Chapter 9
The Morley Ridge psychiatric hospital was one of the few remaining Victorian-era sanatoriums left. It was a dark, imposing sort of building that was rumored to have had a very unsavory past and an alarmingly high death toll amongst its inmates.
It had been spared the fate of many of its contemporaries.
Most had simply been left to rot, becoming dank, creepy abandoned buildings that gave birth to many urban legends.
Not Morley Ridge. It had been repurposed, refitted, and dragged, with the ghostly echoing wails of its previous inhabitants, mournfully into the twenty-first century.
Despite its modern facelift, it still retained an air of foreboding.
Not that Davis paid it much mind. He passed through the security checks with an unconcerned air, signing the visitors log with efficient practicality as he waited patiently before the heavy metal bars of the internal security door.
He lifted a hand and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his crisp gray suit, while he waited for a bored-looking security guard to check his briefcase.
When the guard found nothing of note, he snapped the case shut and handed it back.
Davis inclined his head in acknowledgment as the door buzzed loudly, followed by a heavy clunk as the door swung open.
Davis stepped into the sparse white corridor.
Another guard was waiting to lead the way.
He gave Davis a cursory glance and set off at a brisk pace, his boots squeaking against the floor.
Davis followed the now familiar route until they reached a small, private visiting room.
Davis’s penetrating gaze missed nothing as he glanced through the open doorway.
The room was plain and sparsely furnished with whitewashed walls and a barred window, which let in the pale early morning light.
A metal table and chairs sat bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.
One was empty, the other was not.
Charles Connell sat silently, his eyes vacant.
He wore his usual lurid orange jumpsuit with neatly tied white canvas sneakers and white sports socks.
His ankles were chained to the seat, as were his wrists.
His nails were clean and neatly trimmed, and his deep brown hair, which was graying at the temples, was neatly combed.
Despite the fact that he had been the unwilling guest of several mental institutions over the past twenty years, he had not aged badly. His face was freshly shaved, and his skin a smooth and pleasing color, not the pallid, sickly complexion of someone who rarely saw the outside of his cage.
All in all, Charles Connell had endured his captivity well, with one minor inconvenience. Charles’s head drooped to one side, his mouth hanging open. His eyes stared at the wall.
“You couldn’t have waited to medicate him until after I had spoken with him?” Davis spoke directly to the guard, his face hard and his voice full of censure.
The guard smirked and shrugged his shoulders as he tugged at the belt tucked under his paunch. “It was the Doc’s call.”
“I see.” Davis replied, his expression cool.
“I’ll be outside when you’re done. I’m guessing it won’t take long.” He smirked again and headed toward the door.
Placing his briefcase down on the table in front of him, Davis unbuttoned his jacket and sat down, taking the seat opposite Charles.
He didn’t move, just sat watching patiently.
The guard snorted and slammed the door behind him.
For several moments they sat in silence, the stillness of the room broken only by the monotonous tick of the wall-mounted clock.
Slowly, Charles’s eyes rotated toward Davis, his gaze no longer blank but sharp and focused.
He straightened in his chair and closed his mouth.
His tongue moved inside his cheek, slightly distending it, before he blew out an elegant breath.
A small white capsule was expelled from his parted lips, landing on the table between them.
Davis looked down at the pill and then back up to Charles. “Good morning, Charles,” he said softly, his voice betraying no hint of surprise.
“Davis.” The man’s voice was low and cultured with a slight rasp to it, as if he hadn’t used it for a while.
“They haven’t tried to medicate you in some time,” he remarked.
“Apparently, they’ve been receiving phone calls from Mercy’s chief of police,” Charles replied in dry amusement.
Despite the air of refinement and wealth that his sharply tailored suit implied, Davis had a hint of danger about him. But it was still there, nonetheless. His face was handsome and untouched by age, a direct contrast to his white-blond hair and pale-colored eyes.
“I assume they are trying to keep you from talking to the wrong people,” Davis mused.
“I would imagine so.” Charles’ mouth curved. “However, they aren’t very subtle about it.”
“The first sacrifice has been made,” Davis said quietly.
Charles’ eye flickered but otherwise gave no other outward reaction to the news. “It bears the brand of the serpent?”
Davis gave a sharp nod.
For a moment, the only sound in the soulless room was the rhythmic tapping of Charles’ fingertips on the table. “Is everything in place?” Charles finally asked.
“Yes, all the arrangements have been made, and everything is proceeding as planned.”
“Good.” Charles nodded. “My daughter?”
“She’s returned to Mercy,” Davis replied.
“Does she suspect?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on her. For the moment, she knows nothing.”
Davis shifted his sleeve and glanced at his watch.
“It’s time.” He stood slowly. “Are you ready?”
Charles stood too, and the restraints at his wrists and ankles clicked open and dropped back against the chair with a small metallic clang. He felt his power flex and unfurl inside him, held dormant for too long.
“I think it’s time to pay my daughter a visit.”
“Shall we?” Davis gestured with his hand, indicating for Charles to take the lead.
Charles nodded, moving toward the door. It opened and swung outward; it caught a soft heap sprawled across the polished floor making a muffled thud.
Charles stepped over the unconscious guard, followed by Davis. The two men strolled down the corridor like they didn’t have a care in the world. Upon reaching the internal security door, it buzzed and swung open.
They proceeded through the facility, stepping over the unconscious bodies on the floor and ignoring the guards and staff slumped at their positions. The air was heavy with the scent of magic, and all around there was not a single conscious person.
“Hex bags?” Charles asked, and Davis nodded. “Potent,” Charles mused.
“I called in a favor from our friends in the South,” Davis replied. “Cost us, but everyone within the vicinity of the facility will be out for at least a few hours.”
When they finally stepped out of the main entrance and into the crisp, fresh air, a shiny black SUV waited patiently. Looking up at the endless, cloud-covered sky Charles took a deep breath, allowing the clean air to saturate his lungs.
“Charles,” Davis interrupted, holding the car door open for him. The gate beeped and slid open as they exited the grounds of Morley Ridge.
“Are you ready?” Davis asked.
Charles smiled dangerously. “I’ve been ready for the past twenty years.”
* * *
Olivia stepped back as she admired her handiwork. The display cabinet situated in the dining room now gleamed, the deep rosy-colored wood so glossy it almost reflected the sparkling glasses housed inside.
She’d finished wrapping and boxing the items she personally didn’t care for— those would be stored in the attic until she decided what to do with them.
Now that all the furniture was clean and dusted and a slight citrus smell hung in the air, she filled a bucket, and brush in one hand and a rag in the other, she began to tackle the floor.
It was good, sweaty, mind-numbing work, and exactly what she needed after the events of the last couple of days.
There were moments when she really felt like turning around and heading straight back to Providence.
She could sell the house. The errant thought popped into her head, and as it did, she heard a door slam shut upstairs. She flinched at the sound.
She didn’t like the idea much either. Being away for so long, she’d forgotten how much she loved the house and the lake, even the woods.
No, she wouldn’t sell the house, no matter what.
It was in her blood, and it was her home as no other had been in the twenty years she’d been absent.
Besides, she thought darkly, it would just give Chief Walcott more reason to suspect her.
No, she needed to bide her time and hope that the real killer was caught soon.
She turned her attention back to the floor, scrubbing in never-ending circles.
It didn’t take long before she was disturbed by the sound of tires on gravel.
Hauling herself to her feet, she dropped the wet rag back into the bucket with a splash and pulled back the curtain.
A pickup truck was towing her car to the front of her house, and behind it followed a compact silver sports car.
Olivia headed for the front door, and stepped out onto the front porch, folding her arms across her chest defensively.
Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone?