The Pandora Box
The Pandora Box
Lilly Maytree
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Pandora Box
COPYRIGHT 2013 by Lilly Maytree
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Contact Information: [email protected]
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
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Harbourlight Books sail and mast logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First Harbourlight Edition, 2013
Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-234-9
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-233-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the Captain...who first introduced me to the wonderful world of boats. May our next adventure be the best!
Praise
The Pandora Box
…the perfect read for a weekend escape. You will come away energized, unless you stay up too late reading! Suspense, intrigue, diamonds and danger, friends who stick by, growing love…against a backdrop of stop-at-nothing greed! And it is played out on the deck of the lovely yacht
Pandora
, mostly. A few people do get wet. Lilly Maytree brings us the full gamut of characters from seedy to sterling with a Christian worldview (but no soapbox) and a hurricane, of all things! Oh, you will love it! ~ Carol Brown, author, educator.
1
The Assignment
“How will you get me out,” I asked my editor, “after I once get in?” ~ Nellie Bly
It was visiting day in the psychiatric hospital. Dee Parker sat at her usual table in the lounge, next to a foot-wide floor to ceiling window that allowed only a narrow view to the outside lawn. No need to attract any undue attention. It was not an opening window and there was no way of escape. There was that word again. Kept popping up every time she turned around. Honestly, if people could read each other’s minds, they’d all be staring at her right now.
Better get a grip. This was the day. The real deal.
Today, she was going to help Nelson Peterson escape from Wyngate State Hospital. Of course, that was not part of her original assignment, and her editor would probably hit the roof when he found out. But she would deal with that
after
she got Peterson safely out of here. For weeks now, she only had to come as far as this visitor’s lounge to talk with the old gentleman. Just the thought of having to live here was enough to give her nightmares. But it would soon be over.
Dee felt again for the sprig of miniature roses she had tucked into the band of her straw hat (the smell of roses was supposed to have a calming effect on people) and forced herself not to look around so much. There were too many people here who were getting used to her weekly visits and might engage in conversation if they caught her eye. Today, of all days, she did not want to stand out or be remembered. Except this afternoon, there was something troubling in the atmosphere. She could sense it. Then again, maybe it was just her own nerves.
She watched one of the orderlies escort a disheveled woman across the room in much the same way a person might take a dog out for a walk, then rather abruptly seat her at a crowded table of waiting visitors. It was Iris Kitner, with an inside-out pajama top on instead of something more suitable that went with her skirt. Hadn’t anyone helped her dress today?
The hum of their voices was too far away to make out what anyone was saying, but Dee had heard enough past conversations to know things were progressing the same way they did every week. They would all have a lively visit among themselves, with little or no interaction with Iris. Then they would say their goodbyes. After which, Iris would have a few moments of free rein with the complimentary coffee and cookies set up on the long table against the farthest wall, before another white-coated somebody took her back upstairs.
Only, less than five minutes later, she popped up from her chair with an outburst of bizarre babbling and refused sit down again. Now, that wasn’t like her, at all. The plump, forty-something woman (whose auburn bun was always crooked) was fairly complacent most Fridays. As if the thought of coffee and cookies was enough to keep her on best behavior.
Which made Dee wonder if these troubled souls might have more sensitivity to otherworldly things than most normal people. Something to look into as a possible follow-up story for the series she was writing for the
Columbia Herald
. The headline might read:
Mental Patients: Is What They See Real
? A thought that was interrupted when a self-conscious glance from a teenager in the group collided with hers. Grandson or nephew, maybe, who was embarrassed at the way Iris was acting. Dee realized she was watching people again and forced herself to look away.
Instead, she deliberately turned in her seat toward the green double doors on the other side of the room and waited. What was taking so long? Did Nelson forget what day this was?
“Come on, Nels,” she murmured half-aloud. “You’re not giving someone a hard time up there, are you? I don’t have nerves of steel, like you do. Oh, dear Lord...what if...”
For heaven’s sake, Iris had moved into her peripheral vision again, messing around with the refreshments, already. Dee tried not to watch that, either. Except when the unmistakable crash of a coffee cup onto the floor (probably full) caused a momentary lull in the hum of visitors.
She had to do something. Simply because that sour-faced kitchen worker who should never have been hired for this kind of job, was on duty today. In her late sixties, at least, she did not like to clean up messes. Instead, she would complain to housekeeping, which would cause an even bigger disturbance, and Iris would be returned to her room, early. Meanwhile, the family picnic was going on without her, and none of them seemed inclined to come get her.
So Dee slung the strap of her purse over a shoulder, picked up her package, and headed over there. But before she even got across the room, Iris stepped on an errant cookie that had also hit the floor, and the inevitable happened. Ms. Sour-face made an immediate exit through the green doors to tell somebody.
“Hey there, Iris, need some help?” Dee filled a fresh cup, piled an assortment of cookies around the saucer and steered her toward the nearest table. The corners of the woman’s mouth turned up in a barely detectable smile, and she settled down with a contended sigh.
“Cream and sugar?” Dee set a few packets in front of her without waiting for an answer and then left her package on the table for a moment while she turned back to clean up the mess before housekeeping arrived.
“Miss Parker?” The tap on her shoulder a few moments later gave her a start.
“Was this ever clumsy of me!” She scooped up the soppy napkins and deftly tossed them into the nearby trash bin before turning around. “Slipped right out of my...” At which point she found herself looking into the magnified eyes of a large-boned, ruffle-haired orderly whom she didn’t recognize, at all. Now, which department had he come from? He had thick glasses and was wearing a blue uniform instead of the typical white one.
“Mr. Peterson can’t come down today,” he informed her.
“Oh?” She’d been told her dark blue eyes were fringed with unusually long lashes, and he seemed mesmerized by them. So she said the first thing that popped into her mind to break the spell. “Shall I go up, then?”
He glanced furtively toward the green doors as if someone beyond might have heard her say that. “No, I don’t think you better.”
“Well, I would at least like to leave my package.” Dee glanced back toward the brown-wrapped bundle she’d left on the table and inwardly cringed when she saw Iris begin to open it. The visitor’s lounge was getting more crowded now, and the place was turning into a hub of confusion. “What room is he in?”
“6B. But Miss Parker, He really isn’t up to—”
“Did you say six?” Dee felt a sudden hollow in the pit of her stomach. “Why—that’s the violent ward. What on earth is he doing there?” She walked over to collect her package before the contents tumbled out in plain sight, with the orderly following close behind.
“It is often necessary for the safety of our staff, as well as other patients, to confine...”
A textbook answer accompanied a complete shutdown of any previous communication between them.
“Oh, honestly.” Dee added more cookies to Iris’s plate and retrieved the package when her interest shifted then turned around again, expecting to catch him reading verbatim off some card he had snatched from his pocket. “There must be some mistake. He has his quirks, but he isn’t violent. Putting him in with dangerous people could give him a heart attack! Now, who do I talk to about this?”
When she was met with nothing but a blank stare in reply, she closed her eyes for a moment, sighed heavily, and willed herself to calm down. But it didn’t have much effect. The minute she opened them, her impatience popped right out her mouth. “Oh, I’ll just take care of it, myself!” Then, she whisked past him, her flowery print dress set in motion with a determined stride. At that pace, her yellow heels clicked along the gray linoleum, drawing attention like some bright tropical bird moving through dark forest.
Nearly everyone in the room seemed to watch as she walked through those green doors.
2
Into the Madhouse
“I went inside with fear and trembling, for good reason.” ~ Nellie Bly
Leaving the restrictions of the visitor’s lounge would, no doubt, bring more than one member of the housekeeping staff out to handle things. Since no visitors were allowed past the green doors, it would definitely be a matter for the security people. Who Dee was convinced, without even having to look back, the blue coat had taken off to report to, because he didn’t even try to stop her. Today, of all days! But none of that mattered now. She would probably be intercepted before she even got to the elevators, but she didn’t care about that, either. Not any more, she didn’t.
She was going to drag old Nelson Peterson out of this horrible place, today, one way or the other, even if she had to call the police. Things had gone way past just getting a good story. Now, here she was, personally tangled up in the mess. Something good reporters should beware of. But that poor old man in the violent ward!
Well, she was deep into it now and there was nothing left but to see it through. After all he had done for her, it was the least she could do for him. Besides that, she didn’t for a minute believe he was crazy, or she wouldn’t even be here. He wasn’t violent, either. Troubled, was all it really was, over things that would send most normal people a lot farther over the edge than he was. Which was the very reason she had decided to help him in the first place.