Q&A

Craig changed out of his hospital gown into the clothing his mother brought him yesterday—a pair of blue jeans, a button-up orange-and-white-checkered shirt, and new Sketchers shoes. Three days, he stayed at St. Luke’s Mercy Hospital. He wasn’t critically injured, he learned, after the doctor ran his tests. The CAT scans proved he had no brain damage. Dr. Robyn Chambers, a physical therapist, tested his joints and their reaction to stimulus, and garnered positive results. His main doctor, Dr. Hank Herman, was adamantly concerned about the wounds to the eyes and skull he received. Dr. Herman claimed he’d never come across such strange and accurate insertions. They didn’t harm any critical junctures in the brain.

“It’s amazing how precise these insertions were made,” Dr. Herman repeated during the checkup. “Most people with this deep of brain trauma would suffer memory loss, nerve damage, or lose basic motor function—or brain function would terminate altogether. Whoever created these knew what they were doing.”

He kept his comments to a minimum. The long walk to reach the house of Dr. Krone’s neighbor allowed him time to think. Nobody would believe his amazing story. How would he explain the events? “Dr. Krone stuck me in the head and eyes with needles and my memories projected onto a screen. Oh, and then I was hooked up to this machine, and I got to travel back in time and replay my memories. And if that’s not interesting enough, Dr. Krone typed in commands on this machine, and my memories became flesh and blood too. They were monsters, some of them. My wife was a rotting corpse. My best friend, Alice, her miscarried baby was a…well, never mind. Can you imagine it, though?”

He also feared who could learn the truth. He wasn’t sure how much of the mansion burned down. He’d drive down to the property today and check it over. He prayed the VHS tapes and the machines were destroyed. What if he did tell the truth? Somebody would be interested. There were enough psychiatrists and doctors who’d love to enter people’s brains and tinker with their processes and live their patients’ memories as their own. The souls of the insane had ruined what could’ve been an honest scientific breakthrough. It could’ve cured a lot of unsound minds.

Some things are too crazy to be true.

He walked past the emergency waiting room and out of the rotating doors when he was blindsided by a detective. He wasn’t dressed as the atypical detective. The wardrobe was simple—brown leather coat, Chicago Bulls ball cap, and black khakis pants. The man was in his early thirties, clean shaven, and his face beaded with a healthy zeal. He smiled at Craig. The detective flashed his identification.

“My name’s Robert Williams. I’m investigating what happened to you, Mr. Horsy.” He motioned for Craig to come into the parking lot. “Let me buy you lunch.”

Craig was starving. The hospital food left something to be desired, and three-quarters of his stay, he couldn’t eat due to the testing. Tina tried to sneak him a Snickers bar, but he had to turn it down. When it came to his health—and near death days ago—he couldn’t leave anything to error.

“Sure, lunch sounds good. I’m guessing you want to know everything about Dr. Krone.”

Robert offered a wry smile. “That’d be a start.”

He was driven to a restaurant called Arthur Bauman’s Stack. On the way to the entrance, the detective asked, “I hope you like ribs and meat sandwiches. The doctor said you could use some good food. You’ve been on IV fluids all week.”

“That’s what Dr. Herman told me.” Craig’s stomach rumbled. Despite the temptation, he couldn’t forget what he vowed. He couldn’t disclose the complete truth. It was simply too dangerous. “You picked a good place to eat. I’m already salivating like a dog.”

Inside, they were guided to a table under a giant bison head. The table was rough-cut wood as if right out of the tree, it seemed. Robert ordered a stack of ribs, coleslaw, and fries, and Craig decided on a braised pork sandwich with pork and beans. Now that they’d ordered, Robert’s professionalism arrived. His eyes zoomed in on him. “I waited for you to receive your treatment, Mr. Horsy. You’ve been through a lot of trauma. Dr. Hill said you had needles jammed through your eyes and skull that were over three inches long. Any normal insertion would leave you a drooling vegetable. That’s what makes your case, your survival, so interesting. Plus, our investigative crew has sifted through the remains of the mansion. It’s all burned up. Nothing really left except for more questions. I hope you can help. We need your account of things, so how about it?”

He wet his lips and cleared his throat. It bought him time to plan his words carefully. “I can put it in a nutshell, though my memory isn’t one hundred percent, I’m sorry. I was kidnapped from my apartment, and I woke in a room with a couch. It appeared to be a psychiatrist’s office. A nurse said I’d slipped outside on ice and hit my head. I believed her, for whatever reason. I waited for my appointment, and a man named Dr. Daniel Krone talked to me. He mentioned the fights I’d gotten into at school as a kid and my court appearance.

“So after the questioning, I was somehow sedated—that’s what I’m guessing. I woke strapped to a chair.” This was where Craig started to lie. “Dr. Krone asked me personal questions about my family and my childhood, and then I wake up, and I don’t know how long I was out, and the place is burning. I was able to escape. I don’t know what happened to Dr. Krone or that nurse. All I know is that he wanted in my brain—my memories, you know?”

He’d said too much, but it was too late.

Robert arched his brow. “So nobody’s told you anything else about the crime scene?”

“No.” He was genuinely confused. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Dr. Krone owned ten asylums,” he then paused, bracing himself for the telling, “and he co-operated twenty others. What that means is he had access to thirty asylums. We’ve found approximately twelve hundred dead bodies in his mansion. They were sealed up to reduce the smell. Each of the bodies had received their fair share of poking and prodding. The range of decay also indicates these bodies are centuries old. Someone remarked that one of the bodies was wearing a confederate uniform, and another from the American Revolution.” He paused, allowing the statement to sink in for Craig. “Their damage was similar to yours, Mr. Horsy. Their eyes were ragged with needle marks. Their brains were either diced up or removed completely. Dr. Krone owned enough surgical devices for ten medical teams. Some are even of medieval origin.”

He opened up a little to come off convincing. “Dr. Krone mentioned dissecting the brain for its potential. He really wanted to somehow capture a person’s memories. He believed it would solve mental illness. The details of that work, though, I have no idea about. It all sounds morbid. And how many bodies?—twelve hundred? Jesus Christ.”

“You’re a very lucky man to survive. Our investigation is still in the running. We’re tracing the bodies and trying to identify every last one. So far, they’ve each been traced back to Dr. Krone’s asylums. The man sold the establishments about ten years ago. Dr. Krone’s father, David Krone, has been missing for years. He up and disappeared for no real reason. There’s so much going on in the investigation, we ask you stay quiet about this. That means not talking to the news or friends or relatives about this.”

The food arrived, and Robert thanked the waitress. The woman heard tidbits of their conversation and was expedient to leave them to their meal. Robert didn’t touch his food, and Craig hesitated. “What else should I know, Detective?”

“What do you know about the machines?”

He placed a confused expression on his features. “Machines?—what kind of machines?”

“Do you have any clue?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I was sitting in a chair when Dr. Krone was interrogating me. Whatever my back was against, it was hot. It sounded like a motor too. But I couldn’t turn around.”

Robert was excited. He was making a mental note.

Shit.

He tried to relax. What could they do with the information he was giving them. Craig had to learn what Robert understood about the machine, so he asked, “Did you find machines? What did they look like?”

“They were burned up pretty good. There were twenty-five machines counted on the premises. They were simple. I’m not sure it means anything, but they were located in the basement level of the mansion, the same level as all those bodies. I’m not sure what the hell was going on. We did find a room of melted VHS tapes, but they’re useless. The fire got to them. It’s a shame a trusted doctor stole patients from his asylums to do private research. The state’s going to take some hits for this. Those asylums will be turned inside out. The news will have a parade with this shit. I suggest you lay low, Mr. Horsy. We’ll do our best to protect your anonymity. That’s why you shouldn’t talk about it to anyone.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Robert began to eat his food. “This is only the beginning of the investigation. I assume you’ll be available to answer questions again anytime?”

“Of course. I’ll tell you anything I know.”