West Park Asylum

The white-haired private investigator is napping against the door when Carla arrives at Ian’s apartment. She struggles to get the key from her pocket while balancing are armful of her brother’s mail. A gentle nudge to the snoring man’s leg does nothing to wake him up, so she opens the door and lets him fall inside. Mr. Orson groans and stands up, wiping dirt off his coat as if nothing happened. Putting a finger to his lips, he leads his employer into the apartment and to a small table. The man stretches his sore legs while taking in his surroundings, his keen eyes noticing that the place has been recently cleaned.

“I’m always surprised that you keep his place clean and organized,” Mr. Orson says, turning around to see that two of the rooms have police tape across the closed doors. A large stack of letters and magazines catches his eye, all of the envelopes having been opened. “I assume you found nothing in that pile, which is why you contacted me again. Though you won’t like what I have to tell you.”

“How hard is it to find a place when you have the name?” Carla impatiently asks while looking through the new mail. She frowns at the sight of a letter from Ian’s insurance company, reminding him that his medication is no longer being covered by his new plan. “I know I shouldn’t be angry since I can’t find anything more than forum comments about this Raven’s Hold. Even those are vague, which makes me think this place is off the grid. Then again, they have ways of finding people. I found this on Ian’s dresser when I came here at the beginning of the week.”

“You’re right that there is nothing on the Internet about Raven’s Hold, which is strange in this day and age,” the investigator agrees as he takes the folded paper that is slide across the table. His eyebrows twitch when he sees the fancy stationary of the mysterious asylum and he reads the simple letter of invitation. “Interesting how this place has no address, but there appears to be a space for it. Now, I had to go old school on this hunt. I made some calls to the contacts I made during my previous searches for your brother. Most of them have never heard of such a place while the rest spoke of rumors. Nothing very clear beyond a place that supposedly searches for difficult patients and takes them away from society.”

“Never to return?”

Mr. Orson sighs and hands the letter back before getting to his feet. He gets himself a glass of water from the sink and pops a few aspirin to help with a headache. Over the last two days, he has barely slept and routinely thinks he is being watched by something just beyond his sight. It is a chill that runs up his spine in the dark, which he typically chalks up to overall stress. This is the first time in his lengthy career that a location has been so hard to find. Mr. Orson is used to people and objects being elusive, but he has never heard of an entire institution giving an investigator so much trouble. Turning to face his employer, he straightens his back and does his best to retain some of his professional dignity.

“There’s no way to tell if people get out of this place or not,” Mr. Orson states, his hands cradling the cool glass. Licking his lips, he takes another drink and feels the pressure behind his green eyes lessen. “It’s possible that they take people who will never recover, so they are never fit to leave. Then again, another idea is that anyone who released is made to sign a very strict confidentiality agreement. With the secrecy of this institution, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re doing things that they want to keep out of the public eye. That could be either illegal or methods they wish to keep to themselves.”

“None of that makes me feel any better,” Carla mentions before going to clean some dust she sees on the nearby television. “Ian always had a habit of overreacting and being taken advantage of. He’s too nice and that gets him into trouble. More than likely, this institution is really a cult that is trying to milk him out of every cent he has. I found the passwords that he uses for his online accounts and nothing has moved. The letter said that the work for free, but that doesn’t mean it’s the truth. Were you able to find anything?”

“I’ve only been searching for two days, so I’ve had no time to confirm those rumors that I mentioned earlier,” Mr. Orson states, unsure if he should continue talking. Remembering how Carla hates being kept in the dark, he sighs and accepts that he must reveal every scrap of information he has uncovered. “Keep in mind that this is all hearsay. None of my contacts have ever heard of Raven’s Hold or an institution that matches the methods of this place. They did admit to knowing of a doctor who gained some infamy about fifteen years ago. Her name was Grace Rutherford and she was considered a brilliant psychologist. If she really exists then she got her PhD and disappeared. Again, I have no definitive proof since I only learned about the name last night. I attempted a simple browser search, but you’d be surprised how many women are out there named Grace Rutherford. Didn’t even have enough time to eliminate any from the list, which I’ll do tonight.”

With the hint of a smirk, Carla sits on the arm of a leather couch. “Why do they think it’s this woman?”

“Ms. Rutherford had an interest in difficult cases and spoke openly about such people needing special help,” he answers while thumbing through a small notebook. He cringes at the taste of ink and sweat on his skin. “I guess she thought the modern methods weren’t good enough for some people. My contacts said her ideas made her a laughing stock even though she graduated with high grades. They doubt she would have gotten a post-doctorate position or a job of any kind since she was rather adamant about her beliefs. Again, this is if the person is still alive or existed in the first place.”

“Did you hear about any locations?”

“One person said they knew her and she was originally from a coastal town in Oregon.”

“I didn’t see any plane ticket purchases on Ian’s credit card.”

“If Raven’s Hold is paying for everything then you wouldn’t see the purchase.”

“How much more time do you need to confirm things?”

“I have other cases, but I think I can get it done by the end of next week.”

“Thank you. I’ll give you what we agreed upon and some extra to see if it can be done by the middle of next week.”

Flexing her fingers, Carla gets her checkbook and swiftly writes a modest payment for the investigator. Mr. Orson finishes his drink and puts the glass in the dishwasher before heading out the door with his money. Alone in her brother’s apartment, the young woman hunts for any dust or dirt to eliminate. She spends an hour cleaning while thinking about what she can do to bring Ian home as fast as possible. It is aggravating that she can only wait and worry instead of taking action like she normally does.

“It’s my brother, so I have to do something,” Carla says as she takes out her phone. She locks up the apartment while dialing her husband who picks up immediately. “I’m heading home now, dear. Mr. Orson didn’t find much, but he had a location. It’s Oregon, so I was thinking of taking a week-long trip to Portland. I’ll need to rent a car, but I plan on bringing work along to make it a business trip. Yes, I can wait a day or two. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss. I’ll do the food shopping before I leave and I’ll update the notes on how to survive without me. Thank you for understanding, dear. Tell the girls that mommy is going to bring Uncle Ian home. Love you too. See you at home.”

West Park Asylum

“I just want you to watch the girls for a day or two,” Carla says as she hunts for her missing sandals. Feeling rushed, she ties her dark brown hair back while the phone is pressed between her head and shoulder. “You have more than enough vacation time to take a day or two off from time to time. It’s been a month since Ian contacted me and I’m worried. This Raven’s Hold has no website and my friend who is a psychologist has never heard of it. My meeting with Mr. Orson isn’t for another two hours, so you have plenty of time to get back home. Just tell your boss it’s a family emergency. He knows about my brother’s problems, so it shouldn’t surprise him that this is happening. If you want, I can call your father to come and take over tomorrow, so you don’t lose your precious vacation time. Love you too, dear.”

Carla waits for her husband to hang up first before turning her phone off and pretending to strangle the device. Snatching her favorite necklace off her dresser, she spins it on her finger and relaxes while watching the pewter penguin fly in a circle. She hears a door opening behind her and swiftly turns around to see her youngest daughter waddle into the room. The four-year-old is trying to walk in her mother’s sandals while her treasured blanket is wrapped around her like a dress. Carla cannot stop herself from smiling as she kneels in front of her child and opens her arms for a hug.

“You look beautiful, Sarah” she whispers to the girl whose face is still covered in tomato sauce. “Where is your sister? The apartment is too quiet.”

“I’m a decoy!” the child happily declares before falling on her rump. “Allison want me to keep you here. She not eating.”

“Ally!”

Carla rushes out of the room to find her oldest daughter standing on the kitchen counter with a paintbrush in her hand. The eight-year-old has a pile of books beneath her feet and is on her toes to reach the ceiling. A sloppy rainbow coming out of a yellow triangle has already been completed and her brush is covered in white for the next part. The floor and counter are covered in spilled paint, tiny footprints telling Carla that her youngest has been walking through the mess. Glancing at the four-year-old, she can see smears of red and blue on the inside of her favorite sandals. Walking to Allison, she hoists the frozen girl onto her shoulder and delivers a solid smack to the rump. She is surprised by the muffled impact and notices that the child has stuffed one of her washcloths into her pants.

“I was prepared this time,” Allison proudly says with a grin. Her expression changes when she is sat on the counter and her mother grabs a nearby flyswatter. “The paint washes off with water. Don’t be too mad.”

Carla slaps the flyswatter onto a nearby wasp with enough force to make her daughter jump off the counter. “I don’t know if I’m angrier about the painting or how dangerous it was to stand on a stack of books. At least put your sister’s stepstool up there. I can only handle destruction and danger separately when it comes to you two. Go get me some wipes from my purse, so I can clean my shoes.”

“Are you going away to yell at Uncle Ian again?” Sarah asks while sitting down to take the sandals off. She puffs out her lower lip and hands the shoes to her mom, who gives her a playful pinch on the nose. “You should ground him like you do to Allison. That way you always know where he is.”

“I’ll consider that idea,” Carla replies as she uses the moist wipes to clean the paint. She catches Allison by the wrist when the girl returns with a dripping mop. “Only on the floor and I better not see you using that on your sister. I don’t want to leave your father with any more of a mess than I have to. You stay out of the way, Sarah. I know you’re already thinking of playing in the dirty water. I want both of you to behave while I get ready.”

“Yes, mom!” the girls say in unison.

Carla leaves her bedroom door open enough to hear even the slightest sound from the kitchen. The damp sandals and a large splotch of paint on her shirt make her sigh, driving her to the nearly barren closet. It takes her several minutes to find a shirt that is not stained or so old that she swears it was given to charity years ago. A simple t-shirt is the best she can do and she grabs a dark green jacket in order to have some color in her outfit. Carla jots down a note for her husband to do laundry and leaves a roll of quarters for him to use. As an afterthought, she gets forty dollars out of her purse along with a coupon for the bounce house place next to the laundromat.

“Mom! Allison is stealing snacks!” Sarah shouts from down the hall. The girl can be heard whispering before her voice rings out again, muffled by the food in her mouth. “Never mind! I didn’t see anything!”

“You two are lucky I’m distracted and in a rush,” their mother says, sticking her head out of the room. She sees her daughters on the floor with a box of cookies between them, the package poorly cloaked by a throw pillow. “I’m tired and probably won’t be home until late tonight. Go ahead and eat all of the snacks. Then you’ll get a tummy ache and be too sick for the zoo tomorrow. Is that what you want?”

“We’ll put them back, mom,” Allison says in defeat.

Scooping up her phone and tossing it into her purse, Carla hurries across the apartment to the office. With more than enough time to prepare, she packs a few odds and ends, including the key to Ian’s apartment. Her fingers stop on a picture of her brother when he held his son for the first time. Thinking back, it is the last time she remembers seeing Ian smile or show any genuine sign of happiness.

“What trouble are you in now, little brother?” Carla whispers in exasperation.

West Park Asylum

“Wait up, Rich,” Ian says as he jogs after the older man. He catches up at the door to the small garden and they take a seat on a marble bench. “I’m sorry you were treated that way. If it means anything, I heard a voice last night. It spoke about normal not being fun.”

“Every patient here has heard that voice at some point,” Rich replies, his voice empty and defeated. He clicks his camera at a nearby butterfly, the noise scaring the insect off the purple flower. “The staff doubt its existence, but I’ve overheard the residents talking about weird events. Strange shadows, a voice at night, and a whole list of signs that there is something wrong at Raven’s Hold. None of them agree with me to my face because they don’t trust me. After all, I’m an outsider.”

“But they think you’re a patient too,” Ian points out, shying away from the glare. “I only mean that it’s obvious they consider you one of them. I don’t see any evidence that they treat you differently. Well, besides Jeremy laying into you, but I get the feeling that he does that to everybody.”

The bald man sighs and adjusts the lens on his camera. “The others pretend to go along with the staff to stay on the doctor’s good side. Think about it. If there is any threat of a leak then those in charge will do whatever it takes to remove the threat. For example, take a reporter who comes too close to the truth and turn them into a patient. That’s only what would happen to an outsider. Imagine if you’re already here and put Raven’s Hold in danger. Only place to go is away and never be heard from again. Maybe the ghosts are of those who uncovered the truth and were eliminated.”

Ian nods and rethinks his decision to befriend the strange man, who still sounds like a delusional patient. The voice from the night before could have been the remnant of a dream or even a conversation he overheard and accidentally interrupted. After all, he doubts a ghost would be thrown off by a simple statement. Seeing how Jeremy reacted to Rich, Ian can easily imagine a malicious patient using the story of strange voices to have some fun. The shadows and other odd happenings probably had even simpler explanations, which he decides not to suggest to his only friend.

“What do they think you’ll do if they agree with you?” Ian asks with a sigh. He pauses when Dawn wanders into the garden, but she immediately heads back inside when she sees the two men. “That was strange. Though I get the feeling that’s just her. Do you know anything about Dawn?”

“It’s best that you hear her story from her. Crossing Ms. Addison can be messy since she’s very unpredictable,” Rich replies while keeping his eye on the windows. He shivers when he thinks of the young woman watching him from wherever she is hiding. “As to the question I can answer, the patients are scared that I’ll go into the basement. I’m sure that’s where the truth behind Raven’s Hold is hidden. Maybe this whole place is an experiment to see what effects certain stimuli have on the mentally unstable. No offense.”

“Kind of hard to take offense when it’s true,” the blonde man replies with a half-hearted smirk. A flicker of movement draws his attention to a rabbit that is wondering through a nearby patch of ivy. “Dr. Rutherford told me that a few of the previous patients abused some of the wildlife here. I find it interesting that the animals stay so close to the building after that happened.”

“They’re only dumb animals. Probably don’t know any better.”

“I was attacked by squirrels on my first day.”

“That’s more common than people think.”

Ian scratches his head and goes back to watching the rabbit, the animal hopping within a few feet of him. For the first time, Rich takes notice of the rodent and stomps his foot in an attempt to scare it away. Instead, the black-furred rabbit stares at him and twitches its ears in irritation at the loud noise. It scampers along the walkway and ducks into the open door, startling a female patient who rushes out of the building. The woman keeps running until she disappears around the far corner.

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better,” Rich says while awkwardly patting Ian on the shoulder. The man forces a weak smile and runs his thumb along the dial that focuses his camera. “It’s more kindness than I’ve been shown since I got here. Genuine kindness and not the humoring I get from everyone else. For what it’s worth, I hope this place isn’t a supernatural pit of ghosts and you recover. You seem like a really nice guy, Ian, and it sucks that you’ve had to suffer so much. My best friend took her life in high school and I still occasionally wonder if there was anything I could have done.”

“Do you ever come up with an answer?” Ian asks, his breathing becoming rapid and labored. Rubbing the side of his head, the young man subtly grabs and twists his ear to give himself a jolt of pain. “I usually just run the entire thing through my head until I have a panic attack. Then I wake up feeling like I should be the one who died. It’s a nightmarish cycle that I can’t break myself out of.”

“The only answer I have is that hindsight is a useless skill,” his friend replies with a bitter chuckle. “Look on the bright side. You understand that you have a problem and need to get better. Most people remain in denial about their situation. Sure you’ll break out of the cycle at some point. Sorry if I upset you. Do you need me to get you a paper bag or something? You’re going to hyperventilate.”

“I’ll be fine,” the younger man claims while putting his head between his knees. A few gulps for air nearly make him vomit, but he manages to pull himself together. “To be honest, I’m rather easy to set off, so I don’t hold it against anyone who does it by accident. Besides, you were trying to help. Beats my older sister and her husband trying the tough love approach or treating me like a helpless child. They don’t really understand what my wife or I am going through. I probably never explained it very well and they took it as whining or a childish attempt to hide from people.”

“If you could explain it clearly then you’d probably be better now.”

“Good point.”

A blood-curdling scream causes both men to leap to their feet and hurry back into the building. Orderlies cut them off before they can get more than a few steps, each staff member ready with a sedative. Rich and Ian put up their hands and calmly back toward the wall while watching some of the rowdier patients get contained by force. A whistling janitor is hurrying with a mop and bucket, but he is stopped by a woman pushing a gurney. She waits for her coworkers to get everything under control and quietly moves the wheeled bed toward a groaning form that is covered by a sheet.

Another cry of agony rings out and the red-haired man from the morning’s group session throws his covering away. Blood is spread across the floor, which riles a few of the more sensitive patients. The red liquid seeps from a wound on his heel that has neatly severed his Achilles tendon. It is a very precise and clean cut that reminds many of the orderlies of a surgical incision. Whimpering and reaching down to his leg, the red-haired man tries to roll over and cries in pain. He shivers and clenches his teeth as his body begins to go into shock. It takes several orderlies to left the heavy patient onto the gurney and they quickly try to wrap the wound with gauze.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Jeremy says from where he has been cornered. “I was at the other end of the hallway when he went down. Where would I get something to make a wound like that anyway? I don’t even have any blood on me.”

“Hand from the floor,” the injured man mutters as he is carted away. He stares wide-eyed at Rich and Ian, but they get the feeling he does not really see them. “Saw it in the window. It rose out of the floor with a razor. One swipe and I fell. Something is living in the basement. It put its hand through the floor. Like a ghost.”

A sedative stops his rant before he gets too excited and he gradually falls asleep, the gauze already dripping onto the white sheet. The janitor hurries to clean the pool of blood and stops to shoo away the rabbit. With a twitch of its nose, the rodent ignores the bearded man and goes back to licking at the puddle. An orderly eventually grabs the rabbit and takes the thrashing animal outside, its teeth puncturing her hands several times.

“I didn’t think rabbits drink blood,” Ian whispers, watching the rodent disappear into the bushes. “Am I alone in thinking that was strange?”

“You’re not alone on that one,” Rich replies, clicking a few pictures of the blood pool before it is gone. He jumps when Dawn steps out from behind him and bends down to touch the crimson rabbit prints. “I wish I had an explanation for this, but it’s nothing like any of the visions and voices I’ve heard. Maybe the guy made the ghosts mad, so they decided to punish him. Not sure what he could have done to anger them though.”

“He scared the bunny,” Dawn says while sniffing at the blood on her fingers. She wrinkles her nose and wipes the liquid on the back of the janitor’s pants. “You should never scare a sleeping bunny.”