David Bell - Never Come Back

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but what was it that upset him so much about your visit?”

Beth hugged herself against the cool air. We had left her house in a hurry, and she was wearing only a light sweater. It had a dark stain on the front. I thought it might be coffee, then realized it might be Neal’s blood. I looked down. I had some on my jeans and shirt as well. We’d make a pretty sight walking into a mental health facility after dark.

“It’s stupid, really,” she said. “Stupid on my part. I wanted to talk about Mom. I didn’t have anyone else I could do that with because I didn’t know you yet. I had read in the paper that Ronnie had been taken into custody or whatever, so I wanted to see him.”

“What if you’d run into one of us?” I asked. “Me or… or Paul.”

“I went at an off hour, hoping no one would be there. But you know, I kind of wanted to run into one of you. God… Paul. He’s my uncle. He was my favorite uncle all those years ago. Such a sweet, sweet man.” She shook her head. “It’s strange. I never wanted to come back when I was young. But now I kind of just wanted to belong to a family again.”

“And it was too much for Ronnie?”

“He was pretty doped up,” Beth said. “I think he thought I was Mom. When he started to flip out, I just left. I couldn’t handle it. I hated to think I brought him any pain.”

“He’s tough too,” I said. “And understanding.”

The door was locked, so I rang the buzzer. A young nurse I had never seen before came to the door and pointed at her watch. She spoke to us through the thick glass. I had hoped to see Janie, but she wasn’t in sight—she must have been out having fun with her girlfriends.

“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse said. “We open at seven tomorrow.”

“We’re not here to visit anyone,” I said. “We just want to talk to you.”

The nurse gave us both the once-over. She took in our tired features and frazzled looks. Who knows if she saw the blood? She stepped away and made a phone call. I knocked again, and when she looked, I made a waving gesture toward the door.

“Come on,” I said.

The nurse didn’t budge. Instead a trim and fit security guard, a young black man with a razor-thin goatee and a shiny gold badge, came over to the door. He approached us with his thumbs hooked in his belt. He meant business.

“I don’t like cops very much,” Beth said as he walked up.

“He’s a rent-a-cop.”

“Those are the worst,” she said. “They have the most to prove.”

The guard didn’t hesitate. He pushed the door open and used his body to block the opening.

“Visiting hours are over, ladies.” His voice sounded surprisingly high, almost effeminate. I didn’t know whether that put me at ease or gave further support to Beth’s theory.

“I know that,” I said. I tried to smile, to look harmless and pretty. The guy was about my age. Shouldn’t he fall for that stuff? “We just need to talk to the nurse and look at your logbook. You know, the one where guests sign in.”

He shook his head. “You have to come back in the morning and talk to the supervisor. Her name is Miss Hicks.”

“You know Janie Rader, right?” I asked. “She’s a friend of mine.”

He shook his head again. “I can’t comment on our personnel. But you can speak to Miss Hicks in the morning.”

“I don’t really have that much time,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Everyone has an emergency.”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“Miss Hicks. Seven a.m.”

He started to shut the door, so I stuck my hand out, stopping it.

“Now wait—”

“Ma’am—”

“Just listen—”

“Elizabeth,” Beth said. “Maybe we should—”

“If he’d just listen,” I said. “Just listen. My brother was here. And they say he tried to kill himself, but I don’t think it’s true. And I need to see—”

“Ma’am,” the guard said. “Lots of folks got troubles.”

“But my brother— our brother—Ronnie, he’s in the other hospital because they say he tried to kill himself, but I think someone tried to kill him.”

The pressure on the door eased. Something softened in the guard’s face. The hard lines and edges of his mouth and jaw relaxed.

“Ronnie?” he asked.

“Yes, Ronald Hampton.”

“Your brother is Ronnie Hampton?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Do you know him?”

“They told me Ronnie tried to kill himself with pills,” the guard said. There was a long pause. I kept my mouth shut and just waited. “Ronnie’s my buddy. We watched the baseball play-offs on TV together.”

“Right,” I said. “He loves baseball.”

The guard looked me over again. His eyes stopped on my pants, the bloodstain. Then he said, “There’s no way Ronnie would do himself in.” He stepped back. “Come on. What do you need help with?”

The security guard told us his name was Edgar. He said he didn’t realize Ronnie had two sisters, that Ronnie had only ever mentioned one.

Beth nodded toward me. “Ronnie always liked her best.”

As we approached the nurse’s station, the nurse who had shooed us away—and had apparently summoned the guard—seemed nervous. She had large brown eyes like polished stones. I didn’t say anything to her right away. I looked up and down the counter, trying to find what I needed.

“Can I help you with something?” the nurse said.

“The book where everyone signs in?” I asked. “Where did it go?”

“It’s back here,” the nurse said.

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“Who are you?” the nurse asked. “Edgar, do you know these people?”

“They’re Ronnie Hampton’s people,” Edgar said.

“Look,” I said. “The book isn’t a secret. It’s usually sitting right here. Every time I’ve been here, I’ve been able to see whoever signed in ahead of me. Can I just look at it? We’re trying to help someone.”

“My father,” Beth said. “We need to know if he was here.”

The nurse still didn’t move. “I just started last week…”

I leaned over the counter. “It’s right there,” I said, pointing. “I could reach over and take it myself.”

The nurse eyed the book but stayed firmly in place.

“Would you prefer that?” I asked. “Would you prefer if I just took it? Maybe you stepped down the hall to get a drink of water or a snack, and I came in here and took it.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I leaned over and grabbed the book. I flipped back a couple of pages and moved closer to Beth. “It must have been sometime this morning.”

With Beth by my side, I scanned through the list of signed names and the times. I didn’t see Gordon’s name, which was no surprise.

“He probably used a fake name,” Beth said.

“Do you recognize his handwriting?” I asked.

She took the book and studied the signatures. Her lip curled in frustration as she did. “It’s been so long,” she said.

“I know.”

“Since I was a kid.” She pointed at one. “Maybe that. I don’t know.”

It read, Stan Smith .

“Sounds made up,” I said. “Do either of you know who Stan Smith is? Is there a patient named Smith?”

The nurse looked confused. “I just started.”

Edgar said, “Oh, yeah. Esther Smith. Down the hall. Her husband comes to see her all the time.”

“Did you work this morning?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m on a double shift.”

“Did Ronnie have any visitors in the evening?” I asked.

“Hmm. I’m not sure. There was a lot going on.”

“I’ll be specific. A fat little white guy with a thick neck. Sort of looks like a giant bullfrog.”