--11--
Erik Heilmann had been sitting in the room with Dennis for only fifteen minutes before he was convinced; Dennis reached out across the table and took his hand, and after a couple of minutes where all Heilmann could do was sit and stare as Dennis' face contorted in agony, Dennis told him exactly what he'd asked him to. He knew there was no way he could've known any of that information if he hadn't been psychic. There was just no other logical explanation.
The Borehamwood Institute wasn't far from Heilmann's office; just under an hour's car ride each way brought him to the gates twice a week to talk with Dennis, and Erik believed it was worth it. He got more proof from Dennis than he would ever have believed possible, and they talked, they talked for hours. Apparently Dennis had seen something in him that led him to place complete faith in him, and in those hours Dennis told him everything.
In other patients Heilmann had often noted that there was a link between the onset of their psychic abilities and some form of personal trauma - after examining his files, he had believed that he would find this was the case with Dennis, be it following his molestation or his near-death experience. That wasn't the case. Dennis, it appeared, had always been psychic. His whole life he'd possessed this remarkable ability, which made his suffering at the hands of his caregivers that much more acute. Apparently Dennis saw everything that his stepbrother had done whenever he touched him, all the children he had ever abused. And there were many. He wasn't sure that he'd ever get over it.
Dennis' near-death experience was linked with his childhood abuse. His stepbrother, upon discovering that Dennis had tried to tell his mother what he'd done to him, had beaten him and hadn't stopped until he was a bloody, battered mess. He'd been in hospital more than two months recovering, and for a while the doctors hadn't believed that he'd pull through. He was twelve years old then.
Though Dennis had possessed his psychic abilities long before that time, there did seem to be something about it that he wasn't telling him, something that made him more uncomfortable than any subject matter. The first few times they'd talked about it Heilmann hadn't pressed, he'd just let the conversation move away in areas in which Dennis felt more secure. But after the first few weeks, he moved back, introduced it into conversation. Dennis resisted at first, but then gave way.
Ghosts. That was what he told him. From the moment he'd woken from the coma, he'd been able to sense ghosts. This was a new phenomenon, one that had only come after his brush with death, and that seemed to make sense. He couldn't see them, he explain, only sense them, when they were close, or when he encountered something that had a connection to them. And in that hospital, there had been many, many ghosts.
Dennis could still remember the absolute terror he'd felt when he'd seen flashes of those ghosts. It wasn't like he could look around the room and see them walking around, but he could see them clear as day when they were near him, in those blinding flashes in his head. They were like seizures, racking his whole body; the doctors hadn't known what to make of it and soon he was transferred to the psychiatric unit. However, soon enough he'd been returned home, complete with his new-found gift.
There were ghosts everywhere, Dennis said. Walking down any street in any city in the world there might be a couple. In any building at any one time there could be ten or more, for the most part just wandering around, wallowing in their own pain. That was what most of them did, he thought - they just wallowed in their pain and self-pity and didn't interfere with life going on around them. The ghosts in the hospital - that was how they were. They'd died on the operating table or in an ambulance before they got there, they were murder victims or had died following car smashes, in horrendous accidents for which they blamed themselves, or more frequently, other. They'd all died violent deaths, and they haunted the hospital where they'd died, where their bodies had been taken, the halls and the theatres, the wards and the morgues. But they didn't interfere in human activity. Most didn't.
But there were those ghosts who did. Dennis could only say he'd come across three in his life, and that was enough. Three violent ghosts, those who wanted revenge. And it was one of these ghosts that had caused his outburst in the courtyard of the Borehamwood Institute.
Heilmann went over the incident with Beck in his office on one of his visits, but really all he could tell him was that Dennis had suffered some kind of a seizure and fallen to the floor, absolutely terrified. He'd said something about a man who'd burnt to death there at the Institute. That wasn't much to go on, but the pair of them had investigated. And found nothing. Heilmann was disappointed. He'd really wanted to believe.
In the office later that week, he'd asked Dennis about it. And he was surprised by the answer.
"When was the Institute built, Doc?" Dennis asked. Heilmann looked to Beck who answered quickly, 'Nineteen seventy-eight'. Dennis smiled.
"Incidentally, why do you ask?" Beck asked, breaking his characteristic silence for the second time in the meeting.
"This guy died here around nineteen ten", he said. "I'm thinking your records don't go back quite that far".
He was right. Obviously the records for an establishment that had only been in existence for just under thirty years wouldn't have records stretching back to the turn of the century. But the county offices did. Whereas Beck would probably have dismissed the whole affair as Dennis' fantasy, Heilmann felt he had to check. He had to be sure.
Erik Heilmann was a psychologist of world renown. He'd written over thirty books during his career, many of which were required reading for psychology courses around the world. He'd been translated into seventeen languages and had travelled the globe giving lecture tours to halls filled to capacity with his admiring peers. He had an immaculate reputation in Abnormal Psychology and a somewhat dubious past dabbling in the paranormal, but that had long since been forgiven. Heilmann was as legitimate as a psychologist could get.
Lately that dubious past had begun to catch up with him. Beck had asked him to meet with Dennis Rafkin and suddenly the whole psychic question had been brought back; Heilmann had never forgotten his old interest, and after meeting with Dennis he'd rescheduled classes and meetings and important events so he could continue to meet with him. He believed Dennis possessed the abilities which he had believed in so strongly for so long. He believed in the existence of ESP, and he believed that Dennis could help him to prove this.
But no matter Heilmann's beliefs about ESP, he had never believed in ghosts. It seemed almost contradictory to think it, but he believed that ghosts were quite firmly figments of the imagination, best confined only to the realm of fantasy. But he found himself wanting to believe Dennis. He found he cursed himself for his prejudices when all the time he had fought against the prejudices of others. That was why he went to the county records department, to the library, and checked out the area upon which the Borehamwood Institute stood.
His preliminary checks did not seem promising. He could find no records for the site that dated further back than the current Institute, built there in 1978, and he already knew that the only people to die on the site since its opening were considered natural causes. But he checked further.
Following several hours on the phone, several hours talking with archive and council staff, and several hours of reading, he was all but ready to leave and give up. But then he found it. Tucked away at the back of the records, in an old leather-bound volume that must have dated from the early 1900's itself, he found the records.
They were the patient names from an old hospital - or more accurately, from an old asylum. It seemed that the Institute stood on extremely apt ground; it occupied the site of the old Borehamwood Asylum, which Heilmann had doubted had ever existed. He had of course, like all psychologists in the area, heard of the place, but since no records remained and no one seemed to remember where the place had stood before its destruction around the turn of the century, it had been dismissed as myth.
Its practices were infamous. Peopled by the criminally insane and staffed by the typically rigid doctors of the time, the Borehamwood Asylum had become both respected and derided by the medical community at large, dismissed as an oddity of the system as its patients suffered mysterious injuries and deaths. Second only in infamy to the Vannacutt Psychiatric Institute in California in the 1930's, it seemed Borehamwood had suffered a cruel fate and burned to the ground sometime between 1910 and 1920.
All the patients and doctors there at the time had escaped the blaze. All except one - the murderer and rapist Ryan Kuhn. Unable to stand physical contact, he allowed himself to burn to death rather than be saved by the fire fighters.
Dennis didn't seem surprised when he told him what he'd found. He just smirked and nodded, like he'd known all along. Heilmann realised he had.
Dennis was very, very special. Dennis was all the proof he needed.
Erik Heilmann had been sitting in the room with Dennis for only fifteen minutes before he was convinced; Dennis reached out across the table and took his hand, and after a couple of minutes where all Heilmann could do was sit and stare as Dennis' face contorted in agony, Dennis told him exactly what he'd asked him to. He knew there was no way he could've known any of that information if he hadn't been psychic. There was just no other logical explanation.
The Borehamwood Institute wasn't far from Heilmann's office; just under an hour's car ride each way brought him to the gates twice a week to talk with Dennis, and Erik believed it was worth it. He got more proof from Dennis than he would ever have believed possible, and they talked, they talked for hours. Apparently Dennis had seen something in him that led him to place complete faith in him, and in those hours Dennis told him everything.
In other patients Heilmann had often noted that there was a link between the onset of their psychic abilities and some form of personal trauma - after examining his files, he had believed that he would find this was the case with Dennis, be it following his molestation or his near-death experience. That wasn't the case. Dennis, it appeared, had always been psychic. His whole life he'd possessed this remarkable ability, which made his suffering at the hands of his caregivers that much more acute. Apparently Dennis saw everything that his stepbrother had done whenever he touched him, all the children he had ever abused. And there were many. He wasn't sure that he'd ever get over it.
Dennis' near-death experience was linked with his childhood abuse. His stepbrother, upon discovering that Dennis had tried to tell his mother what he'd done to him, had beaten him and hadn't stopped until he was a bloody, battered mess. He'd been in hospital more than two months recovering, and for a while the doctors hadn't believed that he'd pull through. He was twelve years old then.
Though Dennis had possessed his psychic abilities long before that time, there did seem to be something about it that he wasn't telling him, something that made him more uncomfortable than any subject matter. The first few times they'd talked about it Heilmann hadn't pressed, he'd just let the conversation move away in areas in which Dennis felt more secure. But after the first few weeks, he moved back, introduced it into conversation. Dennis resisted at first, but then gave way.
Ghosts. That was what he told him. From the moment he'd woken from the coma, he'd been able to sense ghosts. This was a new phenomenon, one that had only come after his brush with death, and that seemed to make sense. He couldn't see them, he explain, only sense them, when they were close, or when he encountered something that had a connection to them. And in that hospital, there had been many, many ghosts.
Dennis could still remember the absolute terror he'd felt when he'd seen flashes of those ghosts. It wasn't like he could look around the room and see them walking around, but he could see them clear as day when they were near him, in those blinding flashes in his head. They were like seizures, racking his whole body; the doctors hadn't known what to make of it and soon he was transferred to the psychiatric unit. However, soon enough he'd been returned home, complete with his new-found gift.
There were ghosts everywhere, Dennis said. Walking down any street in any city in the world there might be a couple. In any building at any one time there could be ten or more, for the most part just wandering around, wallowing in their own pain. That was what most of them did, he thought - they just wallowed in their pain and self-pity and didn't interfere with life going on around them. The ghosts in the hospital - that was how they were. They'd died on the operating table or in an ambulance before they got there, they were murder victims or had died following car smashes, in horrendous accidents for which they blamed themselves, or more frequently, other. They'd all died violent deaths, and they haunted the hospital where they'd died, where their bodies had been taken, the halls and the theatres, the wards and the morgues. But they didn't interfere in human activity. Most didn't.
But there were those ghosts who did. Dennis could only say he'd come across three in his life, and that was enough. Three violent ghosts, those who wanted revenge. And it was one of these ghosts that had caused his outburst in the courtyard of the Borehamwood Institute.
Heilmann went over the incident with Beck in his office on one of his visits, but really all he could tell him was that Dennis had suffered some kind of a seizure and fallen to the floor, absolutely terrified. He'd said something about a man who'd burnt to death there at the Institute. That wasn't much to go on, but the pair of them had investigated. And found nothing. Heilmann was disappointed. He'd really wanted to believe.
In the office later that week, he'd asked Dennis about it. And he was surprised by the answer.
"When was the Institute built, Doc?" Dennis asked. Heilmann looked to Beck who answered quickly, 'Nineteen seventy-eight'. Dennis smiled.
"Incidentally, why do you ask?" Beck asked, breaking his characteristic silence for the second time in the meeting.
"This guy died here around nineteen ten", he said. "I'm thinking your records don't go back quite that far".
He was right. Obviously the records for an establishment that had only been in existence for just under thirty years wouldn't have records stretching back to the turn of the century. But the county offices did. Whereas Beck would probably have dismissed the whole affair as Dennis' fantasy, Heilmann felt he had to check. He had to be sure.
Erik Heilmann was a psychologist of world renown. He'd written over thirty books during his career, many of which were required reading for psychology courses around the world. He'd been translated into seventeen languages and had travelled the globe giving lecture tours to halls filled to capacity with his admiring peers. He had an immaculate reputation in Abnormal Psychology and a somewhat dubious past dabbling in the paranormal, but that had long since been forgiven. Heilmann was as legitimate as a psychologist could get.
Lately that dubious past had begun to catch up with him. Beck had asked him to meet with Dennis Rafkin and suddenly the whole psychic question had been brought back; Heilmann had never forgotten his old interest, and after meeting with Dennis he'd rescheduled classes and meetings and important events so he could continue to meet with him. He believed Dennis possessed the abilities which he had believed in so strongly for so long. He believed in the existence of ESP, and he believed that Dennis could help him to prove this.
But no matter Heilmann's beliefs about ESP, he had never believed in ghosts. It seemed almost contradictory to think it, but he believed that ghosts were quite firmly figments of the imagination, best confined only to the realm of fantasy. But he found himself wanting to believe Dennis. He found he cursed himself for his prejudices when all the time he had fought against the prejudices of others. That was why he went to the county records department, to the library, and checked out the area upon which the Borehamwood Institute stood.
His preliminary checks did not seem promising. He could find no records for the site that dated further back than the current Institute, built there in 1978, and he already knew that the only people to die on the site since its opening were considered natural causes. But he checked further.
Following several hours on the phone, several hours talking with archive and council staff, and several hours of reading, he was all but ready to leave and give up. But then he found it. Tucked away at the back of the records, in an old leather-bound volume that must have dated from the early 1900's itself, he found the records.
They were the patient names from an old hospital - or more accurately, from an old asylum. It seemed that the Institute stood on extremely apt ground; it occupied the site of the old Borehamwood Asylum, which Heilmann had doubted had ever existed. He had of course, like all psychologists in the area, heard of the place, but since no records remained and no one seemed to remember where the place had stood before its destruction around the turn of the century, it had been dismissed as myth.
Its practices were infamous. Peopled by the criminally insane and staffed by the typically rigid doctors of the time, the Borehamwood Asylum had become both respected and derided by the medical community at large, dismissed as an oddity of the system as its patients suffered mysterious injuries and deaths. Second only in infamy to the Vannacutt Psychiatric Institute in California in the 1930's, it seemed Borehamwood had suffered a cruel fate and burned to the ground sometime between 1910 and 1920.
All the patients and doctors there at the time had escaped the blaze. All except one - the murderer and rapist Ryan Kuhn. Unable to stand physical contact, he allowed himself to burn to death rather than be saved by the fire fighters.
Dennis didn't seem surprised when he told him what he'd found. He just smirked and nodded, like he'd known all along. Heilmann realised he had.
Dennis was very, very special. Dennis was all the proof he needed.