Authors: Priscilla Poole Rainwater
“Nora, you're on in...five…four...three…two....one.” the cameraman said, then gave her a thumbs-up.
Putting on the most grave, sympathetic demeanor she could muster, she looked into the camera. “Good evening, I'm Nora Timms, reporting from Nottaway County. I'm standing outside of what once was Windgate Hospital, a one-time private mental health facility that was once known for treating patients of the state's wealthy and famous, from the early nineteen-hundreds, to the early nineteen-fifties. But today, this once high profile facility, which was shut down in December of 1953 from what I've been told, is quickly becoming well-known again, but for far more sinister reasons than in the days of yesteryear. Today it is the scene of a modern day horror story. Although information is sketchy at this point, what is known is that approximately two hours ago state police investigator Detective Paul Marshall received an anonymous phone call informing him that billionaire Granger Mortensen, and his wife Cassandra, were being held captive here by Doctor Brett Parker, former physician of Mrs. Mortensen. Doctor Parker was already wanted by police in connection with the deaths of Detective Jeanine Rhodes, and private investigator Buddy Martin. The doctor, along with his cousin Martina Shephard, who is still at large as well, is also wanted in connection of the assault and kidnapping of Cassandra Mortensen three years ago.”
With a huge grin on his face, the cameraman gave her an ever so slight nod of his head in the direction of an open-air tent that had been erected in the bleak parking lot, off to their right.
Turning and pointing, Nora continued as the camera panned the scene, showing local, state, and federal law enforcement officials milling about, most of them sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups and looking over blueprints of the building and maps of the grounds. “The anonymous caller informed Detective Marshall that Mr. Mortensen and another unidentified man was in need of immediate medical attention. The extent of their injuries are unknown at this point, but I can tell you they were both flown out by helicopter to Lonesome Pine Hospital, which is roughly twenty miles north of here.” Turning to face the camera again, a gust of wind blew some of her long hair across her face, which she brushed
away with her free hand. “I've learned from local police, who were the first to arrive on scene, that Doctor Parker had apparently fled on foot before they arrived, and why the man fled on foot remains a mystery. As you can clearly see behind me...” she said as she turned around and pointed at the large white Dodge van parked in front of the entrance, ”..his rented white Dodge van was left behind, and police can only speculate that the man panicked at the sounds of sirens approaching, and fled on foot into the nearby woods.
Sheriff’s
Deputies are scouring the surrounding area with K-9 units as we speak. At the moment, Doctor Parker's whereabouts are still unknown. In an even more grisly twist, the anonymous tipster also informed Detective Marshall there was a strong possibility there could be bodies buried elsewhere on these grounds. I must stress that thus far no bodies have been found, but of course this investigation is still in the early stages of development. We'll be here on scene giving you all the latest developments as they unfold. I'm Nora Timms reporting live, Channel Five Action news.”
Giving her the signal they were off the air, the cameraman gave her a wink, then chuckled as he watched her pump her fist in the air three times, then rush over to meet him. Hoisting the camera off his shoulder, he rewound the tape, then studied her in silence as she watched the footage from the tiny, pop-out LCD screen.
“I can feel it, Brad, this story is gonna' be my ticket to the big time! Today, rinky-dink newsroom in these god awful coalfields, and tomorrow, CNN Newsroom in Atlanta! No more 4-H Club bake sales or lame-ass Railroad Days for me.” she gushed, then giggled excitedly.
“Just don't forget to take me along for the ride, darlin'.” he replied.
Looking at him speculatively, Nora wondered for the hundredth time why he chose to dress and groom himself the way he did. Brad was a good looking guy, six feet tall, with an athletic build, and well educated. But he chose to wear his dark, silky hair slicked back, fifties style, with some sort of oily looking hair gel, and he wore those damn nerdy looking horn-rimmed glasses that made him look like Clark Kent in the old Superman comics. But she also recognized the hungry, predatory gleam in his eyes, and knew they were kindred spirits. Neither would ever settle for some hick town news reporting, they both knew that violence, sex, and death were what sells. And he WAS a damn good cameraman. Licking her lips, she gave him a meaningful look and said, “Stick with me, babe, and I'll take you all the way to the top with me. And as long as you keep making me look as good as you're making me look today, I'll always see to it you never want for anything.”
Grinning wolfishly at her, he replied, “You really mean it?”
“Oh yes, anything.” she murmured, already planning his fashion and grooming makeover in her mind, and at the same time, already regretting her promise of an intimate night with the policeman who she had received the tip from. All this excitement had revved her sexual engine, and tonight she would much prefer to screw this handsome young man's brains out rather than some fat, balding Sergeant who always reeked of onions, garlic, and a host of other offensive body odors. But alas, it was a man's world, and such was the price most
women had to pay to reach the top.
“Alright! I'm gonna' go grab myself a cup of joe and a smoke, alright? Be back in five.” Brad muttered.
“Ok, but make it quick, like you said.” she replied, and watched as he headed for the temporary command center.
With an effort, she finally tore her hungry gaze from her handsome co-worker and turned her attention elsewhere. Spotting Paul Marshall walking away from the command center, she sprinted in his direction, panting as she finally caught up and stepped in front of him. “Detective! Anything new? We're being kept in the dark here. Is it true there are bodies of dead children on the hospital grounds? Did Doctor Parker kill those children? Is it true Doctor Parker raped Mrs. Mortensen?” she panted, terrified that a rival local news agency would arrive on scene at any moment and try to steal her thunder. “Listen, I would be sooooo grateful if someone could tell me exactly what's going on. You just don't know how grateful I would be.” she finished in a breathy voice.
Giving the woman a look of utter disgust and disdain, Paul ignored the questions and stepped past her. Making his way inside the nearby wooded area, he was soon lost from sight.
After fifteen minutes of searching the thick woods, he suddenly stumbled on a small clearing, and his heart sank at the sight that greeted him. The clearing was circular in shape, and in the middle was a statue of an angel kneeling, with
its
face cast downwards, as if in mourning. But the statue wasn't what made his heart sink, it was the twenty or so earthen mounds, obviously graves, that surrounded the statue, forming a perfect circular pattern themselves.
So, this was Brett Parker's trophy area. He kept all of them here, in his sick little garden, never letting them rest!
he thought, suddenly sick to his stomach at the prospect of having to tell these victim's families that their daughters would never be returning home alive.
Kneeling in front of the nearest mound, he closed his eyes and thought of the young girl in the first DVD he had viewed. “Don't you worry sweetheart, don't you worry, any of you, I'm not leaving here tonight. I'm not leaving until we get each and every one of you home, and you can rest in peace.” he said in a choked voice as a tear trickled down one cheek.
Thank you.....
a voice whispered, seemingly directly in his ear.
Startled, he leaped to his feet and looked around wildly, but just as suddenly as the voice had whispered in his ear, a peaceful calm enveloped him, a feeling of serenity so complete it nearly brought him to his knees again, only involuntary this time. “I'm taking all of you home.” he whispered, then reached for his two-way radio.
Chapter 43
Lonesome Pine Hospital, 12:49 pm
Cassandra paced the waiting room, still in a state of utter disbelief and shock. Glancing down at her blood stained clothing, blood from both Granger and Zeke, she shivered. After the mysterious woman had left, dragging Brett with her, she had
done
her best to care for her husband and the man who had nearly died trying to save them. It had seemed like several lifetimes before the police and two ambulances had finally arrived.
After examining Zeke, then Granger, in turn, the EMTs had called for a chopper to airlift them to the hospital, and that had terrified her almost as much as Brett's earlier rampage. There hadn't been room for her on the chopper, and she had had to ride to the hospital in a state police cruiser.
After arriving at the hospital, it wasn't bad enough she had been kept in the dark about Granger (or Zeke's) condition, but she had had to endure several hours of questioning by local, state, and federal investigators. For the safety of her family, and Zeke's, she had heeded the stranger's warning, and stuck to the story the woman had told her to tell.
“Cassandra!” a distraught voice cried out.
Turning, she saw her tearful mother being held steady by Tate Redford, with Malcolm behind them, entering the room as quickly as her mother's unsteady legs would carry her.
Breaking down for what felt like the hundredth time in one day, Cassandra sobbed and hurled herself into the comforting embrace of her mother's arms. “Brett, he tried to kill Granger! Zeke too! Zeke, he tried to help, but Brett shot him!”
Cooing in a soft voice, Jocelyn finally managed to calm her, then led her to a row of chairs nearby and helped her sit. “It's over now baby. The police will find that evil monster, he won't hurt you or Granger ever again.”
Rubbing her back, Tate spoke in a soft, fatherly tone. “You're safe now sweetheart.”
Kneeling down in front of her, Malcolm said, “Cassandra, listen to me. Like Tate and your mother said, nothing, or no one is going to harm you now, we're all going to be on you, Granger, and Regan like your own shadows. And I'm personally going to fire those two incompetent boobs who were hired to watch over you.”
Looking up at him with wide eyes, she pleaded, “Malcolm, please don't fire them, it wasn't their fault! I asked them to stay in the limo so I could have some privacy, but they kept me in sight the whole time! I pretended to have to go to the bathroom, and I slipped out back. I was gone in two minutes flat, I had unexpected help. Plus, Brett told me to come alone or he would kill Granger!”
“Well, I suppose you may be right.” he grumbled, not quite placated, but knowing in his heart she
was
right, that the two men really weren't incompetent at all, far from it, as a
matter of fact.
Remembering her husband's battered body, she looked at her mother again. “They won’t tell me anything about Granger's status!”
Patting her hand reassuringly, her mother replied, “Now now, don't you worry, they're just busy doing everything they can for him right now.
Besides, that man loves you so much he would fight the Devil himself to get back to you.” Glancing at Tate, she asked, “Tate, would you be a dear and go see if you can find out anything about his condition? And that other brave man, too?”
Nodding, he gave Cassandra's shoulder on last gentle squeeze, then left.
Looking at Malcolm, Jocelyn said, “You call home, I don't want the media sneaking inside the estate somehow and blindsiding the staff, Regan, or even Grace with this.”
Nodding, he stood and pulled his cell phone from his pocket as he left the waiting area.
That taken care of, she turned her full attention back to her daughter. “Everything is gonna’ be just fine, you wait and see.” she murmured as she pulled her into her warm embrace again. “I'm sure the good Lord didn't see all of you through this for no reason. Just have faith, baby.”
*********************************
The following morning, 8:20 am
Doctor Charles Quentin, aka Box Charlie, collapsed heavily into the chair behind his desk, feeling as if a vampire had sucked all the vitality from his body, and his very spirit, as well. The previous day he had heard on his police scanner that Brett Parker had escaped punishment yet again.
Wondering what his next move should be, he glanced at the photographs on his bulletin board, faces of the young women whose lives had been cut tragically short. Brett Parker's victims. Today the smiling faces seemed to be staring at him, begging for, nay, DEMANDING, justice. “I don't know what else to do, or where to even start. He's gone, on the run, and I'll never find him now.” he mumbled. Unable to look at the photos any longer, he averted his gaze, then, in a sudden rage, swept everything off his desk top, including the computer monitor, sending it all crashing to the floor.
Leaping to his feet so suddenly his chair went crashing backwards onto the floor, he screamed, I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHILE I HAD THE CHANCE YOU SON OF A BITCH! Whirling around, he ran to the bulletin board and ripped the photo of Brett down, spit on it, then crumpled it and hurled it across the room.
Looking up at the ceiling, he sobbed, “And what about YOU, huh? Why do you allow
people like him to do the things they do, WHY? Why did you turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to their cries for help?
People call you a loving God, yet you know good and well what he did to those innocent girls, and you allowed it to happen.
WHAT KIND OF A GOD ARE YOU ANYWAY!?” he finished with a scream.
Feeling even more drained than he had moments earlier, he found himself clutching the edge of the desk with both hands to support himself just as an insistent buzzing captured his attention. Someone was ringing the front door to the warehouse. Mystified and suddenly tense, he muttered, “Who could that be? Only Raidon Bishop knows about this warehouse, and he's out of town. And I could have swore I locked the front gate.” Reaching down and opening the top drawer of his desk, he removed a semi-automatic
Beretta
, then slid it carefully inside the right pocket of his jacket.
Making his way downstairs, he opened the door cautiously, tensed and ready for anything, and was surprised to see a young woman dressed in a FedEx uniform standing there, her truck parked only a few feet away.
“Good morning sir, package for Doctor Charles Quentin.” the woman smiled.
“Young lady, how did you get in here?” he asked.
“Sir?” she stammered, in obvious confusion.
“The gate, it was locked, wasn't it?”
“No sir, it wasn't. Uhhhh, look, are you Doctor Quentin or not? I'm in a bit of a hurry, I had a flat tire, and I'm running a bit behind schedule.”
“Sorry.” he mumbled. Signing for the package, he thanked her, then shut the door and made his way back upstairs.
Placing the small brown box on the desk warily, he studied it for a moment. There was no name or return address for whomever had sent it, only his name, and the long-vacant address to this warehouse written in smooth, beautiful cursive handwriting. With a heavy sigh, he hesitated a moment longer, then ripped the top of the box open and reached inside. Plucking the two items out and placing them on the desk, he muttered “What the hell?” as he gazed at what looked like a small digital image viewer, and a generic, prepaid cell phone.
Picking up the digital viewer, he turned it from side to side, then looked at the back. There was just one button on the device, a tiny, silver power button. Pressing it, he turned the unit back to face him and stared at the tiny LCD screen. Several seconds later an image appeared, and he gasped in shock and outrage as the face of Brett Parker came into clear view. “What the fuck?” his voice rose in outrage, then trailed off as another image materialized on the tiny screen. It was another picture of Brett Parker, but this one showed his face bloodied and bruised. As he stared in fascination and confusion, a steady
procession of images followed, about thirty seconds apart, and all of them had the same simple inscription at the bottom, in bold font: 'Brett Parker' and each successive photograph was worse than the last. A close-up of shattered teeth and a broken nose. Two bruised, swollen eyes. Two bloodied, shattered kneecaps, which he knew from experience were from gunshots. Both hands, covered with blood, all the fingers on both hands missing the fingernails. The last photograph showed Brett's face contorted forever into a rictus of horror unlike anything he had ever seen in all his years practicing medicine, a look of horror so complete it even made HIM cringe. The tiny caption at the bottom of the last photograph read:
'Even you don't want to know what caused this'
Heart beating frantically, Charles sat in stunned silence as the last image faded from view and the screen went blank. Suddenly, the cell phone that had arrived with the viewer began ringing. Snatching it up with a hand that was now shaking, he looked at the caller ID, but saw it was an unknown number. “Hello?” he answered in a quavering voice.
“You got the package, I see.” a smooth female voice purred. “Have you had a look at your present yet?”
“Yes. Who are you?” he replied, frantically searching his memory in a futile attempt to connect a face with the voice.
“Let's keep names out of this conversation, shall we?” the woman replied. “And don't try to figure out who I am, because you don't know me.”
“But, how do you...”
“Anyway...” the voice interrupted, “As you can see, Doctor Parker has been dealt with accordingly. No more digging around, looking for proof of his guilt, you understand? It would be healthier for you if you don't. Much, much healthier. In return for my services, there IS one thing you can do for me, and more importantly, for yourself.”
“What would that be?”
“I want you to move on. Your burning need for justice to be served is over.”
“Listen, I know he's dead, but...”
“No 'buts'.” the voice interrupted again, somewhat impatiently. “Listen, I'm sorry for your loss, I really am, but it's all over now. He suffered plenty, believe me, although he WAS a tad disappointing. I promised someone that Mr. Parker would suffer for days, but his heart gave out long before that. I guess in the end he was better at doling out pain than he was at receiving it.
Oh well, no one gets
everything
they want, right?” she chuckled in a voice that sent shivers down his spine.
“In my business, dead is dead, but you would be amazed how many people want the mark to suffer, how many people want a blow-by-blow, detailed analysis. I'm not talking about you, Doctor Quentin, but while we're on the subject, would you like to know what made his heart give out? I feel that you, of all people, along with the
families of his other victims, deserve it.”
“No, I've had enough, I've had enough of all of it.” he croaked, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.
“Good for you! When I was doing my research on you, I had a gut feeling you weren't the ghoulish type, that you just wanted justice. Well, I know it's easier said than done, but now you can begin the healing process. Do yourself, and you surviving daughter a favor, and contact her. I understand she's doing some wonderful things at that little clinic in West Virginia. I even made a donation for her black lung fund, I hear that's a very nasty condition.”
An uneasy feeling swept over him at the mention of his other daughter, Tamra, and he demanded, “Look, it's not that I'm ungrateful, but I have to know, why would you do this for people you don't even know?
“Every sweet has it's sour, every evil his its good, Ralph Waldo Emerson.” she quipped, quoting not only his own favorite philosopher, but his favorite quote as well, which only served to spook him even more. “What did you do with him? Brett Parker’s body, I mean?” he
asked
, not knowing what else to say.
“I'm not at liberty to say, but you can rest assured, like I said a moment ago, that the bridge he had to cross to get from this world to the next was...most unpleasant. As for why I did this, I care because I understand your pain. You have a rare opportunity, Charles, you can let go of the burden of guilt that's been eating away at you for so long. What happened to your daughter was never your fault to begin with, and the person who was responsible paid for it with his own life, in a more horrible fashion than you can possibly imagine. Doctor Quentin, I've found the price for vengeance is very high, and once you go down that road, it's hard to take a different path. Be thankful you no longer need to walk that path, and pay that price.”
“Well, I'm in debt to you, Tamra and I are both are. We...”
“One last thing.” the woman's voice interrupted for the last time. “The digital image viewer you received, after I hang up, I'm going to dial a number, and that number will send a signal to a tiny detonator inside. No need to worry, the explosive charge is a minuscule one, about the size of a pinhead. It'll be just enough to fry the circuitry. I can't afford to have my superiors find out I'm freelancing revenge for people, it would make my own life extremely uncomfortable. Good luck, Mr. Quentin.” she finished in a weary voice.
“WAIT!!! Don't destroy......” he yelped, but found himself talking to a dead connection. Looking at the digital viewer helplessly for twenty seconds or so, he jumped a little as he heard a muffled 'POP', and saw wisps of smoke coming from the device. Letting the cell phone clatter to the floor, he put his face in both hands, then broke down and cried. Cried for the loss of his daughter, cried for the lost years between himself and his estranged daughter Tamra, and cried with relief, because for the first time since his daughter's death,
his hatred for Brett Parker was gone. He could let go of his baby now, and let her rest in peace.
He would always love her and mourn her, but the stranger was right, it was time he moved on and cherished the things he
did
have left.
Wiping his eyes dry, he grabbed his own cell phone from his pocket and scrolled down to find a number he hadn't dialed for far too long. He knew he may not have a chance, maybe he had tossed that chance away years ago, but he still hoped and prayed they would be able to reconcile, become father and daughter again. Bracing himself for disappointment and offering up a silent prayer at the same time, he dialed the number.
“Dad?” a cautious voice answered after only four rings.
“Tamra....” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hi, honey, yes, it's me.”
“I'm guessing you're calling about Brett, I saw what was going on on CNN.” she replied in a flat, neutral voice.
Hearing her tone of voice, pain lanced his heart. He knew she was expecting him to do nothing more than rant and rave about Brett Parker, like he always did. Understanding she had a right to be angry, he pleaded, “Tamra, please don't hang up! Baby, actually, I called just to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you grieve alone. I'm sorry for the years I neglected you. I'm sorry for letting my thirst for vengeance consume me to the point I ignored the only good thing I had left in my life. Please forgive me, Tamra.”
“Wow, Dad, I don't know what to say.” she sniffled after an uncomfortable silence.
“Just say you'll forgive me.” he begged.
“Dad, I never stopped loving you, not for one minute.
I know you were just doing what any loving father would have done, I just wish you would have let me in, let me comfort YOU. But it's not too late. I love you Dad, I always will. Yes, I forgive you.”
“Oh, thank God.” he wept. “Thank you, baby! Listen.” he said as he tried to bring his sniffling under control. “I was thinking I could come down to West Virginia and check out that clinic you started. You don't know how proud I am that you're helping low income people in that area. I could lend a hand! And it'll mean we can make up for lost time together, too! What do you say? Think you can put up with your old man for
a while
?”
“Really? You want to come HERE?” she squealed with delight.
“Yes! I'm sick to death of this place, nothing but painful memories.”
“You can stay with me, if you want!”
“Sounds good. I need a fresh start, and a fresh, young, lovely face to smile at over the
breakfast table in the mornings. Thank you, sweetheart, I'll start packing my bags tonight.”
“This is going to be soooo great! I've told all my colleagues what a brilliant surgeon you are. Well, second only to MY expertise!” she teased.
Laughing for the first time in years, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
***********************************
Black Mountain Kentucky ( R&M Securities: Testing Facilities)
Raven pulled her silver 2008 Cadillac DTS into the entrance of the gated facility, and rolled to a stop as she held up her credentials to the window for the guard to see.
The burly guard looked at her identification, then looked at the empty passenger seat. There was usually a younger woman accompanying her, the woman's sister, from what he'd been told, and they would usually stay for several days at a time. No one knew exactly what they did at the facility, as nearly everyone gave this woman in particular a wide berth. As he waved her past the gate, he wondered for the hundredth time what her story was, but he had been working there long enough to know it wasn't wise to ask too many questions. Heading back into the guard shack, he flipped the tiny, portable television inside to his favorite cartoon, 'Drawn Together', and chuckled at the antics of Captain Hero as he was put in his place by Foxxy Love.