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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

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Unforgettable-Chapter Seven

Also on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Seven

Geneva looked over the high sign-in counter and round blue eyes in a gorgeous face stared back.

“May I help you?”

“I need to see Jamie right away.”

“Let’s get you scheduled for next week sometime. What is a good day for you?”

“You idiot, he’s my fiancé for Christ’s sake. Is there a patient with him now?”

The office manager cut Geneva off as she came through to the back office and would not let her pass. I’m sorry miss, doctor Fraser has never mentioned your name and I am not in the mood to waste time with your pushy attitude. Either you leave on your own or I throw you out. Your choice.

Geneva sneered at the woman who was at least six inches shorter and hadn’t more than one hundred pounds on her.

“Jamie!”

Geneva tried to walk passed feeling no more than a brush of the manager’s foot between her ankles and within seconds she was laying on the floor and the manager had the heel of her shoe millimeters from her eyeball.

“You crazy fucking bitch, back off me or pay the consequences.”

“Ok, not heavy in the brain department since I am ready to take your eye out and you are giving me orders. I pity people like you. Here is a favor, you get your flat ass off the floor and I hand you back your shoe outside. If doctor Fraser needs to speak to you, I’m sure he will call.”

An hour later the manager placed a stack of files on Jamie’s desk and stared at the haunting picture that hung directly across on the other wall. The girl leaning against the scrub sink was beautiful, lost in her thoughts. It looked like a black and white picture at first, but a band of light illuminated her face showing her porcelain skin and extraordinary golden eyes.

Jamie laid prone behind the rifle and swept the night scope across the land in front of the barn. He was laying out a map in his head to get them across the border, but it was a very long way on foot. He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear Claire crawl across the wood floor until she leaned into him putting her head on his upper arm. He wrapped it around her and kissed her. She rolled to her back and squeezed into his side before falling back to sleep.

Despite the trouble they were in, low water supply, dwindling food, and the expected raid on the barn, Jamie watched the sun push up into a purple and pink sky. It took his breath away.

“That’s a beauty,” John whispered into his yawn. “Give me Lucy. I get nervous with you touching her everywhere and I ‘d be scared shitless if you had to shoot her.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and slid the rifle and stand toward John. Jamie was boots on the ground, hand to hand combat and never found much value in a gun. Especially since he was a terrible shot. It was Jamie’s hands that grabbed the target and yanked him or her out of hundreds of near-death scenarios. He never quit. If he couldn’t get to the target, he would create a way in. His most important mission, until this one, was pulling his commander out from under the noses of his Arab captors just hours before his execution. Jamie had been directly under the floor of his cell for three days chipping away at the floor surrounding the drain, but leaving the tiles intact. It was risky and he had to listen to Dougal get the shit beat out of him night after night, but he kept at it.

When it was time, he shattered the tiles and pulled Dougal into the hole dropping him into the river of piss and feces that ran under the prison. Dougal ran as best he could and collapsed when they emerged behind the prison. Jamie hoisted the man across his shoulder and ran with him for two solid hours to rendezvous with the chopper. He dove into the craft pulling the commander into a seat and buckling the harness. Jamie assessed the injuries mid-flight and when Dougal opened his eyes, he saw the man that wouldn’t quit, his savior.

John looked at Jamie, “we’ve run out of time friend, we need to go and you know it, do you have a plan?”

“I know only that the enemy has laid low waiting for reinforcement to arrive. By the time they hit us they will have all the best technology and weapons to make short work of it. And yes, it’s time to go.”

Jamie looked down at his communication device and punched in the code he had tried several times a day for the past five days. When the response came back, he jumped almost a foot in the air and rubbed his bleary eyes.

“Jesus! They’re comin in hot, hold position, one hour! Thank Christ.”

Claire rubbed her eyes and squinted at the sun coming into the upper window. Jamie repeated the news to Claire and she scrambled away to tell the others. Three happy men shared the last of the food with Claire. Jamie watched them together and was happy she had these friendships in this hell hole.

When the shooting started, they were well out of range. Why announce you’re here and waste the bullets John wondered. Jamie was next to John with his field glasses sweeping the vegetation.

“Two o’clock! Where the hell did they get that?”

John looked through the scope and saw the grenade launcher. He had one shot before the barn would blow up with them in it. In the last fraction of a second, he changed targets and sent a bullet into the grenade blowing up the men and the gun.

Jamie watched the ground in front of the barn and shook his head. “It looks like the ground is movin. They’re comin! Take cover!” Jamie scooped up Claire and set her behind the bales of hay. The bullets would be coming through the walls when they got a little closer. John was getting as many as possible but there were too many. Within minutes the walls of the barn were splintering as bullets came through. It was deafening and absolutely terrifying. Jamie pulled on John’s sleeve yelling for him to take cover. When he didn’t move, Jamie used his strength to pull him behind the hay.

Jamie pulled Claire into his chest and turned his back on the bullets. The walls, hay, and his dense body would shield her, in the beginning. She will still die when they come up the ladder, guns blazing. Jamie would have a surprise for them, he thought, squeezing the grenade in his hand.

The first shells launched by the Blackhawk helicopters blew a large divet in the ground and sent bodies flying into the air. Large bullets from both helicopters pushed back on the rebels until there was enough room to land the military transport helicopter between the barn and the Rebels. With the Blackhawks pointed nose down, they kept the bullets raining on the rebels giving cover to the bird on the ground.

Jamie shouted to the men to run and they piled into the open side door. Jamie held Claire and she pushed him away.

“I can run Jamie,” and she bolted toward the chopper. The Blackhawks above continued their assault until the transport was off the ground and a safe distance away, then they sped off leaving over one hundred men on the ground staring after them.

Jamie looked up at Dougal with a huge smile on his face. They nodded to each other.

“Thank Christ.”

Jamie put a headset on to talk to the commander. “Blackhawks?”

“This turned into a combined military rescue and you and John were never there. The doctor and two of the nurses are American, hence, the Blackhawks. It was leaked to the American press that the surviving medical personnel were pinned down by rebels that took the hospital. Christ, after that it was a stampede to see who could get down here the fastest.”

Dougal reached for a side pocket and handed papers to Jamie.

“We prepared a statement for each of them. Make sure they memorize them in the next thirty minutes.”

Everyone was reading the statement they would have to make in the military debriefing and then the press, but first they would be swept into a private room in the airport, where Dougal would join others and put the fear of God into the four of them about exposing the real heroes that saved them.

John was in the corner cradling Lucy as he slept. When the transport landed, Dougal told them to follow the escorts. Their worried families had been flown to Mexico to rendezvous with them.

Claire suddenly understood, she was expected to go with the others, but she had no family or friends here and she wanted to stay with Jamie.

“Jamie!”

Cutter leaned down to her ear and said, “there is no Jamie on the helicopter sweetheart. It won’t be long sweet pea and you can fly to Scotland.”

Dougal flew Jamie and John to a remote section of the airport, shook their hands, and they walked away. A suitcase was provided to carry John’s rifle back to the safe house. Jamie turned around and looked directly in the commander's eyes and nodded his thanks.

Twenty minutes later a taxi rolled up on the safe house and two filthy, starving, exhausted men went inside. Dougal had dropped off supplies. There were porterhouse steaks two inches thick, a bowl of salad, garlic bread and a casserole with microwave instructions. A bottle of good whisky was opened and poured into two glasses.

John had Lucy broken down and was cleaning each piece meticulously. Not a word was spoken between the two men because no words were necessary. They saved four people, killed at least fifty, and narrowly escaped with their lives, just like so many times before.

Jamie stepped off the plane in Scotland and tried Claire again, it went straight to voice mail which was now full because he had left so many messages. When he dropped into bed and stared into the darkness, he remembered holding her in the bushes with gunfire all around them. Where are you Sassenach?

“Welcome home Doctor Fraser. I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

“Yes, thank you. Will ye let the staff know to come back tomorrow? Thank ye.”

Jamie stared into Claire’s eyes in the picture feeling his chest tighten, hearing his own words, “I expect her to wave goodbye at the Mexican airport and follow him again.”

When he was ready to leave in the evening he stopped in the front office and measured his words carefully.

“How did ye know where I was? How did ye know to tip the American’s off about the nurses?”

The manager turned a murderous look at Jamie but something in his face made her stop.

“Your kitchen table had the whole story. The Honduras map, your code notes, your laptop with search history. It was all very sloppy doctor, a terrible breach of protocol. I imagine you will be retired from the reserves and your military career will end. I have been reassigned, I leave in two weeks.

Jamie nodded his head and walked toward the door. “Well, thanks for gettin me out of there, good night.”

Jamie walked into his kitchen and was stunned to see Geneva sitting at the table. He saw his key next to her purse and dropped it in his pocket. He poured two whisky’s and sat across from her with questioning eyes.

“What are ye doin here lass?”

She looked at him sharply, “what do you think I’m doing here?”

Jamie was not in the mood for this game. He had made his intentions clear on two occasions and she seemed not to listen and continued to act like his girlfriend.

“We tried to find our way to one another but we dinna have a foundation of mutual interest, trust, support, and tolerance. It wasna there and that makes a long- term commitment impossible. I wish you the best and hope ye have a happy life, truly. But it wilna be with me.”

He stood and pulled gently on her elbow, guiding her to the door. Drive safely, Geneva. The door closed and he sighed deeply, hoping it was finally over with her. He poured another whisky.

The next two weeks went by in a blur and Jamie just powered through it, knowing his emptiness would fade in time and he would feel normal, young, strong, and invincible, again. Claire’s picture in his office tormented him but he refused to take it down. One day he would, but not today.

“Excuse me! I am so sorry about this, but I am here to see Jamie and I don’t have any money for the Taxi.”

The manager looked up into golden eyes and black curls falling in every direction. She gasped as her wicked fast brain connected the dots.

“Yes of course.” She pulled a twenty out of her lab coat and handed it to her. “Will this due?”

“Right this way dear.”

She led Claire into an examination room and looked at her lovely bare legs, high heels, tiny shirt, and jeans jacket. Her excitement was palpable and the manager smiled to herself as she closed the door.

“Doctor you have a lady in room three, she asked for taxi money when she got here, and she is very anxious. You better hurry before she starts kicking the door. I’ll be right in with her chart.”

Jamie tapped on the door and walked in feeling her body ‘s impact and her arm come around his neck. She kissed him hard, melting into his arms.

“Sassenach. What happened to ye?”

“Our phones were taken and replaced with new numbers within twenty-four hours but there was no trace of you in my phone or Joe’s. Surgery on my shoulder, ten days in-patient, four of those in ICU from reaction to anesthesia. Released at noon yesterday and went to a dress shop and straight to the airport.”

His mouth closed on hers and they kissed, repeatedly as Claire cried and Jamie smiled. He pulled her into his office and heard her gasp behind him. She was staring at the picture and pulling out a Wired magazine from her purse. The same picture was on the cover and it was named “The Little Nurse in Honduras.”

“I’ve never felt so famous and no one knows my name,” she laughed.

They sat on the couch knee to knee and Jamie feasted on her bright face and happiness. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he would lose his mind if he didn’t ask her.

“What are yer plans Sassenach. Can ye stay for a little while.”

“I’m applying for a job actually and I don’t know where in the world it will take me, but it starts here in Edinburgh.” She pulled an add page from her purse and read the add to him.

“Wanted: girlfriend and professional fan, must like hor de oeuvres and whisky, dancing at the club, romantic dinners, and camping. Must….”

Claire was pulled to her feet and kissed so sweetly, touched so lightly she was ready to lose her mind. She looked up with smoldering eyes that were telling him what she needed.

“I’m asking for the night off tonight, pizza or something easy.”

“Done.”

She was moving toward the door, “If I say uncle, I will never ask again.”

Jamie lunged for her once he understood and she slipped out his door giggling.

Jamie grabbed the pizza and broke land speed records getting home. Since hearing the word uncle, he imagined Claire on his bed, naked, reaching for him. Instead, he saw her across the street handing tools to the neighbor while he worked on his car. Oh God he thought, she had no way of gettin in the house! Claire ran across the street smiling wide, so happy he was home.

“I’m sorry for the oversight Sasse”.

Claire stopped his words with a hard kiss on her tiptoes as she pushed him backwards toward the door.

“Lucky bastard,” was mumbled by the neighbor as he dropped back into his engine.

When the door was closed, pizza dropped on the kitchen counter he turned on her and kissed her to the bedroom where frantic stripping led to frantic licking and sucking from each of them. When Jamie sent her into her first orgasm, she pulled on his shoulders making it clear she wanted him to pound into her. Jamie gratefully shed his restraint and pushed into her soft wet pulsing pussy. He felt her body stiffen and a painful gasp followed.

“Sassenach, what is it, what’s wrong?”

“Oh my God, that fuckin hurt!”

She pushed her fingers into her sloppy wetness and looked horrified. Then her eyes got bright like she remembered something important.

“You’re a pussy doctor! What’s wrong with it?”

Jamie had a feeling the pain was due to lack of use, but he didn’t know how to ask her without prying.

He smiled wickedly, “this problem will resolve quickly if ye let me help ye, but first, I need to take a look.”

He pushed her legs open and pulled her into a gasping, needy, trembling state and then pulled her down for a come fuck me kiss that almost finished her off. He rolled to his side, face to face with her pulling her leg over his hip and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. He kept up the intense kissing and felt her lower leg push against his back sending him deeper into her. When he pinched her nipple, her leg slammed him to her cervix and Jamie growled into her face. He let her take him as she wanted and when he finally let himself go his climax shook him to the core.

After a renewing shower, they sat down to eat and talk about the fourteen days they were apart.

“Did Cutter ever tell ye how he escaped?”

“They sent three teenagers into the hospital to count the bodies and make sure they were dead. The boys were only interested in the narcotics they could steal so while they stuffed their pockets Cutter got up and ran. He was never shot, he just went down in a pool of blood.”

She told Jamie about meeting Cutter’s wife and the mothers of Joe and Kevin. She stayed with Joe’s family when she wasn’t in the hospital and cried herself to sleep each night.

“I need to find a home. Get brave and put down roots but I’m afraid of putting pressure on both of us to find a comfort zone with each other. Edinburgh is where my friends are, where you are, where I feel most comfortable right now. I want to find my own place to live, work at the hospital, and go out with you. That is what I want.”

Jamie was reminded of her honesty and ability to ask for what she wanted. Every word made sense to him and he would be so happy to have that place to start from.

“How is it that God gave ye such a rockin body and a brilliant mind Sassenach? You must have gone through the line twice which means yer a smart lass, aye?”

Later, with all the lights in the house turned off and two bodies in his bed he waited for her to say or show how she wanted to sleep. When she pressed her back into his chest he smiled and wrapped her in his warmth to last the whole night through.

The next week was the most delightful Jamie could remember. Claire was so easy to live with and surprised him with delicious meals at night and a spunky attitude in the mornings. When the weekend approached he had a surprise for her too.

“Sassenach, it’s Friday, I can get home early and take ye shoppin for clothes and shoes. If ye want, we can have dinner and play pool for a while.”

Claire was over the moon and jumped into his truck when he came by to pick her up, bursting with happiness. Jamie pulled her from one store to another and her bags and boxes mounted between them in the truck.

“What is yer favorite outfit Sassenach. Put it on, please? Yes, right here in the truck, I promise I wilna look.”

When they got back in the truck after dinner Jamie wanted to stay out for a while and teased her into a game of pool. On the way into the club, his stomach was churning, hoping her friends came through for this spontaneous welcome home party. Claire heard shouts and whistles as they came through the door and she looked up at a table full of her friends. Geillis and Laoghaire ran to her, arms wide, and the hug-fest was on.

Jamie loved seeing Claire so happy and did his best to get to know the people in her life. He watched her turn down offers to dance all night and was thrilled she stayed in his lap like she was staking her territory. At midnight, she was saying goodbye and thanking everyone. Jamie had been in a deep conversation with Rupert and Angus popping his head up when he heard they were leaving. He let her lead and when they waved goodbye she was in a happy mood covering him with kisses all the way home.

Claire was still into tender lovemaking but said the pain was getting better. They made love every night and he waited for her to want more but she seemed content for now. He waited for her to push away from him afterward, but she hadn’t done so yet. He was happy in the moment. Knowing she would have her own life and home soon, he enjoyed every minute while he had it.

Claire made a huge breakfast on Sunday morning. She had important questions to ask Jamie and thought a full stomach would help. She watched him sip coffee and read parts of the paper to her. He glanced up at her and dropped the paper.

“What is it Sassenach?”

She looked at him like she was trying to talk herself out of asking, then launched into the tough discussion.

“How long have you been a secret soldier?”

Jamie looked at her and knew instantly he would tell her whatever she wanted to know.

“I was eighteen when I joined. I had been to the recruiting office because I heard some branches of the military pay for medical school, and that’s all I wanted to do with my life. I was invited to join a black ops group and I was promised undergraduate and medical training after five years. I accepted and never doubted my decision, it was the only way for a farm boy to become a doctor.”

“Why would they pay for college after five years?”

“The lower the chance of survival the higher the pay Sassenach. We had the best shooters, the best fighters, the best recon, infiltrators, code breakers, pilots, and hand combat soldiers. They all became rich if they lived. I was released from duty five years later and shed the soldier's skin like I was molting. I dinna think about the military the whole time I was in school, but I had agreed to two missions a year after my residency. So I knew that was comin.

“For how long?”

“Until I no longer had medical clearance. Lost my vision, or chronic injury, something that made me unfit.”

Claire couldn’t help the tears because she was so afraid for him. How could she attach herself to someone that had such a low chance of surviving his commitment? She was in love with him and the thought of living without him was no longer an option. She would lose her mind when he left, two times per year.

Jamie gave her a moment to consider what he said and his heart broke when she gave in to her tears.

“Sassenach, I am going to be booted for going to Honduras. I lose my pension, bonus, and mission pay which equals more money than I can make as a doctor.” He waited, “it’s over Sassenach. My military career is over.”

Claire’s head popped up and her glassy eyes stared at him, wondering if she heard right.

“What?”

“I’m not a soldier anymore. Being released from my unit would have killed me before Honduras. Now, it doesna pain me much because I see other things in my life that are more important. Things that I never thought I would have because of my soldiering.”

Claire stood up and dropped herself on his lap, face to face. “Do things have a name soldier?”

He brought his warm hand up her leg and cupped her butt, smiling at the sensation he felt.

‘It’s still a covert mission and I canna speak of it, sorry.”

He grabbed her hair, forcing her head to drop back and bringing his lips to a millimeter of hers.

“That’s enough talk of a life in the past Sassenach. I am in need of yer body and yer wee noises.”

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed where he bent her in the most erotic positions, making her wait for release until she tried to take control. Her wrists were above her head before she knew what was happening and he held her this way for a torturous seduction that made her forget time and space. When he released her hands, she brought them down to hold him and kiss his face as she opened her legs and pressed him to her. Jamie had given her an express pass to the wild side and here she was holding him, pressing her face into his, and kissing like an angel instead of a wanton she-devil. He pressed his forehead to hers and every stroke said I love you, I want you, and we belong together.

Claire opened her eyes and looked at the empty bed. Pulling Jamie’s robe on she wandered into the living room where Jamie was reading.

“Will you take me to get a paper today?”

Jamie pulled his keys out and offered his truck for her to use. Claire held the keys with a worried look on her face.

“Do ye have a license Sassenach. Do ye drive?

“Probably.”

“I have a better idea lass, let’s go drive so ye can get a license, when yer ready, and have more independence. Wouldn’t that make ye happy Sassenach?”

With the housing ads folded on the seat and forgotten, Claire drove the truck around the stadium parking lot with the biggest smile Jamie had ever seen. It was a delightful way to spend Sunday afternoon and it would forestall her finding her own place to live for another day. Jamie smiled and decided that was just fine.

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unadulteratedrebelrunaway · 6 years

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I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE

[8/27/18].

Alexander W. Benson II

Do you find old building's creepy? Old buildings seem to have a personality all their own, and once abandoned, they always seem to take on a life all their own. The tragic part seems to be they radiate a sense of sadness. It is almost as if they know they've been abandoned, and they resent it.

Think about how much damage resentment can inflict on a living person. Whenever I walk by old dwellings in particular, I always have this sense they are pulling me in, and once I enter, I can never leave.

Lockport, New York, has many historic buildings. The city itself is built atop the Niagara Escarpment, excluding Lowertown. Many of its founders were Quakers and early Jewish settlers. Even then, Jewish people happened upon discrimination. Grand Island was originally set up as a colony for Jewish people, and it wasn't Jewish people who set that up.

Anyway, the city of Lockport still has some of its buildings, along with their own personalities. One such place is situated on the Niagara County Golf Course. Before the golf course was there, the grounds were home to the country poor house, which consisted of several buildings. A few of them still stand today, and one of those is the old poorhouse itself.

Back then, the poorhouse was where people went once society had no use for them. Too sane to be put in a mental hospital, and too law abiding to be put into prison or jail, yet their lot wasn't all that much better. Their lot was one that time and place seemed to forget.

People went in there unknown to the world, to a place where nobody knew their name, and then they died without a name. Crude nameless crosses marked their exit from this world. For years, people came, people saw, and then they went on enjoying their own lives without a care for those in the pine boxes. It is all just as well, since those boxes have probably rotted away.

In this poorhouse, in the basement, was the morgue. If there is one thing to really make an old building look and feel creepy, give it a morgue. To make matters worse, this morgue still has some of the rather crude equipment that was the livelihood of those who made their living off of the dead.

On several occasions, the county tried getting rid of this building, but to no avail. No matter what the price, nobody wanted it. Once in a while, a wealthy investor would seem interested in it, however, they would always pull out, and nobody ever knew why. It was almost as if some unknown force prevented its sale every time.

My wife and I got invited to stay at her friend's house across the street from the golf course back in 2008. I, for one, was looking forward to playing a round of golf. Not only that, I thought it was kind of cool rooming across the street from a historical site. It looked so peaceful and relaxing. My wife hates golf, but she has always been keen on historic places.

One thing about old places is they always have some kind of history, and by that I mean they must have been witness to something noteworthy. For instance, if they housed patients during the Cholera outbreak, then some heavy stuff must have gone down. Some of the bigger places involved have catacombs built right into the foundations.

Places like these have had many a share of hard luck stories, and I'm a believer in residual haunting, for one. For those of you who don't know what that is, I'll explain. An example would be if something traumatic happens to one or more people who are in a specific place at a certain time, then I believe that imprints itself on the very grounds it occurred. Think of it like when something gets burned, and even after that item is removed and the surroundings get cleaned inside and out, the smell is permanently stained into the very fabric of that environment, and nothing can get rid of it. It is almost as if the very fabric of time and space permanently records the very event, and will occasionally replay it for all the later generations to bear witness to it also.

As for my wife, let me just say that she is a bit more than a dabbler in the paranormal. She loves taking pictures and recording paces with an audiotape. Her paranormal photographs range from taking pictures of churches in broad daylight to old decrepit cemeteries on Halloween at midnight. I've looked at her pictures, and despite what people say about orbs, most of them look like reflections of light. When somebody tells me there is a face in that mirror, I look and I have to say, "What face? It looks more like a smudge to me." Then there are those pictures in the cemeteries at night. In one of them, I see hundreds of different colored dots. It looks like moisture to me. Why are they different colors? I tell people about all the experiments with light, like the way it can be refracted and split into all the different colors of the rainbow. Just take a look at Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.

I'm even less impressed by the audio taped recordings. Nothing more than gruff sounds. It doesn't matter where any of those have been recorded, whether that be an old asylum, or some open field where nothing happened. The sounds are always the same. Now, if I hear somebody talking into it, and saying words that I, along with some of the other witnesses present, can hear clear as day, at the same time, then I would be inclined to believe what I hear.

As for hearing voices that couldn't be there, and some otherworldly sounds, I've never heard any of those. At least I didn't until this trip.

The poorhouse was beautiful but creepy. There were two windows at the corners that looked like a pair of sad eyes. It gave an air that seemed to say, "You can come in, but you are never going to leave. I'm keeping you." I remember as we were carrying our bags into her friend's house, I said, "Looks nice enough, but I wouldn't want to confront whatever haunts that place on a dark night."

Ironically, my wife never went inside it. Her friend, Phantasia, told her it might collapse on her, plus it was illegal to enter. I found it weird she never ventured inside. She was one of the most curious people I've ever met. That was one of the reasons I married her. We never would have met if it wasn't for that. Nevertheless, I figured that was that.

I asked Phantasia about the poorhouse the following day. She told us about the place's history. I asked something about what probably went on back then, like how we did some of the same things for the furthering of medical science that the Germans were also doing since we were in a race for who would become the next superpower at the time. Phantasia denied everything. Her friend told us in no uncertain terms that none of the atrocities happened. She changed the subject real fast by telling us we should go for a round of golf. My wife acted excited about playing golf, which was weird because she always hated golf. I thought I was having a flashback from my partying days.

When we went outside, she told me we were investigating the old poorhouse. I hated this, but I knew she was going in there, with or without me. To keep her from hurting herself or possibly getting arrested, I went along despite my feelings about it.

It was hot and sunny outside. Inside, it was dark and cool. Nothing but stainless steel tables and turn of the century medical equipment. If it hadn't been for the dust everywhere, the room probably would have been very bright on account of everything being ivory white. I guess these places where laid out like this to make everything extra bright once the lights were on. Attention to detail, especially since life was separated by death by fractions of a millimeter in here. One slip, and oops, I've lost another patient. Of course, I hate to admit this, but I'll assume that since lawyers weren't in such a sue happy mood until the 1980's, maybe the doctors back then weren't as concerned about using extra care when it came to saving a patient's life.

Off to one side, was a room with a heavy steel door. It looked filthy but very robust.

Like I said, the entire room was white despite all the dust. What I saw next put ice in my veins. There was a cabinet with a glass door. I would find out later it was what the mortician used to fill the dead people up with formaldehyde. Half the windows were boarded up. There didn't seem to be an alarm system. I was hoping it wasn't one of those silent alarms. There was an old heavy wooden clipboard with a rusty hasp that wasn't locked. Being curious, my wife opened it. The paper was extra thick, much thicker than anything they use today, and the writing was in black ink. The writing was perfectly legible with the dates entered in it. Some of the dates went back to the 1920's. I believe that was close to when the poorhouse opened. It was surprising that something so old was so well preserved.

"It must have looked like this back when they were writing this stuff," says I.

My wife got this saddened look in her eyes. I saw all these names of people that were forgotten, not just to us, but to the world that tossed them away like adult orphans. My wife couldn't believe that so many people had nobody to love them. I exclaimed the tragic part was unlike an orphanage where the young ones could leave once they grew up; this was the place where these people died. Then I wondered if some of these people were only clinically dead before they had their souls pumped out of them. What if they awoke during the embalming process? Could you imagine that happening to you? You know, that was about the time that Hitler started performing those medical experiments on the mentally unfortunate over in Germany. Then there was a loud bang on the other side of the steel door. I almost jumped out of my skin.

We listened. I whispered about the bear we've been told that had been sighted on the grounds. Then it happened again, this time so loud and hard I swore the door inched outward. Some paint flakes on the jam fell to the floor. That door was shut pretty tight and would take a great amount of force to move because I tried a pull test earlier on it. I had my doubts it was a bear. Then a third bang, this time accompanied by the sound of a heavy steel table being dragged towards the door.

I would have freaked out if it was Grizzly himself from the movie of the same name, but this was worse. A high pitched shriek. It was a woman's voice piercing through my very soul. I swore it said something to the effect of, "Get off me. Pull that thing out of me. Why are you cutting me open?"

We were out in an instant, including my wife. Once outside, normally, we would have started talking but we didn't. Not a word was spoken until much later that night. The experience was freaky.

Later that night when we were lying in bed, my wife turned to me and said, "How do you explain that Sherlock Holmes?" I tried coming up with something good. The trouble was my explanations were tenuous at best. Finally, my explanation was a person must have had a television set blaring with the window open.

She told me, "That sounded awfully close to be coming from somebody's house."

I countered with, "The wind must have carried it over."

Then she said, "I don't think anybody would listen to something that creepy."

After a moment's thought, I turned around and said, "Have you ever heard of Alfred Hitchcock presents?"

A thought occurred to us both. She told me there have been cases of homeless people squatting in those buildings. "I used to know the supervisor there," says she. "He told me they thought one of the buildings was haunted until they decided to investigate it. They ended up chasing this homeless guy out."

The image of that haunted facade flashed through my head, with its two looking eyes at us from atop its perch. I thought about calling the police, but we were breaking and entering ourselves. If we ran into some maniac who talked to himself in riddles while pacing around with a little backpack with all his worldly possessions inside it, things might not turn out pleasant.

"Looks like we're in luck," says I. "I brought Big Bertha with us in case we run into that bum."

The following morning, we got up so as not to disturb Phantasia. She would have freaked out if she knew what we were up to. I grabbed the golf clubs, and Suzie brought the tape recorder.

When we arrived, the first thing I looked at was the heavy steel door. Nobody opened that thing. It was painted shut, despite the jarring it received from some unseen force the previous day. We decided to see what was in there.

Quietly and quickly, we went to work so as not to get caught by the police. It would have been one thing if Phantasia would have caught us, but I was really worried about the police since what we were doing constituted a felony.

Back in Phantasia's garage, I found a crowbar with a cat's eye. It offered a sharp edge that would come in handy, both as a tool and as a weapon of self-defense, just in case. That edge came in handy as I needed to sever the paint job that sealed the door shut. Then I was able to get the crowbar in with just enough tapping, and little by little, I was able to work that door. It took a few minutes, but I got it opened. Of course, Suzie, with the heart of a lion, helped make it possible.

Just to play it safe, I was the first to go. I couldn't believe my eyes. Despite the noises we heard the previous day, nobody was in here. The place was a lot darker than the first room, but I could still see on account of the sunlight coming through all the holes in the boarded up windows. Despite holding my Big Bertha, I still felt scared almost out of my wits. It was as if something ominous was watching my every move, almost knowing what I was going to do even before I knew it.

Nothing but some empty gurneys, open storage bins, and a couple of old kits the morticians used for embalming. Some of them still had fluid in the bottles with the hoses attached. The steel tips at the other ends of the hoses looked like they could still serve their purpose. I'd sure hate to get poked with that stuff. I looked out one of the only windows and there were all the countless wooden crosses of those that died without hope, or a name. The creepy part was looking at those old slabs that went into the wall. Could you imagine being left there for the night, and the only one who comes to visit you is the mortician when he pulls you back out to perform an autopsy and embalmment on you? Back then, seeing how crude technology was, I wonder how many people were thought to be dead, brought in here, and then had their blood drained from them, only to wake up during the process.

It almost looked like a museum. Everything in there looked ancient. Even the boards looked old and decrepit. Nobody has been in here for years. What caused all that noise?

I told her, "There is nothing to see here. I say we hightail it. We were pretty worked up yesterday, and you know how that can prime up the imagination. We must have only thought we heard those things."

On our way out, my wife drops the recorder just inside the entryway. I told her not to bother, but she told me, "Just in case. I'd like to get something."

We didn't say anything to Phantasia. We wanted our last night to be as uneventful as we could make it. We know nothing about the people in the log because many of them were called Jon and Jane. The crosses didn't have names on them and their coffins were pine boxes.

I didn't want to go back in, but we had to get that tape, or at least my wife had to. We decided to make one last trip.

"Okay," I told my wife, "but let's make it fast so the cops won't catch us." We got the tape. Would you believe it took both of us to shut that door?

Thud! We just stared, and thud! This time with even more authority, sending flakes of paint from the door jamb. What followed was the dragging metallic sound toward the entrance. It made my skin crawl. We were outside in five seconds. Later I recalled hearing that horrible scream, accompanied by the pleading, "Pull that thing out of me. I'm not dead!"

I never ran so fast, but it couldn't be fast enough. My neck still hurt for two days afterward from looking over my shoulder the whole time. Someone, or something horrible, was watching us. As least I would have swore up and down that was the case. We tried calming ourselves down as best we could but to no avail. It took ten minutes of race walking before our heart rates slowed down. Even then, things weren't back to normal. For a minute there, I was scared I was going to drop dead from a heart attack, and that mortician was going to come out and drag me inside to join his other friend he was having fun with.

When we got inside, Phantasia was sitting at the table. "You like to take your walks awful early." We told her we liked to get our exercise before the jerks got on the road."

We got home. Then Suzie played the tape on our stereo system. She had to turn the sucker up to the point the wall was shaking. Once it got to the point where I wanted to shut it off, we started to hear something.

The sounds of metal on metal got louder. Suzie was hearing it, too. It would turn out what we heard the day before was only a warm-up. Now was time for the crescendo. The clanging got louder, along with a crude sound like somebody was performing an operation, only I don't think it was to save somebody's life. I felt chills down my spine that whatever it was, it was something ominous.

A man began talking in broken English. It sounded like he had a German accent. He sounded cold and unfeeling, like he was following military orders. Then the screaming began. Something along the lines of, "What are you doing to me?" I thought I heard him tell her to shut up. I heard the voice command someone to use the saw. The other one said something like, "No." Then the lead voice threatened to execute him with the service revolver for insubordination if he didn't cut her open to insert the pump. No more argument.

Then some metal on bone action, almost like she was being sawed open. She yelled something along the lines of, "Pull this (expletive) cord out of me. My veins are collapsing."

Yelling about the horrible pain. Then the blood curdling screams began. After that, silence. Hermann the German started humming some song that neither my wife nor I recognized. Accompanying that was a whirring sound like some high speed drilling action, almost like what you would hear in the dentist's office after he gave you Novocain, except there was no Novocain coming on this round.

My wife turns to me and says something along the lines of, "Could you imagine having no place to go, no place to work, and ending up there? Catching some disease through no fault of your own, and ending up spending your final moments on this plane being a medical experiment, or a simple write-off because you cost too much to feed?"

Then the sounds stopped, and I had to kill the stereo. I couldn't take anymore.

THE END

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