John Manning - The Killing Room

“We’re taking that?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Douglas grinned at her, flashing those dimples. “Sure. It’s a gorgeous day.”

Carolyn gulped. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she admitted.

Douglas’s smile only broadened. “Then maybe it’s time you were.” He handed her a helmet. “Strap it on, baby.”

Carolyn gave a little nervous laugh, then exchanged her bag, containing her notebooks and tape recorder, for the helmet. Douglas secured her bag into one of the side compartments of the bike as she awkwardly slipped the helmet onto her head. He smiled.

“Here, let me help you,” he said.

Tenderly he adjusted the strap under her chin, tightening it so it was snug but not uncomfortable. It was the closest they had yet been to each other. Their eyes locked.

“Feel okay?” he asked her.

Carolyn nodded.

He patted the black leather pillion on the motorcycle. “You hop up here and just hold onto my waist,” he instructed.

Carolyn hesitated. “I won’t pull you too much to one side? I mean, my weight won’t cause you to lose balance?”

Douglas laughed. “A slim little girl like you? I hardly think so.”

Carolyn swallowed, then lifted her leg over the bike. Good thing she was wearing jeans today and low shoes. Douglas followed, settling himself in front of her. She gingerly placed her hands on his waist.

“Hang on!” he called, then started the bike with a roar.

In moments they were zooming down the long driveway and onto the road that led down the side of the hill into the village. Carolyn gripped Douglas tighter around the waist, her face pressed against his back. She was filled with both terror and excitement-terror that she might fall off or cause the bike to topple over, and excitement from the wind in her face and the intimacy of Douglas’s body. She realized halfway down the hill that her eyes were squeezed shut. She forced herself to open them and looked around and was rewarded by the sight of the shimmering Atlantic off to her right. Soon they were zipping through the center road of Youngsport, past the little shops and white clapboard village church.

“You okay back there?” Douglas shouted through the wind.

“I’m wonderful,” Carolyn replied.

She was grinning widely. She relaxed her grip around Douglas’s waist a bit and settled into her seat to enjoy the ride. Douglas was steering the bike onto the highway now. A tractor trailer rumbled by, and Carolyn flinched a bit. But then the road opened up, and it seemed as if they were the only ones traveling that day. The sun was at ten o’clock overhead. The towering pines on either side of the highway were a deep blue-green. A hawk soared above her through the clear sky. Carolyn smiled again.

She enjoyed being so close to Douglas. For the first time since David, she was feeling drawn to a man. She watched as Douglas’s blond hair blew in the breeze. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, which worried her a bit. But she had a sense of safety being with him. Nothing bad would happen to them with Douglas at the wheel.

It was almost enough to make her forget what had brought them together. As they sped down the highway, she could pretend that they were just a couple of people enjoying the morning. She was on a date with a guy she liked. That was all. They weren’t going to meet a woman whose life had been shattered by a malevolent, murderous force that had lived in the basement of an old house for eighty years.

Carolyn leaned to her right as Douglas gradually slowed the bike down and steered them off an exit ramp. At the end of the ramp, he went left, rattling across a bumpy country lane. They couldn’t have been going more than twenty or thirty miles an hour. The fragrance of pine was thick here, and in some places the trees were so tall and so thick that they blocked out the morning sun completely. After about fifteen minutes, Douglas turned right onto an even bumpier road, slowing down to about ten miles an hour. “Hang on,” he shouted to Carolyn over his shoulder. She obeyed.

Finally they came to a stop outside a large gate made of stone and wrought iron. On the arch over the gate was the word WINDCLIFFE.

“Hello,” Douglas said to the guard seated in the booth. “I’m Douglas Young. We have an appointment to see-”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Young,” the guard said, and the gate in front of them magically swung open.

They buzzed through, parking in a space in an area marked VISITORS. Carolyn got off the bike and removed the helmet.

“That was fun,” she admitted.

Douglas smiled. “Maybe sometime I can take you for a ride when we’re just out for a day of fun.”

She returned the smile. “I’d like that.”

They said nothing more as they approached the entrance of the place. Windcliffe Sanitarium was an old stone fortress built high on a crag overlooking the ocean. The lobby was sumptuously elegant, with an enormous chandelier and polished marble, not unlike the entrance to Mr. Young’s house. No wonder he’d chosen this place for his niece. A bespectacled woman behind the front desk looked up at them without any emotion. When Douglas told her who he was and who he was there to see, she seemed to snap to attention, a wide smile stretching across her face. She rang for someone to meet them. Carolyn had a suspicion that Howard Young was Windcliffe’s most important benefactor.

“Mr. Young,” came the voice of an old woman hurrying down the corridor. For her apparent years, she moved quite swiftly. She wore a conservative plaid skirt and matching blazer. Her gray hair was swept back into a severe bun. Her hand was extended. “Welcome to Windcliffe.”

Douglas shook her hand.

“I’m Dr. Hoffman,” she said. “Your uncle telephoned yesterday to let me know you’d be here.” Her eyes moved over to Carolyn. “Is this your wife?”

Carolyn blushed. “No,” she said, shaking the doctor’s hand herself. “I’m Carolyn Cartwright. A…friend of the family.”

Dr. Hoffman smiled. “Welcome. Come this way.”

She led them back down the corridor.

“Jeanette is up and waiting for you,” she said. “We told her yesterday that she was having visitors.”

“Was there any response at all?” Douglas asked.

Dr. Hoffman smiled sadly. “No. There never is.”

Douglas exchanged a glance with Carolyn.

“But her friend Michael O’Toole is here. I called him to let him know you were coming. And Michael said he believes she does know that she’s having visitors. Michael has a connection with Jeanette that is really quite uncanny.”

“Michael O’Toole?” Douglas asked.

The doctor smiled as they turned at the end of the corridor and headed into another wing of the building. Here the rooms were farther apart, and the carpet was thicker and richer. Carolyn deduced it was the section reserved for wealthier patients.

“Michael has been coming to visit Jeanette ever since she first came here,” Dr. Hoffman said. “Three or four times a week. They were to be married, you know, before she had her breakdown.”

“No,” Douglas said. “I didn’t know.”

They stopped outside a door at the end of the hall. The plate outside the door read SUITE 1. YOUNG.

The doctor knocked.

The door was almost immediately opened by a stout, balding man with bright red cheeks and thick black glasses. He smiled wide when he saw them.

“Hello, hello,” he said, gesturing for all to enter.

The suite was quite large. It looked nothing like a hospital room. There were easy chairs and a sectional sofa, and an enormous painting of what looked like Yale University on the wall. Books lined the shelves, and framed family photographs were everywhere. A flat-screen television was mounted on the wall. But somehow Carolyn felt the books were never read, the TV never watched.