“Is Butler House haunted, Gus?”
Augustus Torble smiled, and it was an ugly, twisted thing. “If ghosts and demons really do exist, Butler House is where you’ll find them.”
Despite the heat, Tom shivered.
“Do you know anything about experiments being done at Butler House?” he asked. “Tests?”
“What sort of tests?”
Tom didn’t answer, instead waiting for Gus to fill in the silence. The seconds ticked past.
“In prison, you hear things,” Gus finally said. “Things about the government, trying to cure soldiers of their fear. Let me tell you something, Detective. I know fear. I’ve seen it, up close. When you come at someone with a scalpel, and look them right in the eyes as you slip it into their thigh, you can witness fear in its purest, freshest form. And if they could come up with a cure for that, it would be quite a trick indeed.” Gus winked. “But it would also ruin a lot of fun.”
“So you’ve heard about a program like that?”
Torble shrugged. “I’ve heard lots of things.”
“Have you heard about any connection between government experiments and the Butler House.”
“I’ll answer that, but first I want you to answer something for me, Detective. What do you know about fear?”
Without being able to prevent it, Tom thought back to when he had first met Joan. What they’d gone through together in Springfield. The maniacs that tried to kill him. The horrors in the basement.
“Yes,” Torble said, studying him. “You know fear. But unfortunately for you, I cannot confirm nor deny any connection between government experiments and Butler House. But I can show you something that might surprise you. Interested?”
Tom offered a slight nod.
Torble grunted, then began to shake all over. His face turned deep red, the veins in his neck bulging out. Tom was wondering if the guy was having a stroke, or a heart attack. He was about to call for the guard when, quite suddenly, Torble’s hand slapped onto the metal table between them with a BAM! His bleeding wrist still had the cuff on it, but the chain that had wound around his waist was broken.
“I SEE YOUR FEAR!” Torble thundered as the guards rushed in and pounced on him. “YOUR FEAR WILL BE THE DEATH OF YOU, TOM!”
Torble was tackled, pinned to the table while screaming incoherently, and Tom stood up and moved back, too surprised to speak. Another guard escorted him out into the hall, leading him to the exit.
Tom wasn’t sure what he’d actually come here to learn, and wasn’t sure he’d learned anything. Maybe Torble knew something. Maybe he was just a nut who got his jollies trying to scare cops.
If that was the case, it worked. Tom was thoroughly mortified. Not because of his crazy admissions to atrocious deeds. Tom had met plenty of terrible specimens of humanity. Not because he broke his shackles. That was surprising, but not unprecedented. It was well known that people on drugs, or just insane in general, could snap handcuffs.
No, what bothered him most was what Torble had said. Potter had stated Torble hadn’t known Tom was coming.
Yet, somehow, without being told, Torble had called Tom by his first name.
Outside of Charleston, South Carolina
Sara
“Do something, Frank,” Sara said. “It’s suffering.”
They were staring at the side of the road. On the asphalt, in the middle of a small spattering of blood, a cardinal was twitching its broken wing.
“It’s dead, Sara. That’s just a reflex. It hit our windshield going over seventy miles an hour.”
“Are you sure.”
“Yes yes yes. But if this makes you feel better…”
Sara looked away as Frank stomped hard on the cardinal with a sickening crack.
She immediately dug her hand into her purse, locking her fingers around one of the miniature bottles of Southern Comfort. Her buzz was wearing off, and the situation wasn’t improving. They’d tried calling for another cab, but none would take them to the Butler House. Frank was in favor of going back to the airport and renting a car, but their bags were in the cab’s trunk, which wouldn’t open. After hitting the bird, the car swerved off the road and the tail end smacked into a tree. They had to wait for the tow truck driver to arrive with tools to open the back.
Just one sip. To make the fear go away.
She released the bottle. Sara knew she used alcohol to cope. But she refused to believe she was dependent on it. Also, she was starting to like the odd, soft-spoken Dr. Belgium, and wanted to stay relatively clear-headed because she enjoyed his company.
It had been a long time since she enjoyed anyone’s company. After what happened on Plincer’s Island, Sara was certain she’d never trust a man again. But there was something about Frank that was, well… frank. He seemed kind, sincere, and even kind of cute. She didn’t even mind the odd way he spoke, repeating words.
But most important of all, he made Sara feel safe. If she’d been alone in the cab when they hit the cardinal, she would have been hysterical and drinking SoCo like water. But Frank’s presence soothed her. Maybe because he lived through a hellish experience, like she had. Or maybe it was just chemistry.
Sara took her hand out of her purse, and tried to seem nonchalant about it when she placed it in Frank’s. He glanced at her, his eyes widening. But his fingers clasped softly around hers, and all thoughts of drinking slipped from Sara’s mind.
“Thanks for doing that,” she said.
“I could, um, step on it a few more times, if you want.”
“That’s okay. This is really forward of me, Frank, but are you seeing anyone?”
“No. I haven’t… I… it’s been a very long time, Sara.”
“For me, too.”
As Sara stared at him, it occurred to her she’d forgotten how to flirt. She wondered how she looked, no make-up, hair probably a fright. She also wondered how Frank would react to the fact she had a child. Sara hadn’t tried to date anyone recently, but she guessed most men wouldn’t be interested in a pre-made family.
“I have a son,” she blurted out. “Jack. Would you like to see a picture?”
She watched his eyes, searching for any hint of rejection.
“Of course,” he said.
Sara reached into her purse with her free hand, took out her wallet. The only picture in it was of Jack, in his high chair, smiling and eating strained peaches.
“He’s adorable. And his father?”
Sara shook her head.
“I don’t mean to pry, but that painting on the wall behind him,” Frank said. “Is that Van Gogh’s Portrait of a Woman in Blue?”
“It’s a fake. Long story. I thought it was real. But the real one is in a museum in Amsterdam.”
“I’d like to hear that story someday.”
“I’d like to tell it someday. Maybe when we’re done with the weekend. Where do you live, Frank?”
“Pittsburgh. You?”
“Michigan. Near the coast.”
“Which coast?” Frank asked, holding up his left hand with his fingers together and his thumb slightly out.
Sara smiled. Because Michigan looked like a mitten, that was how residents showed where they lived. She touched the base of his index finger.
“So who is taking care of Jack while Mom is off visiting haunted houses?”
“After… what happened to me, I was having some trouble coping. Jack was taken by social services. I haven’t seen him in six months.”