Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

“When Drexel said a few minutes…” Mark asked.

“The shocks work, but it doesn’t last long,” Bradley said. “The fog will be back.”

“What was wrong with you?” Mark asked.

“It was the dreams,” Bradley said. “They got so bad I couldn’t tell my dreams from the real world. I started drinking. A lot.”

“So you volunteered?”

“I was at the end of my rope. I wanted to kill myself. I almost killed myself. I had the gun. The shocks were the only option I had left.”

Bradley’s left leg gave way.

Mark held him up, kept Bradley from falling to the floor. “I have the same problems,” Mark confided.

“Suicidal?” Bradley asked.

Mark looked off into the distance. “I’ve thought about it. But my daughter…”

Bradley turn his head and looked directly into Mark’s eyes. “You have a daughter?” he asked.

“Yes. That’s the reason I haven’t done it… haven’t killed myself.”

Bradley nodded. “Then you understand why I had to try anything to help. I had a daughter… and a son…”

Both of Bradley’s legs gave out. Mark struggled to hold Bradley up as they both slid down to the floor. They sat together, leaning against the wall, Mark holding Bradley up.

“You have family?” Mark asked. “Is there anything you want me to tell them?”

Bradley looked at Mark, held onto him tightly. “Thank you, but that’s already taken care of….”

Bradley’s head slumped. “Just know, my wife… I loved her so much.” Bradley’s voice got quieter and quieter — barely a whisper. “She was a fantastic moth…” Bradley’s eyes closed before he could finish.

Mark yelled down the hall. “HELP!”

Bradley whispered: “Jenny… I love…” Bradley’s lips continued to move, but no sound came out.

Mark laid Bradley on his back, and put his ear to Bradley’s mouth.

“Beautiful… so sorry…” Bradley’s lips stopped moving. The large orderly stepped forward with the wheelchair.

Mark helped the orderly lift Bradley into the chair.

Bradley slumped forward, but continued to breathe. His eyes came back open, but were unfocused.

Mark followed as the orderly pushed Bradley in his wheelchair back toward the others.

Hans Drexel took a penlight from his pocket and flashed it in Bradley’s eyes. He stood back up and sighed. He looked over at Mark: “I’m sorry it doesn’t last.”

“It looked very painful,” Mark said.

“That’s one reason we discontinued this treatment. Some patients could tolerate it more than others. Bradley…” Drexel patted Bradley on his shoulder. “He tried so hard. He wanted so much to be healed.”

“But it didn’t work,” Mark said.

“Unfortunately,” Hans Drexel said. “With Bradley we only achieved some short-term results. The same was true of most of our other patients. We finally gave up on these therapies when other options became available.”

“Other options?” Mark asked.

They all walked toward the stairwell, the orderly pushing the wheelchair.

“Drug therapy, primarily,” Dr. Natalie Drexel said. “Some drugs were very effective. Shock is still used when other methods fail, but now only under heavy sedation.”

“What about Bradley?” Mark asked.

“We tried the drugs,” Hans said, “but they didn’t help him. We keep an eye on him, as with all our former patients… at least we did. With the hospital closing, we won’t be able to do much more.”

“We wanted you to know the real story,” Natalie said. “You were about to write about the rumors. That’s what everyone writes about.”

The large orderly picked Bradley up in his arms. Natalie held the door to the stairwell open, shining her flashlight down the dark passageway. Scott collapsed the wheel chair and picked it up, following down the stairwell.

Mark walked down the steps, alongside Dr. Hans Drexel. ”He said he had a son,” Mark said.

Dr. Natalie Drexel looked back at her father.

“Yes. Yes, he did,” Hans Drexel said. “His son used to visit Bradley in the hospital when he was very young. Eventually Bradley told us not to let him visit. Bradley was adamant that his son not know his diagnosis. They called it insanity back then. There was a stigma, even with relatives.”

“But aren’t some of these illnesses hereditary? Shouldn’t his son know?” Mark asked.

At the bottom of the stairs, Scott unfolded the wheelchair and the orderly put Bradley Williams back in the chair. “Back to the home?” the orderly asked.

“Yes. Please,” Dr. Natalie Drexel said.

Mark watched as the orderly loaded Bradley into the van they had seen parked in the front of the building. Mark turned to Natalie: “I really think his son should know, even if Bradley didn’t want him to.”

Dr. Natalie Drexel looked at Mark. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I think he knows,” she said.

Mark considered all that had just transpired. He felt sure that each and every fact pointed to an otherwise unbelievable conclusion, at least it had been unbelievable this morning. Was Bradley Mark’s own father? He had been told since he was a child that he was an orphan, that his parents had both died when he was young. But the memories he’d been having were so real. And the way Bradley had looked at him, both at the nursing home and when he had talked to him just now. Their experiences were also so similar, their suicidal tendencies. It was all too remarkable.

Mark’s thoughts were interrupted when Dr. Hans Drexel pointedly addressed him. “I hope you understand that even though not all of what we did here was successful, it was all done to help…to help our patients,” Hans said.

“But it was done in secret,” Mark said. “That wasn’t right.”

“People wouldn’t have understood,” Hans said.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Mark said.

Dr. Hans Drexel pointed at Ellen’s camera. “May we have the tape? We’d rather you not show what you have seen here tonight.”

“Hell no,” Ellen said. “This is primo footage. It’s got to be shown.”

“She’s right. I understand your concern, but this has to get out,” Mark said.

“You’ll be exposing privileged patient information,” Dr. Natalie Drexel said. “You’ll expose your company to huge lawsuits from the patient and his family.”

“Bradley won’t sue,” Mark said. “He wouldn’t even be aware of what it was about. And we’ve been told he has no family, from multiple sources.”

“But I think you know better,” Natalie said.

“You keep insinuating that I’m his son, but no one has confirmed that. And if so, then I’m his only relative. I won’t be suing — it’s more important that the story get out.”

“I was afraid that would be your position,” Hans Drexel said. He pulled a small, old-fashioned pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Mark.

Scott stepped in front of Ellen.

Natalie Drexel almost screamed when she saw the gun. “Father! You can’t!”

“I’ll be ruined,” Hans said to his daughter. “We’ll all be ruined.” He turned to Mark. “I’ll take the tape.”

Hans panned the gun between Mark and Ellen, who was safely hidden behind Jake.

Mark held his hands up. He spoke to Ellen, but never took his eyes off of the gun Hans was holding: “Let him have the tape, Ellen.”

“No. We can’t,” Ellen said. “This is the whole story.”

“It’s not worth someone getting killed, Ellen. Give him the tape.”

Ellen popped the tape out of the camera. She handed it past Scott to Drexel.

“Thank you,” Hans Drexel said. “I hope you’ll understand.”

Drexel backed away, pushing his daughter behind him toward the van. They got into the van and it pulled away.