We Are Monsters (20 page)

“I don't think now's the time—”

Bearman pinned him with a look. “Excuse me? Did we not already go over this?”

“We did, and I said that Crosb…that the patient was still adjusting to the medication and may not be ready for a public evaluation.”

“Who said anything about the fucking public?” Bearman motioned to the empty space surrounding the conference table. “I'm talking about an evaluation on the part of this hospital's most senior staff. Is there anyone here who's not qualified or permitted to assess a patient's condition?”

Eli stood. “I'm not sure what exactly is going on here, but I am one hundred percent opposed to subjecting a patient to any form of psychiatric evaluation in this setting. Absolutely not.”

“I didn't ask you!” Bearman slammed his hand against the table with the force of a gavel strike. He paused and cleared his throat. “Besides, it's no longer your call.”

Eli continued undeterred, “As long as I'm present at this hospital—”

“Dr. Drexler is now responsible for the—” Bearman began speaking over Eli, the two voices colliding in the vacant space of the oversized room. They continued to talk at the same time, their voices rising until Bearman clenched his fists and shouted “Dr. Drexler!” so loud it caused Linda to cup her ears.

Eli stopped and became silent.

Bearman quit yelling. He cleared his throat vociferously as he smoothed down his shirt, his face a dangerous shade of red. “Dr. Drexler,” he said sternly, looking sidelong at Alex through glaring eyes. “We have given you the explicit authority to dictate patient protocol. Perhaps this responsibility is too great for you. Your lack of spine implies that we should be looking for someone else.”

Alex stood. At forty-five, he was a man full-grown, but felt like an acolyte preparing to offer counsel to elders. The science behind patient treatment had always been easy; this was a side to the business he had never seen. “Dr. Alpert,” he said in a formal voice that sounded phony to his ears, “this isn't your call. You've made your point of view clear, and it has been rejected. It's time for you to step aside now and clear the way for us to move in a new direction.”

Bearman beamed. “Well, I'll be. It looks like the boy has a pair after all. Now bring in your man and let's show Dr. Alpert what this new direction is all about.”

Eli stood firm. “Alex, you said yourself that this isn't an appropriate setting. You need to establish firm guidelines and hold true to your convictions.”

“That's it. I've had enough. Dr. Drexler, is this your call or not? Last chance.”

Through the corner of his eye, Alex could see Eli looking at him. He knew better than to try and meet his gaze. Instead, he quickly scanned the rest of the room, taking in their nodding, affirmative faces and expectant stares. All except for Angela.

Her chin was tucked against her chest with her hair obscuring her face. Behind that curtain of hair, Alex was sure she was wearing a smile. The same mischievous smile she had shown in his office, in giddy anticipation of this very moment.

And he knew then that the only way to command the respect that he deserved was by showing the results from his formula. That the evidence would firmly substantiate his position as Eli's rightful heir, and earn him the authority to operate the hospital as he saw fit.

“No, the decision has been made. I'll bring the patient in.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

When the door closed behind Crosby it clanged loudly, like it was made of heavy metal instead of flimsy wood. Alex halted for just a moment and cocked his head before ushering Crosby farther into the room. He brought Crosby to the front of the conference table, across from where Bearman sat, and motioned for him to stand still.

“So,” he said, “many of you have met this man already. His name is Crosby Nelson. He was admitted into our forensics ward by way of the state after an incident where he attacked a group of citizens with a hunting knife. He was found not guilty due to his mental disorder.” He turned to Crosby, looking for him to corroborate his story.

Crosby nodded for him to continue. There was something irregular about his eyes. The pupils appeared to be different sizes, one dilated, the other contracted.

Better make this quick,
Alex thought.

“Crosby suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, which causes him to experience visual and auditory hallucinations stemming from delusional fantasies. When he first arrived at the hospital, he believed that he was complicit in a war between good and evil, between angels and demons.”

Code blue in cell block one! Code blue in cell block one!

Alex stopped, startled. A voice had just called through an intercom system just outside the room. “What was that?” he said.

Nobody answered.

“What was what?” Bearman asked.

Alex scanned the room, confused by the bored, oblivious expressions on the faces staring back at him. “That person on the intercom. Just now. Where did that come from?”

Bearman surveyed the room; everybody shrugged.

Alex shook his head and shuffled his feet. “Sorry,” he said. “Where was I?”

Bearman sighed. “We're familiar with his condition, Doctor. Move on to the use of your medicine.”

“Right.” Alex opened his mouth to continue but paused, remaining stuck in that position. A rush of babbling voices and bustling bodies was now audible through the walls. It sounded like dozens of people were shuffling down the hallway just outside the conference-room door. He noticed that nobody else was reacting to the noise and fought to ignore it.

“The medicine. Yes. We…we placed Crosby on various levels of antipsychotic medications which controlled his symptoms, mostly through sedation, but were unable to…to…”

The sound of activity intensified—feet shuffling, chains clinging, doors closing, snippets of conversation. “Motherfucker better not try that shit on me!”

How could nobody else hear it?

“…to offset his delusional thinking and stop his hallucinations.”

Alex began to sweat again. It was dripping down his sides and beading on his face. He wanted to wipe his forehead but was afraid to expose the underside of his arm.

“Hold on one second,” he said, and then walked back towards the door and opened it. The hallway beyond was empty, but the sound of bustling activity grew even louder. It sounded like whatever he was hearing was right there in front of him. He turned back around. His face was turning white.

“My medicine…the medicine I'm working to develop, that is, works by—”

“That's enough, Doctor. I'm getting the sense you're not so good under pressure. You look like you're about to be sick. Why don't we just hear from the patient at this point.” Bearman waved Alex out of the way. “Step forward, son.”

Crosby stepped forward. His shadow stayed behind. It was the dark reflection of a much taller, more slender man. Its head was narrow and angular, its hands long, with thin, pointy fingers. It stalked forward with an exaggerated swinging of the arms as it followed behind Crosby, who shuffled with a more subtle gait.

Bearman pointed a fat finger at Crosby. “I first saw this man a few weeks ago. I can attest to the poor condition he was in at the time. While under Dr. Alpert's care, I might add. He was in solitary confinement, completely catatonic. Didn't even know I was in the room. He was disheveled, drooling on himself. He hardly represented the picture of health and self-reliance that Eli professes to produce under his protocol.

“I can tell you that the person who stands before you now is a completely changed man. The transformation is nothing short of miraculous. Tell us, son. How do you feel?”

Crosby's hands were shaking. He scratched his bald head, and cleared his throat. “I…uh…well, I feel…I feel quite a lot. More than I ever have before,” he said. He offered a pinched smile and his chin dimpled as if he might cry.

Alex was not listening to the exchange. His attention was focused on Crosby's shadow, which was moving independently of his body, pacing back and forth behind Crosby's back, swinging its loping, elongated arms.

“Okay. Well, is that a good thing or a bad thing? 'Cause I got to tell you. You look a hell of a lot better than when I saw you drooling on yourself back in that solitary cell.”

Crosby opened his mouth, but was preempted by Eli. “I'm sorry, I can't allow this to continue.” He stood and walked around the table towards Crosby, placing his hands on his shoulders in a protective embrace. “This is not only unprofessional, and almost certainly detrimental to Crosby's improving condition, but it may be criminal as well. What is this medicine? Who approved it? And who authorized its use?”

“That's none of your concern, Dr. Pussyfoot! Whose side are you on anyway?”

Eli flinched. His mouth sprang open as he glared at Bearman, his head craning forward for a closer look.

Alex watched as the shadow figure approached Eli from behind. It bent forward as though whispering in his ear.

Eli's head swung around, looking confused. His roaming eyes fixed on Alex. “What did you say?”

Alex raised his hands. “Nothing.” He could hardly hear his own voice over the commotion coming from outside.

Steve and Linda were both scrutinizing Bearman with shocked expressions, surprised by the extent of his outburst. Even Bearman had a confused look on his face.

An uncomfortable silence pervaded the room.

Crosby broke it, his voice low and hesitant. “This is a fine charade. But, it ain't me you should be concerned with. I can look inside every one of you. There's darkness there. You don't see it, but you will soon.”

He took a step forward, separating himself from Eli's faltering grasp.

The room grew dim, but not from a change in the brightness of the overhead lights. They had disappeared. The ceiling was lost in a vast darkness that appeared to have depth, as if the roof had been raised or removed.

“Dr. Drexler says that my sickness was a trick my brain played on itself to protect it from prior traumas.” Crosby paused; he looked up into the descending gloom. “I'll admit it's all very clever. But it's not like that. I see that now. My so-called illness protected me, but not from prior traumas. It allowed me to see things that others can't see. It guarded me from dark forces. It protected me from people like you.”

Bearman was inspecting the darkening room uneasily. His boisterous laugh reeked of false bravado. “Clearly the patient is still in the process of getting better, but I think we can all agree that the rate of progress is—”

A high-pitched, chittering laugh interrupted him. It came from the encroaching shadows surrounding the room. The walls were no longer visible.

“Who's turning down the goddamn lights?” Bearman's voice had the resonant echo of someone shouting in an empty cathedral.

The lights continued to dim. Yet the shape of the shadow figure became more distinct, as if it gained power from the dark. It was standing in place now, behind Crosby, its legs bent, its arms angled outward, its chest heaving as if it was panting.

“I see now that I am special. For my whole life I have been resistant to the evil of this world, despite its constant onslaught against me. From my own mother, even. But I suppose fighting back will not be tolerated. It landed me here, where my defenses have been stripped away, making me susceptible to evil forces.”

Alex could now hear the heavy breathing of the shadow figure. It was a shallow rasp. Hungry.

“What's going on?” Linda nearly screeched as she struggled to stay calm. “Is there a power outage?”

The rasping grew louder.

“Okay. This is fucking weird,” Angela said, offering a tittering laugh.

You knew it would be,
Alex thought.

The darkness deepened.

Steve jumped from his seat and strode to the nearest light switch. He flipped it up and down, but nothing happened. He took a few steps and tried the door. The knob rattled in his hand. Locked.

“Evil is all around us. Before, I could keep it at bay. But you've taken that from me. And forced me to let it in.”

The shadow figure leapt forward as the last glimmer of light faded from the room, casting them in complete darkness.

Linda shrieked like the young woman she wished she still were. It choked off in a wet gurgle.

“And now you'll see where it lives inside you.”

Part Three

Purification Flames

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The dim overhead bulbs were spaced far apart, casting a faint oasis of light every few feet. Otherwise, the hallway was completely dark.

In the first halo of light, Alex merely noticed his shuffling feet moving him forward. He had no idea when he had begun walking or where he was going. An instant ago he had been in the conference room, listening to Crosby address the board. He had noticed Crosby's curious shadow, the lights had gone out, and then…

What the hell happened?

He passed through another small island of light and noticed two additional sets of legs striding on either side of his own. He now felt firm pressure on his arms and the cold constriction of handcuffs around his wrists. He looked to his left to see who has holding him, but he had moved beyond the light and could not see an inch in front of his eyes.

Then he entered another dim halo and the man's face came into view. It was square and compact with a flat nose and firm jaw covered with coarse stubble. The man was wearing a cotton cap with a curved brim pulled low over his wide brow. The cap cast shadows that gave him the appearance of a charcoal sketch. He had no neck.

Alex set his feet and pulled to a stop.

The squat man grunted and barely broke stride as he yanked him forward.

“Wait, hold on,” Alex said. He tried to set his feet again and failed.

The men pulled so hard Alex almost fell.

“Stop!” he pleaded.

“Quit your fussing or we'll bring out the spark stick.” This came from the man on the right. Alex waited for another flash of light—
How long is this hallway?
—to illuminate the man's face. It took four steps before the wan light washed over them again.

The other man was tall with such clean, smooth skin it looked wet. His jaw muscles bunched as he chewed a wad of gum the size of a robin's egg. He gave a quick finger tap to the cattle prod strapped to his waistband and winked.

“But…” Alex muttered, bewildered.

He was not much of a drinker—unlike his father—but he had overindulged a couple of times early in college. One night he had awoken from a blackout in the backseat of a friend's car, with no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. The other passengers were looking at him and laughing as though he had been performing a stand-up routine. The experience was so alarming it had stopped him from drinking. This was the exact same feeling.

“Where are you taking me?”

The squat man on the left grunted again. Or perhaps it was a laugh. A light flashed, then darkness. They had been walking at a brisk pace for several minutes, but Alex had not seen anything other than the concrete floor under his feet.

“To your new home,” said the man on the left. “It's not far.”

In the next circle of light Alex registered their outfits. Police uniforms.

“What am I doing here?”

“You'll have plenty of time to ask yourself that,” the tall man said. He turned and inspected Alex, showing more of his boyish face.

He looked familiar. Alex was certain that he'd seen him before.

“Greed, I'd say,” the tall man said, and thrust his tongue through the skin of his gum and blew. He sucked the pink bubble back into his mouth. “What say you, Charlie?”

Charlie looked sidelong through a simian eye and grunted. “Vanity,” he mumbled.

“Could be,” the tall man said, chomping his gum. “Could be.”

The hallway up ahead appeared brighter, the beams of light broader. Alex could now see more of the area around them. The walls were lined with prison cells. The shadowed outline of men hung just beyond the steel bars. Occasionally, the ember of a cigarette would spark red and fade, or a set of fingers would appear and curl around a bar. He heard coughing, he heard shuffling. Otherwise, it was quiet.

“Ultimately, though, only you know why you did it.” The man on the right blew another meager bubble, which deflated with a sigh.

“Did what?” Alex tensed. He tried to halt to a stop.

The tall man tsk-tsked and tugged on the cattle prod.

Alex stumbled on.

“Every one of 'em's innocent, eh, Charlie?”

Charlie's throat rumbled like distant thunder.

“Ah, here we are. Just up ahead,” the tall man said. “Home, sweet home.”

A man was standing beside a distant cell door, a ring of keys dangling from his hand. He was not outfitted like an officer. Instead, he wore an expensive-looking charcoal suit with a striped tie and shiny, black shoes. He was a big man, broad in the shoulders, wide in the belly, and his voice boomed as he issued a greeting while they approached. “Come on, boys! We've got a special spot reserved for our revered doctor, here. It's not quite as cozy as the old asylum accommodations, but it'll do fine for a fraudster such as yourself.”

The man's face came into focus as they approached. Alex recognized him right away. “Mr. Bearman?” he said, tentative at first, then with more conviction. “Mr. Bearman, what the hell is going on here? What's happened?”

The big man looked confused. “What's with this guy? Y'all didn't crack his head, did you?”

The two guards waited for the big man to smile before responding. “Not yet, sir,” the tall one said, chuckling. The squat one grunted.

“So, just who do you think I am?” The big man stepped forward until their noses were almost touching. Even this close, it was clear who the man was. There was no way he could be mistaken.

“I don't…I don't understand. We were just…” Alex closed his eyes and shook his head violently from side to side. The two guards tightened their grip. He was lightheaded when he opened his eyes, but Bearman was still standing right in front of his face. “I don't understand what's happening,” Alex said.

“Looks like you've spent too much time in the loony bin,” the big man said, then cleared his throat, rattling a wad of phlegm. “Well, it's too late to plead insanity, I'm afraid. Verdict's in, son. In the great state of Georgia, doctors aren't allowed to experiment on their patients in an effort to make a few bucks.” He smiled and assumed a condescending tone. “It's a slight breach of ethics.”

The big man turned and inserted a key into the lock on the cell door and swung it open. “But you'll have plenty of time to learn that now, won't you?”

The tall guard chuckled, shoved Alex through the opening and closed the door. “Let me see those hands.”

Alex held them up to show that they were empty.

“No, genius. Through the slot there.” He held up a key to the handcuffs.

Alex reached his hands through the slot and winced as the guard wrenched his wrists to gain access to the lock before pulling them off.

“There you go. Now go be a good neighbor and greet your cellmates. See what you all have in common.”

The big man snorted then leaned back and laughed, holding his formidable gut.

The squat guard's shoulders shook, and his body quaked like seven points on the Richter scale, but he didn't make a sound.

Alex turned around. The cell was small. A single cot was on the left side of the room. Bunk beds were on the right. A metal toilet and sink were affixed to the far wall. Otherwise, the room was bare. A large black man was lying on the single cot, facing the wall, and Alex could just see the shape of someone sleeping under a thin sheet on the top bunk. He shuffled forward and sat on the bottom cot. He rested his head against his hands. He felt like he needed to throw up.

“Well, I'll be damned.” The voice came from the cot across from him. “Doctor motherfucking Drexler. Just the man I been wanting to talk to.”

Alex slowly peeled his hands away from his face. They created a window for him to look through. His heart began to hammer in his chest as soon as he saw the man sitting up and swinging his legs onto the floor before him. It was the orderly from Sugar Hill. Devon. The one who had been charged with his brother's murder.

“Here I been sitting in this cell for weeks, serving time for a crime you know I didn't do.” His white teeth gleamed as his mouth sheared back in a sinister smile. He pushed off the cot and marched forward. “You've got some explaining to do.”