The doctor shook my hand. His grip was strong for an old man. His grin was infectious.
"Nice to meet you." He pumped my arm vigorously. "Considerable facial scaring. Claws, yes?"
"Werewolf," I said, self-consciously touching my face. "I pushed him out of a tall building."
"You must be the lad from Dallas then. Good show on that one. I knew as soon as I saw the report that you would become a Hunter, though I would not have minded having you here for my research—werewolf encounter, survivor's guilt, and a near-death experience, all in one patient. My, but that would make a splendid paper. Perhaps if you have the time you could give me a blow-by-blow account, maybe tell me about any psychosomatic problems you have faced since, obviously not lack of appetite. Ha!" He punched me lightly in the stomach. "Perhaps bad dreams or sexual dysfunction then?"
Julie snickered at my discomfort. Luckily I was spared any further quizzing by the arrival of the other Doctor Nelson. She was a small, thin, birdlike woman. She was probably about the same age as her husband, but the main thing that they had in common was the enormously thick glasses. She also hugged Julie, but before they could even converse, Doctor Joan called the group of patients over.
"Look, everybody. These two people are from Monster Hunter International. They are real live Monster Hunters." I waved sheepishly. Some of the patients oohed and aahed. Others held back, and sullenly smoked cigarettes.
"You are so brave."
"Hunters saved my life."
"You were my savior."
"Thank you."
Probing hands grabbed at me. I was hugged and kissed on the cheeks, and tears fell onto my clothing. I was stunned by the outpouring of emotion, and mostly tried to keep my hands on my concealed weapons. I did not want to find out if any of the patients were feeling suicidal or homicidal. Finally the crowd drew back, leaving Julie and me disheveled and tear-stained. It was a strange experience to be thanked by total strangers for things which I had never done.
"Where were you people when my kids were getting torn apart?" one of the patients snarled. He was a middle-aged man who did not look comfortable in casual clothing.
"Now now, Barney. The Hunters are only human. They can't be everywhere. They can only do their best. We can all learn from that example." The female Doctor Nelson clapped her hands. "Okay, everyone, the sharing circle is done for today. It's lunchtime. Today we are having meatloaf."
"Bah." The man named Barney spit on the ground in my general direction and stormed away. The group dispersed.
"What's his problem?" I asked.
"He must not like meatloaf," Lucius Nelson answered.
The interior of the asylum was much warmer and friendlier than the gothic exterior. The Nelsons had remodeled the building until it looked less like a state-run ward, and more like a comfortable and relaxing place to live. The walls were painted warm colors, and the staff was courteous and friendly. Julie had gone with Doctor Joan to see her father. She had understandably not wanted my company for the painful meeting. If we were needed, Doctor Lucius had his beeper.
I was getting the tour. "Those patients you met are some of the more well-adjusted people we have staying here. Most of them are on the verge of really dealing with their issues. Hopefully some of them will be able to return to the world soon. We also, I'm afraid, have others who are not doing so well. This common area is made up of people who are no longer really a danger to themselves or others. The other sections have greater security."
"Which one is Ray Shackleford in?"
"Maximum security. He is actually a ward of the state, and only released into our custody because of the nature of our facility. We are required to keep him locked up and guarded."
"Is Julie going to be safe?" I could not help but ask.
"I saw that girl beat an Indonesian blood fiend into submission when she was sixteen years old. I'm not worried. But just in case, Ray has been restrained. I would have administered drugs, but I'm guessing that you want him lucid." He adjusted his suspenders. "I wish that MHI would have called and warned us you were coming."
"It was kind of a surprise decision." I shrugged. Some of the patients were playing Ping-Pong. One of them had scars that made my own look miniscule.
"Well, I'm glad that Julie is finally speaking with her father. I just hope that she has prepared herself for this. It could be potentially traumatic." He chuckled softly. "That is why my wife went with her instead of me. She is the loving one."
He pointed at other patients as we continued walking. "Part of the problem we face here is the whole government-mandated secrecy about monsters. Many of our patients were put into regular mental health facilities after their encounters, before we were able to find out about them and bring them here. Unfortunately, when a severely traumatized individual is taken in for treatment, and they are already struggling with the reality of what they have experienced, regular doctors are not much help. Can you imagine going to a normal psychologist and explaining that your boss turned into a werewolf and tried to eat you?" He did not wait for me to answer. "They would think that you were delusional and they would pump you full of drugs. You know what you saw. They don't think that is possible, so after a while the sane and healthy patient begins to doubt their own memories, that leads to insecurity and that snowballs into all sorts of mental problems. If you can't trust your own memory, what can you trust?"
"I got security camera video," I replied.
"Ha. Like most of these poor people get to see anything like that. Damn quacks can ignore piles of evidence, because they are sure that monsters are only figments of our subconscious. I've read huge textbooks explaining how the werewolf and vampire legends, that date back to the dawn of recorded civilization and span every single culture on the planet, are neatly explained by mass hysteria, religious fervor, vain attempts at understanding natural pathological psychoses, or even hallucinations caused by ergot in bad rye bread. Ha. Joan and I were staking vampires while we were still in medschool, so our methods are a little unorthodox in the scientific community. Learn this, Mr. Pitt, there are three kinds of people in the world: people who can't believe in anything, suckers who believe in everything, and a few of us who can face the truth."
We stopped in front of a large security door. A hulking orderly nodded at us, and Doctor Nelson scanned his badge to get us through. We entered a long corridor, lined with steel doors with small window slits. Screaming, crying and gibbering nonsense echoed through the hall. It gave me shivers.
"This ward is for people who have had serious monster trauma and are not coping with it well. They are suicidal, violent, or unable to distinguish reality from fantasy." We stopped before a door. I peered through the slit. A man was sitting cross-legged in the corner. He was wearing a straitjacket, and he was softly beating his head against the padded wall. He was humming "Mary Had a Little Lamb" over and over again. Drool was running down his chin, and forming a puddle on the floor.
"Believe it or not, Carlos here was a Monster Hunter. He worked for MHI up until about fifteen years ago. He was one of our team leads in New England. Brilliant man, great Hunter, good leader."
"What happened?" I asked softly. Carlos cocked his head to the side as if listening to something very far away. After a few seconds he went back to humming.
"Have you ever read any H.P. Lovecraft, Mr. Pitt?"
"Please, just call me Owen. I read a little bit when I was a kid, why?" I did not say that his stories had given me nightmares.
"Lovecraft was no Hunter, but he heard the stories, and he did his research. He had a pretty good idea of what was out there. If you remember, a common theme in his work was the protagonist's gradual descent into madness over a period of being exposed to the darkness of the other side. There are things out there which man is not meant to ever see or understand. Poor Carlos here is a perfect example."
"What did he see?"
"Nobody knows. His whole team went missing, and he was found wandering in the countryside, naked and
confused. Just keep that in mind as you continue your career, Owen. There are some things that are best just left alone."
We exited the ward, leaving Carlos and the others to their songs.
Lunch was filling, and the meatloaf was surprisingly edible, considering it was mass-produced in an insane asylum's cafeteria. Doctor Joan called at one point to tell us that Ray was finally speaking a little bit to his daughter. I overheard part of the conversation. He was coherent, but the Shackleford family reunion was not exactly a joyous occasion.
After we ate, the tour continued, terminating on the back lawns of the Appleton Asylum overlooking the sluggish Alabama River. A high fence ensured that none of the patients decided to take a swim. It had rained briefly, and this time it was enough to break the humidity and lower the temperature to an almost comfortable degree.
As we walked along the lawns, many other patients came up to speak with me. Some wanted to touch my hands, or give me hugs. Many of them thanked me for what I did with heartfelt emotion. I was not used to such attentions.
"They are trying to give their thanks. Of course, I find out about many of my patients from your organization. Many of them would not be alive if it weren't for MHI or your competitors," the good doctor explained. "They see people like you as saviors, as heroes, as champions."
"I'm no hero," I replied. "I'm not even particularly brave."
"It doesn't matter. Everybody needs something to believe in. So for those who have been hurt by evil, they need to have champions of good to offset that in their minds. For the victims, they see people like you as Batman or the Lone Ranger. It keeps their worlds in balance. Mankind needs our heroes."
"I'm not sure exactly what I am, but I'm nobody's champion."
"Don't be so sure. I've been around Hunters longer than you have been alive. It is a job that requires bravery to the point of insanity. Everyone has their own reasons. Some of us are just in this for the money, others are in it for the thrill, others because they need a place to vent their violence in a manner that is not only legal but encouraged. Some do it out of a thirst for revenge. Some, like Julie I'm afraid, do it because it is the only world they know or really fit into. And then there are the few, the very, very few, who do it because they really are heroes, and they don't have it in them to be anything else."
I thought of Trip when he said that. My friend was in this for the right reasons. He just wanted to do good and help people. Guys like him were the heroes. I was just an accountant with a gun.
"So why are you doing this, Owen?"
"You going to psychoanalyze me now, Doc?"
He laughed. "I'm just a curious man by nature."
"Honestly, I don't know. I'm still not sure this is right for me."
"Why?"
I scratched my head. "Well . . ." He was a shrink after all. "Growing up, my father had this weird apocalyptic idea about the future, and he wanted me to be ready for it. So he pushed me into being something that I didn't really think I wanted to be. Then when I got older, I felt like I let him down, so I did something really stupid, lost my temper, and almost killed somebody who probably deserved it, but that's beside the point. So when I tried to distance myself from that kind of thing, and tried to be normal, I find myself involved in something even worse than before. Monsters are real, and it looks like maybe my father was right all along, and the future really is bleak, and I'm supposed to be a violent brute, and it's good that I'm good at killing things. But I still lost my temper and almost killed another Hunter, who once again, probably deserved it, but at least the sharks didn't eat him, so I'm still managing to screw stuff up. Now I'm having visions and hearing voices."
"Okay . . . I'm going to need to bump a few appointments from my calendar this afternoon to squeeze you in . . ."
"No time for that, since it looks like some super monster is trying to destroy time, and somehow I'm tagged by fate or the universe or something to fight him. But when this is over, if I live, I really need to figure out, do I really want to do this kind of thing? Or is it better to just forget this ever happened, and go back to my normal life?"
Doctor Nelson digested my ramblings for a few moments while we strolled along the walk. "Ehhh . . ." He shrugged. "Normal people are lame. Stick with monster hunting."
We stopped as another patient came up to shake my hand.
"Thank you for what you do," he stated vacantly. "The screaming killer frogs done ate my whole family. But y'all came and saved the rest of the town. Thank you. Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said. I did not have the heart to tell him that I did not even know what a screaming killer frog was. "Our pleasure. You just get some rest and get to feeling better. Okay?"
He thanked me a few more times before letting go of my hand. He had some more information to share. "There are some killer frogs flying around. Big ones. These ones are shaped like men. But bigger. And they have wings and horns, so I reckon they ain't really frogs. But you know how that goes. I done saw them in the trees by the river, watching the place. If you get a chance, Mr. Hunter sir, you should probably go kill them or something."
"Thank you for the information, Travis. We will look into it." The doctor patted the young man on the shoulder and sent him on his way. We watched as he ambled off. "Poor boy. He has spent more than half of his life here and he is still delusional. That's too bad. He has not been seeing monsters for quite some time. I'm afraid he may be relapsing. I'm going to have to adjust his meds."
The doctor sat down tiredly when we came to the next bench. We had a good view of the forest, the river, and the back of the asylum. "It has been a long day. I need a little break, and then I'm going to have to return to my duties. And my door is always open, when you take care of your current monster problem. I'm afraid Joan and I don't get many visitors. I do realize that many people find this place kind of depressing."
"Just a little," I lied. I stretched my legs and studied the intricate architecture of the building. It was a remarkably depressing structure considering how much good the Nelsons were trying to accomplish. The building was hideously dark. The walls were thick blocky stone, with carved designs on the edges, and the look was completed by the pair of massive stone gargoyles that sat on the building's roof. "Maybe it's the setting? This place looks more like a haunted castle than an institution dedicated to helping people."
"That it does. But you should have seen it before we bought it from the state. Joan and I wanted to put our earnings from MHI to good use. This facility is perfect for what we do. Though I will agree, it does bring to mind The Hunchback of Notre Dame."
"Yeah, it looks like what insane asylums look like in horror movies. Sorry, mental health facilities," I said. "Heck, you even have gargoyles. Isn't that kind of a bad idea with patients who are scared out of their minds by monsters?"
He adjusted his absurdly thick glasses and studied the roof.
"Hmm . . . I may not need to change Travis's medication after all."
"Huh?"
"Our building doesn't have gargoyles."
We watched as one of the giant statues swiveled its horned head as if it was analyzing the air. The other creature slowly and ponderously stretched one of its wings.
"Oh shit," we said in unison.
Chapter 15
"Julie! We have gargoyles on the roof. At least two of them," I shouted into my cell phone as I sprinted around the property for the van and our stash of weapons. Doctor Nelson had left to sound the alarm to lock down the facility.
"How big are they?" she asked.
"Freaking huge. Probably ten or twelve feet tall. I think they're the big monsters from my dream." I leapt over a bench, surprising a patient who had been napping. "Get inside! Run!" I shouted at the patients as I went past. Just as I said that a horn began to blow. The alarm. "What do we do? I haven't learned about gargoyles yet."
"Grab big guns. Explosives. Gargoyles are stone golems. Animated creatures. If you have to engage with small arms, go for the joints—those a
re fluid. That's how they move. I'll call Earl." She hung up.
I made my way to the parking lot in an all-out sprint, fumbling in my pocket for my keys. I looked up in time to see a third gargoyle land on the front roof of the Appleton Asylum. The roof splintered and cracked as the creature settled its weight. Its wingspan had to be forty feet across, and it nearly blotted out the sun. There was a whooshing noise as the monster gently flapped its wings. It settled deeply into a powerful crouch, talons digging into the roof tiles. Massive arms dangled at its sides, ending in pointed claws. Long horns extended from its head, and continued down its back, terminating in a stubby tail. The beast was gray, and had the texture of poured concrete. It swiveled its head and studied me with blank stone eyes.
I crashed into the van, keys in hand. I picked out the correct one, but before I had a chance to insert it, the gargoyle spread its wings and leapt downwards, covering the four stories in an instant. There was no natural explanation for how such a big thing could glide. It landed on the roof of the van, crushing the center, shattering every window, and compressing the shocks. I jumped aside as the van rocked wildly. The gargoyle swung an absurdly long arm at me, and I barely had time to fall backwards as the claws dug long furrows into the asphalt.
Patients were screaming, falling to the ground and covering their heads, running or hiding, and a few were just standing there mumbling to themselves. I ran for the entrance, and seconds later heard the concrete stairs break behind me as the creature jumped from the roof of the van. Not looking back, I jerked open the double door and entered the asylum. It closed automatically behind me.
Doctor Lucius was there, pushing his way through the panicked crowd. He was breathing hard and his face was gray. The retired Hunter knew to fetch us some hardware, though. The doctor shoved a rifle into my hands, and then shakily lifted his own. They were old M1 Garand rifles from WWII. He handed me a few 8-round en-bloc clips that I dropped into my pants pocket.