Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Scott scanned the room with his flashlight. “Nothing here the patients could hurt themselves with.”

Ellen panned over to the bed. Leather straps were attached at both the head and foot. “Restraints?” she asked.

Scott nodded. “Like I said, the more challenged patients.”

Ellen ran her hand along the bed rail, thick with dust. “Reminds me of nightmares.”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Someone’s nightmares.” He pointed his light back at the door. “We probably shouldn’t be in here.”

Ellen followed Scott back out into the still dark hallway.

Scott headed farther down the hall, testing doors as he walked toward the end. All were locked.

Ellen continued filming as she followed Scott. “What about the rest of the buildings?”

“All empty, like this one,” Scott said. “All the inpatients stay in the main building now. It’s much more up to date.”

“No restraints?”

“No need. Most of our patients aren’t here very long. Depression, stuff like that.”

At the end of the hallway, Scott tried the door. Also locked. “This leads to another building, same as this one. This was a big place back in the day.”

They turned and headed back down the hall toward the door Scott came in.

Ellen turned off the camera and dropped it off her shoulder to more easily carry it. “So, Scott Ryan. Are you a doctor?”

“No. Physical therapist. Many of our patients are older. Sometimes lack of mobility leads to depression. We try to heal both body and mind.”

“You seem to know your way around,” Ellen said.

“The mind, or the body?” Scott asked.

Ellen rolled her eyes. “The hospital,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ve been here a few years. I know most of the hospital pretty well.”

“So, you can show me everything?” Ellen asked.

Scott stopped mid step. He turned and looked at Ellen, one eyebrow raised.

Ellen stopped as well. She smiled at Scott: “The hospital.”

“I knew that’s what you meant,” Scott said. “Yeah, if Dr. Drexel said it’s okay. All except for the infirmary.”

“Infirmary?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah. That’s the smaller building out back. No one is allowed in it. It’s locked up. Bars on the windows and everything.”

“Okay, how about the rest of the buildings. Would you mind showing me those?”

“I don’t have any appointments the rest of today, so yeah, I’d be glad to.”

Scott and Ellen slowly walked into the front lobby.

Ellen carried the camera, no longer filming. “I really appreciate the tour. You saved me hours.”

Scott held the front door open, then followed Ellen outside. “It was my pleasure.”

Ellen stopped short, looking at the parking lot. “Crap.”

“What?” Scott asked.

“My ride. It’s gone. I didn’t think he was that big of a jerk.”

“Your reporter?” Scott asked.

Ellen pulled out her phone and pushed Mark’s number. “Yeah. Mark. Mark the jerk.” She waited a few moments, holding the phone to her ear, then canceled the call. She looked at Scott: “Did I mention he was a jerk?”

“Yeah, a few times,” Scott said. “I take it you need a ride?”

Ellen looked over the parking lot, then back at Scott: “I hate to impose. Maybe back to the hotel? It’s just downtown.”

“No problem at all,” Scott said. He led Ellen down the steps and into the parking lot. He stopped at his old, rusty Mitsubishi. The passenger door creaked when he opened it for her.

“Quite the chariot,” Ellen said as she put her camera in the back seat, then climbed in.

“My Lambo’s at the detailer’s,” Scott said.

Ellen smiled as Scott closed her door.

Scott pulled up to the hotel in his rusty car.

Ellen climbed out, tugging her camera and tripod along behind her. She closed the door after she got out, grimacing at the loud squeal of the hinges. She turned back to the open passenger door window and leaned in. “Thanks for the ride. And the tour.”

“There’s a lot more to see,” Scott said.

“At the hospital?”

“No. Dayton,” Scott said. “How about dinner?”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Ellen said.

Scott smiled. “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Looking forward to it. I’ve never been in a Lamborghini,” Ellen said.

“Yeah. Right. Dress casual.”

Ellen stepped back from the car door and Scott pulled away.

Mark sat in the back of the dark, sleepy little bar, his head slung back against the wall, eyes closed. Peanut shells littered the small table, alongside a nearly-empty beer glass.

The bartender came over and tapped him on the shoulder. “You all right, buddy?”

Mark tipped his head forward, opened his glazed eyes. He looked around. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You want another?” the bartender motioned at Mark’s beer glass.

Mark checked his watch. “Shit.” Mark looked back up at the bartender. “No. No thanks. I gotta’ get going. What’s my tab?”

“Sixteen fifty.”

Mark peeled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to the bartender. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” the bartender said.

Mark stood. He lost his balance a little and grabbed the table to steady himself.

The bartender reached out to grab Mark’s arm. “I better get you a cab.”

Mark held his hand out, released the table and stood steady. “No, really. I’m okay. My leg just went to sleep.”

The bartender let go of Mark’s arm and Mark walked to the front door. He opened the door, and held his hand up to his eyes to block the light from the setting sun. He looked around before stepping outside. He didn’t really remember driving to the bar, nor did anything outside really look familiar. One thing did strike him — the street sign at the corner. It read:

HOME AVE.

Mark looked back at the bartender, now standing behind the bar. “I’m in Xenia?” he asked.

“Where the hell do you think you are?” the bartender answered as he dried a beer glass and put it back on a shelf. “You sure you don’t need a cab?”

“No. I’m okay. Just a little disoriented. Which way to the Children’s Home?”

The bartender leaned on the bar, looking at Mark as if he’d lost his mind. “You go right, about five miles. But it ain’t there anymore.”

“What happened to it?” Mark asked.

“Tore it down. Sold the place to some church. That’s been a couple of years ago.”

“Not surprised,” Mark said as he waved at the bartender and stepped outside. His car was only one of two parked in the small lot. He stepped towards it and was unlocking the door when he spotted the camera case in the back seat. Open. And empty. “Shit.”

Mark got in. He pulled his cell phone out as he backed out of the parking lot. He punched in Ellen’s number. Ellen picked up quickly.

“You jerk,” Ellen said over the phone. “Why the hell’d you leave me out there? That’s pretty chicken shit, even for someone like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “Something happened.”

The line was quiet for a few seconds. Then Ellen came back and simply said: “I’m listening.”

Mark wasn’t sure how to explain it. Wasn’t sure she would understand him. Or believe him. He wasn’t sure he understood it himself. “I’m not sure. I kind of blacked out or something. I was trying to look into the building and next thing I know I’m out in Xenia.” No need to tell her he had found himself in a bar.

At the hotel, Ellen stepped out of the bathroom. She had a towel wrapped around her, and the phone to her ear. “Jesus, Mark. Are you all right? What’s a Xenia?”