The weather has slowly deteriorated. I hit the city limits about ten minutes ago, and this rain looks like it’s settling in for the long haul. It started out as one of those persistent light showers that looks worse than it is, but it’s been getting heavier with each minute that passes, and right now it’s a full-blown downpour.
The next name on my list is the one Case said to use as plan B. The crazy-sounding one. Only reason I’m here is because it’s the closest one to me, so I figure I might as well stop by as I’m passing.
I came in on I-95 and took the bridge over the Patapsco River. I followed the road east, navigating the busy, wet streets until I reached Druid Lake, and my destination. It’s a large, gothic-looking building, almost like a castle, situated alone, surrounded by forest on the banks of the lake.
The Stonebanks Institute for the Criminally Insane. Named for some guy who apparently revolutionized electroshock therapy treatment in the 1920s. Well, that’s what the plaque on the wall out front says, anyway.
I’m sitting in the car outside the tall, locked, cast-iron gates, staring out the window. The building is made from old brick and covered in moss. It looks like something from an Anne Rice novel. This storm isn’t exactly helping, either. The clouds are thick and gray, making it look like evening time outside. Plus, in addition to the rain I can hear the rumbling of distant thunder overhead. Christ, all we need now is some random lightning and we’ve got ourselves our very own House on Haunted Hill.
The sky lights up with a flash of lightning, accompanied a few moments later by loud blast of thunder.
I sigh.
Wonderful.
I turn my jacket collar up and get out of the car, hunching against the weather as I walk at a brisk pace through the entrance archway to the right of the gates. The driveway is long and forms a circle at the end in front of the main doors. In the center is a large water feature. It’s a circular stone basin, large and low, with a fountain built into a marble plinth in the middle. The streams of water shoot up and arc down into the basin, which, at the moment, is close to overflowing thanks to the rapid assault of raindrops.
I walk past, stopping at the foot of the steps. I look skyward, watching the rain fall against the backdrop of the building. High above, stone gargoyles, probably carved hundreds of years ago into the corners of the building, stare across the grounds, no doubt relishing the storm.
Yeah… this places gives me the creeps.
I climb the steps and walk through the first set of doors, wiping my feet on the rough flooring in the vestibule. I run my hands quickly over my hair, brushing it away from my face and preventing any rain from dripping into my eyes.
I never used to have this problem… I really need a haircut!
I push open the inner doors and walk through, feeling a blast of warm air from the heater above. I’m standing in a holding area of sorts. To my left, behind thick glass, is the front desk. A nurse is behind it, sitting upright and stiff, professional to a fault. Ahead of me is a line of four men wearing navy blue uniforms and armed with nightsticks and mace canisters. They were idly chatting among themselves, but that’s stopped now I’ve appeared.
“Name?” asks the nurse, unceremoniously.
I’m distracted by the level of security and have to shake my head to refocus. I move over to the glass. “Hi, ah… I was hoping to visit with Ruby DeSouza.”
An almost imperceptible twitch of her eyebrow tells me she’s more than familiar with the name. She flashes a quick glance over to the line of guards. “And you are?”
“I’m a member of the family.”
I’m not. That’s a lie.
Her lips form a thin line, and she glares at me the way a teacher would glare at a pupil when they tell her for the hundredth time their dog ate their homework. “Miss DeSouza has no family,” she replies, challengingly.
I frown but don’t hesitate. “I’m her cousin… on her mother’s side. I know she has no immediate family, and that’s why I feel so bad for not visiting her sooner. I’m really all she has, and I just want to see how she’s doing. Please… I’ve traveled a long way.”
She sighs heavily and opens a compartment on her side of the counter. She slides a clipboard through it, which I take, briefly skimming over the attached paperwork.
“Fill that out, and we’ll escort you through the facility to her cell.”
I shrug and nod. “Yeah, no problem.”
I lean on the part of the desk not covered by the glass and quickly fill the forms out, using as much fake, yet believable, information as I can come up with on the spot. They might check it in detail later, but that’ll take a while, and I intend being long gone by the time they realize it’s all bullshit.
I pass the clipboard back through to her a few moments later, and she quickly checks over the details before nodding at the guards.
I turn, and one of them steps to meet me. “Hold your arms out to the sides for me.”
I do, and smile. “I’m unarmed, officer…”
“I’m sure you are, but this is for your protection.”
Well, that doesn’t sound overly reassuring…
“My protection?” I ask.
“The inmates here are extremely dangerous. Every one of them. We need to make sure there’s nothing on you they could potentially take and use against you. Part of what you just signed is a disclaimer saying you understand the risk to your person while on these premises, and you won’t hold either the Stonebanks Institution or the state of Maryland responsible for anything that may happen to you.”
Ah… Well… That’s just peachy! I don’t really know what to say to that.
“Huh…” is about all I can manage.
The guard finishes patting me down. “Okay, you’re clear. You’ll have an escort at all times while you’re walking around, and you won’t be allowed more than five minutes alone with the prisoner.”
“Is that standard procedure?”
He shakes his head. “No, standard procedure is thirty minutes. With your… cousin, you get five.”
Oh.
I nod and follow him as we walk through another set of doors into the building proper.
Inside, it’s actually a beautiful place. We enter a large reception area. The floor’s circular with black and white tiling polished to a shine. Straight ahead is a staircase covered by a deep red carpet and wide, stained-wood handrails running up either side. It stops on a small landing, beneath a tall window that takes up most of the wall, before stretching away to the left and right, continuing up to the next floor.
Either side of me are corridors lit by flickering light fixtures that cast long, haunting shadows across the walls. This whole place looks more like a 1950s retirement home than anything else.
I bet there’s some serious crazy in this place…
The guard steps to one side, and one of his colleagues follows us through to take the lead. “He’ll show you to her cell.” He turns and disappears back through the door, closing it firmly behind him. I hear the locks turn from the other side.
I look at the guard. He seems young, but has an air of fearlessness about him. “You worked here long?”
He nods. “Eighteen months, give or take.”
“Like it?”
He shrugs. “Not particularly.”
I smile uncomfortably and follow him as he walks across the corridor and up the stairs. We climb up, go left, and come out on the floor above. There’s no carpet here — just cold, hard tile. Facing the stairs is another desk. It’s a makeshift security station with two guards sitting behind it monitoring video feeds on their small screens.
The guard heads down the corridor. I move alongside him, my footsteps sounding loud in the unnerving silence that surrounds us.