Asylum Lake (2 page)
The goal of the new enforcements was an attempt to safeguard the general public, as well as the patient, from the physical and psychological strains associated with their reintroduction to society.
Although some measures met with opposition, the so-called draconian measures coined by human advocacy and civil-rights groups, most were lauded by neighborhood organizations and law enforcement agencies alike.
Illinois crime statistics linking Cook County mental health discharges with violent crimes had risen steadily since the 1980s. But only after Janie Pearce’s untimely death, and Brady's thorough and meticulous exposes, was the facts illuminated.
Brady’s critically acclaimed work, which had been a catalyst in the institution of Janie's Law, resulted in his name and the Pulitzer Prize being talked about in the same conversation. The award had never materialized, but Brady's reputation had still transcended itself. The buzz around the newsroom had him being groomed for the city desk, all this before age thirty. Although most of the Tribune's elder statesmen found his boyish good looks and casual style more than a bit off-putting, his newfound yet well-deserved celebrity had provided a much, needed boost to the paper's slumping circulation. His female co-workers, however, were all in agreement; Brady Tanner was very easy on the eyes.
His reporting had also garnered attention from the publishing front and before long a book deal had been discussed with a signing bonus large enough to finally move out of their shabby one-bedroom apartment above the bakery on Lexington. New dreams could be realized moving to the suburbs; a home office for Brady and a home large enough for a budding family for Karen.
As negotiations with a small publisher intensified, the couple collectively crossed their fingers and toured a gorgeous 2,100 square-foot Colonial, located in the quiet, northern Chicago suburb of Morton Grove. While walking down the hall toward the second level master bedroom, Karen had already mentally decorated the first room on the left; the perfectly-sized nursery room would be done-up in greens and yellows since they had already decided to keep the baby’s sex a surprise. Even though she desperately wanted to paint the room cotton-candy pink, Karen knew that boys ran in her family. She prayed the baby feet that would one day in the not too distant future be scuttling across the floors would belong to an “Allison” or an “Audrey” and not to a “Brady Junior.” Not that she would be disappointed if she had a son. She just wondered how a girl raises a boy.
Brady raised the coffee to his lips and took a slow sip. “Damn!” At the sound of his voice, Brady’s passenger sat up. “I guess I won’t be using my taste buds for awhile, eh, Gruff?” He reached over and began to stroke the yellow lab that rode beside him. Gruff smiled the way only a dog owner could recognize and curled back into a ball.
Gruff had been Karen's security system. Three breakins and a handful of muggings in their Southside Armour Square neighborhood had spooked her. More than anything, she had wanted the sense of security that would come from having a house with a fenced yard and vigilant neighbors. But Brady's salary could barely cover rent, let alone the expenses of owning a home, and Karen's parents had already been paying her way through law school, a fact that relentlessly had been the topic of conversation whenever the in-laws visited. The thought of borrowing down-payment money for a house from the Greene’s sickened Brady.
His temporary solution for abating Karen's fears, while also avoiding further indebtedness to her parents, had been to sneak thirty dollars from the cookie jar where Karen had kept the grocery money. He scampered off to the animal shelter and returned two hours later with a puppy under one arm, and a bag of dog food and adoption papers under the other. The new addition to the Tanner family would be dubbed McGruff for his supposed crime fighting abilities and never again would security be an issue.
Less than a year later, Brady guided his Volkswagen through the winding roads that led to Bedlam Falls. Gruff warmed the passenger seat, his oversized paws tucked under his chin. Yawning, Gruff raised his head and looked at Brady with the “pet me” look. Brady lovingly obliged and ran his fingers down Gruff’s neck, scratching and petting the soft fur. As he drove, Brady’s thoughts continued to drift.
The book deal had been inked just a month after it had been first proposed. The process culminated with a final meeting in New York City that had gone well, too well, in fact. A celebratory drink with his new editor, coupled with cross-town traffic, had caused him to miss his 5:30 p.m. flight back to Chicago. Brady had planned to treat an unsuspecting Karen to a night at Abuelo's, a Mexican restaurant on the city's trendy Westside. Although Brady wasn't sure how Karen's second trimester tummy-bundle would react to spicy enchiladas, Brady thought Karen definitely deserved a four-star meal, pickles and pineapple cheesecake just weren't cutting it! Besides, what better place to tell Karen how much he had missed her than at a romantic candle-lit table surrounded by serenading mariachis? But, as misfortune would have it, Brady's surprise would have to wait 'til the weekend. His 6:45 p.m. alternate flight had been delayed as well; it wasn't until 10:30 p.m. that the plane finally touched down in the Windy City.
“Brady! Brady!” a familiar voice called. He scanned the throng of travelers merging to his left and spotted Will, Karen’s brother. With a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Brady burrowed through the congested terminal toward his brother-in-law, expecting to see an echo of excitement on the man’s face. Instead, Will’s eyes were red and puffy, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Brady’s smile vanished.
“Damn you, Brady. Where the hell have you been?” Will asked, grabbing Brady’s shoulder with one trembling hand and steering him away from the crowd. Before Brady could respond, Will continued, choking back tears. “There's been...an accident.”
“What do you mean an accident?” asked Brady, his mind stuttering over the pain in Will’s voice. “What’s happened to Karen?”
Will’s grip tightened on Brady’s shoulder. “She’s gone, Brady. Karen is dead.”
The sound of a blaring horn roused Brady from his reverie. A sharp turn of the steering wheel brought his car out of the lane of oncoming traffic. He peered into the rearview mirror, his heart still pounding. A pale face and eyes brimming with tears stared back at him. “Get a hold of yourself,” he demanded under his breath.
Brady wiped the salty wetness from his hazel eyes. With his vision restored and heartbeat once again nearing normal, he caught sight of a road sign ― Bedlam Falls: A Great Place to Land.
“Hokey,” he scoffed aloud. Brady's voice roused Gruff from his slumber. At the sight of his yawning companion, Brady pushed a button to lower the passenger window. Assuming his canine co-pilot position, Gruff poked his head toward the sky, lapping the fresh breeze.
Brady turned his attention from his passenger to the buildings and landmarks that were coming into view. The sight of The Hayloft brought a hint of a smile to his lips. Standing just outside the city limits, the dilapidated tavern hadn’t been governed by the blue laws that had once banned the sale of alcohol. Brady’s smile widened at the memory of swigging his first beer behind that dusty-red barn.
The parking lot was empty, save for an odd-looking man on a bicycle. Unkempt and unstable, he rode fruitlessly in wobbly circles that cast long shadows across the barren blacktop. Scrawled across the tattered sandwich-board sign that hung loosely around his neck was a single word – REPENT. With a snow-white beard hanging in a tangled mess between his knees, the haggard rider looked like a strung-out Santa, Bedlam Falls had definitely changed.
The house was cradled by rolling hills in a thick copse of trees overlooking the lake. To those who had recently settled in or visited the area, the small body of water was known as Half-Moon Lake for its crescent shape, but the locals knew it as Asylum Lake, an odd homage to the enormous psychiatric hospital and grounds that loomed on its northern shoreline. Abandoned and empty, Lake View Asylum stood as a silent reminder of the town’s dark history.
One of only a handful of homes with lake-frontage, the Up North House as Brady’s family fondly referred to it, had been built by his great-grandfather in the 1940s. Its log construction gave the appearance of a rustic hunting lodge.
Brady paused in the driveway and stared through the dusty windshield down the overgrown pathway to the house. Although the afternoon sun left much of it in shadows, it was evident the Up North House had seen better days. Trees blocked the lake from his view, but not the sound of the gulls in the distance; their cries echoed through the silence.
He stepped from the Jetta and kicked the tangled grass and fallen branches that had collected through the changing seasons of neglect. The house, once meticulously kept, looked not merely vacant, but forgotten.
Has it really been 14 years?
Brady rounded the car to let Gruff out to stretch his legs. The dog bounded through the open door, pressed his nose to the ground and started swinging his tail back and forth. He found “the spot” and relieved himself.
Brady pondered his next move. He had never walked through that door without at least one of his parents in tow. The years since his last visit felt like a lifetime ago.
Really, it’s only been half a lifetime.
He thought. His mother had lost her battle with breast cancer here in 2005, while watching the sun rise one last time over the lake, dad’s hand gently holding hers. Brady was miles away in Chicago chasing his dreams…and Karen.
His father had broken the news to him over the phone. “She’s gone,” was all he could muster. Brady thought he could hear the splash of a tear through the receiver. “Come home.”
So Brady had returned to Grand Rapids for his mother's funeral. Although his parents had retired to Bedlam Falls following his mother's diagnosis, they kept their roots in Grand Rapids. His brief and infrequent visits had always been to their home in the city. He had become a connoisseur at brushing aside both their subtle and not-so-subtle invitations to spend time with them at the lake.
Walking alongside his father to his mother’s graveside memorial, Brady had been struck by how, over the years, time had chipped away at the man's chiseled features. The elder Tanner's sky-blue eyes were downcast and clouded with grief. His slumped posture and wilted gait had punctuated the utter emptiness and loss that now entombed him. Feebly attempting to bridge the distance that had grown between them, Brady awkwardly placed a hand on his father's shoulder.
After the service concluded, the Tanner men had returned to an empty house. Rolling into the driveway, the sight of the For Sale sign in the front yard had fractured Brady’s reservoir of strength. His head slumped onto the steering wheel, tears finally spilling from his eyes. His father sat in the passenger seat, the distinctive scent of his aftershave providing a quiet comfort. A short while later, Brady felt the touch of his father's calloused hand gently settle on the back of his neck; a meaningful yet brief gesture that infused both of them with a renewed sense of hope. Without a word, Brady traced his father's footsteps up the paved walkway and into the house, a last chance to cling to the memories inside.
Although a smorgasbord of casseroles, deserts and other comfort foods crowded the refrigerator, courtesy of neighbors and friends, the elder Tanner and his son ate bologna sandwiches from TV trays while sitting in front of the television.
The Tigers were at home playing the third game of a four-game series with the Indians and losing horribly. Brady stretched out on the couch and watched Detroit come from four runs down in the ninth to beat the Indians in extra innings.
From where his father was sleeping in the worn out leather recliner, a rumble of snoring drowned out the sound of the play-by-play. The rocking chair his mother had always warmed, which flanked the fireplace and was within easy reach of her yarn basket, now sat idle. Brady caught himself several times stealing glances in its direction, sure that he could hear the clinking of her knitting needles.
The next day, Brady escaped from Grand Rapids, relatively intact emotionally, yet unsure of when, or if, he would return. He had glanced back only once as he made the long walk down the gate to board his flight. His father smiled weakly, nodded, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd. There was no tear filled goodbye or final embrace; merely a silent acknowledgment of the loss they both felt. Brady never expected that nearly three years to the day, he would be walking down that same gate into Grand Rapids’ Gerald R. Ford International Airport for yet another tearful goodbye, this time for his father. Fitting though, that both parents, had drawn their last breaths at the Up North House; the sound of the loons singing them to their final sleep.
And now, here he was, at the one place he had sworn he would never return. The key in his hand felt like an anchor. It contained the weight of years of regret. He jiggled it nervously inside his closed fist. “Okay, boy,” he called to Gruff. Then, muttering under his breath, “Only thing we have to fear…and all that nonsense.”
They made their way slowly down the path to the front porch. Gruff, oblivious to the anxiety growing inside his seemingly stalwart companion, followed behind distracted by the sights and sounds of nature, a city dog taking in his first dose of country life.
Wildflowers and grass grew between the planked floorboards, up over the wooden handrail and posts. Leaves and other debris collected in the corners and sinewy webs hung from the weathered timbers overhead. The boards beneath his feet groaned as Brady stood motionless at the door.
With a nervous hand, he scraped the key into the rusted lock and felt the click as the knob turned. The door opened into the den. Brady paused, breathing in the stale, musty air. It was mixed with a pine scent, evidence of a recent cleaning. Frank and Maddie Griggs, the closest thing his family had to neighbors on the lake, lived four miles away. Brady’s father and Frank had been friends since childhood, and Maddie and mom had been as close as sisters.
Since his father’s death, the Griggs's had kept in touch with Brady through an occasional card or phone call to let him know they were, as Frank put it, ‘keeping an eye on things.’ Brady had always pledged to visit the next weekend or the next month, but time flew by and the seasons changed.
The surprise in Frank’s voice was unmistakable when Brady phoned him to say, "If you see the lights on this weekend, don’t come in swinging your golf club, it’ll just be me." They shared a laugh, followed by an uncomfortable silence, before Frank promised to have things in order for when Brady arrived. Having made good on his pledge to return, Brady felt as if somehow, his mission had been accomplished. As if now, he could turn tail and drive back to Chicago as fast as his Jetta could go.
Then he noticed something. The blinds were drawn, providing just enough light to see a note taped to the wall by the switch. Brady reached for the note as he flipped on the light.
Brady,
Maddie ran a dust cloth around the place and I made sure the plumbing was kosher. Everything else seems to be in order. There’s a pie and some groceries in the fridge – just enough to welcome you back. We’ll be up north this weekend enjoying the view from the island - we'll call when we get back.
