Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Mark turned back and walked over to his bed. He plopped down on the edge and bent over to pick the bottle up off the floor. He put it on the end table, next to his open wallet, Rachel’s face looking over at him. He touched Rachel’s face gently, tracing her bangs. Mark brought the photo to his lips and gave Rachel a kiss.

Mark spotted Ellen at a table in the breakfast lounge. She had her laptop open. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the dispenser before going over to join her.

Mark put his coffee on the table, pulling the chair out to sit down.

Ellen looked up at him, staring as he sat down across from her. “You look like hell,” she said.

“Long night,” Mark said. His head was still pounding. He took a drink of the black coffee. “What do you have?” he asked.

“You have to see this,” Ellen said. She turned the laptop so Mark could see the screen.

Photos covered the display in a grid. Mark recognized some of the pictures: Derek and Howard, and that other guy — Bradley.

“What is it?” Mark asked.

“I was editing some of the film I shot at the nursing home. I clipped some stills of the faces.” She pointed at the screen. “Here’s Derek, and Howard. And you. Then I ran PicsMatch…”

“What’s PicsMatch?” Mark asked.

“Facial recognition,” Ellen said. “It’s sweet. It searches my video and photos and identifies who’s in each frame. Makes editing tons easier.”

Mark took another drink of his coffee.

“It’s super accurate,” Ellen continued. Hardly ever makes a mistake. That’s where it gets interesting. Look.” Ellen’s fingers flew over the keys. A new set of images appeared. Pictures of Mark. “I selected you as the target. This display shows all the segments you’re in.”

Mark’s head continued to pound, and Ellen’s hysterics weren’t helping things. “Can you please get to the point?” Mark asked.

“Almost there.” Ellen scrolled down. More pictures of Mark. “Here.” She pointed at an image in the lower half of the screen.

Mark followed her finger. Mixed in with all the pictures of Mark was another face. Mark had been raising his coffee cup to his mouth, but stopped when he recognized the picture. “That’s Bradley Williams.”

“Exactly.” Ellen sat back and crossed her arms. Smiling. Waiting.

Mark took a sip of his coffee. He looked at Ellen and shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, so what? What does it mean?”

Ellen leaned forward again, pointed at the picture of Bradley. “The only time I’ve ever, EVER seen a false hit like this was when I ran it against a family album. My brother and my dad kept popping up in the same search results.”

“So?” Mark asked. He was getting exasperated. Why couldn’t she just get to the point. It was getting hard to stare at the bright screen, so he looked away. But what she said next struck a nerve.

“You said you were an orphan, right?” Ellen asked.

Mark quickly understood what she was implying. “Yeah, I am,” he said.

“The algorithm shows an eighty nine percent probability that you and Bradley are the same person,” Ellen pointed at the data below the picture of Bradley. “Like I said, I’ve only ever seen that happen in family albums.”

“That’s nuts,” Mark said.

“It’s worth checking out. Maybe you had a long, lost uncle or something?” Ellen asked.

Mark leaned in close, examining the photo of Williams, trying to convince his eyes to focus on the bright image.

Ellen hit some keys and the screen was replaced by several images of Bradley.

Mark stared at them. The eyes. Bradley’s eyes. There was something about them.

“I’ve been looking at these pictures all morning,” Ellen said. “It’s almost as if he recognized you.”

A shiver went down Mark’s spine when Ellen said that. He sat back, looking back and forth between Ellen and the images of Bradley on the screen. He finished his coffee. He pointed at the screen. “You’ll never make a good reporter by dreaming you see something in a picture.” Mark stood up, grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself. “You’ll become a good reporter when you check all your facts. Let’s go back out there.”

Ellen switched off the computer and stuffed it into the carrying case. She rushed to catch up with Mark: “I’ll get the camera, meet you back down here in two minutes.” She bypassed the elevator and rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Mark and Ellen stood at the reception desk at the nursing home. Pamela stood beside the seated receptionist on the other side of the counter.

“Why can’t we talk to him?” Mark asked as Ellen hoisted the camera up to her shoulder and turned it on.

Pamela looked down at some paperwork she had been showing the receptionist. She glanced up at Mark. “You just can’t, that’s all I can say.”

“Look, this is very important,” Mark said. “We think he knows something about the hospital in Dayton.”

Pamela looked up, placing her fists on her hips. “Even if you could see him, he doesn’t talk. He won’t say anything. You know that.”

“What can you tell us about his background? When did he come here?” Mark asked.

“That’s medical history,” Pamela said. “I can only share that with relatives.”

“That might be helpful,” Mark said. “Can you tell us who his relatives are? Maybe we could talk to them?”

“When he came over from the hospital he was alone. They said he had no one,” Pamela said. She pointed at Ellen: “You need to turn that camera off. Right now.”

Ellen shot a questioning glance at Mark.

Mark nodded, and Ellen switched the camera off, taking it off her shoulder.

“What about Derek and Howard,” Mark asked, hoping he had made some points by having Ellen stop filming. “Can we talk to them?”

“Absolutely not,” Pamela said. “Whatever you said yesterday got Derek pretty upset. I won’t allow that again.”

The shame that Mark had felt when he upset Derek the day before came back. “I’m very sorry we upset Derek. I didn’t do it on purpose. I wouldn’t.”

Jake, the orderly, came walking down the hall.

Mark spotted him.

Pamela looked at Mark. She paused, nodding her head. “No, I don’t think you would,” she said. “Either way, you both need to leave now.”

Jake stopped right next to Mark.

Mark nodded to Pamela. “Please tell Derek I’m sorry I upset him.” Mark turned and headed back to the door. Ellen followed, with Jake right behind them.

Out in the parking lot, Ellen put the camera gear in the back seat of the rental car. They both climbed in.

“What now?” Ellen asked.

Mark started the engine. “Work. Research. There have to be records on Williams somewhere. The hospital. The nursing home. There has to be something. I’ll go back to the newspaper.”

“Drop me off at the hotel and I’ll hit the internet,” Ellen said.

The team of psychiatrists, Dr. Ermil, Dr. Fraze, Natalie Drexel, and their leader, Dr. Hans Drexel, watched the monitor in the conference room closely. Centered in the screen was Bradley Williams, sitting quietly in his wheelchair in an enclosed room.

“Much the same as before,” Dr. Ermil said. “Much the same.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Fraze said. “There appears to have been no change since last time we saw him.”

“Not surprising,” Dr. Hans Drexel said.

“Insulin therapy?” Dr. Ermil suggested.

“That never worked well with this patient,” Dr. Fraze said.

“True. And it was painful for him,” Dr. Ermil said.

“No,” Dr. Hans Drexel said, sitting at the head of the table. “We must resort to drastic treatment.”