Art arrived ten minutes later grumbling. He held a coffee and looked at Damin annoyed.
“Thought he knew how to hunt,” Art whispers.
“He wants me to go into an insane asylum and talk to a previous victim,” I counter.
“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Art asks cautiously.
“Do you want to go instead?” I joke.
Art knew how I felt about insane asylums. Spending any time in one had been pointless and it hadn’t helped at all with my guilt. They said Astra was murdered and my mind saw the person who killed her as evil, non-human and that was why I called them a demon, if only they really knew what was out there.
“Be careful, John,” Art warns.
“Art, it’s an insane asylum with people in it, not demons,” I counter.
He pats my shoulder and whispers, “There could still be demons,” he walks inside.
He meant mental, metaphorical demons of course, not actual demons.
“Damin, come on,” I call.
I was bringing him with me to the insane asylum so I didn’t have to find him after or go back to Raymond’s house and have him wonder why I was back.
He jumped into my car and we drove to the asylum. It was called BayRidge Hospital and it was in Lynn, Massachusetts, fifteen minutes away.
“What’s the victim’s name?” I ask.
“Richard Owens,” he replies.
“What do I tell the doctors?” I question.
“That you are family and want to visit him or something,” Damin replies.
“What are you going to do if he doesn’t provide us with any leads?” I ask.
“Ask the next victim in line, hopefully, they’re not in a mental asylum,” Damin continues.
Their parents were murdered in front of them what did he expect?
Damin didn’t know I’d spent years in an insane asylum so I guess I couldn’t blame him. He’d lost his parents, too though, could he at least sympathize with them somehow?
We arrived at the BayRidge Hospital and I went inside.
There was a clerk at the front desk.
“Hello, there, um… I’m here to visit a family member by the name of Richard Owens,” I stated.
The clerk eyed my last words; she obviously knew who Owens was.
“Was the appointment scheduled?” she asks.
“No, sorry. I was researching my family when I came across his record. I thought he might like a visitor since he probably doesn’t get many considering his situation,” I reply politely.
“I’ll call his doctor and see if he’ll allow you in,” replies the clerk.
The clerk picked up the desk phone and dialed some numbers.
She said Owens had a visitor.
“What was your name, sir?” she asks.
“John Owens, a distant cousin if he’s wondering relation,” I reply smiling.
She relayed the information to the doctor.
“He’ll be down in a few minutes, Richard is outside enjoying the weather,” she replies.
It was almost 7:00 at night and dark, enjoying the weather, I roll my eyes.
Doctor Zaveri, as his name tag said, was surprised Owens had a visitor.
“It really is unusual for him to have a visitor; no one has visited him since he was admitted fifty-nine years ago. What was your relation to him again?” he babbled.
“Distant cousin, as a kid I was adopted and I decided to do some research on my family and found him,” I reply.
“It was a tragedy what happened to him, how they treated him and even after losing them because after he had no one, it’ll be nice for him to have a visitor, someone to talk to him,” Zaveri continued.
“Right,” I replied.
My father was dead; he’d blamed me for my mother’s death and caused my brother’s. My sister had been killed by her husband who’d committed suicide. The list went on and on. My family was gone and I’d been alone till a couple years ago because I feared what my enemies would do to them otherwise.
“He’s not much of a talker, just so you know, but I’m sure he’ll be excited to meet you,” Zaveri assures me.
He led me out to a couple metal table sets. I could see a wheelchair on the far end facing away from us. Vines were climbing the bricks of the building side.
“Well, there is Richard. If you need anything just come and get me, I’ll be inside, okay?” he replied.
“Yeah,” I replied and he ran off.
I walked over to the wheelchair, the guy was oddly quiet.
“Hey, Richard. Richard! I have some questions,” I called.
He didn’t move or make a sound.
I sighed and walked around the wheelchair.
The guy was just lying there; I looked down and noticed he had three fingers missing.
“Hey!” I called. I snapped my fingers in front of his face.
He was breathing but it was like his soul was gone or something.
Well, this was a dead end. Damin wasn’t going to be happy about this.
Why didn’t he just bind the soul to somewhere with meaning? Surely one of the victims’ houses were abandoned?
I snuck out of the insane asylum; I didn’t need to be questioned about why I was leaving early. I got back to my car.
“That was fast,” Damin comments.
“I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him,” I reply.
“Why’s he dead?” Damin asks.
“No, but he’s not responsive, he was just sitting there in a wheelchair,” I reply.
“Are you sure he wasn’t dead?” Damin asks.
“The bloke was breathing but, he wasn’t moving, I tried to make him move, I don’t know what was up with him,” I reply.
“Guess we have to find the next victim,” Damin replies.
“Why don’t you just bind the spirit to somewhere abandoned that has significance to it, like Richard Owens’ old house or something? Then it can’t possess or bother anyone because it can’t move,” I inquire.
“I wanted to stop its killing spree but if we can’t find out the spirit’s name we might have to,” he replies.
“We should just do it,” I reply. “Get this over and done with.”