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How much pressure does it take for an egg to crack? Not much. How much does it take for the dead, or at least one cursed with genetic resistance? I just found out.
As much as I was able to hold out in the hospital room, once the tone from that monitor joined in unison with Los Ruidos, my presence risked exposure. Without consideration for any of its inevitable ramifications, I pushed my way out of ICU, leaving family members wondering what unseen force brushed up against them. Superstitious as some of them are, I’m sure they’ll probably agree on some kind of spiritual explanation.
Miraculously, I managed to remain unexposed as I reeled out of the room into the hospital corridor. But the monitor and Los Ruidos were showing no mercy. The farther I got, the louder the tone. Halfway down the hall, I spotted a stairwell and ducked in, closing the door behind me. I had no fight left. The monster wanted to come out.
A harrowed wail escaped my deflated lungs, echoing up and down the stairwell. Seconds later an orderly opened the stairway door to find Death sitting against the wall with tears streaming down the cracked paths of his pallid face. The sight knocked the shrieking young man back into the hospital corridor where he was unable to explain what he had just seen. Others had heard the haunted cry as well but when one of the other concerned coworkers opened the door again, there was nothing nor anyone to be found.
None of this mayhem mattered in and around the room where Stefanie had taken her last breath. Incognizant of the hysteria by the stairwell, Torres family members and friends grieved and consoled each other. In the days ahead they would continue to comfort one another and mourn together. They will share memories and promise to be there in time of need.
Lucky enough to get away from the hospital, just being seen by the faint-hearted orderly, I and my newfound tears stayed away from the wake in Scarsdale. No need to possibly create another scene there. As for the funeral, that was during the day so it wasn’t even an option. What was the point, anyway? I couldn’t mourn with everyone. To those who at one time loved and admired me, I was long gone. Dominic was right. I didn’t belong. The living, mourn together as family and friends. The dead mourn alone.
#
Practically every possibility in Nassau County had been exhausted by Dominic in terms of abandoned factories and foreclosures with dank molded rooms and empty halls echoing memories that he never experienced. Repeated exposure also began having side effects on his psyche. He was starting to imagine the sounds of whispering voices from the past or movements stirring in the areas surrounding him. As a believer (in the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit) Dominic never before had any patience for anyone who spoke of any ghost or paranormal bullshit.
His tune has now changed.
How could it not?
Dominic has seen many deviations of late that would distort anyone’s perception of reality. The impossible and the ridiculous have now stared him too many times in the face for him to deny their authenticity. If everything that he had recently witnessed was now possible, what now was impossible?
Dominic’s serum-induced capabilities have had him targeting the Queens/Long Island border where he had last sensed Simone’s presence, but none of his treks have been productive. Frustration was taking its toll. Still, Dominic remained relentless in his search despite working his regular shift, helping Rippey out with Stefanie’s funeral, and of course, grieving—all this with infected blood. I don’t know how the guy was even walking.
Dominic can be stubborn. His determination can sometimes drive him beyond his own physical capacity, but today even he had to concede that he was pushing himself too hard. He’d been running on fumes. His usually sharp deductive skills were starting to lag.
His weakened sixty-eight-year-old body, which could only take so much, was joining in with everyone else that had been telling him, “Go home, Dominic. Get your ass in bed and get some rest.”
For a late December afternoon, it had been a relatively nice day with temperatures in the upper 40’s, but he finally resisted the temptation to stay out any longer and picked up the entrance to the Meadowbrook Parkway.
Traffic was a little busier than usual for that time of day. He attributed that to holiday shoppers and moms picking up their kids from school. With the cruel string of events that had been crowding his mind over the past few weeks, Dominic hadn’t even given any thoughts to the holidays. Normally it was his favorite time of the year, dressing up as Santa at the precinct, giving out gifts, and taking the suit home to celebrate Christmas with the family.
Not this year. With Aida, Penny, and Jessie scattered throughout Connecticut, Long Island and upstate New York, Stefanie and Rippey’s house was always the central spot for the holidays for the grandkids to come and meet Santa. Future holidays will have to be celebrated elsewhere. And with the venom running through Dominic’s system, they’ll probably be needing a new Santa in the coming years, as well.
Heading home on the parkway Dominic saw the sign for the Greenwood Boulevard exit. It was a quarter mile ahead. He had passed it several times over the past couple of days but never paid it any mind until today when he recalled a documentary he had seen on Netflix. It was about a mental facility called Greenwood State Psychiatric Center that closed in 1995 after reports of patient abuse and neglect. Not having yet canvassed that area, Dominic wondered if the hospital was still there. Given our current horseshit economy, maybe there was no budget for any new projects or renovations in the area. If that were the case, the hospital could still be sitting there, boarded up, having gone decades without a soul walking inside its walls.
It was 3:30 p.m. with not a lot of daylight left. With only a second to make a snap decision, his detective’s lack of will power won over. There’d be plenty of time to sleep later. Dominic swung over and took the Greenwood Boulevard exit ramp.
The boarded-up stores and empty strip malls on Greenwood Boulevard confirmed Dominic’s expectations, the post 2008 years have not been kind to the area. He made a mental note of all the additional spots he’d now have to come back to check on.
A half mile from the exit, approaching Garner Avenue, Dominic stopped at the traffic light. To his right was a distant campus, partially obscured by a forest of leafless trees. Behind them was a row of barren medical buildings.
So much for getting some rest.
The sign at the intersection said “NO TURN ON RED”. “Fuck that, I’m a cop,” said Dominic, making a quick right, searching for a road or an entrance that would take him past the trees. There were no residences down the stretch of road on Garner, nor any businesses, populace or other signs of civilized life—just trees. Less than a mile from the boulevard, the road bent towards the direction of the buildings. A broken gate materialized a couple of yards ahead with the arched iron sign above it reading:
“GREENWOOD STATE PSYCHIATRIC CENTER”.
Oh yeah, definitely not getting any rest tonight. He took out his cell and sent a text to his undead brother-in-law. This search was definitely not going to be a one-man job.
Past the gate was a long solitary road through a forest that was deep enough to keep the crazies from straying too far. At the end of the road was a circular driveway that led towards the buildings. The disheveled grounds, the “NO TRESPASSING” signs, the boarded windows—how many of these has he seen over the past few weeks?
Dominic’s senses stirred, but not from the injections. This time it was the detective doing the sensing. The grisly publicized accounts of former patients and workers brought a cloud of eeriness to Greenwood State, a place most people of sound mind would prefer to stay away from. It was perfect. Not even junkies or squatters would be desperate enough to hole up in there.
Rather than start at the main center, Dominic chose to begin with one of the side buildings, cursing yet another board that he had to pry from a window. Once the board came off, Dominic looked into the room, which was partially lit by the late afternoon sun. Broken chairs, tables and desks were among the rubble. It appeared to have once been a group therapy room.
Upon climbing in, Dominic immediately gagged and fell into a coughing fit from the molded, rotted stench in the room, which overwhelmed the lungs he had already beaten down with decades of Marlboros and neglect. So much remained in the room from the days when the hospital was a functioning facility; file cabinets, shelves, books, bulletin boards, lamps, even clothes. It looked like somebody yelled fire, causing an immediate evacuation and no one bothered to come back. At the other side of the room, Dominic saw a doorway to the hall. The door itself was lying in the rubble. With the sunlight not reaching out into the hall, Dominic pulled a Maglite out of his coat pocket.
He also pulled out his gun.
The hall being completely black, Dominic flicked on his light, sending a litter of rats scrambling for cover towards a door with an “EXIT” sign. The door led to a stairway. He concluded that if there were going to be any night walkers in the building, they would be at the lowest possible level to avoid any trace of sunlight and any squatters with balls enough to seek shelter there.
Dominic navigated through the herd of rats and opened the door to the stairway, following the beam of his flashlight downstairs with a firm grip on his Glock 22. He was ready to fire at any unwanted surprises. On the lower floor, a tilted “B” sign hung to the left side of a closed door. Another set of steps led to a level below. If this is the basement, what’s below the basement?
Continuing downward, Dominic did his best to avoid contact with the molded peeling walls, webs, and all of the foulness around him, but once he got to the door at the lower level, he had to reluctantly give in and reach for the knob.
A hollow psychotic whale song echoed through the stairwell as Dominic opened the rusted door to an extensive cacophony of pipes on the other side. It was a utility area. A couple of yards away, a heavy iron door piqued his interest. Unnerved by the echo of his own footsteps, Dominic approached the door slowly, again brushing his germaphobia aside to turn the grimy latch.
It took about two or three tries, but Dominic eventually pulled the rusted door open to find an endless brick tunnel with larger pipes running along its sides. He had heard about these before but had never actually seen one. It was a steam tunnel.
During the years of the facility’s operation, it was used to deliver heat generated from the nearby power plant to the buildings on the hospital grounds. It made more logistical sense in those days by offering an economic advantage over heating each building individually.
Below, on the surface of the tunnel, were pools of rusted water. Having already gone this far, Dominic forged ahead and sloshed through the scurrying rats on the tunnel floor, ruining his Oxfords and dampening the cuffs of his pants. After what seemed like a mile, he encountered another door. He had already covered some distance underneath the massive facility and he had had his fill of splashing through the muck. Dominic stepped through the door to see what was in the levels above. No longer in the shape of his prime, he cursed at the prospect of climbing more stairs.
Figuring he was probably underneath another one of the buildings in the complex, Dominic wondered how far he was from his car. It was 4:05 p.m. There was less than an hour of daylight left.
The first level was again the basement. This door was tougher to open than the ones in the utility room at the other building. After a few vigorous pulls, Dominic succeeded and climbed upstairs to the next level. A couple of puffs later, Dominic peered through the door on the first floor. His flashlight shone on some cheerful cartoon murals on the wall. It was the children’s treatment center. Dominic opened the door and stepped into the hallway. All the favorites were there on the wall; Mickey Mouse, Dora the Explorer, SpongeBob, Ninja Turtles... Considering the hideousness he had been witness to in recent days, the childhood images shook him. Aida, Penny, Jessie, and Davey are all grown now, but with the suffering they’ve been sharing since the loss of Stefanie, he felt the pangs of wanting to be around the kids. Enough of this shit, he decided, it was time to go home.
It was too late.
Dominic would never get to see his family again.