CHAPTER 2. COMPLICATED
At the top of the stairs, we stopped. The mezzanine level must have been where in-patient entry was processed. Large desks were set up at even intervals like check-out lines in a grocery store. Pens and paperwork still cluttered dusty calendars and blotters. It looked like the original staff had simply picked up and walked out one day.
“More creepy,” Gil said. “Awesome. Love that.” He turned to me and eyed my flashlight enviously. “We better stay close together, big man. You know, for safety's sake.”
“I will, don’t worry. You think I want to be alone in here?”
He shrugged and started walking, going down one of the entry aisles as if we ourselves were being processed. He stopped at the desk and reached out, taking a partially filled-out sheet of paper from the blotter. A fine layer of dust covered it like peach fuzz. Gil removed the pipe from his mouth, took a deep breath, and blew the dust off. A cloud of dust bunnies circled in the air.
“Would you look at that,” he said, pointing. “This form was filled out in 1957. Good gravy.”
“And they just stopped filling the thing out half-way through?”
“It would appear that way.”
Not what I would call characteristic of healthcare bureaucrats, either today or in 1957. If you’ve ever been in a hospital, I think you’d agree. Not a bunch to take paperwork lightly.
“Dylan, how much do you know about this place?” Gil asked.
“I read some stuff before coming. Probably all the same stuff you read, though.”
Gil lowered the paper, licking his lips. He smiled before returning the pipe stem to his mouth. Shifting his feet nervously, he said, “Uh, research. Yeah, about that…”
“Hold on, are you serious? You haven’t read anything about this place? Not a thing? Didn’t prepare or do any research at all? This is a job, Boss.”
“It was supposed to be really super easy, so–”
“So you just mailed it in?”
“No, no. What? I didn’t mail anything in. People don’t use the mail anymore, man, that expression is dead. Anyway, Finch…”
“Finch what?”
“Well, Finch usually does this bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like the intel, the prep, the smart stuff. You know. I mean, I know about monsters and how to fight monsters and what monsters can't eat chocolate or don't respond well to bug spray. And swords, I know about swords. And Star Wars. But Finch? I mean, yeah, he does the smart stuff.”
“Oh man.” When I’m the brains in an operation, that's not good. Remember, I usually just break stuff.
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I mean, I guess I should’ve known better the second we got here and saw the CONDEMNED sign. Not to mention the KEEP OUT one, the POLICE LINE, DO NOT CROSS one. And that other one.”
“What other one?”
“You know, that big freaky serial-killer-lookin’ spray-painted one nailed to the tree.”
Oh boy. “I didn’t see that one, Boss.”
“Well, it said KEEP OUT, THE DEVIL LIVES HERE.”
“What? That didn’t give you some hint of otherworld foul play?”
“It coulda just been some crazy kids. It coulda been a lot of things, really. But, I mean, crazy kids playin’ tricks? Don’t you ever watch Scooby Doo?”
“Boss, I haven’t seen that show since I was about nine years old.”
“I watched a few episodes a couple of days ago, and this kind of thing happens all the time on Scooby Doo. And it’s always fine on there. It’s usually just some crazy kids being, you know, crazy. Or,” he raised a finger and wagged it at me. “Or it’s the caretaker. You know how often it’s the lonely old man caretaker on there? Maybe it’s the caretaker this time, too.”
“I thought we were here to rescue the caretaker.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, it’s probably not the caretaker then. But, the kids. There’s always the kids.”
I sighed. “I know, the crazy kids. Let’s go, please,” I urged. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning lit the room for a second. We were standing just beneath a huge crucifixion stained-glass window, talking about devil stuff, and listening to mysterious chains rattling and the sounds of phantom laughter. If there was a time and place to talk about Scooby Doo, this was not it.
“So are you gonna tell me about this place?” he asked.
“Maybe. Let’s just keep moving, all right? At this point, I don’t know if it would matter anyway. Clearly this place is haunted.”
“Haunted’s not really the word for this, I don’t think. I think it’s a little more complicated.”
I gave him a good push, urging him along. “Well you can correct my choice of words if we keep moving. Right now, I’m ready to pick you up and carry you if I have to.”