Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

“We could see in most of ‘em,” Chuck added. “Not much to tell.”

“But the wailin’…” Willie said. “Sceer ya’ to your bones. That was all comin’ out of the little buildin’ in the back. We went down there, too. That building had bars on all the windows.”

We tried lookin’ in ‘em,” Chuck said. “Couldn’t see in, though. Windows was all taped up.”

“A little light out of the corners, but that was all,” Willie said.

Mark knew he had hit a gold mine. He just needed to keep these guys talking. He waved at the waitress, motioned in a circle with his hand. The universal sign for ‘another round’.

Chuck took another long drink from his beer. He shook his head. “The wailin’ though. It was plain frightnin’.”

“Enough to keep a kid up all night,” Willie said.

Both of the men got quiet. Mark could tell they were remembering, reliving the scary nights they spent as teens listening to the screams of the patients.

As the next round of drinks arrived, Mark tried to jostle the men out of their silence. “I wonder what happened to all the patients?”

“Turned a lot of ‘em loose back in the eighties, I think,” Chuck said. “I remember some of them poor souls wandering the streets, not knowin’ what to do nor where to go.”

“I heard some of ‘em ended up at a nursin’ home. Up near Springfield,” Willie said.

“Yep, I heard that, too. Them’s what they couldn’t fix enough to cut loose,” Chuck said.

“You know the name of the nursing home?” Mark asked.

“Don’t recall,” Chuck said. “It’s up on Route Four, though.”

“Pretty sure,” Willie agreed.

Mark and Ellen pulled up in front of the old, but well-kept, nursing home. They stepped out of the car and Ellen retrieved the camera from the back seat.

“You sure this is it?” Ellen asked.

“It’s the only nursing home on Route Four,” Mark said. “Has to be it.”

They started toward the entrance.

“Do you think they’ll let us talk to anyone?” Ellen asked.

“Maybe,” Mark said. “This place isn’t affiliated with the hospital. At least I couldn’t find a connection, so Drexel wouldn’t know to have them keep us out.”

They went inside the nursing home. Mark introduced himself to the receptionist and asked if he could speak to whoever was in charge.

The receptionist dialed someone on the phone, spoke for a bit, then hung up. She turned to Mark: “Pamela Benson is the nursing administrator. She’ll be right down.”

“Thanks,” Mark said.

Mark turned to Ellen and mouthed the words: “Remember the rules.”

Ellen nodded, and flicked on the camera power.

A friendly, slightly overweight woman in her late forties wearing floral nursing scrubs stepped up and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Pamela Benson. What can we do for you?”

Mark introduced himself and Ellen. “We’re doing a story about how patients had successfully transitioned from the old mental hospitals into modern support facilities such as this one,” he said. “We understand some of your patients have spent some time at the old Dayton Mental Health Center. Would it be possible to talk to them about their transition to this more modern facility? “

Pamela fidgeted, considered. She finally smiled. “I think that’d be okay. We have just a few patients that came over from Dayton a few years ago.” Pamela pointed down a hallway. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to them.”

Pamela led them down the hallway. “Most of our residents love to have visitors, and some will talk your ear off.”

“We’re good listeners,” Mark assured her.

“Howard and Derek were both patients at the State Hospital, but I don’t know if they’ll say much about it. I doubt they have pleasant memories of that place,” Pamela said.

“Will the camera bother them?” Ellen asked.

“They’ll tell you if it does,” Pamela said. “Bradley Williams was a patient, too, but he doesn’t talk at all… never has since he came here. The three of them are always together.”

Ellen and Mark followed Pamela into a day room area. Inside were about a dozen residents. They ranged in age, but most were seniors. The residents wore a variety of clothes, ranging from street clothes to pajamas. One older man wore a suit. They sat at various couches and tables, but a few were in wheelchairs. Some of the residents played board games, others just sat looking off into the air. One elderly woman knitted near a window. A few of the residents sat on a couch near a TV watching a game show.

A muscular orderly assisted an elderly woman from a wheelchair onto a sofa. He wore short sleeved scrubs, an Army tattoo visible on his forearm.

Pam gave Mark and Ellen a moment to get a sense of the room, then led them to two men playing a card game at a small table. Another man sat nearby in a wheelchair wearing a purple bathrobe. He gazed blankly off into space.

Pamela introduced them to the men playing cards: “Howard, Derek, this is Mr. Wilcox. He’s a reporter. He’d like to talk with you.”

Howard and Derek didn’t interrupt their game, alternately picking up a card from the deck on the table between them and fitting the cards into their already overstuffed hands.

Pamela walked over to the man in the wheelchair and turned the chair so he could see Mark and Ellen. “This is Bradley Williams. He doesn’t talk.”

Bradley looked up from his wheelchair, eyes wide.

Pamela stepped over to whisper to Mark. “Be very gentle with them. They’re my patients… and my friends.”

Mark nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“I have to go take care of some things,” Pamela said. She motioned toward the orderly on the other side of the room: “Just let Jake know if you need anything.”

“We will. And thanks,” Mark said.

Pamela walked over to Jake, stopping on her way to comfort the woman who was knitting. She explained the situation to Jake. “… and cut it off if they get out of hand,” she said.

Jake nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Mark pulled a chair up to the table where Howard and Derek played cards. He sat down and watched the two men. They didn’t seem to pay any attention to him.

Derek picked up the last card on the table and stuffed it into the bulging pile of cards in his hand. “I won,” he said loudly.

“You cheated,” Howard said.

Mark looked back at Ellen and nodded.

Ellen flipped out the tripod and mounted the camera on top. She began to record and the light came on.

Mark watched as Derek and Howard stacked their cards back in the middle of the table, all four hands working to try and straighten the deck.

The deck was still a bit disorganized, when Derek said: “I’ll go first. He picked up a card even as Howard was still trying to organize the deck.

Howard gave Derek a blank look, then picked up a card himself.

Mark leaned forward a bit, and in a soft voice asked: “What’re you guys playing?”

“Cards,” Derek said, without looking over at Mark.

Mark watched for a moment as the two men continued to take turns picking up the cards and putting them in their hands. He glanced back at Ellen, who simply shrugged her shoulders.

Neither Derek nor Howard looked at Mark, but nearby, and unnoticed, Bradley stared at him intently.

Mark tried again: “Pamela told me you both used to live at the hospital in Dayton.”

“Yeah,” Howard said.

They kept drawing cards, one after another, and stuffing them into their hands.

Mark waited a bit for more from Howard, but nothing came. “Can you tell me about it?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” Howard said as he grabbed another card.