We Are Monsters (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

The police came after Devon with their guns drawn, nearly causing a riot in the hallway of Sugar Hill. Patients scattered, squawking, flailing their arms like quail being flushed from a field. Orderlies chased after them and tried to instill order as the police formed a circle around Devon and forced him to face the wall.

Eli had been sitting alone outside, reflecting on his ruined staff meeting while staring at the stone maiden filling the fountain. Miranda's pool.

He had, therefore, not received the cop's cursory warning call. When he heard the commotion, he came running up the hallway, weaving through the startled patients, nearly too stunned to talk.

“What is this?” he said when he reached the nearest officer. The man's head was shaved in a flattop that showed his pink scalp. Loose skin was bunched together in a series of rolls at the base of his neck. He looked bored as he watched two other policemen drive Devon into the wall, while a third wrenched his arms behind his back in order to apply handcuffs.

“Stand back, sir,” the officer said, placing a heavy hand against Eli's chest, shoving him backwards. The weariness he had felt just moments before was replaced with a wash of adrenaline. He swatted the officer's hand aside and stepped forward, getting right into his face.

“I'm not going to step aside. I'm in charge of this hospital. Tell me what's going on.”

The officer inched forward, his rotund belly pressing against Eli's like a cannonball. “We have a warrant to bring this man in for questioning. I advise you, sir, not to interfere.”

“On what charge?”

“Murder.”

Eli's eyes flashed wide. The surge of adrenaline left him like a reverse tide. He turned and stared at the side of Devon's face that was not smashed against the wall. “Jesus,” he said. “Of whom?”

“A former employee and outpatient of yours.” The officer looked at Eli with disdain, as though he were partly to blame. “Jerry Drexler.”

“I didn't do shit!” Devon yelled when he saw Eli talking with the officer. “Hey, Dr. Alpert! I been here all day. Man, tell them I didn't do this shit.”

Devon's outburst provoked a series of wild hoots from the riled-up patients. Suddenly, it seemed as though the whole hallway was jostling.

The scene took on a surreal quality, almost like déjà vu. The colors turned dull, the sound became muted. Everything slowed way down. Eli shook his head and tried to focus as his vision took on a grimy film. “When?” he said, the word resounding hollowly in his ears.

“When what?”

“Jerry. The… When did it happen?”

Devon's dulled screams were fading farther away. The officer reached out and gripped Eli by the elbow. His expression softened. He now looked concerned.

“Hey. You okay, there?” the officer said.

Eli's knees buckled and he staggered forward.

At the same time, Devon pushed back from the wall and began struggling against the men arresting him.

This reignited the patients into a wild frenzy. The orderlies were hopeless against the horde as they rushed forward, colliding into Eli and the officer from behind.

The officer released Eli and he went sprawling to the ground, his face crashing against the floor. The linoleum tiles smelled of scoured rubber. They felt gritty against his face. He barely felt the feet trampling on top of him, rocking his limp body back and forth as the light dimmed from white to grey to nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Angela was finishing up in the bathroom when she heard the commotion. Her bowels were rebelling from the night before. She washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy. Her skin was red and dry, her hair lank. The lack of sleep was finally catching up with her.
Why do you do this to yourself?
she asked herself for the thousandth time.

She stood, staring into her eyes, seeking out the strength she knew was there. Somewhere inside. The part of her that performed so well at work. The part of her so capable of helping others, yet still bent on destroying itself.
Where does the one person end and the other begin?

The commotion continued. In fact, it was escalating. She turned off the faucet and waited for it to pass. She wasn't sure her head could take it.

It didn't pass. It continued to swell, taking on an even more riotous tone. Something was wrong.

She opened the door and started off towards the patients' wing. Now that she could hear the screaming more clearly, she quickened her step. She stuck her head into Eli's office. It was empty. Farther down, she checked in on Alex's. He wasn't there. She raced to the end of the hallway and scanned her keycard to access the patients' area. She went through.

A few patients were wandering the hallway, clutching their heads and crying. But the main commotion was coming from around the corner, down by the nurses' station.

When she rounded the corner, she stopped, stunned. She had never seen Sugar Hill so out of control. The orderlies, far outnumbered, were being overwhelmed by a swarm of patients rushing towards what appeared to be a team of police. She started forward, slowly, wondering what she could do to contain the patients. Trying to determine how best to help diffuse the situation.

Then she glimpsed something on the ground. A path parted between a sea of legs and she saw Eli lying head down, his face turned towards her. His eyes were open, but empty. They looked straight through her. His head was being stomped like a soccer ball as people scrambled over and around him and the police fought to push them back. His body was caught in the middle of the scrum.

Angela shot forward, seeing Eli's face through tunnel vision. Everything else faded into the distance. She had reached the edge of the scrum when someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping arms around her waist and lifting her up into the air. She kicked her feet and squirmed as she was carried back down the hallway, then thrown into a patient's room. She landed and spun around.

Crosby was shutting the door. He turned around, leaned back against it and looked down at her. He was breathing heavily. Blood leaked from his nose. She must have hit it with her head as she squirmed to break loose. He wiped a hand across his lip, smearing the blood against his cheek, staining his whiskers red. When he saw the blood on his hand he smiled.

“I see you,” he said. He bounced off the door and stalked towards her. His smile held no humor, his eyes lacked humanity. Crosby was not there. Something else had taken over. “You don't think I do, but I do.” He pointed at her, accentuating each word with a thrust of his finger. “I. See. You.”

Angela got a knee underneath her and started to rise. She saw Crosby prepare to spring, and froze. She held up her hand. She softened her eyes. “Everyone seems a bit excited right now. Let's not let our emotions drive our actions, okay? Please, Crosby, take a seat. Let's talk.” She knew the smile she showed looked more sincere than it felt. It was one of her many skills.

It faltered, though, when he stepped forward and kicked her in the face. She fell backward. Her face felt cold where he had kicked her. She smelled metal and tasted it deep in the back of her throat. She groaned and looked up. He was hovering over her, straddling her with his legs.

“Think I don't know what's going on?” he said, peering down from above. His head eclipsed the overhead light, casting his face in shadow. “Think I don't know what this place is?”

The cold fire of the kick was now a hot throb, a heartbeat inside her head. “Crosby, there's nothing going on. Please don't hurt me.”

“Of course that's what you'd say. But you don't understand. I see.” He pointed to his eyes with a rigid finger, his lips contorting into a snarl. Spit flew when he screamed, “I see!” He grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed her head against the ground, then brought his foot down in the center of her stomach. “Lock me up in Satan's lair? Think I don't know where I am? Think I don't know why I'm here? But I'm not blind like the others. I see how things really are. I've got the divine light to guide me.”

He released her hair and she arched her back, gasping for air. Her throat bulged as it fought for oxygen. Just as she inhaled her first lung-shuddering breath, Crosby hop-stepped and kicked her in the ribs. She rolled into the kick and clutched her side. It didn't hurt nearly as much as her head, but she wanted to appear beaten, broken. Her hair fell across her face, providing a screen through which to peer. Crosby was still hovering over her, his face a red ball of rage.

He leaned closer. His lips peeled back, revealing clenched rows of bloodstained teeth, and he hissed until his face began to shake. Spittle flew and gnarled veins writhed up the front of his neck. His face looked like it was about to pop from the pressure.

Then he opened his mouth and screamed. An insectile scream beyond the scope of human range that threatened to burst Angela's ears. It continued, rising in volume, lasting long after he should have run out of air. She was surprised by how loud her whimpering sounded when he finally stopped.

Crosby dropped down on top of her, straddling her with his knees. He put his hands around her throat, curled his fingers and squeezed. He made a sound like
hnnnnnnnggghhh
as he put all his force behind the choke, biting down on his white-encrusted tongue.

Angela's eyes bulged open. They felt like they were about to burst. Flecks of black appeared on the edge of her sight and expanded inwards. She began to pray for the first time since she was a little girl. To a God she felt had forsaken her, begging his forgiveness for a life of sin.

The door sprang open. An orderly rushed in. He launched forward and tackled Crosby from behind, ripping his hands from Angela's throat. They rolled when they hit the ground and Crosby wound up on top. He postured up and began raining punches down from above, striking the orderly on the side of the head and neck.

Angela stumbled to her feet. It felt like a knife was stuck in her side. She shuffled forward, hunched over, and wrapped an arm around Crosby's neck, allowing the orderly to scoot out from underneath him. Together, they tackled Crosby to the ground and fought to contain him. It took multiple elbows to Crosby's temple to get him subdued.

“Go get help,” the orderly said, panting. She hesitated, chest heaving. So many thoughts raced through her mind that they canceled each other out.

Crosby stirred, he opened his eyes. They locked on to Angela and he bared his teeth and began struggling again.

“Get the fuck out of here!” the orderly said.

Angela stood and hobbled out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Say that again?” Alex said, crinkling his face as though that would improve his hearing. He had just returned home from the police station. Rachel was upstairs, asleep on their bed. He couldn't believe it was only 4:30 p.m. The rules of natural law did not seem to apply to time today. He switched the phone to his other ear. “Hold on, I can hardly hear you. Did you say Eli was attacked?”

“No,
I
was,” Angela said, her voice a raspy whisper. “By Crosby. Eli's in the hospital, though.”

There were still five unheard messages awaiting Alex on his iPhone. He couldn't imagine what other blissful news they would bring.

“Look, I've got a bit of a situation here myself. I'll call you back as soon as I can.”

He canceled the call and closed his eyes. His phone began ringing again and he sent it directly to voice mail. Message number six.

He felt complicit in dramas beyond his comprehension, like he was on the tip of some winding gyroscope that was starting to wobble. He didn't know how to hold it together or why the responsibility should fall to him. He hadn't done anything wrong. All he'd tried to do was help. And just when things were starting to get better, some psycho had come along and brought it all to an end. Had killed Jerry. Had murdered his brother.

Why?
Alex thought. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and twin images bloomed behind the lids. His brother's pale-blue face lying against the gurney. His ragged throat split wide. Jerry had never hurt another person in his life. Who would want him dead?

He realized that his father didn't know. And that he would soon find out. Find out that Jerry had died while under his care.

But he was murdered.
It wouldn't matter. In his father's eyes, he would somehow be to blame.

Alex opened his eyes and checked the rest of his messages. One was from Angela, another was from the morgue. The hospital where Eli was staying had called. So had a member of Sugar Hill's executive board—Steve Price, the grandson of one of the founding board members. Steve fancied himself an enterprising entrepreneur, although all he had managed to do up to this point in his life was squander half his trust fund on misguided ventures.

He was also the only other person affiliated with Sugar Hill who knew about his test trials. In fact, he had introduced Alex to an executive with Philax Pharmaceuticals, seeing the potential payout should the medicine ever make it to market. Alex hadn't spoken with him since his most recent experiment, but he was certain Philax had. Steve's message was brusque.

Great,
Alex thought.
Might as well get it over with.

“Hi, Alex,” Steve answered right away, sounding serious.

“Steve.”

“Christ, buddy, what a day.”

Alex snorted air through the speaker. “No shit,” he said.

“So, have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?”

“Eli. Who else?”

“No, not yet.” Alex walked to the wet bar and began fingering bottles. “Actually, I've been pretty tied up today with a family emergency. I haven't heard exactly what happened.”

Steve's laughter was hesitant at first; then it took on the warm delight of a professional gossip about to pop a virgin ear. “Full-scale riot. Patients and police fighting one another. Eli either fainted or was knocked out. He's being treated at the hospital for a concussion. One of the social-worker chicks was attacked, almost killed. It's a full-blown fucking mess, my friend.”

Alex couldn't understand why Steve was smiling. He could hear it in his voice through the phone.

“What were the police doing there?”

“Arresting one of the orderlies for murder. That's the icing on the cake.”

Murder?
Then it hit him. “Devon,” he said.

“Who?”

“The orderly who was arrested. Was his name Devon?”

“Fuck if I know. Some big-ass black guy is what I heard. Put up some kind of fight.”

Alex shook his head. He was certain that he'd run into Devon on his way over to Jerry's. While Jerry was still alive. It didn't make sense.

“You know what this means, don't you?” Steve said.

Alex didn't, but he kept quiet.

“Alex?”

“I'm here.”

“Buddy, Eli's out. He's completely lost control over the hospital. We're going to be recommending you as his replacement. It'll be announced at the board meeting. There will be a bit of transition period, but the job's basically yours. Congratulations.”

There wasn't much about the situation that felt celebratory. Perhaps it
was
time for Eli to move aside, but still. Not under these circumstances. “That's great,” Alex said, forcing himself to sound enthusiastic.

“Damn right it is. I told you we would make this happen. Now we can finally bring the hospital into the twenty-first century. Speaking of which, how are we coming along with our clinical trials? When will the meds be ready for market?”

Perhaps he
hadn't
spoken with the folks at Philax. “Still working through some kinks,” Alex said.

“Shit, Alex,” Steve said. “Damn it, that's not so good, buddy.”

Alex crunched the phone against his shoulder. Eli has been hospitalized, Angela assaulted, Devon arrested for murder, and this was the bad news? Alex felt the increasing weight of some responsibility he couldn't quite see.

Steve broke the silence with a sigh. “Look, here's the deal. It would greatly help your position here if you could hurry things along. Sugar Hill is going to take a major PR hit for this fiasco. We need to respond with a strong statement. Changing medical directors is one thing. Having a medical director who has pioneered one of the greatest therapeutic breakthroughs in the field of psychiatric medicine is quite another. Get the difference?”

“Sure,” Alex said.
And if my brother hadn't just been murdered you'd have the breakthrough you need.
Still, the refined formula had worked. At least for a while. “Philax is out, though. I've fixed the formula. It's ready. I just need funding.”

“Philax is out?”

Alex recalled the image of Mr. Connelly's panic-stricken face. “Ah yes. They're done.”

“That was my last contact, Alex.” Silence returned.

Another call beeped in and Alex checked Caller ID. It was Angela again. Silence persisted until the phone indicated that she had left a message.

“Well, you're just going to have to get creative,” Steve said.

“What does that mean?”

“That's for you to figure out. Here's the deal. I need you to prove to me that the formula works. You do that and I can get you funding. I can't get someone to front the research. Not again.”

“But how am I supposed to prove that it works, without someone to fund the research?”

“You'll have to figure it out. Listen to me. I pushed for you to get this position based on the understanding that you would be introducing this medicine. If that's not the case, we may have to reconsider our decision. Is that clear?”

The other line beeped again. Alex didn't even check it. “I'm with you,” he said to Steve and ended the call. Then he grabbed an unopened bottle of rye whiskey from the back of the wet bar and filled a glass to the brim.

“Here's to me,” he said to the empty room and took a fiery sip.