Out of the Shadows (27 page)

How far over the line of morality did one need to step to protect the people they loved? There was good in everyone.

But also evil.

Robert London had once recognized this fact and sought to further understand it, because this duality often blurred the boundaries of what was right and what was wrong. Would you kill to save your friends? Would you kill to protect your family? Would you kill to ensure your own life continued? A life was a life whether the mind had become consumed in darkness or not. And after the sweet release of death, a person became remembered by their actions.

Charise Jacobs did not want to be remembered as a killer. Nor did she want to be killed. But there were people she loved in terrible danger within the hospital.

She danced gracefully on the line of morality as she swung her nightstick at Stanley’s head, hoping with everything in her heart that he would duck and save himself from unconsciousness – or worse.

He did.

“Jesus, Charise!” he yelled, suddenly intimidated by the hefty woman.

She advanced quickly with two steps and waved the stick in his face with a flourish. “You best back away from that console ‘fore I put your face through it!” She didn’t know Stanley very well, but she was acting on a hunch that she would win this battle without any bloodshed.

The building rumbled, and Charise had to regain her footing.
This ain’t how tonight was s’pose to go down!
she thought, listening to the muffled, whining drone of The Alley’s blaring alarm past the closed door.
Come in, do my job, and get out.
She locked eyes with the guard as she heard the door into The Alley release its hydraulic pistons.
This was s’pose to be easy…

Thankfully, Stanley made no attempt to block her path. As she stepped toward the door that would lead to her friend, Tom, a surge of power electrified the emergency lights, and sudden darkness filled the vestibule.

“Shit!” she heard Stanley exclaim as he fumbled around in his desk drawers, finally producing a flashlight. As he flipped it on, the harsh beam sliced through the claustrophobic blackness and flashed through Charise’s eyes.

“Get that out of my face!” she cursed, shielding herself with the hand clutching her nightstick. She noticed the eerie silence that permeated the air now that the alarm had stopped working. With the other hand, she flipped the switch on her own light, illuminating a small path in front of her to the now-unlocked door.

“Charise…” the old man pleaded.

She spun and pointed her light at him. “Get on your walkie. Radio maintenance. Tell them we need these lights back on…”
…or we all gonna die
, is what she almost said but decided against it.

Stanley unclipped his walkie from his belt and contacted maintenance, but Charise was not listening to him. All she heard was the sound of her beating heart, hoping that after tonight it would continue to do so.
Lord Jesus,
she silently prayed.
Keep an eye on Li’l Bobby for me.

She pushed open the door and entered the pitch black Alley.

*     *     *

Tom saw Gary Shorno rear his fist back to attack, a sneer on his grizzled face that would have nauseated anyone not accustomed to his villainy, so Tom brought his nightstick up into the air to counter, prepared to do battle on the second floor walkway. When the lights suddenly went out and the alarm ceased, he thought he’d been knocked unconscious from behind but realized he felt no pain.

Gasps and curses filled the blackness, as well as a few giggles and echoed diabolical laughter. This was not a good situation. He felt something breeze by the side of his face and assumed it was Gary’s fist missing its mark. He performed a calculated horizontal swing of his nightstick, and it made contact with flesh. Gary let out a soft
oof
and fell to the side into the railing.

Tom swooped in with another swing, a little lower this time. He felt the collision with something that buckled, and he heard Gary collapse to the ground. His guards called out for him, but he couldn’t afford the distraction of responding. He had to remain focused!

A pinpoint of light pierced the darkness at the other end of The Alley, and a frantic voice called out, “Tom?!”

Charise!

He was suddenly more terrified for her than he was himself. He knew her well, having worked with her for years. And likewise, he knew that dealing with these situations was not in her training. Before coming in here, they’d discussed the risks (as unlikely as they were to occur), and yet the “worst case scenario” was upon them. He had warned her that Gary could get out, and a man like Gary would not hesitate to kill her.

Now, as he stared at her point of light, which gave away her position to every inmate now released from their cells, he knew that he must live and die protecting her, and Gary would have to wait.

“Tom?!”

“Put your light out! They’ve all escaped!” he cried out.

Her light beam shot across the room and rested up on the walkway where she’d heard his voice.
“Look out!”

But Gary had already charged Tom from behind and tackled him to the walkway floor, rolling him over and placing his big, scabbed fingers tightly around Tom’s throat. He struggled to pull the strong hands from his neck, growing desperate for oxygen, feeling the sides of his vision begin to swirl.

Charise tried to make her way to the spiral steps leading up to the walkway, but her path became blocked by a sickly-looking, skinny woman. Her pale skin seemed to stretch over her brittle bones, her wild eyes sunken into her bony skull, greasy strands of hair dangling in front of her gruesome face. In her hand, she held what appeared to be a weapon of some kind. How she had obtained it was a mystery, but Charise saw the quick gleam of light reflect from one of its jagged edges.

Tom flailed his legs as wildly as he could manage with the massive heft of Gary on top of him. The filthy man laughed, his hands squeezing tighter, the stench from his breath more nauseating than Tom could handle. Accepting defeat was the only option.

Charise could hear the sounds of footsteps all around her. They were closing in. Tears of panic began welling in her eyes, and she did the only thing she could think to do.

She turned off the flashlight and returned the room to total blackness.

Clamping tightly to her only lifeline, she thanked God that the handle of her nightstick was wrapped with leather binding, or her sweaty hands may not have maintained a grip. She tried desperately to keep her breathing shallow so she didn’t give away her position to the surrounding mob. She felt that if her gasping didn’t give her away, they would surely be able to hear the drum corps performing its cadence in her chest.

She thought about the possibility of throwing something to make a noisy distraction in a different area of the space, but she didn’t think it wise to throw either her flashlight or her nightstick.

Up on the walkway, Tom had made his peace with God and recited a silent prayer for his family’s protection. But suddenly, he heard a
thunk,
and Gary went limp. Tom coughed and gasped as his windpipe opened once again. Someone reached down and helped him to his feet.

“You all right, boss?” the guard whispered as quietly as he could.

Tom couldn’t quite distinguish the man’s voice, but he was cursing himself for coughing and giving away their position.

“What do we do?” the man whispered again, panicked.

Tom had to think logically, and think fast. They were up on the second story walkway. The only way back down to the first floor was the spiral staircase at the other end, which was filled with crazies shuffling toward him through the dark.

“We jump,” he instructed.

“Boss?”

“Over the railing. It’s only a ten-foot drop.”

Charise heard faint whispers echo through the massive room. She was too afraid to call out for Tom, but she didn’t hear anymore struggling. When she felt something lightly brush up against her arm and continue past, she bit down on her lip to resist the urge to bellow in shock. She wanted so badly to charge through the madness back toward the entrance door, like a bowling ball to its assorted pins, although she wasn’t sure she knew which way the entrance was anymore.

Tom slowly climbed over the railing next to him and lowered himself as far as possible toward the ground below, hoping to reduce the impact. He knew the commotion he’d make would alert everyone to his position, but there was really no other way to have a shot in hell at making it out of The Alley alive.

Gary will have to wait,
he convinced himself, knowing that it would have been a tough battle even with the lights on. He released his grip and dropped toward the first floor. The moment his feet made contact, he began sidestepping slowly to move away, hoping there was no one next to him with whom he’d collide.

Somewhere in the blackness ahead was Charise. How would he find the needle in a haystack of insanity without a light? And with hay that would fight back, no less.

Charise slowly turned toward the direction in which she believed held the way out. She clutched tightly to her nightstick and took one small step, and then another.
Three… four… five… si—
a hand grabbed her violently. She gasped and swung her club through the air and brought it down on the arm. She felt muscle squish and bone crack, and the crazed patient let out a bellow of pain.

Move, woman!
she instructed herself.
Move yo’ fat ass ‘fore they get you!

She charged briskly forward, a freight train barreling down the tracks. She knocked many patients over, several others tripping over the fallen. She wondered if she should dare to flip on the light for only a second to see how close she might be to the door.

The commotion must have alerted Tom, because he hollered her name.

She was so close to that door! No more than four or five steps away, she guessed. But she wanted to let Tom know that she was safe.

“Charise?!” he called out again.

“Tom! I’m over—.” Feeling the shiv pierce the flesh in her side was more like a light pinch than anything else, but when it ventured deeper into her body, the pain became excruciating. As the makeshift weapon was violently yanked from her torso, she felt organs rip and nerve endings crackle. She emitted a quiet cry of anguish as she felt the warmth of her own blood run down her leg.

*     *     *

It is said that action alleviates fear, but inaction causes terror.

Henry had moved far beyond fear, and he was now terrified.

He stood in the middle of an unknown location within the hospital having re-entered from the Maintenance Room. When the power had gone out, he had immediately become concerned for his father. The hospital’s brightly lit white halls were usually a maze of madness, but now that there was no light at all, there would be no hope of escaping with sanity intact.

And it was his fault.

He turned his head as if to look down the different hallways at his current intersection, but he could see nothing. Although sightless, his ears still worked, and he could hear quite a bit. Slow shuffling of people – patients – maneuvering down the hall. A cough. Fingernails scraping across the white-painted walls. Heavy breathing.

But the thing that unnerved him the most was the quiet laughter. There was someone approaching him from behind, softly giggling.
Enjoying
this madness.

He heard a jolt of thunder from outside, and the floor rumbled. A flash of pain seared his head – perhaps an oncoming migraine – and he rubbed his temples with his eyes closed, although the latter didn’t matter. When he opened them again, down the hall in front of him he saw the same woman in white from outside.

His mother.

Henry stood in the pitch-black hallway, mesmerized by the radiant beauty of the woman in white, who was visible despite the lack of electricity. He suddenly felt no fear, no pain, no worries. He was lulled into a calm like no other. Mother always had that affect on him. There was no logic with which to rationalize the level of safety a child felt when with his mother. Even though the building rumbled violently, knocking him off balance and into a roaming patient, he stared ahead at the glowing beacon. He knew he
must
follow this vision.

He could not scientifically explain the phenomenon of this radiant light source emitting no actual illumination, nor could he explain why it had taken the form of his mother, long deceased. He was no fool; he knew with certainty that his mother was dead. This Being of Guidance was not his mother, and yet it was. He could feel it in his heart, warming his senses. Her robes of brilliance ebbed and flowed around her, a tide of hope beckoning him to come closer.

She seemed to grow brighter with every step forward he took, and he resisted the urge to shield his eyes, not wanting to miss a single exquisite detail if any more were revealed.

As he neared her, she slowly turned away, blocking his view of her face.

“Mother?” he reached out toward the entity.

His hand was only inches from the warmth of his ghostly parent when she began to fade away, uttering two words that echoed eerily in his mind: “Let go.”

Henry was engulfed in blackness once again but now felt as though he belonged in it. He reached his hand to the left, somehow
knowing
that he would find a door handle, as if the spectral woman had provided him the knowledge needed to remain safe. Ignoring the moans and cries from the surrounding patients not yet ready to be lost in darkness, he pushed the door inward and entered the room outside which his mother had been standing.

*     *     *

Indescribable agony filled Charise as she hobbled forward, pushing unknowns from her path, hoping to make it to the heavy door that would lead her out into the vestibule to Stanley. She felt as though flames erupted from her side, spewing a warm and sticky molten fluid down her leg. She knew, of course, that it was merely blood, but the searing pain in her nerves rattled her senses.

Behind her, the would-be assassin did not pursue but merely cackled, her high-pitched giggle echoing through the darkness. These people didn’t want her to have a quick and painless death. They wanted her to beg for mercy – a mercy that she knew they would not give.

Her mind began to swirl with disjointed thoughts, further disorienting her and adding to the nausea. Back in the room but dangerously near to her, a ruckus had begun. She heard screams and pounding and squelched cries and bodies falling; a war had broken out. And it was quickly moving in her direction. Knowing she had nothing left to lose, she raised her flashlight and flipped the switch.

The door!

Only four feet away was her only chance of survival. She weakly threw her weight against the thick metal exit, hoping what strength she retained would be enough to force it to swing open into the vestibule.

The battle raged behind her, crashing closer and closer, a torrent of violence that would not be stopped.

Push! Get yo’ ass out of this room, sista!
she thought to herself.

She felt a hand snatch at her shirt and try to pull her away. She heard a crunching
thunk
of a snapping bone, coupled with a cry of pain as the hand released its hold on her. Then suddenly, the door became weightless, and it swung outward, Tom by her side to guide her through.

Once they were out of The Alley, he quickly slammed the heavy door behind him, placing his full weight against it. “Charise, run!” he pleaded. Quickly looking around the security desk, Stanley was nowhere to be seen.

Charise, out of breath and losing blood, slowly shook her head and wagged a weak finger in his face. “You can’t be rid of me that easy.” She leaned against the door to help him, fighting back the mob of angry inmates dying to break through into the hospital, yearning to kill.

*     *     *

Inside the unknown room, Henry again was greeted by the specter of his mother, her back toward him, floating effortlessly, her translucent arms flowing up and down as if treading water in a calm lake.

He approached, but no matter which way he went, her back was always toward him. “Please,” he begged. “Let me see your face!”

Both of her limbs came to rest at her sides, and then her right arm floated up, her finger pointing toward something in the room that Henry couldn’t see. Once again, calmness overtook him. He knew that this thing was leading him to a place of safety. Through the darkness in the room, he walked to where the ghostly finger guided, reached his hand out, and grasped a circular pump lever.

He pulled the cylinder out of the console until it clicked. Then he turned it clockwise and pushed it back in. A flurry of multi-colored LED bulbs illuminated, and something whirred to life behind him. All around the room, various electronic devices sprang to life and resumed their daily functions.

Henry smiled with relief. The power had returned! He tilted his head back and sighed, feeling a heavy weight fall from his shoulders.

Wait, the lights aren’t on,
he realized.

His searching gaze scanned the room for some other switch that may restore the lights, but he found none. At least it was reassuring to finally be able to see his own hands in front of his face from the dull illumination of the console.

He turned to his mother, who again had not led him astray. He gazed at her beauteous nature, knowing with certainty that this benevolent being would guide him out of the darkness. “What should I do next?” he asked her.

The woman in white finally turned toward him, and her flowing brunette hair glowed with golden radiance and blew from in front of her face to reveal her visage – a mouthless, eyeless face with smooth skin and orbs of intense white light cradled within the deep eye sockets.

Regardless of these inhuman features, Henry gasped in awe at the overwhelming beauty he felt, a small tear forming at the corner of his eye.

Her eyeless gaze pierced into Henry’s soul, and her mouthless face spoke, “Charise…”

He waited for her to finish. He
needed
to know what she wanted him to do. It was his new purpose. “What about Charise?”

The apparition floated closer to him as she continued, her warm voice resonating throughout his body. “Charise… is not here… to help you…”

Henry stared into the globes of light within the all-knowing head. “Yes,” he said. “Charise is not here to help me.” He
knew
she was right, like it was never anything that needed questioning. He still cared deeply for Charise, though, and he did not want to harm her. He decided it would be best to avoid her at all costs.

She was not here to help him.

*     *     *

Charise felt her strength waning and didn’t know how much longer she could help Tom keep the door closed. A few times already, they had almost lost the battle, but they were able to regain their footing and secure it once again. “Tom…” she started.

He looked down at her with his warm eyes, a smile of sadness on his face. “I know,” he replied.

And no more words needed to be said between them. At the same time, they both released their weight from the door and stood back, Charise stumbling from dizziness. They stood tall with honor and prepared for the end that was never supposed to come on this night. Tom reached over, placed a friendly hand in hers, and squeezed.

And then nothing happened.

Relentless pounding assaulted the door from inside The Alley, but it didn’t budge an inch, the lock now fully engaged. They now noticed that Stanley’s console was illuminated, and the security monitors had resumed functioning.

“Would you look at that?” Tom said, thankful for the stroke of good luck.

When Charise realized they weren’t about to be torn apart limb from limb by the vicious insane, she shook her hand out of his and balanced herself against the console. “You quit with that shit! Don’t be gettin’ all sappy with me!”

Tom grinned, taking no offense from her sourpuss antics. “The lights are still off, but at least the rest of the power is back. You should sit down and rest while I go get medical supplies. Then I can check the—.”

But Charise was already waving her hand dismissively in his face. “Like hell you will. I ain’t helpless. You think I ain’t never been stabbed? I grew up in south Chicago!”

Tom sighed, an eyebrow raised. “You’ve been stabbed before?” he challenged.

“Well…” she hesitated, her eyes darting away from him. “I
knew
somebody that did. But that ain’t here nor there, so quit your talkin’ and let’s get movin’!”

“Moving where?”

“We gotta find Li’l Bobby,” she said as she started limping down the hallway, her flashlight aimed forward.

*     *     *

Henry followed his mother down the dimly lit corridors, finding light only from lock pads, exit signs, and vending machines in the lounges. He thought briefly about grabbing that cola for Charise, but then he remembered that she was not here to help him.

He now stood in the main vestibule that allowed access to the three separate wings of the penitentiary. Mother floated to the center of the room and pointed at the ground: a blood trail. He knew that she expected him to follow it, though he wasn’t sure to where it would lead.

As he proceeded, Mother continued down the hall alongside him. He felt as if her loving arm were wrapped around his shoulder, as she would do when he was young. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, to feel her smooth skin and revel in her embrace, but he knew that she was incorporeal and, therefore, intangible.

Only a fool would believe a man could embrace a ghost!

As they rounded the corner ahead, Mother halted, and her illumination pulsed brightly, causing Henry to stop and look up at her, awaiting instruction. Her arm slowly rose and pointed ahead of them.

Heading down the hallway was a badly injured Charise and the security guard, Tom. His plan to avoid her had obviously failed; the asylum was only so big, really, so stumbling upon her had been inevitable.

“Charise!” he called out.

At the sound of his voice, Charise exhaled, “Li’l Bobby! Thank the Lord Jesus! I was just—,” but she cut herself off as she turned to face him, her eyes growing large.

Henry’s expression was unreadable to her, but next to him, Mother pulsed ever brighter and gave the chilling command with her mouthless face. “Kill… Charise…”

He looked at his portly friend, a small pang of guilt flicking in his chest, then back up at Mother for clarification.

“Kill!”
she demanded.

Pushing his glasses solidly up onto the bridge of his nose, Henry faced the frightened Charise once more, sure of what must be done. He knew that Mother was right. This was the only way.

After all, Mother knows best.