Ellen looked around. She spotted Mark looking at her and headed his way. She sat without waiting for an invitation. “Anything good?” she asked.
Mark ignored the question as he forked a piece of sausage. Let her make her own decision.
Ellen picked up a menu and started to scan it. “Art called. He’s arranged an interview with the hospital administrator.”
Mark pointed his fork at Ellen. “Art called you?”
“Yeah. Said he couldn’t reach you.”
“Bullshit,” Mark said. He pulled out his phone and checked his missed calls. ”Bullshit.”
“We’re supposed to be there at ten. You know how to get there?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah,” Mark said as he chewed his sausage. Why the hell was Art calling Ellen? “I grew up here, remember?” Mark said, not looking at his videographer.
“Your parents still here?” Ellen asked.
“Both dead,” Mark said, concentrating on his breakfast, trying to ignore his pounding head and the questions that were floating through his mind.
“Sorry. When?” Ellen asked.
Mark sighed, he glanced up at Ellen. “I was six. I barely remember them.”
“Siblings?”
Mark put down his fork, rested on his forearms and leaned forward. “You starting with the twenty questions again?” He lifted his Bloody Mary to take a sip.
Ellen shrugged. “Okay, no more questions about your family.” She pointed at Mark’s drink. “A little hair of the dog?”
“Tomato juice,” Mark replied.
“Since when do they put a celery stalk in tomato juice?”
Mark realized he was absent mindedly stirring his drink with the stalk. He stopped right away. He started to take another bite of sausage, but stopped. He looked directly at Ellen. “Are you going to be a pain in my ass the entire trip?”
“Come on, Mark,” Ellen said. “I’m just trying to be friendly. You’re stuck with me, might as well make the best of it.”
“Don’t remind me,” Mark said.
“So what’s there to do in Dayton?” She asked. “Anything fun?”
“Yeah. There’s usually a garage sale over on West Third Street. You should go check it out. Meanwhile, I have work to do.”
Ellen clenched her eyes. “There’s more to life than just work, Mark,” Ellen said. “You should figure that out before it’s too late.”
More button pushing. Mark threw his napkin onto his plate and pushed his chair back. “Jesus Christ. Can’t you take a hint?” he said as he stood up. He grabbed his bill and turned to walk away. He yelled back over his shoulder: “Meet me in the lobby at nine-thirty. Enjoy your fucking breakfast."
Ellen sat quietly in the passenger’s seat as Mark drove through town.
He glanced over at her once. He had a sense she knew she had crossed the line at the hotel restaurant. And she had. What business was his family to her? He was glad for the silence.
Mark vaguely remembered some of the landmarks as he passed them by: the twin spired church, the now-closed car assembly plant, the quiet University of Dayton campus. As they headed up Wayne Avenue, they passed several bars and stores — some still open, but many shuttered. Mark somewhat fondly remembered the overhead wires of the electric trolleys that he used to ride through the town when he was younger. He wondered if the trolleys still ran.
They finally approached a ‘Y’ in the road and Mark had to stop at a red light. Looking down on them from the top of the ‘Y’ was the stately building that once housed over sixteen-hundred mental patients, surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence. Originally called the Southern Ohio Lunatic Asylum, the campus played out over fifty acres at what was once the ‘outskirts’ of Dayton. He and Ellen both stared up the hill, past the wrought-iron fence at the impressive building directly ahead of them across the ‘Y’ intersection.
“I was always amazed at this place,” Mark said. “The architecture is just amazing.”
“Kirkbride,” Ellen said.
Mark looked over at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about.
Ellen caught his stare out of the side of her eye as she continued to look up through the windshield at the building. “Kirkbride plan. Doctor Kirkbride was a psychiatrist. He felt patients would benefit from lots of light and fresh air.
“Wow,” Mark said, still looking at Ellen.
“Research, remember. The light’s green.”
Mark looked back at the light, then turned onto the right side of the ‘Y’. He glanced over at Ellen again, wondering if he had been too hard on her. He decided he hadn’t — she had to understand her boundaries.
Mark followed the wrought-iron fence until he spotted an entrance on the left. He waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic, and then turned in through the gate. A large sign on the side of the entrance, obviously much newer than the gate and the wrought-iron fence, advertised:
He drove slowly up the slight hill. They looked out over the compound as the road took them past a pair of large buildings, and a smaller one. While the grounds looked well kept, the road itself decried a lack of maintenance as they bounced through several potholes. Finally, the road led to the main building. Mark easily found a place to park in the half full parking lot. As he stopped, the main building sat right in front of them.
Ellen still stared up at the majestic, old building. “It’s cool. But it’s spooky…”
The building was four stories tall, with a three-story portico held aloft by massive, white columns. The wings of the building extended out from each side, only slightly back from the central entrance. The wings were also four stories tall, with a dense array of windows — barred windows.
“Spooky,” Ellen said again.
“Yeah,” Mark said as he climbed out of the car. “Get the camera.”
Ellen got out and opened the back door. She pulled out a large case, flipped it open and pulled out the camera. She hoisted the camera to her shoulder, then with the other hand she put the case back into the car. She grabbed a collapsible tripod and closed the car door. When she turned around, Mark was already headed down a narrow walkway that led to the portico. Ellen hurried to catch up with him. She fell in behind him on the narrow sidewalk.
Mark turned to acknowledge her presence. “Three rules,” Mark said. “One. I do all the talking.” He turned to see if Ellen was listening.
She nodded, breathing a little heavy from the rush to catch up with him.
“Two. The camera never stops rolling. I don’t want to miss anything. Even if we aren’t interviewing anyone, as long as we’re here I want footage.”
Mark looked back again.
Ellen nodded.
“And three,” Mark said: “I do all the talking. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it,” Ellen said.
“Then why isn’t the camera rolling?” Mark asked.
“It’s digital. It doesn’t ‘roll’,” Ellen said. She thumbed a switch and the small ‘power’ light on the front of the camera came on.
Mark reached the door. He opened it and stepped inside.
Ellen tapped another switch on the camera to enter ‘record’ mode, when the door, which Mark failed to hold for her, almost slammed on her and the camera. She finally got the camera on, and through the door. She was looking through the viewfinder when she almost crashed into Mark.
Mark had stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the vestibule, looking slowly around the entryway. Dark wood paneling and trimwork absorbed most of the light in the two-story entrance. Thick, rose-colored curtains hung over the tall windows, further stifling the sun. A pair of curved staircases, bracketing a reception desk, climbed up to the second floor. Adjacent to the staircase landings were hallways leading to the wings of the building. Mark stepped forward so he could see down the hallway to the right. The hallway was adorned in dark mahogany paneling, the only light coming from a few sconce lights and an emergency exit sign. He tried to see farther down the hallway when the room began to spin.