We Are Monsters (34 page)

Chapter Sixty-Six

“Come on, Eli!” Angela said between breaths, pumping Eli's chest. “Don't give up on us!”

“Wait, stop,” Alex said, resisting the urge to push Angela aside. “I think—”

Eli's chest rose as he took a shallow breath. His head rolled to one side, his eyes fluttering. He issued a reedy exhale and then took another breath.

“Move back,” Alex said, giving Eli room.

Eli's head rolled back to the other side. Then he blinked and tried to sit up.

Alex grabbed his arms. “No, no. Take it easy.”

Eli looked straight through him, his eyes unfocused. He tried to sit up again, but Alex held him down.

“Let him go,” Angela said. She reached down and pulled Alex away. “Just give him a minute to come back.”

Eli looked dazedly around the room. His eyes roamed past Alex and Angela without the slightest pause. He attempted to sit up, but failed. Then tried again and made it.

“Eli,” Alex said, but Eli didn't respond. He was staring at something past him.

Then Eli's eyes narrowed, the crevices beside his mouth deepened, his wrinkled skin appeared to sag. He stood up.

“Easy,” Alex said, offering his arm for support. But Eli ignored him and started walking towards the…

Chapter Sixty-Seven

…fire bathes the night in its amber glow, its roiling flames reaching towards the glimmering sky. Towards the blazing stars which died eons ago.

He can hear chanting. It is sanctimonious in its sincerity. Muted and indecipherable, yet as timeless and essential as blood.

A family approaches the fire and offers a body to its flames, sending sparks tumbling into the night.

“Many lifetimes,”
he hears the accented voice of the man beside him.
“Many lifetimes.”

And then he sees the people emerging from the flames, walking towards him. Shadowed outlines flickering against the blistering haze of the funeral pyre.

He goes to greet them, compelled by something beyond rational thought.

“Many lifetimes,”
the voice maintains.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

The night sky is bright against the shadow's blackness. It sends the moonlight scurrying.

Crosby bends his head. He is resigned against this evil thing. The static noise inside his mind is driving him insane. That's what it is supposed to do.

But then he hears another sound. A beautiful sound, distant yet approaching. The sound of people joined in song. The sound of people rejoicing. Someone playing guitar with such harmonic wonder as to validate the perfection of its design.

The music is overwhelming the insane static, shoving it aside. And he senses a change in the force before him. Not fear, exactly, but something like contempt.

Crosby raises his head. From the edge of the trees shadowed shapes are approaching, outlined against a ruddy glow. But these shadows show no sign of the demonic possession he's so accustomed to seeing. They exude peaceful kindness, a promise of pleasant companionship.

Contrasted against the encroaching light, the large shadow beast begins to fade, showing itself as nothing more than a figment of his imagination. A subtle trick of the eye.

His mother stands before him, gazing upon some distant point, listening. Her perpetual scowl nearly transforming into a smile.

The static hiss within his head is fading, fading, fading, until it is just the sound of crickets in the distance. An external thing, calming and serene.

His mother senses the shift at the same time as he, and shudders with relief. It is like being brought in out of the cold.

And in the continuing shift her face softens. Her eyes glow warm in the ruddy light accompanying the emerging shadows. Her hands dangle down from her delicate arms. But they are just hands now, knuckled and gnarled and twisted with veins, but incapable of delivering harm of their own accord. They are the same hands that held him once, and guided his mouth to her breast, and combed the curly hair that he once had.

They were a little girl's hands at one point in time, tiny and unblemished. And a baby's before that.

But then they were forced to be used as a method of defense. To ward off the blows cast down from an abusive father, drunk because he doesn't know how else to quiet the voices in his head. They scream at him all day long to do horrible things, and he doesn't. He fights against them as long as he can until he can't take it any longer and then he drinks until the world goes dark and he loses time. But he never meant to hurt his little girl.

Just like she never meant to hurt her little boy.

The voices are in her head too. She never learned to quiet them either. And he was always there, her little baby burden. And the voices would get too loud until she couldn't take it anymore.

And once you do it once, you do it again and again. It becomes a punishment against oneself.
What's the worst thing I can do? How can I hate myself more? I'll destroy the thing I brought into the world. The last piece of my innocence.

But it didn't start out that way. And it wasn't the way she wanted it. And she'd take it all back if she could.

And the happiest moment of her life, since before she could remember, is when you killed her. It is what she wanted. It is what she deserved. She was so proud of you. And so, so sorry for what she made you do.

But you don't have to carry it with you. You can let it go. Even something as horrible as that, you can let it go, like it never even happened. Because the only way to make it worse is to keep it inside and let the cycle continue.

We're sick. We're all sick. But we can be cured. And we can be kind. And we don't have to let our lives be ruled by the shadows of the past. Not if we act through love.

The light is growing brighter. So bright it burns. He must close his eyes against it.

His mother is becoming consumed with white heat. And the singing is rising. And the guitarist strums the perfect tune.

And the white light grows ever brighter, and in it his mother burns.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

The sounds began to return in small increments, like the volume on a stereo slowly being raised. At the same time, phantom outlines of people bustling by began to emerge, as though seen through a thin sheet of falling water. The faces were familiar, the scene immediately recognizable—this was an ordinary day inside the halls of Sugar Hill.

But they were outside of it somehow, a few frequencies farther down the dial. It was clear, as they followed Eli down the hallway, that they were not visible to any of the phantom people walking past, some passing straight through.

“It's working,” Angela said, smiling as she recognized a nurse. “It's all coming back.”

“Don't get your hopes up just yet,” Alex said. “I've been disappointed before.” But now he at least felt the contrition to cringe.
Disappointed
by his medicine was too mild a word.

Eli ambled on in his fugue state, occasionally mumbling to himself. Occasionally smiling with psychotic glee. His mind appeared to have been fried by the medicine, but something had to be working. People were returning to this plane of reality. Or, perhaps, it was they who were returning to the real Sugar Hill.

Eli clasped his hands together in a gesture of blessing as tears spilled from his manic eyes.

Angela sensed that someone was missing. She looked to find that Lacy was gone. She hadn't seen her disappear. She hoped they hadn't left her behind, somehow. Back in that barren and hopeless place.

The volume around them continued to increase. The phantom images grew more concrete. Eli continued on, blessing each one in turn.

They came to the entrance of the recreation room, and Eli looked in, his wide eyes roaming with delirium.

Alex and Angela came up behind him.

Amidst a room full of spectral bodies, Crosby stood. He was as solid and real as they were. His arms were raised in some sort of triumphant pose. He was crying freely. There appeared to be a white aura engulfing him, radiating out across the sea of bodies surrounding him and rebounding back.

These were patients, Alex realized. He recognized their faces.

And then he heard their singing. And the sound of a guitar.

He could see Randall strumming the one Eli had given him. Several of the spectral patients looked their way and smiled and waved. They could see Eli, Alex and Angela through whatever veil currently separated them. It was as though their special minds were open to an expanded field of reality.

And through this thin film of separation, Alex saw them in a different light. They no longer looked deranged or dangerous or mentally unhinged.

They looked like regular people, happy and hopeful and full of purpose and great potential. Mothers and sons, and sisters and brothers. Saints and sinners, and shamans. Strong and weak and imperfect, but real and worthy of kindness and compassionate attention.

These weren't accidents or defective creations. Rather, these were respectable people battling hardships like anyone else, fighting to overcome their illnesses, working to get well. And they deserved the best care that he could give. Just as Jerry had.

Crosby turned and looked their way. Behind the tears his eyes were coherent. He opened his mouth and strings of saliva stretched between his lips. “No more fear,” Alex heard him say, his voice distant, as though traveling across a great divide. “Only love.” He began to cry heavily, painfully, his whole body convulsing against its intensity, but it was the antithesis of sadness. A white aura surrounded him, burning the darkness away.

Eli began chanting, low and indecipherable, seemingly in some foreign tongue that sounded like Hindi. He started to shuffle his feet and gyrate his arms in a kind of ritualistic dance. He waltzed away from the recreation room, bounding towards the doors that exited onto the gardens out back.

The sunlight was blinding, Alex blinked against it and held up a hand to shade his eyes. A few phantom shapes mulled across the lawn, growing in solidity.

Eli twirled, his face a garish mask of lunacy, and clapped his hands.

Tap. Tap.

He was walking towards the fountain, where the maiden was pouring her bottomless bucket into the pool that was forever full. Eli stopped by the bench before it. He swayed on unsteady feet, then lost his balance and fell onto the bench seat.

Slowly, his eyes raised and he stared at the face of the fountain maiden. His was the expression of a devout saint reveling in the true presence of divinity.

Alex grabbed Eli gently by the arm. “Hey, are you there? Can you hear me?”

Eli offered no reaction. His lips gleamed wet with drool.

Alex felt his own arm grabbed gently from behind.

“Hey, look,” Angela said. Her finger was pointing towards the face on the fountain statue.

It was shimmering with the faintest double image, and both of the faces were beautiful. Miranda no longer wore her death mask. Lacy was no longer disfigured by her burns. While they watched, the two solidified into one.

“Was that them?” Alex asked.

“Her,” Angela said, softly. “I think there was ever only one.”

And as the face on the statue solidified, Eli's did too. It became fixed in place as though paralyzed. As though set in stone. Yet, still the lunatic smile remained on his face, and his chest continued to rise and fall with each rhythmic breath.

The yell startled both of them. It came from the entrance back into Sugar Hill. “Dr. Drexler! Lord, there you are. We need you!”

Alex's head spun around. Angela's nails nearly punctured his skin.

A nurse was leaning outside the doorway, waving to get their attention. She appeared as clear and solid as she had ever been. And she could obviously see them. “Hurry! Come quick!”

Alex and Angela exchanged a glance. He grabbed her by the same arm that was holding his, wanting to pull her into a hug, but resisting. “Stay here,” he said, guiding her towards Eli, “with him.”

A dull pain burned just below his lungs when he pulled Angela's arm. He looked down. The blood was gone. He felt underneath his sternum where Bearman had stabbed him. The dressing was gone too. As was the wound. He could feel a raised knot of scar tissue, though, that hadn't been there before. And he could feel a slight ache.

He raced up to where the nurse was waiting, feeling weightless on his feet. But then he saw the urgency in her face and he knew that something was wrong. They weren't out of the woods yet.

“What is it?” he said, bracing himself for her response.

“Come with me. We have a problem.” She turned and began speed-walking away.

Alex caught up to her. “What is it?” he asked again.

“It's Mr. Bearman. They're having a board meeting, but something's wrong. I thought you all were in there with him?”

They hurried past the recreation room. Alex glanced in as they rushed by. A group of orderlies was attempting to separate the patients and calm them down. They were all huddled around Crosby in some sort of celebratory scrum. They were laughing hysterically and beaming with smiles.

Just another outburst from the crazies here at Sugar Hill,
Alex thought, and almost started laughing himself.

“We…” Alex's mind was whirring; he could hardly think, “…we were. But we had to leave,” he said. “What's the matter?”

“I don't know. I'll let you see for yourself.”

They turned a corner, then another. Alex was marveling at each room he passed that possessed a familiar patient. He almost cheered as they scurried by the nurses' station and saw their bored expressions.

Finally, they reached the conference room. “You should go in first,” she said. From outside the door Alex could hear Bearman's booming voice shouting. He opened the door and entered.

Bearman had his shirt off, exposing his rotund belly and hairy chest. He looked just like a—

What do you do when attacked by a
Bear
man? Play dead!

Again, Alex had to suppress a series of giggles coming from his overexcited mind.

Bearman was slick with sweat and yelling at the top of his lungs, pointing at Linda and Steve who were both crying in hysterics. “And it's in you! And it's in you! And it's in all of our black and sooty sinners' souls! We can't escape it! It's inside us! It's inside all of us!”

From across the room, Alex could make out a faint purple line that traversed the top of Bearman's large, gleaming forehead.

He turned and saw Alex standing in the doorway. His eyes opened in shock and recognition. “You!” he shouted. “You're the one who did all this! You let the demon out!” Bearman's face contorted in rage and he charged towards Alex.

Alex pushed the nurse back through the door. He closed it and held the handle tight. He could feel a dull throbbing under his chest from the exertion.

“Help!” they both called out together. “Code red!”

And to Alex's delight, he could hear the sound of footsteps running his way. Within seconds they were joined by a group of large orderlies.

Where's Devon?
Alex thought.
Shit, I'll have to clear his name.

The orderlies replaced his position at the door, looking to him for instructions.

“Mr. Bearman is having what appears to be a psychotic episode, perhaps brought on by extreme stress. He'll need to be subdued and detained. Sedate him, if needed.”

“You got it,” the lead orderly said. “Back on up, we'll handle this.”

They opened the door and barged in, wrestling Bearman to the ground. Alex could hear his ranting, his psychotic claims.

He suppressed his smile as he turned back towards the nurse, who was trying not to ogle at the sight of Bearman being restrained. “Never a dull moment,” Alex said.

“Not here, there sure isn't,” she said, and shook her head.

Alex was anxious to get back to Eli. “I can't stay. Can you handle this from here?”

“I suppose. I'll come find you when the poor man's settled down.”

“Thanks.” He half turned then stopped. “The other two may need help too.”

“I imagine so, the way he was berating them.”

There's a bit more to it than that,
Alex thought, but kept it to himself. He made his way back towards the exit where Angela was sitting with Eli by the fountain.

Angela was pretending to talk to Eli, shielding him from any onlookers. Alex walked up. “Any change?”

Angela moved her head, revealing Eli's face. It was still stuck in that vacant grin.

“What should we do?” she said.

“Other than wait, I don't know,” Alex said. “He's obviously conscious on some level. I don't know how he did it, but he brought us back here. Maybe he's stuck wherever he is.”

“I don't think so,” Angela said. She wiped away a string of drool that was running down Eli's chin. “He's smiling.”

“Sure, but we have no way of knowing whether that's voluntary or not. I don't think he's consciously aware of the way he looks right now.”

“And she disappeared too,” Angela said.

“The nurse with the burns?”

Angela nodded. “I think that was Eli's wife.”

“How do you know that?”

“The pictures in Eli's office. I recognized her.”

Alex looked around. “Well, we need to try and revive him. We can't hide him out here much longer.”

“What if he doesn't want to come back?” Angela was gazing at the fountain. “It's like Jerry said about the medicine, ‘You can create any world you choose'. Maybe he chose another one.”

Alex squinted against the sun. It felt sublime on his face. “Or maybe the medicine pushed him over the edge. Maybe he snapped.”

“You mean, like he's gone insane?” Angela studied Alex through one squinty eye.

Alex shrugged.

“Well, what would be so wrong with that?” she said, and a smile spread across her face. “Because I'm a fucking lunatic. And you're so batshit crazy it's downright scary.”

Alex sounded like he was just now learning to laugh; it was a choked, gargling noise that lasted for a long time.

“Can't argue that,” he said, once he was able to compose himself. “I have no idea how to assimilate what we've been through. What we're still going through.”

“I don't think we can,” Angela said. She leaned her head back and let her face bask in the sun. “God, that feels good.”

“Holy shit,” he said. “There's a lot of work to be done. I don't even know where to start.”

But that wasn't true. He realized that he knew exactly where to start. It spoke to him from a place in the same proximity as his heart.

My most important work is waiting for me at home.

And as he let the warm sun shine against his face, he thought about his father and the people in his life who mattered to him most. He now knew what needed to be healed.