“Maybe I should try the other arm.”
No!
“Yes, I think that’ll I have to… ahh, there it is.”
Deb chanced a look and saw him attach a vacuum vial to the end of the tube, and it began to fill with blood.
“Was that so awful, Mrs. Dieter?”
Deb’s hair was stuck to her head from sweating. She blew out a deep breath, and pumped her fist to make the blood go faster.
“Looking good, Mrs. Dieter. Looking… oh, wait. We’re slowing down.”
He flicked the vial with a fingernail, which tugged on the needle and caused Deb a spike of pain.
“I believe your vein has collapsed.” He roughly grabbed the needle, then pulled it out.
“Do we have enough blood?” Deb whispered.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“So…?”
“So I guess we’ll have to try that other arm after all.”
Before Deb could object, the doctor was pinning down her other wrist and buckling it to the armrest.
She was trapped.
“What are you doing?”
“You recognized me. From the hotel. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t you lie to me, girl.”
Deb immediately began to thrash and yell, but the moment she opened her mouth, the man waved his hand over her face and Deb could no longer make a sound. It felt like something foul had crawled inside her throat and was choking her from the inside out, even though she was still able to breathe. Deb screamed, loud as she could, but it only came out as a hiss of air. She tried to kick him, but he caught her left prosthetic and pressed the vacuum release, letting it drop to the floor. He did the same with the left one.
“Ya know my name is Franklin.” His voice was getting deeper, the southern accent more pronounced. “Ya know I’m very angry about what y’all did at the Rushmore.”
Deb pulled on her arms as hard as she could, until her elbows felt like they were going to pop. But old as the examination table was, it was built solid.
She was trapped.
Franklin strolled over to the equipment cart. He ran his hand over the antique medical tools, his fingers caressing the rusty speculum.
“Ya know I’m angry about going to prison. I’m really, really angry about that, girl. Do ya know why?”
He picked up the hand drill.
“I’ll tell ya why.”
Deb was growing light headed from her attempts at screaming. She tried to push Franklin away with her stumps, but he simply moved to the side of the table.
Then he placed the drill bit on Deb’s thigh, pressing down hard.
“Because,” he whispered to her, “one year ago today, I died in prison.”
He reached his hand down the front of his pants—
—and pulled out a handful of something, throwing it in Deb’s face.
At first, she thought it was rice.
Then the rice began to wiggle.
Maggots.
Franklin put both hands on the drill.
“I don’t like being dead, girl. The spirit world is all fucked up. So I’m going to hurt ya. I’m going to hurt ya so bad. And then I’m going to hurt that husband of yours even worse.”
Just as he began to turn, the back door to the examination room began to slowly open.
Then the lights flickered and went out.
Deb screamed in the blackness, making no more noise than a leaky tire.
A moment later, the lights came back on, just as the drill clattered to the floor.
Deb saw a man in a lab coat standing in front of her.
“I’m Dr. Madison,” he said. “What in God’s name has happened to you?”
Deb tried to talk, but she had no voice. she tried to point with her chin where Franklin was standing.
But Franklin wasn’t there.
Franklin had disappeared.
Mal
When the door opened, and he saw Deb crying and hysterical, something in Mal snapped. He stormed into the exam room, demanding answers from the doctor, listening to his wife try to talk but unable to.
Someone—Tom—finally figured out that she couldn’t speak, and Dr. Madison gave Deb a pen and some paper to relate her story.
Deb’s handwriting was erratic, and didn’t make much sense, but the part that stuck out the most was the word she wrote and circled several times.
GHOST
“So he bound your arms, tried to take blood, then threatened you with the drill?” Tom asked.
Deb nodded. Mal felt sick.
“And you say it was a man named Franklin? Someone you’d met before?”
Another nod.
“He’s in prison,” Mal said. “But he could have gotten out.”
Deb beckoned for the paper and wrote “Franklin said he died in prison.”
“That’s easy enough to check,” Tom said. Then he pointed to the floor. “So is this drill. My guess is that ghosts don’t leave fingerprints.”
Deb shook her head and wrote “gloves”.
“Careful ghost.” Tom looked at Madison. “And you’re sure no one went past you, Doctor?”
“Positive. I was standing in the doorway the whole time. And…”
The doctor’s face pinched.
“And?”
“When I came in here, before the lights went out, I saw Mrs. Dieter. But… I didn’t see anyone else.” He turned to Deb, looking pained. “I’m sorry, but you were alone in here, dear.”
Mal wanted to hit somebody. “This qualifies as assault, right Detective?”
“Absolutely.”
Mal pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
By now, everyone was in the exam room, huddling around Deb. Moni was helping her put her legs back on, and Dr. Madison was peering down his wife’s throat with a lighted opthalmoscope.
“Your vocal chords are swollen, but I don’t see any damage. How did you lose your voice?”
Deb shook her head and mouthed “I don’t know.”
Mal was walking around the office, waving his cell phone around like it was a talisman to ward off evil spirits. “Goddammit, no signal. Anyone else have a cell phone?”
Tom checked his. “No bars.”
“Doctor, where’s the phone in this place?”
Dr. Madison shrugged. “There aren’t any phones at Butler House. No electricity either, except what’s powered by the gas generators. No Internet. We’re completely cut off from the grid here.”
“This is insane,” Mal said. He turned to his wife, who was still shaking from her ordeal. “We’re leaving, Deb. Right now.”
But rather than get the expected nod, Mal watched in amazement as Deb shook her head.
“Honey, you were attacked!”
“If it was a ghost,” Deb said, her hoarse voice barely a whisper, “he went away. If it was a trick to scare me, that’s the point of this experiment.”
She reached out, held Mal’s hand. He gripped it tight.
“Let’s stay,” she said.
Moni grinned. “I’m with you, girlfriend. And if the ghost comes back, we kick his Casper ass.”
Mr. Wellington was feeling the walls. “I can’t find any secret passages or trap doors or mirrors. But any magician worth his salt can do a disappearing act. This didn’t have to be a ghost. There could be a rational explanation for all of this.”
Pang was setting up his spirit hunting equipment. Frank and Sara were holding hands in the corner of the room. Aabir had her eyes closed and was swaying where she stood.
“So much sorrow in the room,” the medium said. “So much misery. And something else. A strong presence. An evil presence. Hatred. Toward you, Deb. Toward your husband. Something to do with West Virginia. Many people died there.” She opened her eyes. “Deborah, can I touch your hand?”
Deb let go of Mal and reached for the psychic. When Aabir touched her, she gasped.
“So much pain in your past, Deborah. So many scars. Much tragedy. But much bravery, too.” Aabir’s eyelids fluttered. “A bed and breakfast. The Rushmore Inn. I see misshapen, deformed people. They’re after you. They want something from you. You’re in a room. In bed. Someone is under the bed.”
Deb’s eyes got wide, and she tried to pull her hand back. But Aabir didn’t let go.