that’s a different case altogether.”
Sawyer hesitated. “Would you be more apt to believe if I told you that I saw it, too?”
Marsh tilted his head, and looked incredulously into Sawyer’s eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that you actually saw this…ghost, thing, whatever you want to call it?”
“I did. Without a doubt. And I have a witness, but I think it best to leave that person out of it for now. I take full responsibility for my words. It was a shadow man. I was at the top of the east hall, and it was down by the door to the basement. It was all black, looked like smoke. Horrid, white eyes. I will never forget it.”
Marsh went to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. Finally, he said, “I believe you. After all, ghost stories aren’t new at Stormy Haven. I’ll admit, I’ve seen a few things myself, I just didn’t want to relay this to you right off the bat, and give you second thoughts about the place.” He whirled around. “After all, we can’t let a few ghost stories scare us away. And we certainly need you, Sawyer. Why don’t we keep this under wraps for now, and it might be a good idea to instill the same thing in the patients.”
“It’s already taken care of, Dr. Marsh.
“Good man! Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“Actually, there is.” Sawyer said slowly. “Someone, or something scrawled a word on a wall in Anna’s room. I don’t think it was Anna, because as far as I can tell, she has never exhibited this kind of behavior before.”
“Oh? What is scrawled into her wall?”
“The word shadow.”
“Shadow,” Marsh repeated. “A few ghosts I can believe in, Doctor, but I have never heard of anything physical. I am suspicious. I think we need to pay a little more attention to Anna. There could be more to it than you think.”
Sawyer hesitated for a moment; Marsh was doubtful. This was not a good time to bring up what he had seen on the east wing. “I hope you don’t think I am overreacting, Dr. Marsh. I only wanted to bring some things to your attention.”
“Not in the least, Sawyer. In fact, I was going to suggest you look into Dr. Barrows’ files. I am sure he has written and computer files. See what you can find out, and let me know – I’m curious,” he said, decidedly. “And please, Sawyer, I don’t think it out of the question that you saw something. Did you finally get a chance to tour the facility?”
“All accept the cemetery.” Sawyer pursed his lips and nodded.  “I’m going there now.”
As soon as Sawyer left the office, Marsh sat down and ran his fingers through his beard. He turned to his computer and typed in a few commands…

4

Sawyer walked around the east side of the building, a much longer walk than he had first considered it to be, but finally turned the far corner and saw the cemetery. From a distance it looked insignificant, with its short, crumbling brick wall surrounding it. It was against the tree line, and seemed almost to crawl into the woods itself. He wondered just how many souls were buried there without markers, without any hope of a living soul arriving to say a blessing or simply speak to them. He realized the horrifying clarity how it must have felt to be alone your entire life, only to be buried in some dark hole, lost and again alone.
Alone. Was there some escape?
The headstones that were there were of a simple nature, cheap stone that weathered quickly; these were not people to be cared about anymore, only rotting remainders of a life spent in pain. Sawyer read some them as he walked through the weeds and rocks. Names and dates. Many, only names. Someone must have decided that merely a name was appropriate. What was appropriate for someone who was a burden yet had no way to change what their mind offered them as a life.
He stopped in front of one and read the name: Timothy Shade.
Timothy Shade? There it was – Shade. Timothy…Had Marsh not seen this? Anna was talking about a person. But how in the hell did she…
“Timothy Shade,” a voice said, startling Sawyer. “Hey, sorry about that, didn’t mean to make you jump,” the man said. The older man wore the maroon scrubs of the housekeeping department. His long, gray hair immediately announced to Sawyer that this man was a product of the sixties; there was no doubt. His face was aged and stubbly, a face that had obviously seen much in its life.
“That’s ok,” Sawyer said, half smiling. “I was just doing a little exploring.”
The old man lit a cigarette and blew out a thick plume of smoke into the slight breeze. “I come out here every now and then to say hello to Timothy, there,” he said, pulling another drag. “I’m in housekeeping, case you didn’t know. I do the floors. Nathan Dreosh. My friends call me Nate.”
“Well, Nate, I’m Dr. Sawyer. The new guy, I guess you could say.”
“Nice to meet ya’ Doc.”
“Same to you…Nate. Um, you knew this Timothy Shade?”
“Sure did. He and I were friends. He was a patient here back in the seventies.”
“The seventies? You used to come here to visit, huh.”
Nate looked him squarely in the eye. “I worked here in the seventies, before that psycho doctor got the place closed down.”

The early afternoon light spread into the hallway from the dayroom, along with the subtle sound of the nature documentary playing on the TV. The selection of shows for the patients was limited to mostly public television, and as Nate made worked way down the west hall, he heard the same channels drifting out of the rooms.
He limped (still had that limp from his short stretch in the Nam) over to the hand railing and snatched up his spray bottle, and sprayed a short area of the white tile, careful not to spray too much, lest a patient or arrogant nurse came strolling right through it and tracked it down the hall.
He grabbed the handle of the buffer and proceeded to buff over the white solution, giving the floor its nice shine. He may have been the least attractive employee at Stormy Haven, in his spotted red scrubs and pony tail, be he did one hell of a job on those floors. He was too proud to think otherwise.
His white sneakers squeaked on the tile as he swayed the machine back and forth, back and forth, attempting to finish the west wing for the time being. To do the entire building in a day was impossible, to do half miraculous. A rotation was the only solution.
He caught a slight whiff of urine, but paid it no mind; he grabbed the other bottle dangling from the hand rail, this one a pink solution his supervisor liked to call “Honey Mist”, and strolled down the hall spraying it into the air. All those in housekeeping were required to carry a bottle around at all times. It was a sin to have a visitor come into the facility smelling urine.
As he passed by Timothy’s darkened room, he saw the young man hunkered down in a corner with his sketch pad, rubbing at the paper with a finger. Nate went inside, and Timothy stopped and stared at his work.
“How’s it goin’ today, Timothy? Are you workin’ on your super hero again?” Nate asked. He smiled and waited patiently. One had to have patience with the young man, as he was not too quick to jump up with a grin and a handshake.
Timothy lifted his head slightly, glancing over the top of his black-rimmed Coke bottle glasses. “Hi. Hi, Nate.”
“Hi, Timothy. Did they give you a good lunch today?"
Timothy nodded. “Baloney sandwiches and chips.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. You look like you survived,” Nate said, laughing. He did it more for Timothy’s benefit, and when he saw the small smile on Timothy’s face, he nodded. “Can I look at your drawing?”
“Y-yeah.” He handed the sketchpad to Nate. Outside the doorway, a nurse that was passing by stopped and smiled at Nate. It wasn’t everyone who could look in Timothy’s pad, let alone hold it. The nurse went on her way, and Nate studied the drawing. Arched across the top of the page in bold letters was: Dark Shadow. Below were various windows with scenery and figures, an artistic masterpiece in black and white. The villains were in a dark alley, a ghostly shadow rising up behind them, forming into the shape of a man with white, glaring eyes. “I am The Dark Shadow. I roam the dark corridors of the mind, and walk unchained in the night, hand in hand with those things unimaginable and feared. I am your nightmare, and I am the thing in your closet, under your bed,” the ghostly thing was saying. Nate shook his head. The nineteen-year-old was a little twisted, but damned good.
“This is so good, Timothy!” Nate declared, handing the pad back to him. He never held the pad for too long, for he knew just how precious it was to the boy. After all, it had been his only friend for years, years of being locked away in the dark with nothing else but his imagination.
“Thanks, Nate,” he said, lowering his head.
“It’s nice day, today, Timothy. Are you going outside today?”
“I don’t want to. I don’t like Dr. Krain.”
“He tries to make you go out all the time, huh?” Nate asked amiably.
“Yeah.”
“Well, you know, if you go out, one of these pretty nurses might ask you for a date. You’re a good lookin’ guy.”
Timothy looked up at Nate, smiling. “Stop it, Nate!”
“Ok, just kiddin’ around, my friend. You know they’re just trying to help you.” Nate had to hide the doubt in his voice. He had seen the way Dr. Krain talked to Timothy sometimes, and forced him out of his room. He knew it was hard for him, and although he did want to see the young escape the confines of his room occasionally, he didn’t want to see him forced, and he empathized with him.
“I know, Nate. But I don’t like Dr. Krain. He’s a prick,” Timothy said slowly, evenly.
Nate was taken aback with Timothy’s choice of words sometimes, and yet, it made him feel closer to him, that he would open up like that. “Yeah, I guess, Timothy. Just hang in there, bud, ok?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to get back to work, Timothy. Talk to you later, ok?”
“Ok, Nate. See you later,” he said in his drugged-like cadence.
Just as Nate was leaving the room, Dr. Taylor Krain walked up with a chart in his hand, a smug expression on his face.
“Hello, Doctor,” Nate said, looking back as he walked down the hall.
“Your machine is still plugged in. I thought we agreed that you keep that thing unplugged if you’re away from it.”
“Sorry, I only stopped for a second,” Nate said, grabbing the buffer’s handle.
“It only takes a second for a patient to get hurt with that,” Krain said, his face like stone.
“I’ll make sure and keep an eye on it,” Nate said, breaking eye contact with the doctor.
Krain entered Timothy’s room, and Nate thought: Fuck you! He turned and started buffing away from Timothy’s room. He knew Krain would try to get him out of the room, and he couldn’t stand to watch the doctor grasping Timothy’s arm and hauling him into the hall. Nate had been in Vietnam, knew fear all too well, and he always felt it from Timothy. The outside world was the dreaded enemy, to be avoided at all costs.
Nate went back to his work, but his heart was with Timothy. Timothy Shade. How ironic it was to have a name like that, to live constantly in the shadows, his personal dark dream world.
Timothy…
“So what happened to Timothy?” Sawyer asked.
“You don’t know?” Nate asked. He took another long drag, tilted his head back and blew it up into the air. “No, I don’t suppose you would, unless you really looked into the history of this place. He got killed. The psychos on the fifth floor did it. Poor kid – never had a chance.”
“Funny,” Sawyer said. “Dr. Marsh never mentioned it.”
I’ve lived in Iowa my entire life, Doctor, and I have always been fascinated with its history…
“Oh, hell. He might not even know about it. It was a long time ago.”
“Just how long ago was this?” Sawyer asked.
“1974, Doctor. I was only twenty three-years-old. I started working here when I came back from the ‘Nam. Got hit by shrapnel a year into my tour. I’m surprised I lasted that long, fuckin’ hell hole. Excuse my French.”
Sawyer waved a hand. “It’s ok. Don’t worry about it.”
“I started working here in ’71. Timothy was only sixteen. Kid was a mess, and I felt bad for ‘em. He didn’t have any friends, only that sketch pad of his. He was a damned good artist. It was just a shame, I tell ya’.”
“Just how in the hell did other patients get a hold of him?”
“That doctor. He had us all fooled. When I think back, all of us working with a serial killer, it makes me shudder!”
All this information shocked Sawyer. “His doctor was a serial killer?” he asked incredulously.
“The one and only Dr. Death. He disappeared way back when, with some detective chasing after him. Apparently, he decided to take up practice here. Changed his face and everything. There were three murders, or four, I don’t quite recall. Right out in those woods.”
“My God,” Sawyer exclaimed. “I’ve heard of that guy, but I never knew he was here. That was before my time, I’m afraid.”
Nate looked him up and down, shaking his head. Dropping his cigarette and snubbing it out with his shoe, he declared, “Hell, you weren’t even born!” He chuckled and pointed at Sawyer. “If you want to find out more, I suggest you go into the basement – there’s a ton of old newspaper clippings and records in the old part. You might even run into a ghost or two.”
“So, who else comes out here,” Sawyer asked.
“Well, I’ll tell ya. That prick of a doctor on the fourth floor. Dr. Wesley. You met him, haven’t you? Guy with gray hair and beard?  He comes out here sometimes, too. When he sees me he just kind of browses around, but I get the idea he knows someone out here. You should keep an eye on him,” Nate said. “Every now and then, I see Dr. Marsh out here, but I think he’s just paying respects. I would watch that Wesley – guy’s got some attitude.”
“I think I will do just that,” he said. “Thank you, Nate. I appreciate it.”

5

Later in the afternoon, Walters picked up Macabee at the airport in a black, dented Escort. He pulled up to the curb in front of the terminal, and saw a man in a long gray overcoat and wrinkled suit. He instantly knew this to be Macabee.
Walters rolled down the window and called out, “Macabee?”
The man responded with, “That’s me. You must be Walters.”
“I am. Get in, Detective.”
Macabee got in and shook hands with Walters. “Very nice of you to pick me up,” he said in that gravelly voice.
“Hey, it’s the least I can do. After all, you came all the way out here to help with a case.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Walters – I didn’t come because I like you. I came because there’s a chance Dr. Death may be here. I am sure you’re a fine detective, but I am focused on only one thing right now.”
“Oh, hey,” Walters said. “I got ya’. Strictly business.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Macabee said, and went silent.
At the station, Walters led Macabee to his desk in homicide division. Papers and documents covered the top, and Walters suddenly fell self-conscious. “My desk isn’t usually like this, it’s just…”
“I know, Walters. No need to apologize. If it helps to solve a case, who cares what your desk looks like. My desk has had some many documents on it; they were falling off the sides.”
“Well, it will help solve the case, I promise you,” Walters said, suddenly nonchalant about the mess of papers.
“Good,” Macabee said. “Now you can brief me on this case, and I am sorry to say, but we may have to organize things a little.”
Walters sighed. “Ok, let’s do it. We’re going to catch this guy.”
Anna Tanner sat in her usual spot on the bed, staring at the wall straight across from her. She saw the word scratched in the wall; and she said it.
Shadow…
She suddenly felt strength, a confidence she had felt in a long time. “Timothy!” she whispered harshly. “Dark Shadow, come to me!” She went silent, sure that nothing would occur. Ana tilted her head slightly: I spoke. I actually spoke. Dark Shadow, I need you more than ever!
As she sat motionless on the bed, the familiar smoke began to appear from a crack in the floor. It rose up, swirling and twisting, until it shaped into the form of a man. Anna feared not, for she had seen much during her time at Stormy Haven.
“Hello, Anna. You called for me, and I am here.” Dark Shadow whispered.
“You have hurt people. I don’t like you.”
“Anna, I don’t mean to hurt people, but I must find him!”
“Who? Who are you looking for?”
“Dr. Death.”
“Who is Dr. Death?”
“I am going to show you now, Anna. Just relax, and let the images flow…”
“Ok…relax,” she said, and sat back onto her elbows.
The shadow came close, and Anna’s heart palpitated with fear. Abruptly, it was right in front of her, and two ghostly hands positioned themselves on her temples. Anna felt the cool energy, and unwillingly closed her eyes.
“Relax, Anna – see what I see. Feel what I feel. Maybe then you will open up.”
The pool of milk on the kitchen grew around the overturned glass, and the little boy stared in horror, unsure of just what to do. The milk circled around his cereal bowl, threatening to drip onto the floor.
The boy looked up at his father, and felt that familiar pang of fear. “I’m sorry, daddy, it was an accident. It just fell over. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
His father stood near the sink, a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth, a can of beer latched into his hairy right hand. His glare alone could cut stone. “Well, go grab a fucking towel! Hurry!”
The little boy stood and rushed to the living room doorway. His terror confused him. “What kind of towel, daddy?” He was even terrified of grabbing the wrong kind of towel, so strong was his fright and puzzlement.
“Anything, Timmy! Hurry up, it’s gonna drip on the fuckin’ floor!”
Timothy ran off to the linen closet.
“Hurry up, you little fuckin’ retard!” Wendell Shade called after him. “God damnit!”
Timothy came running in with a large, bright orange towel with a print of the sun hanging over the ocean. “I got one daddy! I’ll clean it up!”
But before the boy could move another step, Wendell called out, “Not that one, fuck! That’s my big beach towel! Go get another piece of shit towel, Timmy! Jesus Christ, it’s drippin’ on the floor!” He made no move to resolve the situation, only stood in his grungy white tank top swigging his cheap beer.
“What’s goin’ on in there, Wendell?” Mary Shade called out from a repulsive smelling bedroom down the hall. She lie on the unmade bed, adorned in a spotted blue nightgown amidst stained sheets and blankets, a can of beer sitting on the nightstand among an epidemic of prescription bottles. “Bring me another beer, Wendell,” she called out in a shaky voice.
Then she turned her attention to the digital clock on the nightstand. She stared at it through thick lensed glasses, and started tapping the various buttons atop the clock. She leaned back on her pillow and closed her eyes, her fingers tapping the buttons at super-sonic speed.
Mary Shade was talking to Jesus. Whenever Wendell saw her, he rolled his eyes. Timothy would see her, oftentimes sitting on the bed and talking to his mother, and he was just old enough to realize that the woman was nuts. Yet, he wasn’t quite at that age when he had thoughts of a genetic nature. Mommy was nuts, therefore, I am nuts.
In the kitchen, Wendell was tapping a foot and watching milk drip onto a floor that had remained unmapped for a forgotten amount of time. Timothy came running in with a smaller, plain towel, and he held it up for his father’s approval.
“That’s fine, now clean the shit up!”
“Ok, daddy!”
Timothy knelt down and began wiping the floor.
“Not there, you little turd, the table first, or else more will just drip on the floor.” He took a long guzzle from his beer, and with his last cigarette still smoldering in the ash tray on the counter, he fired up another and took a nice long drag.
Timothy struggled with the milk that was still threatening to drip off the table. He rushed the glass and bowl to the sink, and returned to the table, swirling the towel around in the pool of milk, which was rapidly absorbing into the towel. “Daddy, I think I need another towel,” the frightened little boy said.
His father sighed disgustedly, and said, “Hang on.” He set his beer on the counter and went out the kitchen door to the back patio, and returned with an old plastic laundry basket. He tossed it onto the floor next to his son. “Throw it in there and go fetch another towel.”
Timothy dropped the milk-soaked towel into the basket (the basket was spotted with dirt from being left out in the rain), and ran to the linen closet for another towel. There were not many towels left, and to Timothy, they all looked as if too good for his father’s approval. He paused, contemplating the kitchen doorway; he knew on the other side his father was waiting, and would not wait long. He hurried back to the kitchen, almost in tears; feeling like the retard that his father so frequently liked to called him.
“Daddy, all the towels look too good to use,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. He looked at his father’s angry countenance, and tears filled his eyes. At that moment, he wished he could have run away, very far away, or better yet, beat him up – beat his father up and make him clean up the darned milk. The frustration of knowing this to be impossibility generated another all too familiar feeling – anger. His tiny fists clenched, little vice clamps threatening to pierce his palms with fingernails; but they unclenched abruptly before his father could see them. That would have meant trouble for sure.
“Oh, now you’re gonna cry,” Wendell said. He leaned toward the boy. “Is it my fault you spilled the fucking milk? Huh?”
Timothy stood silent.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
He looked up at the horrid man, his vision blurred by tears.
“Well? Is it my fault?”
“No, daddy.”
“Stop your fucking blubbering, and go grab a dirty towel out of the hamper in the bathroom.”
Timothy ran off and returned with a damp towel he had retrieved from a hamper that reeked of mold and other unknown odors. He immediately finished wiping up the milk, and was about to toss the towel in the basket with the other when his father chimed up. “Rinse that out in the sink. Try to get most of the milk out of it, and wipe up where the milk was with the damp towel. It’ll get sticky if you don’t.”
With tears running down his face, Timothy removed the dishes from the kitchen sink and set them on the counter. He ran the warm water, rinsing and wring out the towel with all the strength his hands would tolerate.
Wendell walked out onto the back patio and took a long swig from his beer and an equally long drag from his cigarette. He looked up at the burning sun and decided it was too hot to be outside at the moment. He went back inside, letting the screen door slap against the frame.
Timothy was just finishing up – he dropped the towel in the basket on top of the other one. “You stay right here,” Wendell said, and snatched up the basket before taking it outside and dropping it on the cement. Once back inside, he set his beer on the table (now that it was all cleaned up and ready for more) and put his hands on his hips.
“You do this all the time boy, and every time you have to clean it up. I thought it would -he produced a loud burp-teach you some kind of lesson. But you don’t learn. So, I guess it’s time for a little time out.”
“No, daddy, please. I won’t do it again, I promise!”
“Nope. You say that every time, Timmy, and look what you do. Some time out will give you time to think about it. Maybe you’ll figure out why you keep fucking up. Let’s go!”
“No, daddy!” He clung to the table, but Wendell grabbed one of his arms and pulled him along, out of the kitchen, past the living room and down the hall to his small bedroom. He pushed him into the dim room.
“Now you just sit here and think about it for a while. And no lights! If I catch you with that light on, I’ll whoop your ass. And don’t open those curtains, either! If you’re a good boy, I’ll come and let you out in just a little while.”
He slammed the door shut, and Timothy sat on his bed. He knew he would be there a long time. There were even times when his father would fall asleep on the living room couch for hours, while his mother sat on her bed sipping her beer, even getting up long enough to fetch her own, for her calls to Wendell went unheeded by a man who lay snoring in the living room.
Timothy heard the muffled voices of his parents talking from the master bedroom.
“What did he do, Wendell?”
“Oh, just knocked over his milk again. All over everything. Fucking mess.”
Silence.
“Don’t forget, we have to go to the pharmacy today,” he heard his mother say.
“I know, I know,” Wendell said.
“What are you going to do with Timmy?” Mary Shade asked.
“He can just sit in his room and think about it.”
He heard his mother grunt and the creak of bedsprings. She was getting out of bed. “Is that stupid car of your gonna make it to the store?”
“Oh, shut up, woman! It’ll make it” Wendell didn’t want to be too harsh on the woman – after all he was living off of her welfare money, too. “And we’ll get some beer at the store too,” he said.
“I need smokes, Wendell.”
“We’ll get smokes, don’t worry.”
Timothy listened by the door as his father stomped past toward the kitchen. He ran to the curtains and parted them slightly, just enough to let in enough light for him to see into the closet. He rummaged around through the toys and discarded toys until he found what he was looking for – an artist’s sketch pad with a brown cover. The first few pages were littered with doodles, and he tore them out; he searched around for his small garbage basket, and had to stuff the wad of papers in on top of the rest, for it had not been emptied in quite a while.
Timothy heard heavy footsteps approaching, and he ran over to close the curtains. The door opened, and his father’s head poked in. “Are you being a good boy?”
“Yes, daddy,” Timothy said, sitting on the floor near the window, with his sketch pad and pencil in hand.
“We’re going to the store real quick. I expect you to stay put, you understand?”
“I will, I promise.”
The door slammed shut, and Timothy was engulfed in shadow. Fear was no longer the preponderating factor in his thoughts – it was anger. He started to draw the figures as best as an eight-year-old could, crude figures that represented his father, and then he thought about his comic books; there were all kinds of super heroes, in all shapes and sizes. It was then that he realized how is own name – Shade – correlated exactly with the place in where he was imprisoned. The dark, the shadows, the loneliness. It was not hard for him to draw a ghost, a dark, shadowy figure that came to his rescue.
The Dark Shadow was born.

“Maybe so, Evelyn, but for now, mum’s the word. I know a little about what’s going on, so I don’t think it’s out to hurt anyone (except maybe to kill Dr. Death, whoever that is). Trust me, alright?”

“You got it. I feel better already. Thanks Doctor. Just send me a bill at the usual place,” she laughed, and Sawyer was relieved. Dark Shadow was an angry entity. It wanted Dr. Death, and the last thing anyone should do is aggravate it. He and Leslie were caught up in the situation, and they both cared – all they could do is protect the patients for now.  And perhaps find out who Dr. Death was; and Sawyer could only think of two or three people who fit the bill.

Sawyer hurried down to the nurse’s station, and found Leslie speaking with Mary Price. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

“Oh no, you’re fine,” Leslie said. “We were just going over some medication issues.”

John Alder ambled up, smiling widely under his baseball cap. “Guess what?”

“Your wife is coming to get you for lunch,” Leslie said, exchanging glances with Sawyer.

“Yep. She’s coming to get me today. We’re going to lunch.”

“Well, that’s very nice, John,” Sawyer said. “I hope you have a good time.”

“Oh, he will today. She will be here in just a little while,” Leslie said, nodding.

“Wow, that’s great! I bet you’ll be glad to get out for a little while.” Sawyer patted his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m getting kind of tired of that thing following me around.”

Sawyer’s smile disappeared. “Thing? Following you? I don’t think anything would follow you, John.”

“Oh, it’s true! Sometimes I look back, and there it is.”

“It? Why do you call it that?”

“Because it looks more like a shadow than a person. Scary looking eyes, but I won’t let it scare me!” John’s face was suddenly strained. “I was gonna’ talk to Dr. Marsh about it, because I don’t like being followed.”

“You don’t have to, John – I’ll take care of it. Don’t scare the other patients with talk, now,” Sawyer said.

“Oh, I won’t,” John said, anger surfacing in his voice. “As long as the damned thing leaves me alone!” He ambled off at his usual slow pace.

Mary shook her head. “As if these patients didn’t have enough problems. Then the state has to go and put ‘em in the most haunted place in the world!” She chuckled. “Someone is talking, because I’ve had a few patients mention this “shadow” ghost. It’s some kind of rumor going around, and they’re a lot more apt to believe it, you know.”

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, that’s the problem.”

Mary pushed her cart down the hall, and when she had gone out of ear shot, Sawyer said, “I found some information about Timothy Shade and Dark Shadow in the basement. I’m going to my office now to go over it, and I’ll see if I can dig up Dr. Barrow’s records on Anna.”

“Let me know, Tom,” Leslie said. They kept eye contact for a moment.

“I get right back to you, I promise. You should see it down there, Leslie. And when I went down, I saw it.”

“You saw this Dark Shadow?”

“Yeah, but according to Timothy Shade, Dark Shadow was supposed to be a good guy. A kind of super hero. Now, he only wants one thing, and he’s pissed. When I got near the records, he vanished. Just went away. I think he just wanted me to find them.”

“Well, you are trying to help Anna. Maybe this Dark Shadow is helping you,” Leslie said.

“I am sure that’s what is happening,” he said. “And I think he’s helping her even more, getting her to talk. She was actually talking to me. Anna told me Timothy and Dark Shadow was the same person.”

“She’s talking more? That’s amazing, Tom!”

“It is. But you know, I got the feeling in the basement that he didn’t want to hurt me. I don’t think he really wants to hurt anyone undeserving, but he’s angry, and he’s not human anymore. He’s angry about what happened to him. He wants Dr. Death. I need to find out as much as I can.”

“But that was so long ago. He won’t find Dr. Death here.”

Sawyer paused, pursing his lips. “Leslie, when Sonny Ray Jones came into my room, he claimed he was the Dark Shadow and Timothy Shadow. He said Dr. Death was here somewhere, but he didn’t know who it was. He said he could feel him. The Dark Shadow was in him, Leslie, I know it. This thing is trying to get a message to me any way he can.”

“What are we going to do?” Leslie asked.

“We aren’t going to do anything. I want to you to just…well, just let me take care of it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Hold on just a minute, Doctor! We’re in this together. Anna is my patient, too, and I am going to help.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said, gently grabbing her shoulders. “If what he said is true, we’re dealing with a very dangerous man.”

“Well, you need someone to look out for you.”

Sawyer laughed. “Ok, I guess I have no choice. I’ll get back to you as soon as I look over those things I found. I have rounds to make, too.” He wanted to kiss her right there, and it was difficult to hold back; and he knew she could sense it. Perhaps that was enough for the moment. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll be here,” she said, punctuating her remark with a smile.

Sawyer returned to his office, and began to pour over the story of the tragedy that happened in 1974. An absolute disaster, producing mayhem, death, and one patient dangling from bed sheets from a fifth floor window. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, and shuddered. Certainly, his neck would not have been broken immediately, therefore he must have strangled. Sawyer seemed to go into a daze, and the whole scene became clear.

They arrived at Stormy Haven, got out of the car, and Walters just stared at Macabee as the other stood and gawked at the monstrosity before him. “I can’t believe they opened this place again,” Macabee said.  

“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Walters said. Macabee remained silent for a moment.

“Let’s go,” Macabee said, without yes or no, without any restraint, the man just started toward the entrance.

“Um, Detective, you just don’t walk right into this place. It is a high security facility, you know.”

“Well, then you can stay. I am going.” The gruff looking man in the wrinkled suit mounted the stairs. Walters followed, almost like a child.

Macabee entered the building, and found himself in the foyer facing the nurse’s station. A few patients walked by, with no response to the stranger. The TV from the dayroom was playing Little House on the Prairie.

A nurse was at the station, a pretty woman, and Macabee went up to her and immediately announced himself. “My name is Detective John Macabee, and this is…” he glanced around to see if the other had even followed along, and saw him behind him. “This is Detective Walters.”

Nurse Leslie Blake took one look at the man, and was taken aback slightly. “Well, may I help you?”

“Yes, you can, I want to talk to the one in charge.”

A man in a baseball cap walked up to Macabee. “Guess what?”

“I have no idea.”

“My wife is taking me to lunch today.” He smiled and walked away.

Macabee actually smiled. “Ok, then, Nurse….”

“Nurse Blake.”

“Well, Nurse, I would like to speak to the person in charge here, if that is alright with you.”

Walters cut in. “If he’s not around, we can always come back.”

“Now would be a much better time,” Macabee said. He turned around. “What in the fuck is wrong with you,” he whispered to Walters.

“This place gives me the creeps,” he whispered back.

Leslie heard every word and smiled. “I would be very happy to show you to his office, if you’d just follow me, detectives.” She started down the west hall, toward the bend.

“I can’t get over the architecture of this building,” Macabee said.

“It is very old, you see, used to be a TB sanitarium, and was even filled with soldiers at one time from what I hear.”

“From what you hear?” Macabee asked.

“Well, I don’t know the whole history of the place, I just came when it reopened, you know.”

“It’s only been three months, detective,” Walters said.

“Thank you,” Macabee said, and rolled his eyes.

As they walked down the hall, a woman in red scrubs was on her knees scrubbing up a spot on the white tile floor.

“I’m afraid our floor man didn’t show up today,” Nurse Blake said. Walters opened his mouth, but Macabee shot him a look that closed it.

“Perhaps he’s just late,” Macabee said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Leslie said.

They passed Rose’s room, and there she was, standing in the hall rubbing her hands together, blue bandana wrapped tightly around her head as if she were about to clean. Macabee stopped in front of the next room. Here was a young woman sitting on her bed, short black hair, striking blue eyes. She turned and gazed at Macabee, silent…

“That’s Anna. Lovely, but very quiet,” Leslie said.

“Hello, Detective,” the woman said.

Walters was nearly stunned. Leslie froze on the spot. “Have you met her?” she asked.

“No, I can’t say that I have. Hello, Anna.” Anna smiled, for standing around the trio in the hallway were others, smiling as well, ones only Anna could only see. They held contact, those with sullen faces and deep, dark underlined eyes. And then Anna turned away, and the smile vanished.

“I’m amazed, Detective. She is only now beginning to speak, but only to Dr. Sawyer. I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Dr. Sawyer?”

“Yes, he replaced Dr. Barrows.”

“And this Dr. Barrows?”

“Heart attack, I’m afraid,” Leslie said. “Here we are,” she said and lead them into the office. The secretary’s office was empty. Nurse Blake tapped on the open door, and a an older man’s voice asked, “Yes?”

“It’s Nurse Blake, Dr. Marsh. There are some men here to see you.”

“Oh, well send them right it, Nurse. Thank you.”

Macabee entered, followed of course by Walters. This time Walters took his turn. “I am Detective Walters, and this is Detective Macabee. We have urgent business to discuss.”

Macabee studied Marsh, but stayed silent.

“I’m Dr. Marsh. Administrator of this facility. Aaron Marsh. What is happening?”

3

As the troop traversing the west hall passed, Anna looked down at the small, familiar crack in the dull tile and saw the blackened smoke begin to rise. She almost smiled, for this had, besides Barrows and now the new Sawyer, had been her only friend.

Timothy had told her of Detective Macabee, of his coming, and not to fear the man; nay, try to help him for death was in the air once again. Her door closed gently, and she was supposedly alone.

A figure appeared in her room, a man with the black eyes of a lobotomy. He frowned and drifted toward Anna; and although she knew this to be a threat, and she had become so accustomed to it, she made no move to avoid the advancing entity. Its face contorted into a picture of suffering, and it raised its arms as it moved closer; and then it turned, transforming the suffered look into fear.

The Dark Shadow arose, formed into a man, dark with only the whites of his eyes illuminating his features. The entity flew toward the closed door, obviously intent on escaping into the hall. Shadow’s right arm stretched out, blackened hands closing around the neck of the intruder.

Shadow lifted, squeezing as he did, and soon the entity’s tongue and eyes were popping from its head. It turned into a white vapor, visible for only a few seconds more before vanishing altogether.

In his office, Sawyer sat at his desk, trying to make heads or tails of the bizarre tale before him, in the meantime, down the west hall, the Dark Shadow ventured near Anna. “Hello, Anna.”

She gazed up slowly. “Hello, Timothy.”

“Anna, please listen,” Dark Shadow said. “Right now, Dr. Sawyer is looking at the old newspapers about how I was killed. Along with others, of course. He even has my old art pad that I used to make all my stories in. He’s keeping a tight grip on  it.”

Anna tilted her head. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“The time isn’t right, Anna. Even with something standing before you, as I do now, the living, rational mind still cannot accept. For now, he has seen me, and knows I exist. Talking will come later. But, he believes you, Anna. Everything you say.”

“You talk to me because I am crazy.”

“No, Anna. I talk to you because you understand completely. And I am trying to help you.”

“The doctor. The one who killed you…”

“He didn’t kill me, Anna. But he allowed others to kill me. He is a dirty, filthy murderer who Detective Macabee has been chasing for years.”

Anna thought, making eye contact with Timothy as if were the most natural thing in the world. “The men who just walked by. Police?”

“Yes, Anna. The older one is Macabee. And he is not stupid. He needs to hear the whole thing, and if you think he won’t believe, think again,” Shadow said in that graveled tone. He went through this before I died – a different place.”

“Anna, you only have to talk. Tell them I mean no harm.!”

“But you have hurt people.”

My anger is death, my powers are tenfold since I died. Sometimes I can’t control it. I am only looking for him. I know he is here, but he is somehow disguised.”

“You get into my thoughts,” Anna said.

“Yes, but it is not possible with everyone. There are ways to block it. Let me show you. Perhaps you’ll recognize Dr. Krain.”

“Dr. Krain?”

“Dr. Death. Back then, he was using the alias Taylor Krain. He was my doctor. I was like you, but he had no patience. He would force me out of my room. He was killing people in Cedar Vale back then, and is now. His real name is Dr. Jordan Mitchell. If he finds out that you know anything, he will try to kill you. But I will protect you, Anna.” She nodded. “Close your eyes and I will show you…”

While the two detectives and Nurse Blake were in Marsh’s office, and Sawyer was perusing the horrid story of Stormy Haven, 1974, The Dark Shadow started showing Anna what really happened all those years ago.

Dr. Krain strode across the sparkling white tile, from his office on the east wing to the west wing, where his patient awaited him, unaware the doctor was even coming.

Evening was setting, and all that were left was a skeleton crew. Krain knew this, of course, being a part of the staff himself. There was, however, something he did not know until today. The ever-so famous Detective John Macabee was coming to Cedar Vale. He had suspicions about Stormy Haven, and was going to do a little digging on his own.

Because of this new development, Dr. Taylor Krain knew it was time to leave. But, he had an obsession – the reclusive Timothy Shade. The young man who spent his time sitting in a corner of his room drawing those outrageous pictures of his hero, The Dark Shadow.

No matter how many times he had tried to get Timmy outside, the patient always struggled. Others sadly watched, including Nathan Dreosh, who cared so much for the poor young man.

During this particular evening, nonetheless, Krain was still at work, and had a master plan of his own therapy ready to put in place. It was time to perform some shock therapy on Timothy before he left; and it was not to help the lad, it was to show him what the real world could do for him.

Krain was sick of the lame forms of therapy – this would probably be Timothy’s last session, but that was ok. The boy had no life to speak of, and this would be the final word. Down near the end of the hall, watching with all the strength he could was Nathan Dreosh – his eyes weren’t in the best of shape, but he followed along as best as he could.

Dr. Krain entered Timothy’s room, and stood there before him. “What’s wrong, Doctor?” Timothy asked.

“Why, nothing’s wrong, Timothy,” the handsome Dr. Krain said. “I think it’s just time for a little more therapy.”

Timothy gazed fearfully at the doctor. “Please, Doctor, not today. Please?”

“Now Timothy, you can, put if off forever. And today I just had planned a short walk. You don’t even have to leave the building.”

“I still don’t want to go,” Timothy said.

Dr. Krain reached down and grasped his left arm and yanked him up. “You are going, Timothy, whether you like it or not. Now come with me. And don’t give me any struggles, or I shall have two rather large orderlies come and make sure you do what I say. So, take your pick. It’s me and you, or the others to make it hard. Take your pick now.”

Timothy, wearing his coke bottle glasses and tee shirt, dropped his sketch pad on the floor and stood next to Krain, who was still holding tight to his arm. “That’s much better, Timothy. Now, don’t be calling out, giving me trouble, and this will be a nice mellow walk, ok?”

Timothy was frightened, but there was nothing he could do. “Yes, Dr. Krain, no problems.”

Still grasping Timothy’s left arm, Krain led him into the hallway and down toward the nurse’s station. The nurse standing behind the counter, looked up and noticed the two men, and at first thought it strange. Nonetheless, in her usual respectful manner, she said, “Well, hello Dr. Krain, and hello to you Timothy.”

“Well, hello Nurse. Timothy and I are just taking a little walk.”

Again, the nurse addressed Timothy. “Hello Timothy.”

“Hello,” he said, his head bowed down.

Krain led him past the nurse’s station and over to the elevator. “Where are we going?” Timothy asked.

“Just for a little visit,” Krain replied. He swiped his card over the black box on the wall, and the doors opened. Timothy resisted a bit, but Krain pulled him into the elevator. “Don’t make it hard, Timothy. You’ll just make it hard on yourself.”

Timothy remained silent during the short trip up to the fifth floor. He began to shiver.

“Calm down, Timothy. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re scaring me, Doctor. This is the fifth floor. The killers are up here.”

Krain smiled. “I’m not going to let them hurt you. Don’t worry, Timothy.”

Timothy looked doubtful, but said nothing as the elevator doors slid open. He has only heard about this floor, and how small it was – this much, at least, was true. Ahead was the nurse’s desk, and on either side two secured halls. It was small, and this was where the psychos lived.

The nurse looked up at Dr. Krain and his patient. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?”

“Yes, actually, there is. Timothy, stay right here, ok? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Ok, Dr. Krain,” Timothy said.

Dr. Krain addressed the nurse. “I need to speak to you in private. Perhaps in the records room.”

“Doctor, I don’t see the need for…”

“I said, I would like to speak to you in private. Now.” He made for the small records room, and she followed behind, irritated at his demeanor. They went to the rear of the room.

“What is so private, that we needed to come back here?” the nurse asked.

Dr. Krain pulled a scalpel from a pocket of his lab coat, and sliced cleanly across her neck while he held a hand over her mouth. She fell to the floor, and he whispered, “That’s what was so private, nurse.”

He yanked her tag from her neck and appeared from the room to find Timothy still standing there, shaking. He set the tag on the counter. “Why are you so afraid? There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Krain said.

“Where’s the nurse?” Timothy asked with a shaky voice.

“She’s just back looking for some records.”

“Records for what?”

Dr. Krain hit some buttons on the top of the nurse’s counter, and the doors to either side if the halls drifted open.

“What are you doing?” Timothy exclaimed.

“Just giving you the therapy you really need,” Dr. Taylor Krain said, before swiping his card before the box at the stairway door. He rushed through, pulling the door shut.

Timothy ran to the stairway door and struggled with it, but it would not open. He rushed to the elevator and pushed all the buttons.

Nothing.

He ran to the east door and peeked into the hallway. All the doors had been opened, and patients in their white pajamas were precariously sneaking into the hall, and two of them saw Timothy peeking at them. Their reddened eyes, drawn faces, maddened looks – ran toward Timothy.

The young man didn’t know what to do. He ran for the records room just as patients from the west hall were creeping into the foyer. He saw the slaughtered remains of the nurse, and vomited on the tile. That was when the psychopaths found him.

Several men grabbed him, and when he gazed into their faces, it terrified him. Their faces were death – murder. One called out, “Grab some bed sheets!” Two men ran off.

Dr. Death had pushed the alarm himself, and had given Timothy a chance of escape by leaving the nurse’s tag lying on the counter. But Timothy was too flustered to even think about it. Below the building, police were showing up, leaping out of their cars with guns drawn. Employees were running out of the building, while police were running back inside to lead patients out.

Dr. Krain had dashed into the woods, and vanished.

The sergeant in charge of the police whipped out a megaphone. “All of you, come down peacefully, and no one will get hurt!”

Several men dragged Timothy into the foyer and held him down while two sickened men tied the ends of a bed sheet around his neck.

“Stop!” Timothy screamed. “Stop now!”

“And just what are you going to do?” One man asked. His face was red, eyes inflamed.

Down below, where the police and employees were gathered, watched horrified as an office chair crashed through one of the fifth floor windows. The chair and shattered glass showered the ground.

And then the body was thrown out the window. Women below screamed, men gasped as Timothy grasped at his neck, but to no avail. Finally, he hung loosely, swaying in the breeze.

More police stormed the building. Several hours later, the fifth floor patients had been rounded up, but instead of returning them to their rooms, the police began the arduous process of transporting seven that were directly involved to the police station for booking, after which each one was put into a solitary confinement room. But this was only the gist of what took place.

The rest on the fifth floor were still there, basically trashing the place. The men were locked away in their rooms before the police could study the damage. There were chairs scattered everywhere, files that had been in the counter littered the floor, shards of glass around one of the main foyer windows. Especially, of course, the window through which they had thrown Timothy. It was after this vile act that they were even crazier.

This, of course, had been fueled by the bloody corpse in the storage room. Their eyes widened and soaked in the ethereal sight. These were the patients that trashed the records room while the nurse’s corpse lie on the floor amidst a flurry of papers swinging and swaying in the air, many landing on her body, her terrified face. In the meantime, six or seven men in institution pajamas were hanging another patient out of a fifth story building.

Some of the fifth floor patients – three to be exact – were strangled with a wild uncontrollable eye glared into their eyes as if they were in an orgasmic dream. They were murderous animals, and one actually took a large bite from a man’s arm and chewed it down. The others watched in fascination, for although they had seen many sickening things, this they had never seen before.

Another large bite and another patient bent over and quickly took a bite of flesh from the arm. He chewed…and then smiled. The two cannibals looked at each other in wonder, and then continued to feast.

There was nothing for the staff to do but help the first floor patients outside, and try to escape themselves. Although the patients on the second floor were considered docile, the police told them to not venture above the first floor. It was simply too dangerous. In fact, the police finally told staff to stay out of the building. Some of the nurses were crying, for they truly cared for these patients. And yet, the police told them no.  

After the group of psychopaths hanged Timothy and murdered three patients, they searched for a way out. The elevator and stairwell were locked. One bald-headed man smeared with blood picked up the nurse’s card and held it aloft. “And just what is this?” he cried. The one who seemed to be in charge, the one who had thrown Timothy to his death, said, “Give me that, you fucking idiot!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“And what are you going to do?” the one in charge asked.

“Noth…nothing. Just don’t call me that.”

“That’s fine; I won’t call you any names, as long as you help us get the fuck out of here. Everyone!” he shrieked. “We need to get out of here. I’m sure the cops have shown up by now, and the fuckheaded staff is all outside. We have a key card – we need to make it to the first floor and out a back way. But first, we need weapons. A couple of you guys go into the records room. Look on the nurse’s med cart. Anything. Hurry!”

He ran over and swiped the card across the small black box. The door clicked, and he grabbed it and yanked it open. “Bring me that chair,” He yelled to another patient. He propped the office chair under the doorknob and then went to the nurse’s station.

From outside, they all heard the sheriff’s voice: “Come out now – no one will get hurt. We can talk about this!”

He turned to the patients. “Go get that nurse’s body. Fast.” He wouldn’t stand directly in front of the window, but instead at the side. “Ok, we’ll talk. But first, I have a present for you.”

As the nurse’s body flew out the window, past Timothy’s corpse still hanging from bed sheets, the men cringed as the body hit cement below, breaking her body into contorted limbs, and the women turned the heads crying out in horror.

On the third floor, a patient walked down the hallway until he saw a patient from the fifth floor. “Why are you down here,” he asked.

The man came close and grabbed him by the throat. “I’m here to kill her you, you little germ.”

He strangled the patient until there was no life left in him. His face was a twisted sort of horror as he lifted up and headed toward the stairs. That was as far as he got. He found himself facing a gun.

Three patients were still on the fifth floor, while two had made it to the second floor. They all heard the shots from an automatic rifle- the patient fell to the floor, already dead. The policeman grabbed his walkie-talkie. “One patient is down, I repeat, one patient is down.”

“Copy that. Move upstairs, and see if you can round up the rest. They are very dangerous, I repeat, dangerous.”

“Copy that.

While that policeman moved up the stairs toward the fifth floor, more officers made their way into the building. They heard footsteps traversing the stairs. Both hid on opposite sides of the stairs.

On the first floor they appeared wild-eyed animals. Both policemen appeared, and this only caused a frenzy with the two patients  - One dashed one way, while other screamed bloody murder as he headed toward the policeman on his side. Shots rang out.

One policeman grabbed his radio. “Two more patients down, I repeat two more down.” The sergeant in charge of the operation shook his head. “Ok, two more are on their way in. There should be any more loose patients except on the fifth floor. Get up there fast.”

“Yes sir.”

As the two replacements entered the first floor lobby, the other two ascended the stairs. On the fifth floor the door was closed. It was locked. One man said, “Watch yourself,” he said and fired at the door until it opened. “These are the worst of the worst – watch out!”