The man produced a small flashlight, shining it on the camera, then on her. His frown faded to a smile. He reached out to shake her hand.
Ellen noticed a Celtic Cross tattoo on his thick, muscular forearm, just below his sleeve, as she reached out to shake. “You’re Irish?”
“Scott Ryan,” he said.
“Ellen Kilpatrick. We’re practically family.”
“That we are,” Scott said, still smiling broadly. He held her hand a bit longer than was customary. “Well, Miss Ellen Kilpatrick of Chicago. Welcome to Dayton.”
“Thanks,” Ellen said, eventually retrieving her hand.
They said nothing for a moment, sizing each other up. Finally, Scott said: “These doors should be locked. I’d hate for a guest from Chicago to get hurt in the dark.”
“Dr. Drexel said we could look around,” Ellen said. “The door back there was unlocked, so I let myself in.”
“We?”
“My reporter. He’s around here somewhere,” Ellen said.
Scott stepped farther inside, the door closing behind him. He adjusted the bright beam of his flashlight, expanding it to illuminate a broader area. “I better come along with you,” Scott said.
“Do you mind if I film?” Ellen asked.
“Depends. Do I get to be on TV?”
“Depends,” Ellen said. “Can you act?”
Scott turned to face Ellen. “Check this out.”
Ellen hoisted the camera back up on her shoulder and flipped it on, pointing it at Scott. The red light began to flash as the camera recorded.
Scott put the flashlight below his chin, shining it upward, turning his face into a creepy shadow. He twisted his voice into a caricature of an Irish brogue accent: “This is Scott Ryan, with me new friend Ellen Kilpatrick, on the latest episode of Irish Ghost Busters.”
Ellen flipped a switch on the camera and it stopped recording. She took it off her shoulder. “I see. You can’t act.”
Scott pulled the flashlight from below his chin, shining it on Ellen. “Well, perhaps not. But I have other skills.”
“Interesting. Would tour guide be one of them?” Ellen asked. She pointed the camera back down the hall and flipped it back on. “What was this building used for?”
“Back in the day, patient rooms.” Scott tried a door. Locked. He went to the next one, it opened. “Most of the patients were kept upstairs in large bays. A few of the more “challenged” patients had to be separated. They were kept in rooms like these.”
Ellen followed Scott into the room. She continued to film as Scott led the way.
The room was dusty, yet still presented itself as sterile. It held a small, metal bed frame, high off the ground. Along one wall was a metal sink and toilet.
Scott scanned the room with his flashlight. “Nothing here the patients could hurt themselves with.”
Ellen panned over to the bed. Leather straps were attached at both the head and foot. “Restraints?” she asked.
Scott nodded. “Like I said, the more challenged patients.”
Ellen ran her hand along the bed rail, thick with dust. “Reminds me of nightmares.”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “Someone’s nightmares.” He pointed his light back at the door. “We probably shouldn’t be in here.”
Ellen followed Scott back out into the still dark hallway.
Scott headed farther down the hall, testing doors as he walked toward the end. All were locked.
Ellen continued filming as she followed Scott. “What about the rest of the buildings?”
“All empty, like this one,” Scott said. “All the inpatients stay in the main building now. It’s much more up to date.”
“No restraints?”
“No need. Most of our patients aren’t here very long. Depression, stuff like that.”
At the end of the hallway, Scott tried the door. Also locked. “This leads to another building, same as this one. This was a big place back in the day.”
They turned and headed back down the hall toward the door Scott came in.
Ellen turned off the camera and dropped it off her shoulder to more easily carry it. “So, Scott Ryan. Are you a doctor?”
“No. Physical therapist. Many of our patients are older. Sometimes lack of mobility leads to depression. We try to heal both body and mind.”
“You seem to know your way around,” Ellen said.
“The mind, or the body?” Scott asked.
Ellen rolled her eyes. “The hospital,” she said.
“Yeah, I’ve been here a few years. I know most of the hospital pretty well.”
“So, you can show me everything?” Ellen asked.
Scott stopped mid step. He turned and looked at Ellen, one eyebrow raised.
Ellen stopped as well. She smiled at Scott: “The hospital.”
“I knew that’s what you meant,” Scott said. “Yeah, if Dr. Drexel said it’s okay. All except for the infirmary.”
“Infirmary?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah. That’s the smaller building out back. No one is allowed in it. It’s locked up. Bars on the windows and everything.”
“Okay, how about the rest of the buildings. Would you mind showing me those?”
“I don’t have any appointments the rest of today, so yeah, I’d be glad to.”
Scott and Ellen slowly walked into the front lobby.
Ellen carried the camera, no longer filming. “I really appreciate the tour. You saved me hours.”
Scott held the front door open, then followed Ellen outside. “It was my pleasure.”
Ellen stopped short, looking at the parking lot. “Crap.”
“What?” Scott asked.
“My ride. It’s gone. I didn’t think he was that big of a jerk.”
“Your reporter?” Scott asked.
Ellen pulled out her phone and pushed Mark’s number. “Yeah. Mark. Mark the jerk.” She waited a few moments, holding the phone to her ear, then canceled the call. She looked at Scott: “Did I mention he was a jerk?”
“Yeah, a few times,” Scott said. “I take it you need a ride?”
Ellen looked over the parking lot, then back at Scott: “I hate to impose. Maybe back to the hotel? It’s just downtown.”
“No problem at all,” Scott said. He led Ellen down the steps and into the parking lot. He stopped at his old, rusty Mitsubishi. The passenger door creaked when he opened it for her.
“Quite the chariot,” Ellen said as she put her camera in the back seat, then climbed in.
“My Lambo’s at the detailer’s,” Scott said.
Ellen smiled as Scott closed her door.
Scott pulled up to the hotel in his rusty car.
Ellen climbed out, tugging her camera and tripod along behind her. She closed the door after she got out, grimacing at the loud squeal of the hinges. She turned back to the open passenger door window and leaned in. “Thanks for the ride. And the tour.”
“There’s a lot more to see,” Scott said.
“At the hospital?”
“No. Dayton,” Scott said. “How about dinner?”
“Yeah. I’d like that,” Ellen said.
Scott smiled. “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Looking forward to it. I’ve never been in a Lamborghini,” Ellen said.
“Yeah. Right. Dress casual.”
Ellen stepped back from the car door and Scott pulled away.
Mark sat in the back of the dark, sleepy little bar, his head slung back against the wall, eyes closed. Peanut shells littered the small table, alongside a nearly-empty beer glass.