The Insane Train (4 page)

“See if you can round up some local help,” Eddie said. “We could make it worth their while.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to get that kind of help around here? And what will Baldwin do for help after he gets there?”

“That ain't our problem.”

Hook pecked out an SOS on the desktop with his prosthesis. The operator in Albuquerque had taught it to him.

“That's not all,” he said.

“Not all of what?” Eddie asked.

“Baldwin doesn't have a clue how that fire started.”

“What does that mean?”

“It could have been arson for all we know. I'm not keen to be riding around with fifty mentals and an arsonist on the loose.”

“You have evidence of that?”

“It's just a feeling.”

“Don't start with the feeling shit, Hook. You're there to do a job. Stick to it.”

Hook paused. “You heard from the disciplinary board?”

“They said the truck thing had cost the company plenty. It's the Rule G violation for intoxication that's the problem.”

“I'd had a few drinks the night before, Eddie. A man can't have a few drinks?”

“Rule G is a Railroad Association rule. The committee asked for a report from the night foreman out of Flagstaff. If it comes in bad for you, it's out of my hands.”

 

That night Hook lay in his bunk in the sleeping rooms at the depot and listened to the east-bound Chief roll in. He thought about the Baldwin Insane Asylum fire, the trapped boys, the burned bodies now lying in a common grave.

There were just too many unanswered questions. Eddie Preston be damn, he had to know what he was getting into before climbing aboard a train with fifty mental patients in tow.

Andrea studied the blisters in the palms of her hands before smearing them with salve and then wrapping them with gauze. She looked in the mirror that hung on the tent pole. She'd slept little enough last night, the pain throbbing with every beat of her heart. She'd lain awake unable to shake the images of the fire, the screams, the smells, the figures dancing in the terrible flames.

It had all happened so quickly. If only Frankie Yager had gone upstairs instead of searching for Baldwin and Helms. Maybe he could have gotten the boys out before the place had turned into an inferno. But then he'd done what he thought best, she supposed, and second-guessing now served little purpose.

The blisters extended between her fingers, making it nearly impossible for her to use her hands. She could barely perform the simplest task with her left hand. Esther had tied her shoes for her and helped her make beds. Even though it went against her nature, Andrea had let a lot of the details on the ward slide.

As she tightened the knot with her teeth, she thought about the one-arm man she'd seen talking to Doctor Baldwin after the funeral. He'd held his head high. Whether from courage or defiance, she didn't know. Either way, she could only empathize with the difficulties of making it through the world with one arm.

On top of everything else, Doctor Helms had moved the female patients into the tent so that the survivors from the boys' ward could be secured in what remained of her building.

Her own patients had roamed half the night in the tent. A fight broke out between Esther and Bess Henson over where they were to sleep. And then Andrea caught Esther eating a bug she'd captured in the grass, and Lucy Stewart, who suffered Stereotypy Habit Disorder, had to be restrained after repeatedly pounding her head against the tent pole.

Upon Lucy's confinement to Baldwin, her child had been surrendered to the custody of the state, and she had taken to carrying a rag doll everywhere she went. Over the years, the doll had become the sole source of comfort for Lucy when pressures mounted.

Unfortunately, the doll had been abandoned in the fray, and Lucy was inconsolable. So, in spite of Andrea's weariness, she had stayed on in order to search for the doll. Fortunately, she'd found it, somewhat worse for wear, under a pile of burned shingles that had fallen from the roof of the women's ward.

Across the way, Frankie Yager played his Frankie Laine records at full volume. He claimed to have been named after Frankie Laine himself and to have actually met him one time at a bar in Minnesota.

Yager had come to Baldwin shortly after Doctor Helms assumed the associate director's position. He controlled his ward through reward and punishment, mostly punishment. To cross him could result in retaliation. Even the most intractable boys feared Yager, and the staff had come to resent his bullying as well.

“Nurse Andrea,” Rachael said from behind her. “Esther found another bug.”

Andrea looked at Rachael in the mirror. Rachael's intelligence was limited, and, like a child, she took great pleasure in tattling on others.

“Did you take it away from her?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“She ate it,” she said.

“Oh, dear.”

“And Ruth pulled her pants down so the boys in the building could see,” she said.

“Can't you stop her. You're my helper, aren't you?”

“I told her not to, Nurse Andrea. She said for me to go to hell.”

“Alright. I'll take care of it.”

Sometimes Andrea didn't know why she stayed with this job. Mental illness had a way of spilling over, of contaminating everyone around it.

She'd always dreamed of becoming a doctor. But after the breakup of her engagement, she'd faltered, and for a while drifted from one thing to another. Commitment to anything had somehow been diminished by the collapse of the relationship.

In the end, she'd settled for nursing, taking her internship with the nuns, but she could never master the specter of blood and death, could not separate herself or stand aside from the suffering of others. An inconvenience for most, a fatal flaw for a nurse.

When she heard that a woman psychiatrist had been hired at Baldwin, she'd applied for the psychiatric nurse's position. To her surprise she'd discovered that not only did she like the inmates, but she had a propensity for the work. Her empathy served her well with people who too often had been neglected by society and family.

Andrea had found Helms competent but aloof and not prone to abiding fools, while Doctor Baldwin, with his bear hugs and boisterous laughter, went out of his way to lighten what could sometimes be a dreary atmosphere.

When she looked up, she saw Doctor Helms working her way through the cots toward her. Even though tall and bent, Helms walked with a clipped gate more common of shorter people.

“Nurse Delven,” she said. “May I speak with you?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Andrea said.

“It has come to my attention that Ruth is causing a stir among the male inmates.”

“I'll check on it, Doctor Helms, but it's difficult to control her when we're out in the open like this.”

“Ruth is an exhibitionist and simply can't be left unattended.”

“I asked Esther to monitor her, but she forgets. And there's no place to isolate Ruth. We
are
in a tent.”

“See that she's kept under control, but that's not what I came to talk about,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It's clear that this institution cannot continue to function as it stands. Some adjustments are being made.”

“Adjustments?”

“Doctor Baldwin has acquired an old military fort that he believes can serve as a new facility.”

“A fort?”

“In Oklahoma, a leftover from the territorial days, it seems.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know,” she said. “It came as a shock to all of us.”

“You are planning to move all these inmates to Oklahoma?” Andrea asked.

“There are few alternatives,” she said.

“But how?”

Doctor Helms pushed her glasses back up on her nose, where they promptly slid back to their former resting place.

“Possibly by train. Doctor Baldwin had a railroad security agent out here to check things out.”

“The man with one arm?”

“Yes.”

Nurse Andrea looked about at her patients, who were wandering around the tent. If living here had caused such a stir, how would they ever survive a train ride to Oklahoma?

“Are you taking them all?” Andrea asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“The security ward as well?”

“As I said. Which brings me to why I'm here. We're trying to determine how many of the staff would be prepared to make the move.”

“My home is here, Doctor Helms. I would have to leave everything behind.”

Helms pulled out a black appointment book that she kept in her pocket and looked in it.

“One way or the other, Baldwin Asylum will be closing. If it's moved, then you will have to move as well if you wish to continue employment.

“Think about it, but not too long. There are a great many decisions to be made. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a session.”

After Doctor Helms left, Andrea sat down on a cot and rubbed at her face. She'd lived in Barstow her whole life, had inherited her parents' house. Everything she had was here.

With the first peal of the fire bell, Andrea's stomach knotted. And then it came again. She stood, paralyzed by the sound.

“Oh, God,” she said aloud. “This can't be happening.”

Gathering her wits, she ran from the tent to look about for fire or smoke. The bell rose in a crescendo from across the yard, and Andrea's heart pounded in her chest.

Inmates spilled from the buildings and from out of the tent. Some sat in the grass, rocking back and forth, while others clung to one another. Doctor Helms and Doctor Baldwin ran toward them from across the compound.

Andrea headed for the fire bell. As she drew near, she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Esther,” she said. “Oh my god.”

Esther pulled the rope with wide swings of her body.

“Ring it,” she called out to Andrea. “Ring it like this.”

 

That night, Andrea sat at her kitchen table and sipped a glass of wine. She rubbed the fatigue from her arms and looked about the kitchen. The saltcellar on the stove had been her mother's, and the footstool used to reach the top shelf. Her father's toolbox still sat in the garage, and her old bicycle from the sixth grade. She'd never lived anywhere but Barstow.

How could they ask her to leave her home? And no person should ever live through another day like she'd just experienced.

As the sun lowered, she turned on the radio and closed her eyes. She wondered how her patients were doing. They were so easily stampeded, so fearful. She would have stayed with them, but the staff had insisted she come home and get some rest.

If she were to go to Oklahoma, she'd be leaving behind her whole life. But the truth be known, her work and her patients
were
her life now. Without them, nothing remained but this house.

She knew that she had to go, to make certain that they arrived safely. Once there, if things didn't work out, she could always return and find another line of work.

Turning on the light, she dialed Doctor Helms's number.

“Baldwin Asylum. Doctor Helms speaking.”

“Doctor Helms, this is Nurse Delven.”

“Yes,” she said.

“I've decided to go.”

Helms paused on the other end of the line.

“Put it in writing, Andrea, and give it to Doctor Baldwin in the morning.”

Seth and Hook walked down the tracks toward the supply shed. The morning sun struck their shadows across the rails.

“Don't seem right walking down line with a yard dog,” Seth said.

Hook paused to light a cigarette, offering one to Seth. “How do you think it makes me feel?” he said, striking the match on the track.

“Did you talk to Division?” Seth asked.

“You don't really talk to Eddie Preston,” Hook said.

“What did he say?” Seth asked. “Or is it a national secret?”

Hook looked out from under his brows. “I can still run you in, you know?”

“Is hanging with a yard dog illegal? Probably ought to be,” Seth said.

“Eddie's getting political heat, if you got to know, from the California governor, or the Barstow mayor, or the mayor's cousin. Who the hell knows? They're running scared that those inmates out to Baldwin's going to cost them a vote. Crazy folks got less rights than criminals like yourself.”

“But we got yard dogs to contend with,” Seth said. “And you bastards carry firearms.”

At the supply shed, Hook popped the pickup hood, took out the oil dipstick, and dripped a little oil onto the joint of his prosthesis.

“Maybe it's time you took it in for an oil change,” Seth said.

“Damn thing freezes up once in a while. Other than that, she's just like new.”

Dropping the hood, Hook said, “Division needs to come up with a special train. They can't put inmates on the Chief. All those celebrities out of Los Angeles might not like the competition. And then there's soldiers and equipment. There's no trains left for moving mental patients halfway across the country. It's going to be hell making up a special on this short notice.

“To make matters worse, Baldwin figures the employees out there aren't going to pack up and move for a job no one wants in the first place. I figure he's right.”

“What are they going to do?”

“Another fire like that last one, and they aren't going to have to do anything except hire another dozer to push over their problems.”

“That's an army answer,” Seth said. “No answer at all.”

“Look, I'm just a yard dog. I got half the country bumming my trains, like you for instance, and Division's got me out here dealing with an insane asylum. As far as I'm concerned, Baldwin could turn the whole bunch loose. I figure no one would ever know the difference.”

Seth got inside the pickup and waited for Hook to get in. Starting the engine, Seth said, “Which comes first, being a jerk or being a yard dog?”

Hook looked over at him and grinned. “Get me out to Baldwin before I change my mind and run you in.”

In the Baldwin parking lot, Seth waited for Hook to get out.

“Wait here for me,” Hook said.

“All the same to you, I think I'll go on back.”

Hook smiled. “Be here about three and don't let anything happen to this truck. The disciplinary board's after my ass as it is.”

“I was thinking to strip her down and sell her for junk,” Seth said, pulling out.

After checking in with security, Hook made his way to Baldwin's office, where he found the receptionist with her head in the files.

“Oh,” she said, pulling down her skirt. “May I help you?”

“Hook Runyon, Santa Fe Railroad,” he said. “Doctor Baldwin, please.”

“One moment, Mr. Runyon. I'll see if he's available.”

When she came out, she left Baldwin's door open and directed Hook in.

“The doctor has an appointment in thirty minutes,” she said, as he passed by her.

Baldwin rose to greet him. His hair had not been combed, and his clothes were rumpled.

“Mr. Runyon,” he said, drawing his fingers through his hair. “Have a seat. Forgive my appearance. Things have been a little hectic around here.”

“Thanks,” Hook said.

“Excuse me for one moment, please,” he said, stepping out.

Hook took in the doctor's office: a few volumes on his book shelf, medical books by the looks of them, and diplomas hung on the wall behind the desk. A small bronze of Einstein sat on the table under the window. Hook took another look, decided it wasn't Einstein but Sigmund Freud instead.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Baldwin said. “I've sent for Nurse Andrea Delven to show you around the institution. Perhaps it will give you a better idea of what we are dealing with here.”

“Doctor Baldwin, before we get into this thing too far, you and I should talk about some practical matters.”

“For example?”

“This move you're proposing is a high-risk venture at best. I have serious doubts we can come up with a special train in time for your needs. There's a shortage of equipment.

“And then there's the matter of security. This is a particular problem since firearms can't be used. As for men, I doubt seriously if we could come up with enough. Even if we did, they would be untrained in dealing with mental patients.”

He looked up at Baldwin, who hadn't moved. “Frankly, my best advice is for you to reconsider this whole plan.”

Baldwin took his glasses off and rubbed at his face. “I appreciate your advice, Mr. Runyon. I suspect that you consider me to be a little naïve, but let me assure you that's not the case. I've a medical degree from the University of Pennsylvania, and my experience in these matters is considerable.

“As a young doctor, I spent three years in Fergus Falls, Minnesota, a state institution, where I worked with some very challenging patients. From there, I worked as a psychiatrist with the Texas Department of Corrections. I've seen the worst this world has to offer. But I believe in what I am doing, and I believe I make a difference.

“In short, I have no intentions of giving up here. If you can't help me, I'll find another way.”

Hook laid his prosthesis across his lap. Dust had gathered on the hinge where he had dripped the oil. The damn thing looked like the tie rods on a junked car. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped it away.

“Doctor Baldwin,” he said, “have you considered the possibility that the fire here might have been arson?”

Baldwin's brows lifted. “No matches or flammable materials of any kind are permitted on the wards. The wiring in these old buildings is quite inadequate. It's pretty clear the fire started in the wall of the orderly's room. Unfortunately, it effectively cut the inmates off from escape.”

“There was no other egress?” Hook asked.

“Even though we are not a prison, we have to maintain tight security. Too many exits lead to problems.”

“Then shouldn't an orderly be on duty at all times, Doctor Baldwin?”

“Frankie Yager
was
on duty, but he also made rounds downstairs, where the less troublesome inmates were housed. This never took more than a few minutes.”

“One orderly for two floors?” Hook asked.

“Help is very difficult to come by out here, Mr. Runyon, and then with the war. In any case, most people are frightened by mental illness.”

Hook rose and walked to the window. From there he could see the burned-out building and the fresh grave up on the hill. He could see the young nurse working her way toward the office.

Baldwin had nailed it. There
was
something frightening about the mentally ill. With criminals he always knew where he stood. They were the enemy. They wished him harm. He watched his back, and he trusted no one. But here, the rules weren't clear. These people were not the enemy, though they could be just as dangerous.

He turned. “Alright, Doctor Baldwin,” he said. “I'll do what I can, but there are no guarantees.”

“Thank you, Mr. Runyon. In my business, I'm accustomed to no guarantees.

“Oh, here's Nurse Delven now.”

She smiled at Hook as she came through the door. She struck him as prettier than what he remembered from the funeral, petite, and with a spray of freckles across her nose. Her mouth turned up at its tip, and behind her round glasses were eyes the color of gunmetal.

“Nurse Delven,” Doctor Baldwin said. “This is Hook Runyon, special agent with the Santa Fe.”

She held out her bandaged hand and then withdrew it.

“Sorry,” she said. “I forget.”

Hook held up his prosthesis. “I've carried this chunk of iron around for years, and I still forget sometimes.”

“We call her Nurse Andrea around here,” Doctor Baldwin said. “She volunteered first among the few to help us out with the move.”

“Just Andrea,” she said. “Will you be involved in the transfer, Mr. Runyon?”

“It looks that way,” he said.

Baldwin came around his desk and put his hand on Hook's shoulder.

“Mr. Runyon would like a tour of the place, Andrea. I'll get someone to cover for you if you'll show him around.”

“The security ward, too?” she asked.

“I'll arrange for Doctor Helms to be there,” he said.

“Alright,” she said. “If you'll follow me, Mr. Runyon, I'll introduce you to Baldwin Insane Asylum.”