Chapter Four
"Here too..." Rachel made a quick scan of the doctor's lounge, only to find it deserted as well. There was no sign of life anywhere, as if the hospital had been deserted within a matter of minutes. It had been perfectly normal when she went into the interrogation with Stanley, that was the only thing she was certain of. She made a quick check of the rooms on the opposite side of the hall; the Director's office, Meeting Room, the restrooms, cafeteria, all were locked, save one. The kitchen doors opened, and Rachel paused before entering to ready her gun.
A horrendous stench permeated the kitchen, smelling vaguely of rotten meat and something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on...though she was sure she wouldn't want to put any part of her body on it if she found it. There were slabs of rancid meat festering on a steel prep table in the middle of the room. Flies swarmed about, and she swatted them as she hurriedly investigated. A large stockpot filled with something that had most likely been soup at one time sat on the stove; drawing flies of its own.
"Damn...and I complain about the food at the Happy Burger," Rachel thought aloud. That was when she noticed a considerable amount of heat radiating from the large industrial-sized oven next to the stove. The heat was turned up about a quarter of the way, but she was willing to bet that no one had prepared food in here for some time. Unable to bear the stink any longer, Rachel bolted for the door, when a sudden noise behind her caught her attention. She whirled around in time to see the oven door fly open, and a large charred lump flopped onto the floor. Rachel jumped when it started to move, and she realized with a sudden chill that it was a woman, still alive, but barely. A blood-curdling gurgle emanated from her throat, and at last she collapsed lifelessly on the tile floor. Rachel leaned against the door and let out the breath she had been holding, trying to still her racing heartbeat. What the hell was someone doing in the oven? Surely she didn't "accidentally" end up in there. On second thought, she figured she didn't want to know the details. Her head fell forward as her strength rapidly waned, and that was when she noticed something on the floor next to the oven. It was a key, with a plastic key chain hand-printed with the words "d. office".
"Hmm...director's office, maybe?" Rachel didn't stop to ask herself what this key was doing in the kitchen; she was just in a hurry to get the hell out of the reeking kitchen. She made her way to the office at the end of the corridor, and unlocked it using the key she had just found. Upon doing so, she heard a rustle of activity from inside the room, and instinctively reached for her gun. She paused for a moment before slowly pushing the door open, then stepped inside, thrusting the gun in front of her.
"Ahh! Don't shoot!" A man's voice cried out. A flurry of papers scattering to the floor accompanied his panicked movements, and Rachel froze where she was, slowly lowering the weapon. A middle-aged man sat at a cluttered desk, next to a window that looked out onto the street outside. His light-gray business suit was slightly rumpled, as was his dark hair. His eyes were somewhat red and glassy-looking.
"I'm sorry," Rachel apologized awkwardly, holstering her gun and in turn reaching for her badge, which she showed to him. "Rachel Goren. I'm a detective."
"Hmm..." The man studied her. "So you're that cop the nurses were all whispering about. Well I'm Ernest Baldwin. I'm the director of this facility."
"Okay." She took a step into the room when it became clear that he was not going to try to attack her. "Ernest, can you tell me what's going on here?"
He looked at her strangely. "I don't follow."
"Well, my partner and I were here investigating a possible murder case. I took a suspect in for questioning, and the next thing I know my partner is being attacked by one of your nurses. Now it looks as though the entire hospital has been deserted. Do you have any idea what might have happened?"
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I was taking a nap here in my office. I couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. Things were perfectly normal last I knew."
Right away the warning lights started going off in Rachel's head. Surely this guy had not slept through the sound of a gun being fired. She wondered if she should mention the other "victim" she had found in the kitchen.
"I'm afraid I know nothing, young lady," Ernest continued, interrupting her thoughts. "But do let me know if you find out anything. I'm always willing to help out our folks in uniform. And might I say that is a nice uniform," he added, eyeing her surreptitiously.
"Thanks," she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She was more than ready for this conversation to end, and it seemed she would get her wish. Ernest was suddenly distracted by the ringing of the cell phone lying on his desk. He made a show of checking the caller ID.
"Damn...I gotta run." He stood up from the desk, nodding politely as he walked past her. "Rachel, I wish you the best of luck on your investigation. Please call me if you need anything. Here's my number." He handed her a business card from the breast pocket of his jacket before he bolted from the room. Rachel examined the card. On the front was the standard fare, a pretentious embossed design plainly labeling him as the head honcho of the place, but on the back something had caught her eye as he was handing it to her. Handwritten in ink were words and a number: 3rd floor patient wing hall: 7335.
"Huh...wonder what he was doing with this." Rather than asking herself questions she knew she couldn't answer, Rachel headed for the elevator. She punched the button for the third floor, but the elevator never came.
"Fuck...what next?"
A few moments later Rachel emerged on the third floor by way of the stairs. Already she felt a little winded; it seemed that 12 years of smoking were taking their toll on her. At any rate, she had never wanted a cigarette more in her life than she did at that moment. She proceeded to take one from the pack in her shirt pocket; she was sure smoking was prohibited inside the hospital, but who could possibly be around to stop her? She was just about to light it when she was startled by a blood-curdling shriek.
"What the hell...?" She tracked the scream to a door just around the corner, labeled "Special Treatment Room". She barged through to find herself in another small room, this one with four narrow doors lining the rear wall. Isolation cells, she realized with a sudden chill. Peering through the narrow window of one of the doors, she saw a small room that couldn't have been more than six by eight feet. Small enough to drive a claustrophobic person such as herself even more mad than they already had to be to end up in there. She checked another door, finding a familiar face on the other side.
"Stanley?" The peculiar man she had interrogated earlier beat desperately on the door from the inside. She fumbled with the doorknob, finally releasing a latch that allowed the door to open. The slender man stumbled to the floor outside of the cell, taking several deep breaths before scrambling to his feet. He turned to Rachel with a sickeningly sappy grin.
"I knew you would come for me," he said, standing too close for comfort. She took a step back, avoiding eye contact.
"How did you end up in there?" she asked.
"That evil wench threw me in there," he answered. "I tried to stop her, but she hit me over the head and locked me inside when I was stunned. She mentioned your name. I have to stop her..."
"Wait...who is this woman? How does she know me?"
"I'm not sure myself. She's plotting something, though. I have to stop her. It's my turn to protect you."
She just shook her head. "I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself. I'm a cop, after all." She turned her back to him, examining the inside of the cell he had previously occupied. The padding was stained and dirty, and a faint unpleasant odor filled the small space. She was examining it with rapt disgust when she was suddenly shoved from behind with enough force to snap her neck back.
"Ahh! What the hell?" She regained her bearings and whirled around just as the door was slamming shut behind her. She pressed her face to the smeared window. "Stanley! What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm sorry Rachel. I didn't want it to be this way, but I have to do this. I'll be back for you, I promise."
"Stanley you fruitcake, let me out of here!" She pounded the door with her fists, finally giving it a good hard kick before giving up and collapsing against the musty walls. She quickly stood up straight as the acrid odor of stale sweat and urine rose up like a cloud from the dusty cloth. Already she could see and feel the walls closing in on her, just as she had in the bathroom at her aunt and uncle's house that day...she didn't want to remember that. All she could think about was getting out of here before she became crazy herself.
Seconds ticked by like minutes, and minutes like hours. She wasn't really sure how long she had been in here. Any amount of time was too long. She stood perfectly still in the center of the room, arms pinned to her side to avoid touching anything. The sensation of years-old powdered bodily wastes slowly entering every orifice of her body nearly drove her to beat her head against the door. Instead she chose to resume beating it with her fists, screaming at the top of her lungs until she was certain she'd black out. It seemed she did just that, as some time later she opened her eyes to find herself slumped against the back wall. Much to her relief-not to mention chagrin-Barry stood over her with the typical smirk.
"Looks like I just won 10," he said.
"What the hell for...?" She didn't sound nearly as grateful as she really was. He offered a hand to help her to her feet, but she ignored it.
"I bet McDaniel that before we left here, you'd end up either in a padded cell or a straitjacket...or both. I would've got 50 if it was both."
"Real funny, smartass." She stepped out of the cell, brushing herself off. "I suppose that's what possessed you to look in here?"
"No, actually, I found your lighter in the hall outside." He held the gold-plated lighter out to her. "I started to worry..."
"Me too, that's my favorite." She put it back in her pocket.
"How'd you end up in there anyway?" he asked her.
"That's…not important." She quickly changed the subject. "Did you check out the second floor?"
"Not yet, I came up here first. I thought I heard a scream or something, but I couldn't get in that door over there. I need some kind of pass code."
"I've got it." She held up the business card with the number written on it. "I'll go check it out. You go have a look around on the second floor."
"Right." He started to walk away, and turned around just before he reached the corner. "Watch out for straitjackets."
"Hey Barry, you know what you can do?"
"Bite you?" He smirked. "I dream about it every night."
"I'm sure."
