Haunted Page 17

  “Neil Bloom, you're under arrest!” I shout, as he tries in vain to push me away.

  “You don't have anything on me!” he splutters, spraying my face with saliva.

  “I've got plenty,” I reply breathlessly, reaching into my pocket for my cuffs. For a fraction of a second I take my eyes off him. “You couldn't resist, could you? You couldn't contain yourself for more than a few days.”

  “You've got nothing!” he gasps.

  “Then I'll make something up!”

  “You can't do that!” he splutters. “I've got friends!”

  “I don't give a damn,” I continue as I open the cuffs, ready to slip them onto his wrists. “Whatever it takes, I'm going to -”

  Suddenly something slams into the side of my head, sending me thudding down to the ground. Momentarily dazed, I stumble to my feet just in time to see Neil racing off into the darkness. I hurry after him, but when I get to the next corner I find that he's disappeared into the night. Sighing, I take my radio from my belt.

  “All units,” I gasp, barely able to get the words out, “be on the lookout for Neil Bloom. Repeat, all units be on the lookout for Neil Bloom. I need that son of a bitch in custody right now!”

  “Boss?” Harry's voice replies after a moment, crackling over the radio. “Did you say Neil Bloom? What -”

  “Just do it!” I hiss. “I'll explain later, but find him before he can hurt anyone else!”

  Feeling a trickle of something wet on my left cheek, I reach up and find that he hit me hard enough to split the flesh just below my eye. Blood is already trickling down my face.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alex Roberts

  Today

  As I set my cellphone, purse and wristwatch in the metal tray, I can't help thinking that maybe there's still time to back out of this. I could say I've changed my mind, I could walk right out the door and leave.

  But I'd be back one day.

  Now that I've driven three hours to get here, I might as well get it over with.

  “And your earrings,” the guard says.

  I glance at her. “I'm sorry?”

  She taps her ear.

  “Right.” Still feeling spaced-out, I start removing my earrings. I rarely wear earrings, but I put some on today because I wanted to look a little more grown-up. I wanted Mom to see that I'm not a kid anymore. Still, I set the earrings in the tray, while glancing along the corridor toward the reinforced door that leads deeper into Impingham Psychiatric Hospital. I can see two guards waiting for me, and a moment later I hear a distant metallic clanging sound.

  My mother is somewhere in this hospital. And I'm about to see her for the first time in almost twenty years.

  ***

  “Don't expect her to say very much,” the doctor says in hushed tones, as we stand in the corridor. “It's nothing to do with you, but Louisa has tended to minimize her vocalizations over the years. She very rarely responds to anyone at all, although there's certainly a chance that it might be different with you.”

  “Do you think she'll recognize me?” I ask.

  “I would imagine so.”

  “And how do you think she'll react?”

  “I can't speculate, but we'll be monitoring the situation closely. And there'll be two guards in the room, along with a nurse.”

  “Can't I see her alone?”

  The doctor pauses, and I can see a hint of sadness in her eyes.

  “We think it's best if the visit is monitored today,” she says finally. “I hope you'll understand, but this is going to be very new for Louisa. She hasn't had many visitors since she came to Impingham, and it's always difficult to know how patients will react to these things, especially patients who are in your mother's condition.”

  “And what condition is that, exactly?” I ask. “What's her diagnosis?”

  “I'm afraid she's borderline catatonic,” she explains, “and when she does respond to stimuli... Well, let's just say that there have been some incidents. Please understand that the guards will be there for her benefit, as well as for the benefit of those around her. In all good conscience, I couldn't let her be around other people if she wasn't being monitored in some way. Now, are you ready to go in and see her?”

  “Is she dangerous?”

  “The guards will be right there with you. There's nothing to worry about.”

  ***

  Standing alone in the bathroom, I stare straight ahead, waiting to be strong. I told the doctor I just needed to pop in here briefly, but it's been ten minutes now and I'm sure she's guessed that I'm struggling. There are tears in my eyes, and I can't go back out into the corridor until I've got myself under control.

  I can't let them see me crying.

  ***

  “Hey Mom. It's me.”

  I knew I'd say those words one day.

  I also knew that, most likely, there'd be no response.

  Standing just a few feet from the window, I watch as she stares out toward the garden. I knew she'd look different, I braced myself for her to have aged, but I expected her to be somewhat recognizable. Right now, however, I'm looking at the face of an old, white-haired woman whose eyes are filled with tears and whose features are criss-crossed by deep wrinkles. Frankly, if it wasn't for her large brown eyes and the slight bump on her nose, I'd almost be tempted to think that there's been some mistake, that they've wheeled the wrong patient out and this woman isn't actually my mother.

  But it is her.

  I know that.

  I can feel it in my bones.

  “Mom?” I continue. “It's Alex. I'm your daughter. Do you remember me?”

  One of the guards clears his throat. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the two guards and the nurse are watching me, and I can see the pity in their eyes. Turning back to my mother, I realize that she still doesn't seem to have acknowledged my presence in any way. I feel as if I should think of something to say, some way of making her realize who I am, but finally I step past her and sit in the armchair next to the window. I'm almost directly opposite her, but her gaze remains fixed on the sunny garden outside. Maybe she thinks it would hurt too much to look at me.

  “Mom,” I say after a moment, “I need to talk to you about what happened twenty years ago. I need some answers about my childhood. I need to know if I ever talked about seeing a little girl in my room.”

  I wait, but still she doesn't reply. Her eyes are twitching slightly, but it's almost as if she's too far gone to even realize that I'm here.

  “Mom?”

  No reply.

  I can feel tears in my eyes, but I'm damn well not going to cry in public. Even as I look at Mom's face, however, I can't help thinking back to the last time I saw her. We'd escaped from the house and my father was dead, and I was so desperate to get back to Mom. My grandmother had come to town to look after me, and she warned me that Mom might not be quite herself, but I didn't listen. And then when I did see Mom, she was more or less unresponsive, and it was clear that the events of that awful night had crushed her soul. Now, twenty years later, not much has changed. To all intents and purposes, I lost both my parents that night.

  Finally, figuring that I need to try something else, I reach over and gently touch her old, veiny hand.

  “Mom -”

  Suddenly she looks down at her hand, as if she's shocked to feel my presence.

  “Mom, it's me,” I continue. “I know this must be hard for you, but you're the only one who can help me. It's been twenty years and I need to talk about what happened that night. I think I've finally started to remember things. I've started to remember something I saw in the house. A little girl. At least, I think I saw her, but I can't be certain. Mom, please, can you start by looking at me?”

  She stares at my hand as it rests on hers, and then slowly she looks back toward the window. A moment later she slips her hand free, as if she no longer wants to be touched.

  “Is she drugged?” I ask, turning to the nurse. “Is that why she's like this?”


  “She's not on anything that would knock her out to this extent,” she replies. “She could speak if that's what she wanted.”

  Turning back to Mom, I can't help thinking that she has to be in there somewhere.

  “Gran died a few years ago,” I tell her, hoping against hope that I might somehow shake her out of herself. “I don't know if anyone told you that, but she died in her sleep. I'm married now, to a really great guy named Brad. We just moved back to Railham, actually. To the old house. I know that might seem crazy, but I told myself I wanted to prove that I'd moved on from everything that Dad did. The problem is, now I feel like I can't shake the past at all.”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that I just referred to my father as Dad for the first time in years. A shiver runs through my chest, and I remind myself to be more careful.

  “Brad's a really great guy,” I continue. “I think you'd like him. Maybe you can meet him one day, if you ever want to, or if you're feeling better.” I force a smile, but I already feel as if this attempted conversation is going nowhere. “I need to talk to you about what happened on the night of August 30th 1997. That was twenty years ago, Mom. You've been in this hospital for twenty years, and I'm so sorry I never came to see you, but now I really need you to tell me what happened.”

  I reach for her hand again, but she pulls away.

  “I need to know about Mo Garvey,” I add. “I need -”

  Suddenly she lets out a faint, low groan. I glance at the nurse, but she simply nods as if she wants me to continue. Turning back to Mom, I swear I can see a little more of a twitch in her eyes.

  “I need to talk to you about Mo Garvey,” I continue. “I know Dad... I mean, I know my father, Michael Blaine, lost his mind. I know it turned out that he was the one who killed Mo. I also know that I thought I saw her, I thought she was in my room. Did I see some photos of her body, Mom? Is that what happened? Did my father leave some photos around, and I saw them and then I got scared?”

  Her mouth moves slightly, as if she might be about to say something, but she remains silent. Still, I feel as if maybe I'm starting to draw her out, and I can't stop now.

  “Did I think I saw Mo Garvey in the house?” I ask. “I think I remember that, but I can't be sure. Did I hallucinate, and did that somehow make my father angry? I know he was a bad person, Mom, I know he'd lost his mind by that point. I also know what he did, and I'm not trying to make apologies for him or in any way make him seem better. I just need to know the truth and -”

  Before I can finish, I realize that she's started groaning again. Her lips are twitching too, and finally I lean closer and listen to what sounds like a vague, guttural attempt to speak.

  “Mom? Can you say that a little louder?”

  I wait, but she's still mumbling too softly.

  “Is it about Mo Garvey?” I continue. “Mom, please, you're the only person who can help me. I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

  Again I wait, but again she doesn't respond.

  “Did I see her, Mom?” I ask finally. “Did I see Mo Garvey's ghost?”

  Suddenly she turns to me.

  “Mom -”

  “You look like him,” she stammers.

  “I'm sorry?”

  She stares at me with a hint of wonder in her expression, as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing.

  “You look like him,” she says again, tilting her head slightly. “You didn't before, but you do now. You have his eyes, and his mouth, and the shape of his face. It's like looking at a...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “That's great,” I reply, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, “but I actually came to talk to you about -”

  “You look so much like him,” she continues. “I never thought I'd see his face again, but now that you're sitting in front of me, it's almost as if...”

  Again, her voice fades away, but now her eyes are starting to twitch slightly.

  I take a deep breath, trying to reset my thoughts.

  “I came to ask you about the past,” I reply, trying to stay calm as the nurse comes closer with the two guards right behind her. “I know it's been a long time, but -”

  “Why did you have to look like him?” she snaps suddenly. “Don't you know what he did?”

  “I do, but -”

  “You have his eyes!” she sneers. “It's like he's sitting right in front of me!”

  “I can't do anything about that,” I reply, before seeing that the nurse is preparing a syringe. “Mom, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what really happened. I thought I could just remember the parts I wanted to remember, but now I know I was wrong. I need to know everything that happened.” Rolling my sleeve up, I show her the scar on my arm. “Maybe we can start with this. How did I get this scar? Why -”

  “He was a murderer!” she hisses, her eyes suddenly filled with anger. “He ruined my life! I'm here because of him! He saw that dead little girl, and you saw her too! You have the same eyes!”

  “I claimed to have seen Mo Garvey? Are you sure?”

  “He ruined everything,” she continues, leaning forward while keeping her eyes fixed on me. She seems almost conspiratorial now, as if she thinks she's sharing some deep, profound secret. “We could have lived long, happy lives, but he took everything we'd built and he turned it to crap! He brought blood and lies into our home!”

  “Mom -”

  “And you look like him,” she whimpers. “After all these years, you look just like him.”

  “We're going to need to cut this short,” the nurse says to the guards as they come over. “It's not -”

  “He's a monster!” Mom screams suddenly, lunging at me and landing on my chest, tipping my chair over and sending me crashing down to the ground. As the guards try to pull her away, she starts scratching at my face and spitting. “You're just like him!” she shouts. “You're going to do all the same things he did! I can see it in your face!”

  “Stop!” I scream, but her fury is relentless and her jagged fingernails are cutting through my flesh.

  My eyes.

  She's trying to get to my eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sheriff Michael Blaine

  20 years ago

  “Michael! Hold on!”

  As I open my car door, I turn and see that Lenny is hurrying toward me, huffing and puffing as he struggles along the sidewalk.

  “Michael,” he stammers breathlessly as he reaches me, “I just -”

  “This is your fault!” I yell, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the side of the car. “That pervert is on the loose and it's all your fault!”

  “I'm holding my hands up to this one,” he replies, literally holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Michael, I was wrong and you were right. I thought I could keep Neil under control, but obviously I was mistaken. We can figure out the rest later, but for now I'm begging you to let me help track him down. I know Neil better than anyone else, I might be able to help you figure out where he's gone.”

  “I'm going to have you thrown out of office for this!” I snap.

  “I deserve all of that and more,” he continues, “but please, let's just prioritize catching him first.” He pauses for a moment, as if he half expects me to punch him. “I heard he was loitering outside Graham Brown's house. I swear to you, Mike, I had no idea he'd go after another little girl. I tried to drill some sense into him and he promised he'd come to me first if he felt the urge again. I know it was the wrong thing to do, but I've been his friend since we were kids. I had to try to help him. Please, even though I was wrong, you have to at least understand. He was my buddy! You have to understand!”

  “I understand that I let you talk me into doing the wrong thing,” I reply, letting go of his collar and taking a step back. “I swear to God, if he hurts anyone else...”

  “He won't,” Lenny splutters, slowly lowering his hands. “We still have time to track him down and figure out where he's gone. The man's basical
ly a coward, Michael. He's a nasty, vindictive coward.”

  “I can see why you got on so well with him, then,” I reply.

  “There are some places we can look,” he tells me, clearly in a state of panic. “Let me come along in the car and I'll show you. Neil's a creature of habit, I guarantee that he's trying to stay out of sight at one of about half a dozen locations. He probably thinks this'll all blow over in a day or two, and that he can waltz back into town and act like nothing happened. I guess he thinks you don't have any solid evidence against him.” He pauses for a moment. “Well? Do you have any evidence?”

  “I have plenty,” I lie.

  He nods. “That's what I thought. So now we have to go find him.”

  Stepping around to the other side of my car, he pulls the passenger-side door open.

  “I should have listened to you from the start, Michael,” he adds, his voice trembling slightly with rage. “Please, help me correct the mistake I made. Help me correct the mistakes we both made.”

  “Fine,” I reply, “you can come with me. But after we've found Neil, we're all going to tell the truth. About everything.”

  “Of course, Michael. Anything you say.”

  “This ends,” I add, feeling a shudder pass through my chest. “All of it. The lies, the protection, the cover-ups. It all ends tonight.”

  ***

  “We really don't know if it was him or not,” Harry says over the radio, as I turn the car onto Allenby Road. “Mrs. Percival thinks she saw someone running across her back yard, but she said it might have been a badger. She asked us to go to her place and check it out either way.”

  “I doubt Neil's moving about too much,” Lenny suggests. “I honestly believe he'll have holed up somewhere.”

  “Go check it out,” I tell Harry, as I take the next left onto my own street. “Check any report that comes in, no matter how minor it might seem. Neil Bloom has to be considered armed and dangerous, so get everyone on the case that you can.”