We Are Monsters (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Alex heard Eli talking with some nurses in the hallway.

The phone had not been his friend lately, bringing nothing, it seemed, but bad news. He was relieved nonetheless by the timing of this current call. He saw Eli peek in through the window just as he pressed the receiver to his ear, and blew out a pent-up breath as Eli moved on.

“I understand congratulations are in order, Dr. Drexler. Chief Medical Director. That's got a nice ring to it, wouldn't you say?”

It was Bob Bearman, the chairman of the board. He had been surveying the hospital during Eli's absence, assessing its condition. The Bearman family had made their money farming peaches before getting into politics. The man had no formal experience in psychiatry, but that hadn't kept him from obtaining the hospital's highest rank. As he said, “Let the shrinks handle the madhouse. Leave the business to the businessmen”. And it was through this mentality that many of Sugar Hill's decisions had historically been made.

Fortunately, Eli's regime had made Sugar Hill one of the most successful state-run hospitals in the nation. But “times they were a-changin”, and Mr. Bearman hadn't been especially discreet about the board's pending decision to out Eli and replace him with Alex. The word had spread like wildfire throughout Sugar Hill while Eli was away.

“Well, thank you, sir. I don't know that it's been officially announced, however.”

Mr. Bearman sounded like he lived with a peach pit perpetually lodged in his gullet and was constantly attempting to clear it from his throat. “Oh, don't give me that unofficially, officially horse jizz. You're our guy. All that's left is pure formality.”

“You mean telling Eli.”

“Eli's been out nursing a damn headache because he couldn't keep the crazies under control. I got more pressing problems on my plate than worrying about him.”

Mr. Bearman's heavy, congested breathing filled the line. His chest phlegm quaked. “Look, I won't lie. This is going to cause a stir. Especially in light of recent events. We need to get out ahead of this thing. We need to decide how this thing's going to be scripted out, and you're going to play a big part in that.”

“Certainly. I'm happy to do whatever's needed.”

“That's good. That's what I like to hear.” Mr. Bearman rattled the peach pit around in his throat. “I have it on good authority that you've created some kind of miracle drug to cure mental maladies.”

Alex sat straight up in his chair. A painful electrical current coursed through his entire body.
Goddamn Steve!

“Well…”

“Look, I know it's hush-hush…”

Yeah well, it's too bad your lips are looser than a geriatric nymphomaniac.

“…but that's going to be what gets us through this temporary period of turbulence. We need you to put it to work.”

The painful electrical current came back for a second pass. “I'd be happy to, sir, but the medicine hasn't been formally approved for consumption. I'll need to conduct successful clinical trials before we take it to market.”

“Sure, that's fine. That's what I mean.”

Alex slumped forward, relieved.

“I've got that all taken care of.”

Alex lifted his head. His body snaked upward like a cobra to the tune of a charmer's flute. “Well, that's great.”

“You're damn right it is. Now all you got to do is prove that it works. It does work, don't it?”

The stronger formula and heavier dose had effectively cured Jerry before he'd been…what? Killed by a man who wasn't there, accompanied by a dog that was dead. Problems for another day.

“Yeah, it works all right. It's unbelievable, actually. Groundbreaking. It regulates levels of a particular neurochemical compound located—”

“All right, all right. Look, I don't need all the damn scientific details. I just need to know that we can rely on you to make this work. Do I have your assurance?”

Alex knew that his professional future with Sugar Hill hinged on his answer to this question. And that this was likely his last real opportunity to get his medicine approved for therapeutic use, which would alleviate all his financial troubles. “You have my guarantee. So, where will we be conducting the test trials?”

“Where? What do you mean, where? Seems like you have a perfectly suitable test lab right there.”

“What, here?”

“Yes, there! You do work at a mental hospital, don't you? You do have patients to treat, don't you? Well, treat them. That's what I'm talking about. You start to show positive outcomes for your patients. Groundbreaking results, as you said yourself, well then we got ourselves quite a nice story to tell. Eli will be old news. That poor girl getting herself nearly killed won't matter so much. Especially when her assailant makes such an astonishing recovery. That's the story we're going to write, you hear me? And you're going to be the damn author.”

“You want me to test the medicine on Crosby?”

“He's your patient, ain't he?”

“Yes, but…”

“So, what's the problem?”

Alex's mind searched for an excuse and came up empty. Crosby was as good a candidate as any. But he was a news story. If something happened to go wrong, there was a chance it could go public. But publicity seemed to be what Bearman wanted, assuming that it would all go well. Which it would. The formula had been fixed. It was a matter of maintenance, which he would be on hand to administer.

“Nothing. It's just that he recently committed an assault. Charges may be filed against him. Wouldn't it be better to work with someone a bit more stable? You know, hedge our bets a little?”

“Look, either your medicine works or it doesn't. You say it does. Then it shouldn't matter who we choose. That Crosby fella makes the most sense from a political standpoint. Plus, he's put up in solitary confinement, so you have an isolated space to perform the tests without getting any interference from other patients. It's the most controlled environment you're going to find.”

Bearman cleared his throat. “Listen, Alex, I don't think you fully appreciate what we're doing for you here. Frankly, I'm surprised to hear any reservations from your end. Just do your job and everything will be fine. Or maybe we should be looking for someone else.”

“No! No, no. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I am
very
grateful. This is all great, really. I just… Things have been crazy lately.”

“I heard about your brother. Killed by an orderly, from what I hear. That's another knock against Eli, you ask me. Hiring a killer to protect hospital staff. Not such a good move.”

Devon couldn't have done it, you big, fat malignant fucking tumor!
“Yeah, well, I'm honored to have your trust and to be given this opportunity. I won't let you down.”

“I'm sure you won't. I have your guarantee, after all. I'll expect to see progress at next week's board meeting.”

Mr. Bearman ended the call. Alex looked at the receiver as though he'd never seen one before. He was being handed everything he'd ever wanted. He should be tap dancing on his desk. But there was something about the offer that didn't sit right with him.

It was the way Eli was being treated. It felt like an insult after all the good he'd accomplished for the hospital and its patients.

His career has run its course,
Alex thought.
Hell, even I was undermining his trust. Conducting the test trials behind his back. A confrontation like this was simply a matter of time. This was the only real conclusion, no matter what.

In fact,
Alex thought,
this is even better. Let Mr. Bearman and the board shoulder the blame. I was just following orders. And, it's not like Eli hadn't screwed up, either. It's not like he shouldn't have seen this coming. I'm just being sensitive, is all. Just being a good friend.

There was no way his father could call him a failure anymore. Not once he became the Chief Medical Director at one of the nation's oldest and most respected state hospitals. Not once news got out about his miracle cure.

If only he'd had a chance to show how it had saved Jerry.

Chapter Thirty

It wasn't fear that Angela felt. Sure, she was nervous. But in an excitable way. It was more like the feeling you get before jumping from a high dive or speaking in public or unzipping the pants of some stranger you've decided to fuck.

Crosby had taken his best shot at her and come up short. She had to show him that she wasn't defeated. That she wasn't afraid. Danger came with the territory. It was likely what attracted her most to the job. And, despite his attack, Angela was still committed to helping Crosby recover. He hadn't attacked her because he was evil. He'd done it because he was sick. And it was her job to help him get well.

They were trying to remove him from her care, but she wouldn't let them. They owed her as much.

She reached into the medicine cabinet, bypassing the Tylenol and grabbing the bottle of high-strength Percocet instead. Her face still hurt from where Crosby had kicked her. Her pussy was sore from a recent one-night stand. Battered or not, she'd still found time to party. Angela shook her head, thinking about the snippets of fuzzy memory from the last few nights that still caused residual shame.

She popped open the top to the pill bottle and scooped one out, then another.
Fuck it,
she thought and took out two more. She put them in her mouth and swallowed. She closed the door and left the medical-supply room, turning and making her way to meet Alex, where he stood waiting for her outside Crosby's isolated cell.

Chapter Thirty-One

The forensics wing of the hospital was separated by a series of electronically locked doors that were under constant video surveillance. The main reception area was monitored by armed guards. This was the part of the hospital devoted to Sugar Hill's most violent mentally ill patients, home to the criminally insane.

Angela passed her keycard through the final scanner and showed her ID badge to the guard manning the reception desk. He handed her a sign-in form, which she filled out.

“You the one he got to, huh?” the guard said. His blond hair was spiked in the back, as though he'd just awoken from a nap. He was chewing gum. It crackled in the small confines of the reception space. Despite its minty freshness, his breath smelled stale.

Angela signed her name. “Which way?” she said.

The guard sighed and raised his eyebrows. The gum switched sides. “Come on, now. A little thing like you, they'll eat you alive. Let me be your escort.” His eyes scanned down the length of her body, settling on her legs. “You may need someone to watch your back.”

“That's okay.” She licked her thumb before grabbing a sheet of paper. “Besides, you look busy.”

“Nah, I can—”

Angela began ripping sheets of paper from the registration form and letting them flutter to the floor.

“Aw hell. He's back down there in solitary. Room 13C. Now, stop that already.”

“Thanks.” She dropped the clipboard that held the rest of the sign-in forms and started walking towards solitary row.

The forensics wing was like an underground barracks. Lacking windows, it was filled with harsh artificial light. Beastly screams echoed down from distant chambers. When the bellows faded the fluorescent bulbs buzzed like electric insect traps. Angela's shoes created a hollow clomping in the cavernous acoustics of the concrete tunnels. She couldn't shake the feeling of being followed.

For at least thirty years, people had reported seeing ghosts in this section of the hospital. Two in particular. One was claimed to be the spirit of a serial killer who had been convicted of raping then killing over thirty young men and keeping their mummified corpses arranged throughout his house like mannequins. He was known to have taunted the male guards while he was alive, revealing himself in obscene ways, fondling guards whenever he could get his hands free.

He was found beaten to death in his locked cell. His penis and testicles had been smashed to an unrecognizable pulp. So had his face. No one had ever been charged with the attack.

He was said to taunt the male guards still, locking them in empty cells, violating them from beyond the grave. It had been a decade since anyone had claimed to have heard the story firsthand, but once every few years a young male guard would wind up getting locked in an empty cell, traumatized and panicked, and would inexplicably quit.

The other ghost was supposed to be the spirit of a young mother of six children, ages ranging from infant to eight years. Police were called in when neighbors began to worry that they had gone missing. They were gone, but not missing. The mother had killed each one and eaten them. She was caught wearing their bones, which had been bleached clean.

People claimed to see her walking the hallways holding her stomach as though hungry, and to hear the macabre clacking of her skeletal jewelry.

Casting aside the historical lore, Crosby was one of Sugar Hill's more notorious patients from a media point of view. The salacious nature of his crimes—and sinister moniker assigned to him by a local journalist—had captured national attention, although the story had achieved greater coverage down here in the Southlands. It had provoked a public debate on the treatment of mental illness and whether or not the insane should answer for their crimes.

And, for a brief period, it had drawn people from neighboring Bible-belt counties, who came to protest Crosby's sentence, or lack thereof. Angela had found it sad. These people, who claimed to have such deep religious faith, seemed to have forgotten the teachings of their Scripture, reverting back to a more archaic gospel. Tooth for a tooth. Eye for an eye. Soul for a soul.

Angela knew that she may be a sinner, but at least she wasn't a hypocrite. Hell, Christ himself had hung out with plenty of drunks and loose women in his day. And who had ever performed a better party trick than turning water into wine. Jesus was okay, as far as Angela was concerned, although she didn't think too many of his followers would like to hear her reasons why.

She turned down the hallway leading from general housing to the row of solitary cells. She had to pass through another locked doorway to get there. When the door closed behind her it felt as though she had entered an abandoned bomb shelter. The overhead lighting was dim, as though the hospital was unwilling to expend undue energy on this wing. The hallway was narrow and long. The cell doors were all lined up against one wall, separated by several feet of stone preventing noise traveling from one patient to the next.

The thick metallic doors had sliding panels to look through, but they were all closed, sealing the patients inside. She wondered how each patient was passing the time in their small, solitary cells, and shivered. It got cold all of a sudden, and she found herself listening for the sound of clacking bones.

Alex was waiting at the far end of the hallway, standing before the last cell. He turned towards the sound of her clomping shoes and held up his hand.

Angela hadn't seen him since Jerry's death and her assault. She didn't know whether to hug him or shake his hand. Who was supposed to console whom? She walked forward with outstretched arms just as he looked down and began fishing in his pocket for a key. He noticed her gesture and looked up just as she dropped her arms and retreated, crossing her arms awkwardly across her chest. Her face began to burn.

Alex arched an eyebrow. He managed to smirk. “Come here often?” he said, parroting a cheesy pickup line.

“On occasion. They've got decent happy-hour specials most Friday nights.”

Alex looked around as though inspecting the scene. “Seems pretty dead tonight.”

“It caters to an exclusive clientele.”

“An eclectic bunch, from what I hear.”

“Yeah, it can get pretty rowdy.”

“Just my kind of place.”

If you only knew,
Angela thought, and her smile fell away.

Alex stepped forward, observing the bruises on Angela's face. He used a finger to lift her chin and inspected the purple thumbprints on her neck. “Not too bad,” he said. “I expected worse.”

“It wasn't nearly as bad as people are making it out to be.”

Alex scrutinized her through unbelieving eyes. “Right,” he said.

“I'm serious. There was no reason to have him removed from my care. I'm more than capable—”

Alex raised his hand to stop her. “No need to beat a dead horse. You've made your case. That's why we're here.”

Her heartbeat had quickened when she felt the need to defend herself. She wanted to appear calm when she met Crosby, however. Then she remembered Jerry's death. She reached her hand out and caressed his arm. “How about you? You doing okay?”

Alex's sardonic laugh sounded like a sneeze. “Peachy,” he said.

She offered a sympathetic expression. “Hey, wait,” she said, growing more excited. “I heard some good news about you through the grapevine.”

Alex held a finger to his lips.

Angela looked around. The hallway was empty. The soundproof rooms were occupied by the state's least trustworthy witnesses. Still, she lowered her voice.

“Well?” she said.

“We'll talk later.” He pulled a set of keys from his coat pocket, palming them. Then his face became serious. “You don't have to do this,” he said.

“I want to do this. I'm not giving up on him.”

Alex sighed. “No one would see it that way.”

Angela crossed her arms. “Do I need to beat the horse some more?”

Alex nodded. He lowered his head, thinking. Angela noticed that his hair had sprouted several new strands of grey. “Okay, okay,” he said, nodding again. He took a step closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need you to know that the board has taken a special interest in this particular patient.”

“Okay?” she said, her eyebrows coming together.

“They are wanting to use him as a…” he mentally rejected several politically insensitive phrases before saying, “…demonstration for the positive new direction that we're heading in.”

Angela offered a knowing smile and nudged his arm with her elbow.

Alex's responding smile hardly lasted a second. “They have authorized…no, they have
instructed
us to administer a new therapeutic medicine that is in the exploratory stage of development. This is highly confidential. No one else can know about it. Especially Eli. Is that understood?”

“Sure. My only goal is to get him the best care possible. If this new treatment plan will help him get well, I'm all for it. I have no problem keeping it quiet.”

“I mean it. No one can know.”

“That's fine. For how long?”

“I don't know. That depends.”

“On what?”

“Look, I don't know. I think it's more complicated than the board realizes. For now, let's just focus on what we need to do to prepare Crosby for the new treatment plan.” He flipped through the keys until he found the right one. “And getting you out of here without another black eye.”

“Ha. Ha,” Angela said dryly, but it made her smile. She'd rather make light of what happened than turn it into some serious catastrophe. Violence occurred every day in the sane streets of every city. What did they expect from a mental asylum? All she knew was that she preferred this job with its potential for danger to working behind a desk.

“Okay. Let's see how our good friend's doing.” Alex inserted the key and unlocked the door. The bolt slamming back sounded like the crash of a hammer, it echoed down the hall. And then there was just the static buzzing of the overhead lights as the door before them eased open.

They entered.