My Probation Consists on Guarding an Abandoned Asylum | Part 2

 

Part 1 | Part 3

Fucking satellite internet my balls!

I was lucky last time. The internet connection just works for one hour every day. Nine o’clock in the morning. Shitty time. All people with normal jobs and living situations are at work. Not many people I would contact, but at least Lisa.

Even if she’s not busy, seriously doubt she’d like to hear anything from me. She blames me for losing her dream job.

Still remember the last time I saw her.

Our cozy apartment in the city, aesthetic and expensive, just as she liked. We were eating brunch, which is a thing urban folks do, and the only time of the week capitalism allowed us to talk. Bagels, cream cheese and orange juice. Her laugh was interrupted by her phone.

She answered. Looking directly at me. Smiling. Returned the grin at her.

As the call continued, her face shifted. Made a perfect 180 all the way from joy, passing through anger, and ending in tears.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“Were you doing some fraudulent activities?” struggled to keep her voice from breaking.

I denied it.

“Promise it.”

Silence.

She stood, shaking her head uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry. Wasn’t a big deal. Did it for you,” tried explaining her.

“For me?! My boss fired me because the paper could not have a journalist whose husband is being investigated by the government.”

“What?”

“Isn’t a good image…” she said almost crying.

Didn’t hear her finish. Left the apartment at the same time tears were rolling through her cheeks. Wish I hadn’t. The police were already waiting for me at the lobby.

***

“Seems it was pretty close,” told me the guy in the little boat who had come to bring me groceries.

He gave me a handwritten note.

It said: “Checked the cameras. You’re clear. Keep the good work. R.”

Surprisingly, contrary to his chatting, Russel’s writing was straight to the point.

“Yes. Thanks, man,” I replied as I carried the canned food bag out of the boat. “Finally something different to the jail food and old soggy sandwiches I had been surviving on the last couple of days.”

After being alone for long periods of time, you become very talkative.

“Hope you know how to cook.”

“I’ll learn. Have a fuck ton of time to,” I replied.

Got the last bag, the meat one, and left it on the wooden floor of the dock.

“Hey, man, glad you are managing okay on your own here. Most of the previous ones were jumpier, not even wanted to get to the kitchen.”

I noticed he was the guy who brought me here the first time.

“Sure. Guess I’m the right guy for the job,” I said confidently.

“Seems like.”

Both just nodded for a couple of seconds. Man to man bonding at its peak. He broke the silence.

“Hey, do you have some mail for me to take to the post office?”

“No, man. There’s no one I would like to contact out there.”

***

Carried the food all the way up the hill to the Asylum. Took it into the giant kitchen meant to prepare food for almost a hundred people. Everything is so big for my lone man needs.

The reflective silver surfaces on everything appeared purposefully made for you to be startled by every miniscule change of light. For Christ’s sake, what would I be needing an industrial meat shredder? At the time I opened the cold room to stash the meat that I had just been delivered, the foulest smell of my life hit my nostrils.

Rotten flesh. Not a week or month old. Years forgotten here. It was already defying biology by serving as food and shelter to maggots that should not be able to survive on the sub-zero temperature of the room and inside the dozens of sealed toppers containing what once was meat. Vomited a little.

Made sure a cloth was clean. Wet it. Tied it around my nose and mouth. As a firefighter entering a smoking burning area, crawled hoping that gravity will ignore the smell. Didn’t.

Thew all the hundred and twenty-three toppers (counted them), without opening them, directly in the incinerator. Yes, this building has a garbage incinerator. And yes, it works.

This was the weirdest Asylum ever. I learned to stop questioning it and flow with it.

Left the door open hoping the smell would go away in a matter of weeks instead of months. Lost all appetite.

***

Went to the library. Just old medical books, missing-pages dictionaries, an outdated encyclopedia from B to P, and a bunch of isolated newspaper notes about the Bachman Asylum and how it was built on Native sacred land. Of course it was.

Library was one of the rooms with no electricity. Adding the almost double-heigh ceiling and small thin windows, one of them broken, it was a dark cold place to be. Hoped the old computer in the center round table would’ve worked. It was ancient, probably was an antiquity even in the nineties. Reminded me about my college years.

That’s where I met Lisa. She was investigating for her final journalism project, searching in the new library system, losing the battle against technology. I had learned to use it quite well through my sudden interest on what will later be known as “junk bonds”.

“Hey, what are you looking for?”

She looked at me with suspicion.

“I mean, sorry. I know how to use the system.”

“Don’t know the title, just author and publisher,” she mumbled cautiously.

“That’s the issue.”

Moved some hidden filter in the computer to look for authors instead of titles.

“Try now,” indicated her.

It appeared. “The Untold Stories of the Compton’s”. Aisle H.

“I know where it is, come,” told her leading the way.

She smiled trustfully and followed.

Crash!

Back to the chilling wooden building. The old computer. Fuck! Screen was smashed into the cobweb filled box where old computers carried their components.

A girl entered running into the place. Weird, she looked around 15-years-old. Was dressed in a dated gown, seemed to have been taken out of the seventies.

“Please, help me,” she begged grabbing my arm.

Why does everyone need my help now? Tried to push her away, but she snatched strongly to my arm.

“You should not be here,” I said attempting to not come out extremely straightforward.

“I know, but I can’t go back to my room.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded to know.

Pang! A blunt metal blow rumbled in the entire room. We both stopped fighting and arguing. Pang! Pang! PANG!

She raced out. Followed her.

For a barefoot teenager she ran unbelievingly fast.

Catch her when she stopped at the beginning of Wing A. Another place devoid of utilities.

“I know I must be in my room, but it is closed,” she pointed at a door deep in the dark hallway.

Used my flashlight to shine upon the corridor.

Below the film of dust, I distinguished blood writings of the walls. “Get me out!” “Jack is insane.” “Wants to hurt me.”

Girl sprinted to the now illuminated door.

Entered the room after her. As usual, a broken tiny window and dirt all over the place. Just a kid-size sheetless mattress on a metal base. Rusty, ranked and moldy to the point you could taste it. She signaled the floor.

Found her record. Mary [last name was damaged]. Sixteen-years-old. Homosexual depravations (harsh diagnostic). Release date: Never.

Such a welcoming place was the Bachman Asylum.

There was also a letter. Written on cheap yellow paper with a pencil that had almost faded through time.

“Mom and Dad. Sorry I could not help being less homosexual. No hard feelings on my side. I understand what you did and why. Don’t think I’m gonna be getting out of here. Love you, Mary.”

The girl gave me a contempt glance. I smiled at her, extending the note. She took it.

Pang! The thumps. Same ones I heard on my first night here. Approaching. Pang!

The girl and I peeked outside, expecting to find nothing. Aimed my torch. There was a silhouette at the end of the passageway. A big sturdy man with an axe hitting the wall, causing a grumbling sound across the building. He approached slowly.

We got out of the room. The man ran towards us.

We fled in the opposite direction. Pounding kept getting stronger. Closer. PANG!

Mary tripped. Lifted her up and continued. She stopped. Looked where she had fallen. The note. Shit. The dude was getting close. PANG!

Kept her in place. I raced towards the note. Got on my knee to pick it up as the axe swung above me.

“Run!” Screamed at a paralyzed Mary.

A second blow accompanied with a grunt. Pushed myself back. Axe hit the floor.

Stood up. Stud tried getting the axe out of its new floor dent.

I rushed away.

He got the weapon out.

I grabbed Mary’s hand.

Bastard was getting close.

We crossed the lobby.

An electric spark momentarily delayed our attacker.

We gratefully received the aid.

Entered my office and closed the door just in time as the axe swung and smacked it.

The roaring noise shook the room.

I backed a little.

Pang!

Held Mary’s hand.

PANG!

Backed some more.

Even with the continuing bangs, the door, which I didn’t expect to endure a birthday candle blow, was handling axe-blows without flinching. Gifted us hope.

Mary and I got to the floor. Hugging each other firmly, keeping us attached to reality as the beats continued through the night.

Fell asleep.

***

Woke up in the ground of my office due to the sunrays entering via the window bars. Alone. Mary wasn’t with me. Her note was.

On the light of day, I searched for the main administrative office and skimmed the records. Found Mary’s one. I don’t want to disclose her last name to protect her parents, whom I tracked down thanks to the power of my one-hour-satellite internet I have access to.

Now I have something to give to the groceries guy to deliver to the post office. Also need to ask his name.