A sharp knock on the door startled them both. A face moved into the slot and Sophia cringed away, expecting to see Dr. Kaiser. Instead Alice‘s familiar brown eyes peered in. Alice, a nurse on the ward, known for her strict adherence to rules, clicked the door open.
“You’re needed in Block B, Kent. Mr Hanson…” she trailed off eyeing Sophia wearily.
Though Alice did not appear to like Sophia, she offered her a grudging respect and kept her distance. Sophia had never imparted Alice guidance from the other side, she suspected that the stiff nurse knew her abilities and feared them.
“Thank you, Kent,” Sophia told him, as he hastily stood, avoiding eye contact with Alice. “If the headaches get worse, I’ll tell Dr. Kaiser.”
Sophia sat outside beneath a high oak tree, resting her back against the rough bark. It was a warm spring day, and Kent had pulled strings to help her get outdoor privileges.
The winter had been long and icy with snow drifts that often covered the windows. The early darkening days that lasted late into the morning left everyone - patients and staff - with moods to match.
Sophia braided strands of yarn into a rope that would be taken from her when their outdoor reprieve ended. Despite her frustration at being in the hospital for years, every spring she marveled at the beauty of the grounds. The limestone buildings rose monolithic against the blue sky, but even their grandeur was dwarfed by the soaring trees.
Sometimes patients or orderlies wandered over to her and said hello. Others lingered nearby hopeful she might offer them some insight into a loved one they had lost.
She had become the asylum medium despite her best efforts to keep her sight hidden. For the first year in the hospital she’d done rather well at melting into the world unseen, unnoticed. But eventually the spirits grew more urgent in their whisperings. They pleaded with Sophia to remedy a misconception or comfort a bereaved family member left behind. How could she deny the living the tiniest glimmer of the person they’d lost? Especially now, when she too longed for a message from her beloved? From Jack?
A tear slipped from her eye and landed on the colored braid. She had not spoken his name aloud in years. She would wait for the perfect moment because when she finally called out to him, he would come to her.
Somehow through dimensions she could not fathom despite her gifts, he would arrive, but like all sightings of spirit he would be transitory, a momentary phantom. She would wait until she no longer stood encased by thick, white walls. She would stand in an open meadow of flowers, the kind they ran through as young lovers, their hands clasped as if they truly believed they would never have to let go. In that space, with her long hair flowing like silk in the wind, a dress billowing around her legs, she would reach out to him a final time.
“How are you today, Sophia?”
The voice startled her, and her hands froze on the braid.
Dr. Kaiser stood over her, his white jacket stiffly pressed. His white blue eyes studied her hands that stopped braiding and began to shake.
“Tisk, tisk, Sophia. You forgot our appointment today, didn’t you? Kent shouldn’t have let you out.”
Like a caged animal, she thought.
She looked across the yard where Kent squatted next to another patient, Dorothy. Dorothy suffered from paranoia. She spoke often of the mafia coming to the hospital to kill her. She claimed they already killed her family. Dorothy was clutching at Kent’s white shirt and Sophia knew the woman would soon go into a fit and have to be carried back to the ward.
“He can’t help you, Sophia,” Dr. Kaiser whispered, reaching out with his too-soft fingers and caressing her wrist before jerking the braid from her hand. He stood and tucked it into his pocket. “You could use this to hurt someone or worse, hurt yourself. I must put this in your file.”
Sophia ignored the emotion bubbling in her chest and allowed her eyes to become unfocused. Go numb, she thought. As she had a hundred other times when Kaiser appeared.
“Come with me, please,” he told her, stepping away and pretending to be a doctor. He called himself that, some patients and staff even believed it, but Sophia knew the truth. Doctor Kaiser’s spirit was dark. He had become a doctor - not to help those who ailed - but to use the power his title afforded him to experiment on and torture his patients.
Sophia shot a final longing glance at Kent and then stood, following Kaiser through the asylum doors. As the doors swung closed, the sunny spring day disappeared, and Sophia blinked into the eerie gloom of the hospital.
Chapter 16
September 1965
Jude
“Clayton, my love, I need your help.” Jude swept into the office of the Wexford County Gazette and spun Clayton in his chair to face her.
“Whoa, watch it,” he squeaked, nearly dropping his Styrofoam cup of coffee onto his pleated khakis. “Jude, you almost scalded me.”
“We both know you only drink lukewarm coffee,” Jude told him, taking the cup and sipping the gritty office coffee that tasted like worm dirt. “Ugh, how do you drink this?”
He took the cup back looking at it lovingly and gave her a wounded look.
“It’s my life support, as you well know. Now stop insulting my coffee and explain yourself. I’m on a deadline.”
Jude glanced around the office. Two other reporters sat at their scarred desks, the keys on their typewriters clacking. Neither of them paid her any attention.
“I have a few questions about an old murder case. It didn’t happen here though.”
“Getting into some true crime work?” Clayton joked.
“Not exactly. And it’s personal, so I’d like you to ask on the down-low.”
“Down-low?”
“Yes, without raising suspicion.”
“Did you kill someone, Jude?” he cocked a bushy eyebrow and narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.
“Yes. You - if you don’t help me.”
“Oh, come on, when have I ever told you, no?”
True enough. Jude probably leaned on Clayton a bit too much at times. He called her for all freelance photography that the Wexford County Gazette commissioned. It wasn’t any secret he had a crush on her, and occasionally she exploited it. She also just liked him. Unlike many of the men in her life, Clayton always acted the gentleman. He had only asked her out one time and when she politely declined, he simply smiled and said, “I had to try.”
“Her name was Rosemary Bell, and someone killed her in 1935 in Mason - a little town downstate. She was thirteen.”
Clayton jotted the information down on his notepad.
“Long time ago. I’m sure I can get access to newspapers in the area, but I doubt the same reporters will be around, assuming they even had reporters. This was a small town?”
“Yeah, from what I know, which isn’t much. I’m actually hoping for more information about the girl accused of the crime. Sophia Gray.”
“A girl accused? A little girl?”
“Yes. She was also thirteen.”
“Want to tell me why you’re interested in this case?” Clayton asked, removing his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt. He slid them back onto his face and blinked rapidly. “Guess it’s in my eye.” He took them off again and rubbed his left eye.