Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Mark noted that Dr. Drexel had taken on a slightly different ‘personality’ as the interview began. She was good.

“It’s a sad time for us at the hospital,” Drexel continued. “I’m glad someone is taking an interest.”

“With the closure?”

“Yes. This building,” Drexel lifted her hands from her lap, palms up. She glanced up a bit as well. “.. this facility has been in existence since eighteen fifty-five.”

“Always as a psychiatric hospital?”

“Yes. At its peak it had over seven-hundred patients.”

“Can you tell me about some of those patients?” Mark asked.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t get into specific patient information due to privacy restrictions. What I can tell you is that many breaking edge treatments were developed. We helped a lot of people regain their lives…”

Mark glanced over at Ellen to confirm the camera’s red light was on. It was. He turned back to Dr. Drexel. “You couldn’t help everyone, though, could you? In fact, some of those treatments were detrimental, weren’t they?”

Dr. Drexel leaned back in her chair, her eyes drilling into Mark. She interlocked her fingers in front of her, clasping her hands together. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Mark leaned forward slightly in his chair: “Not to pick on your hospital, but psychiatry in general has had some… I guess I’ll say disputed moments.”

Dr. Drexel smiled. Mark took it as more of a sarcastic grin. He could tell she was going to try and defuse the discussion. She even laughed a little.

“It’s a science that has certainly evolved,” Drexel said, relaxing her hands in her lap. “Different techniques, different treatments have been developed. Some worked…”

“But some didn’t?” Mark interrupted. “Can you tell me about those?”

Dr. Drexel leaned forward. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with where this interview is headed. I thought you were here to cover the hospital’s closing?”

Mark read Drexel’s body position, posture, and tone. He knew he had to back off a bit, or she’d cut him off and the story would die before he got started. He leaned back, dropped his hands to his knees so she knew he wasn’t writing anything down. “I am, of course,” Mark assured her. “But I have to be honest. I grew up nearby. There were a lot of stories when I was a kid.”

“Why don’t we just focus on the hospital?” Drexel said. “We’ve done a lot of good here over the years.”

Drexel hadn’t taken the bait. Mark tried another ploy: “Okay. How about a tour while you tell me about the good things you’ve done?”

Drexel checked her watch. “I have some appointments to take care of, patients come first of course.”

“Of course,” Mark said.

“But,” Dr. Drexel continued, “you can certainly take a look around. We still have about a dozen inpatients in the north wing, so that’s off limits.” Dr. Drexel stood up and stepped toward the door. “Other than that, you’re free to check the place out. I really am glad you’re documenting this. I hope you’ll let me have a copy of your tape when you’re done.”

Mark stood and followed Dr. Drexel toward the door.

Ellen had shut off the camera and was pulling it off the tri-pod. “I’m sure we can do that,” she said to Dr. Drexel.

Mark glanced back and gave Ellen a harsh look.

Ellen spotted his look. She simply shrugged her shoulders as she folded the tripod.

Mark turned his smile back on and addressed Dr. Drexel: “We’ll have to check with our editor. You understand?”

Dr. Drexel held the door open for Mark to step through. “Of course,” she said.

As Mark stepped through, Drexel put her hand on his arm. The harsh demeanor she had previously displayed was replaced with a doctor’s look of concern. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

Mark couldn’t tell if her concern was genuine, or simply a ploy to gain his confidence. “Yes. Thanks,” Mark said.

Ellen stepped through the door, tripod in one hand and the camera hoisted over her shoulder.

Dr. Drexel locked the door behind her. She addressed Mark one more time: “Get a checkup. Could be low blood sugar. Have you been sleeping well?”

“I’m okay, really.” Mark said.

Drexel pulled a business card out of her lab coat pocket. “Here’s my card. Call me if you need anything. You, or your story.”

“Thanks,” Mark took the card. He and Ellen both shook Dr. Drexel’s hand.

Drexel pointed beyond her office, farther down the hallway. “The north wing is this way — patients only. Back toward the entrance and beyond is already empty. I recommend you start there.”

The hallway Mark had seen when he passed out. Great.

Drexel turned toward the north hallway, while Mark and Ellen headed back toward the entrance.

Mark could feel his blood pressure rising as he recalled what Ellen had told Dr. Drexel. He walked quickly as Ellen struggled to catch up with him. He waited until there was no one within earshot, then whispered sharply: “What was rule number one?”

Ellen was taken aback at his tone. She considered before replying: “You do all the talking,” she said.

“That’s right,” Mark said, still walking quickly. “You violated rule number one. Don’t do it again! And whatever you do, don’t promise anything. The subject never gets to look at the story before it’s aired. If Drexel got a look at the footage, she might see something she doesn’t like. Then she gets her lawyers involved, and that could screw everything.”

“Sorry,” Ellen said.

They approached the main entry, but Mark led them down a hallway that went behind the vestibule. Beyond was another hallway, cordoned off by chrome pylons and thick, velvet rope.

“Let’s take a look down there,” Mark said.

“Hang on,” Ellen said. She disappeared back toward the hospital entrance. When she returned, she wasn’t carrying the tripod.

“The receptionist is going to watch the tripod. Didn’t think I’d need to lug that thing around if we’re just shooting background footage.”

“Fine, whatever,” Mark said. He moved one of the pylons to let Ellen through, still carrying the camera on her shoulder.

Mark led the way down the hall, as Ellen followed — camera on. Mark slowed. The dark, mahogany paneling, closed doors, and sconce lighting seemed to close in on him. He loosened his tie to get some air. His steps slowed. “Déjà vu,” he said under his breath.

“Huh?” Ellen asked, taking her eye away from the camera eyepiece.

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “It just seems like I’ve seen this place before.”

“I always said I thought you were off your rocker,” Ellen said.

“I wondered who was spreading those rumors,” Mark said. He stopped at one of the closed doors. He reached for the antique, crystal knob. “Very familiar.” He paused before touching the knob, drew his hand back a few inches.

Mark looked back at Ellen. He took a deep breath, then turned to face the door again. He reached forward and grabbed the knob. He turned it and pushed. It didn’t budge. Mark exhaled slowly, then pulled his shaking hand away from the door. ”Locked.”

“I guess these were patients’ rooms,” Ellen said.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mark pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“What else would they be?” Ellen asked.

Mark turned to continue farther down the corridor. “Treatment rooms,” Mark said. He wondered why he said that… why he even thought that. Some kind of feeling deep down inside, a very dark feeling.

Mark tried several other doors as they moved farther down the hallway. All were locked. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of oak doors. Mark tried one — it opened to the outside.