Unspeakable (15 page)

Collin restlessly paced around his bedroom.

He'd watched the video a second time, and still couldn't figure out what was happening to him. He stopped pacing, and glanced again at the Post-it on his desk:

 

 

He'd never heard of the guy. Could it be a real person?

He sat down. Hunched over the computer keyboard, he went onto Google and typed “Wade Grinnell.” He hit ENTER, and studied the search results that popped up. The first few listings were references to Grinnell College in Grinnell, Iowa. But something at the bottom of the first results page caught his eye:

Biting his lip, Collin leaned in closer to the screen and clicked on the story, from a
Seattle Times
article in 2002. It was a timeline of events in Seattle during the World's Fair, which was called the Century 21 Exposition, starting with the opening day on April 21, 1962. He scrolled down the list of mini-milestones—toward the date in October when this Wade Grinnell character had been run over by a train. But a photo of a young Elvis Presley made Collin stop. He read the caption below it:

Collin scratched his head. He hadn't heard of this Elvis film about the Seattle World's Fair. Yet under hypnosis, what was it he'd said?
“Y'know, I saw Elvis while he was shooting that movie at the fair a few weeks back. Talk about nuts. . . .”

Had the real Wade Grinnell actually seen Elvis? That would have been five or six weeks before Wade had been struck by a train and killed. Collin wondered how he suddenly knew stuff from fifty years ago that had happened to someone else—someone dead.

He anxiously tapped the arrow key and inched further down the timeline until he saw the date of Wade Grinnell's death:

He remembered telling Gail while in the trance:
“They say I've been an awfully bad boy to girls like you—and their mommies, daddies and little brothers.”

A family of four
, it said. Kids were murdered. Who was this guy?

Staring at the monitor, Collin couldn't help thinking about his mom and Chance. While he'd slept, his mother and Chance had been bound, gagged, and stabbed to death.

He told himself that he couldn't have killed his mother and Chance. Ian had already given him a long explanation of why that was totally implausible. He hadn't murdered anyone in his sleep. But he couldn't help wondering if this Wade person had come out that night.

On the keyboard, he arrowed back up to July 9, the date of the El Mar Hotel murders:

Collin couldn't believe it. The son of a bitch had gone through the little girl's coin purse. Before or after he'd stabbed her and her family to death? Collin felt sick to his stomach. Now he realized why Wade had been interested in where Gail's mother kept her purse.

How could this be happening?

Had Gail given him some kind of pre-hypnotic suggestion that wasn't on the video? Had she read up on this murder case and manipulated him somehow? No, he'd seen the whole session on video—from the time he'd drifted off until he'd awoken—and she hadn't coached him at all. This Wade guy had emerged on his own.

Collin knew the
related story
on October 11 was the paragraph about Wade's death. It had mentioned that Wade might have been responsible for a hotel fire in August—with even more victims. With a shaky hand, Collin hit the arrow-down key until he found the story:

There was no reference to Wade Grinnell—or his death. They didn't cite any follow-up or related stories.

Collin caught his reflection in the darkened glass of his bedroom window. Was he looking at an image of Wade Grinnell now? Were he and Wade Grinnell like twins?

He shifted in his chair and arrowed back to the Google home page. He clicked on the
Image
option, and squinted at the display of small photographs that came up on the monitor. He was searching for a guy about seventeen years old, who might look as if he'd just stepped out of the sixties movie from earlier tonight.

No one fit that description on page one.

He found only two photos of young men. Clicking on them, he discovered they were just Facebook photos of students from Grinnell College. A few of the images might have been from the fifties or sixties, but they were of women, kids, and older guys. It was the same way for the next five pages.

He clicked out of Google and brought up the video for a third time. Cringing, he watched it again. In a strange, awful way, everything he'd said while in a trance now made sense. He'd become this Wade Grinnell person. “This can't be happening,” he murmured to himself.

How many times had Wade Grinnell taken over while he was unconscious? This was the first time he'd been captured on video. But there could have been other episodes. If Wade had come out before while he'd been asleep, his mother would have noticed. Then again, maybe she hadn't known about Wade until the last night of her life.

“Stop thinking that,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He took a few deep breaths.

It came down to one person who might be able to help him figure out what was going on here. That person had been dead for fifty years, Wade Grinnell. And the only way to reach him was to go into a hypnotic trance again.

Collin wiped his eyes, then got up from his desk and ducked into the bathroom. He slurped some water from the sink faucet. Returning to his desk, he sat down again and composed an email to both Gail and Fernando:

Collin hesitated. He looked at the clock in the bottom corner of his computer monitor: 2:37
AM
. It was already
tomorrow
. He backed up and changed it:

“I
'm going on record here,” Fernando announced, his arm stretched out as he filmed himself with his iPhone in the front seat. “My friend, Collin Stampler, is totally full of shit. Here he is, about to give another performance. Take it away, Collin.”

Collin wasn't sure whether or not the rain tapping on the car's roof would screw up the video's sound quality. He and Gail were in the backseat of the Taurus. His car was the only one in the lot at Nelson Park on this rainy, gray afternoon. The three of them had families at home and Sunday dinner commitments. So Collin had picked up Gail and Fernando and then driven here. He didn't want any distractions while Gail tried to hypnotize him again.

Playing back his sarcastic introduction, Fernando said the lighting was “good enough.” All the windows were cracked open to keep the phone's lens from fogging up.

Collin was nervous, and his hands were sweating. He'd barely slept last night. Part of him had been afraid to fall asleep—for fear that
Wade Grinnell
would emerge again.

Gail had a tired,
let's get this over with
look on her face. “Are you ready?” she sighed.

He pulled a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket, and handed it to her. “I wrote these questions I want you to ask—in case this Wade guy comes back.”

Rolling her eyes, Gail took the piece of paper from him. Unfolding it, she glanced at the list of questions for a few moments, and frowned. “Collin, this isn't funny at all.”

“It's not meant to be,” he murmured. “Please, go along with me on this. I really need your help.” He turned to Fernando. “Both of you.”

Gail let out an exasperated sigh. “All right, fine.” She held her hand in front of his face and gradually moved it back and forth. “I want you to focus on my hand, Collin. Take long, deep breaths and think of a place where you feel very safe. . . .”

His eyes felt heavy, and he closed them. Collin listened to the rain on the car roof, and her voice. A tiny part of him was scared Wade would emerge and never let him come back. Or maybe Wade would do something horrible to Fernando and Gail.

He listened to her counting backward from five. But he didn't hear her get past two.

 

 

“Shit, man, that's really screwed up,” Fernando said. He switched off his iPhone.

In the backseat of the car, Collin gazed at Gail. “What just happened? You've got to believe—”

Before he could finish, she slapped him across the face.

Startled, Collin recoiled. He gazed at her and blinked. The slap stung.

“I don't want you back here with me,” she said, scooting toward the window. “Just drive me home. We're not going to talk about this. I don't want to hear another word from you.”

Collin quickly climbed out and then got in behind the wheel. His left ear was still ringing from her slap. He started up the engine. He wanted to say he was sorry for whatever he'd done, but figured he should just shut the hell up. He pulled out of the parking lot.

The
whoosh-whoosh
of the Taurus's windshield wipers somehow seemed louder than normal—probably because it was so quiet in the car. Collin's stomach was in knots as he watched the road ahead. The pavement felt a little slick from the rain.

“Listen,” he finally said. “You guys need to understand, that wasn't me. Okay? You think I'm joking or trying to punk you, but I'm not. This is serious. I'm really scared. . . .”

“Collin, I wouldn't push it if I were you,” Fernando warned. He was manipulating the keypad of his iPhone. “Now, I've sent you the video. If you're smart, you won't post it anywhere, because it makes you look like a real asshole.”

Collin glanced in the rearview mirror at Gail. She turned her head away and sniffled. He was pretty sure she was crying back there.

When they finally pulled into her driveway, Gail loudly cleared her throat. “I used to think you were a real nice guy, Collin,” she said. “If you seriously don't know what happened back there, then you need professional help, because you're sick. And if this is your idea of a joke, I
still
think you're sick. Either way, I don't want to see you anymore.”

He turned around. “Gail, please, I'm sorry—”

But she'd already opened the car door and ducked outside. She slammed the door shut, and then ran in the rain to her front porch.

“Jesus, Fernando,” he murmured, gripping the steering wheel. “What happened? Did I attack her or something? I really don't remember, I swear.”

“Are you on the level?” his friend asked.

“Yes, goddamn it! I've been trying to tell you guys that since last night. I'm worried I might have a split personality or something. There's even more to it than I can tell you. This Wade guy, he . . .” Collin hesitated. How could he explain it without sounding totally crazy?

He took a deep breath and watched Gail step inside the house.

“Are we going to get moving?” Fernando asked nervously. “I don't want to be sitting here when her dad comes out of the house ready to pound the shit out of you. He's liable to take a couple of swings at me for not doing anything.”

Collin felt the knots in his stomach tighten. He backed out of the driveway. “Okay, we're moving. Would you please tell me what happened?”

Fernando sighed. “Well, the way you touched her and talked to her was really—I don't know,
slimy
. If you really don't remember, you'll see it on the video. I should have stopped you, but I didn't realize how much you were scaring her.”

Collin braked at the stop sign at the end of her block. “Poor Gail, I had no idea. . . .”

“Hey, I think I'm gonna get out here,” Fernando said. “I feel like walking.”

Collin turned to him. “Are you crazy? Your house isn't for another two miles, and it's pouring out.”

“I don't care. I'll hitch a ride if I get tired.” He opened the car door.

“Was I really that awful, Fernando?” Collin asked.

His friend said nothing for a moment. The sound of rain filled the silence.

“The thing of it is,” Fernando finally replied, not looking at him, “I thought I knew you. But it just occurred to me, I only met you—like, two weeks ago. After seeing you in that trance, it's like I don't know you at all. Anyway, I kind of want to be alone and walk for a while. Don't take it personally or anything. I—I'll see you in school tomorrow. Okay?”

Before Collin could respond, Fernando climbed out of the car. He closed the door and started walking along the shoulder of the road. The rain pelted him, and he turned up the collar of his jacket. Collin wanted to get out and run after him. But he stayed in the car.

It hurt that his only two friends didn't want anything to do with him.

He left the car idling—and the wipers on. Switching on the hazard lights, he took his iPhone out of his pocket, and retrieved the email from Fernando. While it downloaded, he watched his friend ambling along the side of the road, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

Fernando had been right about the sound and light quality of the video. The rain on the car roof practically drowned out Gail, who talked in a whisper. The picture was murky, and he was almost in silhouette with the light coming through the rear window behind him. Collin adjusted the volume—while, in the video, Gail put him into a trance.

“You're in your safe place now, Collin,” she said. “And you're very comfortable. I'm going to ask you some questions. Are you ready?”

There was silence for few moments. The image shook a bit.

“Collin, you made a list of questions I'm supposed to—”

“I'm Wade,” he said—in that same strange voice from the evening before.

“Hello,
Wade
,” Gail said coolly. “We talked last night, remember?”

“Sure. I see you have your boyfriend with you again.
Sí, señor
?”

Fernando didn't say anything, and neither did Gail.

“Shit, listen to that rain,” he said, stretching his arm across the top of the backseat. “Too bad it can't be just you and me in here, honey.”

“Yeah, it's really a shame,” Gail muttered. She glanced at Collin's list of questions. “Last night, you mentioned the police interviewed you about something. Did it have to do with the murders at the El Mar Hotel?”

“Well, now, doll, where did you hear about that?”

“A friend told me,” Gail replied, improvising.

“Maybe your friend should keep his fucking mouth shut,” he growled.

“I think he's just watching out for you, covering your back, y'know?” Collin had to hand it to her for keeping her cool. Gail nervously cleared her throat. “He—he also thought maybe the police were trying to connect you to the—the fire at the Hotel Aurora Vista.”

“Yeah, well, a couple of hotels got torched, and a bunch of people got fried,” he said. “Snap, crackle, pop. But they haven't been able to pin any of those jobs on me. And you can tell your smart-ass friend—whoever he is—that the El Mar wasn't the only new hotel where some tourists got chopped up.”

“Chopped up?” Gail repeated.

“Yeah, stabbed. Which one is the El Mar? They have so many of those new, crummy hotels to cash in on the World's Fair crowd. Is the El Mar where the mommy and daddy and their two little kiddies got chopped up in connecting rooms?”

“There were children? You mean a whole family was stabbed to death in this hotel?”

“Yeah, they checked out early.” He chuckled, and touched her arm. “It was in the papers. But they buried it on page two or three. After all, if it made the front pages, it might hurt business at the fair.”

“And the police think you had something to do with these murders?”

“Like I say, they can't pin anything on me.”

“When did this happen?” Gail asked. She was going off script.

“A couple of months ago,” he replied.

Collin realized this Wade guy still thought it was 1962.

“I don't remember hearing about any multiple murders or fires in a Seattle hotel recently,” Gail said. She turned toward Fernando in the front seat and looked at the camera. “Do you know what he's talking about?”

“No,” he heard Fernando grunt. “I don't get any of this. . . .”

Gail seemed rattled. The sheet of paper with the questions shook in her hand. She glanced down at it. “Have the police talked to any of your friends—or your family?”

“They were bugging my sister, Sheri, but she didn't tell them anything.”

“Do you know . . .” Gail trailed off and said nothing for a few moments. She shifted in the seat. “Would you please take your hand off my knee?”

“Where do I put it? Here?” He stroked her shoulder, and then touched her face with the back of his hand. “Are you a virgin?”

She recoiled. “You're not funny! Cut it out!”

“You're sitting here with me in the backseat of a car—and in the rain, no less.” He stroked her curly red hair, and then kissed her neck.

“Stop it!” Gail cried.

He pulled back. “Who are you trying to kid?” he hissed, his hand squeezing her face so her lips puckered. “If you aren't asking for a good banging, I don't know what. Let your pipsqueak boyfriend watch if it gets him off. I don't care. Don't be such a fucking tease. You goddamn virgins are all the same. . . .”

“Hey!” Fernando barked. “What are you doing?”

Gail knocked his hand away. “Okay, that's enough! Stop it! Collin?” She snapped her fingers.

Collin watched his head tip back for a moment. Then he seemed to come to and stared at Gail. “What happened?” he asked—in his normal voice.

“Don't give me that,” Gail growled at him. She crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it at him. “You know what you were doing. . . .”

“Shit, man, that's really screwed up,” Fernando said, off camera.

Then the video stopped.

Just a moment later was when she'd slapped him.

Sitting in front of his computer monitor at his desk, Collin read over the email. He winced at how pathetic he sounded, but clicked the
SEND
icon anyway. He'd just sent a similar email apology to Fernando. He felt horrible about what had happened. At the same time, a part of him was kind of ticked off at both of them for being so thickheaded. Why did they refuse to believe him? Couldn't they see the awful person who came out while he was under hypnosis wasn't him? Then again, Fernando had been right. They hadn't known him for long. In fact, they still thought he was someone named Collin Stampler. They had no idea who he really was.