Supernatural Noir

“Check under the bed,” I told the nurse.

“Why?”

I kept my voice steady. “Just do it, all right?”

“Why don’t you?”

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders and got up close and braced her. “Remember what I said about not fucking with me, lady?”

She got on her hands and knees and peered under the bed. “There’s nothing here.”

When she stood again I showed her the tiny purple plastic house. “This looks like it goes to a board game. Any idea what?”

“No, I’ve never seen that before.”

“Was she close to any of the other patients?”

“No.”

I reared on her. “Think for a goddamn minute before you answer, right? Now, mull it over. Was she close to anyone?”

“I swear, she wasn’t.”

“Any sexual deviants in this wing? Masturbators? Rapists? Flashers, perverts, pedophiles?”

“No. No mental abnormalities or sexual proclivities of that sort. They’re kept in the C wing, where there’s more security. We don’t allow those patients to mix with the rest. Especially not with young girls like Emily.”

“Okay. Any escapees in the last few months?”

She hesitated. “No, not in years.”

“Before her, you mean. She cut out three months ago.”

“Yes, before her.”

“How’d she get out?”

“We don’t know. Maybe the same way you got in.”

I tightened one fist on the keys and the other on the little house. “Was there someone who could have had a sexual relationship with her? A staff member? One of these no-neck attendant fuckers?”

“She was only sixteen.”

“I know how old she was. Answer the question.”

“No. We have strict protocol. There are always several orderlies on hand, and nurses, and doctors. Tonight is—”

“Right, a special case.” I looked through the little cube window of Emily’s cell. You could barely see the glimmer of the moon. “She had a gun with her. Any idea where she could have gotten it?”

“No, none at all.”

“Who was her primary therapist?”

“Dr. Wilkins.”

I remembered that prick. He was old school. A sucker for hydrotherapy back in the day who used to keep the patients in lukewarm bathtubs with canvas covers to force us to stay down. He was the only psychiatrist still performing shock treatment anywhere in the country. I wondered if he was still at it. I wondered how many times Emily had had her pubescent brain singed.

“Is Wilkins here?”

“No.”

He didn’t know how lucky he was. The mood I was in, I wasn’t sure what I might do to him.

I sat on Emily’s bed and laid back and thought about what it might have been like for her to imagine her parents under her small bed, scratching and whispering. I could see Emily doing the same kind of thing that I had done in my time. Curling up in a ball and begging for Mommy.

I walked out past the nurse and let her go rushing back to her station where she’d hit the panic button and get the cops down here. Guards from other wards and wings would come ru

I walked the halls, unlocked the security doors as I came to them, and slipped out the back door past the orderly I’d knocked out. He was starting to come around. I stepped past him and stuck to the shadows. More lights flashed on across the grounds but I knew my way around them. I made my way back to Dell’s drop car, got in, and drove towards town.

I’d been stupid. I should’ve started with the thing that had caught my attention right at the begi

The popgun .22.

——

Dell had friends of the club inside the police department. He’d have the autopsy report and paperwork on the gun probably before the sheriff did. I showed up at the clubhouse for three days straight waiting for him to get the call.

When it came I was having a beer with him in the clubhouse, watching the Friday-night town girls playing strip nine-ball with a couple of the brothers.

Dell answered his cell. I watched his eyes darken and knew he was getting the word. His responses were terse. He disco

“Was she pregnant?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “How’d you know? Did she tell you?”

“How far along?”

“Three months.”

It was time to tell him about my visit to the ward. “She had no visitors, not since the last time you showed up on her birthday. But she slipped out of Sojourner at least once that they knew about. Three months ago. She could have gotten out plenty of other times before she showed up at my place.”

I watched him. He sipped his beer and stared into the scarred wood of the bar top. His blunt features hardened and twitched through a few subtle expressions before his face became stony again.

“She did, didn’t she, Dell? She came to see you.”

He chuckled sadly but with some relief. He wanted to talk about it. “Kid walked here. Can you believe that? About a month ago. Shows up at two in the morning, barefoot and bleeding. She tried the same thing on me that she tried with you.” He gripped his beer mug so hard that he put a hairline crack in it.

“It’s why you thanked me,” I said. “You thanked me for not sending her back. Is it because you did?”

The crack grew larger and beer started to seep out of the side of the mug. “I was ashamed. She laid in the back like one of our weekend whores and tried to make me. And I watched her get undressed, man. Christ, she looked just like Katy. I watched her for longer than I should have before I finally told her no. And then I proved what a worthless piece of shit I am. I drove her back to the hospital. Some of those fucking orderlies buy crank from us, and I shelled out some cash and had her slipped inside again. I’ve heard stories of what goes on there, and I sent her right back to that asylum.”

I nodded and couldn’t seem to stop. It was like my neck muscles had been cut. My heart slammed at my ribs. This prick had always said he thought he was her father, but when she came to him for help he dodged his responsibility. He’d never know just what he’d done. Unless he’d been inside, he’d never realize.

“Did you give her the gun?” I asked.

“No.”

We continued to drink. I decided that Dell and I would have to throw down one of these nights.

“If she came to see us she might’ve gone to visit others,” I said. “She must’ve met with someone three months ago. Who?”

“Whoever he is,” Dell said, “he’s dead.”

I kept ru

“You think it might be one of yours?” I asked. “The .22?”

“Our friend in the sheriff’s department said the serial numbers were filed and burned out with acid. That probably makes it one of mine.”

“You sell any recently?”

“The last six months?” He scoffed. “Dozens. They’re not worth shit to us. They’re not worth shit to anybody. You know that. No firepower.”

I nodded. “Unless you were going to swallow the barrel. She probably stole it from him.”

“So did she get it from him three months ago? Could she have hidden it that long?”

“No,” I said.

I’d failed again. I was being stupid, again. I feared I’d never smarten up no matter what was on the line. I was still going at this all wrong.

“She got it from him right before she came to see me. She stopped at his place first.”

I held up the little plastic purple house that looked like it belonged to a board game. I showed it to Dell.

“You ever seen something like this before?”

He had. He had a lot of contacts. He was involved with a lot of crooked deals and a few legit ones. He told me he’d seen this in a shop window on Main Street. It went along with a raffle. You fill out the paperwork and your name goes into a box for a drawing. He couldn’t remember what you won and he couldn’t remember the name of the business.