Hand Me Down Evil (Hand Me Down Trilogy) (15 page)

“I demand to see my father,” Edgar said. “I am not leaving until I see him. Where is my dad?” His voice was sharp.

“He’s not here,” Sarah replied.

“I know he is in this ward,” Edgar snapped back. “I did my research. He’s been a patient here ever since the authorities took me away from him decades ago. I was only seven years old when the court determined that he and my mother were not fit to raise me, and then I was whisked away to live with a foster family, the Humphries.”

Edgar paused.

Sarah was waiting.

“So you see,” Edgar continued, “I have spent my entire life searching for my biological parents. When I found out that my father was actually here in northern Michigan within driving distance of where I live, I was ecstatic. I heard on the news that he’s a patient in this hospital. I guess you could say that I have been waiting for this moment all my life.”

E
dgar chuckled lightly. He was apparently trying very hard to remain calm.

“But your father is not here,” the attractive nurse with the brown, curly hair said.

“Then where the world is he?” Edgar stormed. He clenched his teeth and rolled his hands into fists. “Where is he? Tell me or I’ll tear this place down piece by piece until I find him. You have no right to keep him from me. Who do you think you are anyway? Who is in charge here? Huh? Answer me this instant.”

He was glaring at the three women who retreated behind the desk. The blond nurse began to ring the bell on the wall to call security.

Edgar started moving down the hall and laughing at the top of his lungs. He was heading toward my hiding spot. I shrank back against the wall opposite the stairway and stood perfectly still.

“Ha, ha, he, he,” Edgar snickered.

He opened every door in the hallway, looked inside, and then slammed the door shut. Other hospital staff started to gather in the passageway to stare at Edgar.

Edgar had flipped. He no longer had control over his emotions or actions. I could see from my hiding spot that every patient room had a name plate on the door that identified the name of the patient who occupied the room. Edgar began reading the names out loud, “Lido Bucci, Donald Morison, Richard Steele, Carl Fengas.”

Edgar laughed out loud while the astonished patients peered out at him bewildered. He continued reading each name plate until he reached the farthest room at the very end of the hall where he stood for a while, gently caressing the metal plate with his hand. That room was directly in front of my hiding spot.

“Travis Benton,” Edgar whispered and opened the door. I could see partly inside the room. There was a square window with bars on the opposite wall and a twin size bed, on top of which was a white pillow and neatly folded crisp, white sheets. The room itself was small.

Edgar stepped out into the hallway and stormed back down toward the information desk just as the blond nurse was shouting on the phone for the security guard to hurry. When she saw Edgar approach, she dropped the phone. By this time, a scattering of other hospital employees, including orderlies, clerks, and nurse assistants had gathered to watch helplessly as Edgar experienced a meltdown.

“Where is my dad? He’s not in his room,” Edgar growled as he grabbed a janitor and shook him by the shoulders. The janitor had tried to scamper out of Edgar’s way without success.

Edgar released his hold of the janitor when he heard a security guard shouting, “Let go of him.”

The guard moved toward Edgar while holding a gun up with two hands and pointing the gun directly at Edgar. “Now move away from him and put your hands up behind your back,” the guard ordered.

I
strained to see what was happening, but that was difficult since Edgar was no longer facing me.

Edgar, who obviously had no intention of doing as the guard said, started laughing again. “Go ahead and shoot,” he said. And what are you going to shoot me for anyway, huh? For coming here to visit my father? Is that too much to ask?”

The guard tightened his grip on the gun.

That was when a tall, strikingly handsome man who was dressed in a white lab coat stepped out of the elevator behind the information desk. The man conducted himself with an air of confidence and seemed totally unbothered by the commotion.

“What’s the problem?” the man asked.

“Looks like we’ve got an unruly person on our hands,” the guard said, relaxing his grip on the gun.

“Can I help you?” the man asked Edgar as he approached him. The man’s expression was calm.

“I just came to visit my father, Travis Benton, and these three women wanted to throw me out.”

The man smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. James Foster. I knew your father very well. I was his psychiatrist for the past twenty years. Actually, I know a lot about you, too. You must be Edgar Humphries.”

Edgar spun around to face the doctor who had moved to the left of the information desk. He shook the doctor’s hand.

I studied Dr. Foster, who was in his early sixties with a solid, athletic build, brown curious eyes and dark hair that had a touch of gray on the sides. He appeared friendly enough.

Edgar’s facial expression softened when Dr. Foster smiled broadly at him. Dr. Foster had an extraordinary aura about him. It might have been the calm, confident way that the doctor presented himself or the respectful glances that the three nurses threw at him from time to time. What impressed me the most, though, was that Dr. Foster did not behave as if though he felt threatened by Edgar and did not look at him with disdain.

But something was tugging at my subconscious. The doctor had said that he
knew
Travis. The doctor’s use of the past tense was puzzling. Travis was not in his room. The nurse told Edgar that Travis was not in the psychiatric ward. Did that mean he was gone or worse still, dead?

“I heard on television that my father is a patient here, but when I went into his room, there was no one there,” Edgar said, pointing to the other end of the hallway.

Dr. Foster motioned with his hand for the hospital employees to resume their responsibilities, but he kept his gaze fixed upon Edgar. “I see you’ve shaved off your mustache and beard. Interesting.”

Edgar’s expression changed, became troubled. He must have suddenly realized that Dr. Foster, the three nurses, and probably everyone else in the hospital had recognized him from the photographs on the television news alerts. He looked down and brushed the back of his hand against his chin.

“Do you blame me for changing my appearance?” Edgar asked. “Have you heard all the things they are saying about me?”

“Yes, I reckon that everyone in town has seen your photograph and has heard that you’re wanted for questioning in relation to Amber’s abduction. But I’ve mostly heard about you from your father. He used to talk about you during his therapy sessions. Travis was fond of you. After all these years, he still could not believe that the Family Independence Agency snatched you away from him and placed you in a foster home. You were just a youngster when they severed your ties to Travis and put you up for adoption,” Dr. Foster replied.

The doctor then told the security guard that everything was fine, and that he was free to leave.

“I’ll take care of everything from here,” Dr. Foster said.

When the guard left the ward, the employees went back to their tasks, and the patients returned to their rooms.

Dr. Foster put his hand on Edgar’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go into my office. It’s on the second floor. I’d love to have a chat with you.”

Edgar hesitated for a moment but then nodded his acceptance.

“Let’s take the stairs to get some exercise, instead of the elevator,” Dr. Foster said, moving toward where I was hiding behind the staircase. Before I could even contemplate what to do next, I found myself trotting up the stairs to the door that led to the second floor. There I lingered for a moment, listening. The sound of footsteps began echoing up the stairs.

Dr. Foster’s voice was loud as he talked to Edgar. “I am so glad that you decided to pay me a visit. I’ll tell you all about your father, who I knew so much about, when we get to my office.”

The doctor continued to talk about Travis in the past tense. He
knew
so much about him. Why the past tense? How can one no longer know a person? Once you know someone, don’t you always know him until he dies? Only after someone passes do you talk about him in the past tense. Just today a television news channel announced that Travis Benton was a patient of the psychiatric ward at Grayling General Hospital. It was hard to believe that Travis could have died this afternoon.

But my dilemma of finding a good hiding spot before Dr. Foster became aware of my presence was a more pressing issue than figuring out what happened to Travis.

As I scanned my surroundings, anxiety gripped me and sizzled through my veins. With the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer, I eased open the door, entered the second floor, and snuck into the first office on my right hand side.

The office was decorated with expensive paintings, flower vases, high-end furniture and a multi-colored oriental rug. A brown leather recliner was at one end of the spacious room next to a small coffee table. A bookshelf dominated most of the opposite wall. A desk was situated beneath the window next to the bookshelf. The name plate on the desk was inscribed James Foster, M.D.
This must be Dr. Foster’s
office,
I thought.
In any minute, he and Edgar will come in
here. I have to hide.

My worries were confirmed when I heard Edgar and Dr. Foster talking in the hallway. They were standing right outside the door. I glanced around and saw what appeared to be a closet adjacent to the bookshelf. I pulled open the door and slipped inside. Just as Dr. Foster and Edgar walked into the office, I managed to pull the door toward me, but it did not completely close. From my hiding spot in the closet, I could barely hear what the two of them were saying. So I carefully, deliberately eased open the door just a little more. Now, I was able to hear perfectly well. The tiny opening also enabled me to see what was going on when I leaned over and peered out from the door crack.

Dr. Foster told Edgar to take off his jacket and to make himself comfortable in the recliner. Then he poured two cups of coffee from the coffee maker on the small mahogany square table next to his desk. He handed Edgar a cup and settled in a chair directly across from him.

Edgar collapsed into the recliner and took a sip of coffee. From my position in the closet, I could see Edgar’s face. The doctor was facing Edgar with his back toward me.

“So tell me about my father,” Edgar said, fixing his gaze on the doctor.

“There is a price.”

“What price?”

“You want to know about your father, and I want to know about you.”

“So?”

“Tell me about yourself and I’ll tell you about your father.”

“But that’s not what you told me downstairs. Look, I just want to see my father. He will tell me all I want to know. I don’t need you to serve as a middle man.” Edgar glowered scornfully at Dr. Foster.

“Very well. You’re on your own in searching for your father and any information about him then,” the doctor said, throwing up his hands.

“What do you mean?” Edgar put the cup of coffee down on the table next to him.

“Good luck finding Travis.”

“Why do you make it sound like finding my father is an impossible task?”

Dr. Foster said nothing.

“Why?” Edgar persisted.

“Because he’s nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean?”

The doctor stood up, moved his chair closer to Edgar’s left side where I was able to see him better, and then he sat back down. He snickered and gazed steadily at Edgar.

“Is this some kind of game?” Edgar asked.

“Well, let’s put it this way. You found Travis’ room downstairs, did you not?”

“Yes,” Edgar said.

“And was he in his room?”

“No.”

“I see.” Dr. Foster folded his arms across his chest.

“Well, where is he?” Edgar asked.

“Let’s just say that you will never find him. I’m the best source of information you can get your hands on at this time. I was his psychiatrist for the past twenty years. I know what made him tick. I was there with him through every calamity that arose. He used to confide in me and no one else. Quite frankly, I know everything there is to know about him,” Dr. Foster said.

“Why do you keep talking about my dad in the past tense,” Edgar asked. “You make it seem like he’s dead.”

“I’m not going to confirm whether or not he is alive or dead. Suffice it to say that if you blow this opportunity to get information about him, you may never have another chance.”

Edgar tilted his head to the side in quiet reflection. He hesitated for a moment, mulling over Dr. Foster’s offer, and then he said, “Ok, fine. You’ve got a deal. I’ll tell you about myself, which isn’t much, and you tell me where my dad is.”

“Ok, it’s a deal,” the doctor said, a pleased look upon his face.

E
dgar glanced around the room like a caged animal. He appeared anxious and contemplative at the same time, like he was considering making a mad dash for the door.

Maybe the doctor was playing some kind of awful trick on Edgar, I thought. From what I had been able to see earlier from my hiding spot beneath the stairs, Travis Benton’s room had looked so abandoned. Sometimes a room has a certain characteristic to it. Some rooms are cheerful and pleasant. Others are gloomy and dark. Travis’ room was neither cheerful nor gloomy. It was simply clean and empty. The white sheets that were neatly folded on the bed had a sterile crispness to them as if though no one had used them.

Dr. Foster took a gulp of coffee and set his cup down next to Edgar’s. “I’m going to tell you things about your father that no one knows. So, do tell me about your other personality, Edgar. What is her name?”

“How do you know it’s a she?” Edgar asked.

“I’ve been following you around, so to speak, ever since your dad became a patient of mine. I don’t mean literally, but I have done research on you.”