The Death Agreement (4 page)

I could tell that no one had been
in there for decades. Lead paint peeled off the walls. Crude
medical devices lay broken and scattered across the rooms. Instead
of electric lighting, kerosene lamps lined the hallways.

We explored each floor of the dark
abandoned ward, finding stranger and stranger things as we went.
Though the atmosphere was ominous, and the old, torturous looking
equipment sent chills down my back, none of it compared to what we
discovered on the basement level.

Something seemed off as soon as we
entered the large, open room. A rotted wooden wall caught Taylor's
attention. It should have been against the foundation, but it
seemed as if something lay beyond.

I tore away the wood, revealing a
tunnel. Though my heart thudded against my ribs, it wasn't that
strange—many government offices are connected below ground—and yet
every part of my being told me to run.

I cautiously followed Taylor
through the winding hallway. He stopped, and said, "Whoa. Did you
feel that?"

It seemed if the room had suddenly
grown cold for a moment. "No," I lied. "Feel what?"

"Come on. I think we're near the
other side."

We kept going, and a few minutes
later we reached the end. Instead of linking to another building,
the path abruptly stopped at a small sub-basement room, completely
empty except for an old, rusted surgical saw hanging by a string
tied to a peg in ceiling.

I stared at the strange discovery,
admiring the white maple handle.

The saw began to swing. It started
slow, almost unnoticeable, but then it began to move faster and
faster.

Taylor stepped backward.
"What…the…fuck?"

I backed away, too, pulling at his
shirt.

We did what any sane people would
do. We retreated.

Once safely back in my dorm room,
Taylor carefully unfolded his copy of The Death Agreement and wrote
about what we had experienced.

Though spooked, I searched my mind
for a logical explanation of how something could move on its own. I
shuddered. Instead of answers, I just wanted to forget it had
happened.

Taylor didn't make that easy. He
tried to convince me we had found proof of an afterlife, that the
ghost of some surgeon still haunted the terrifying and secret
operating room. He had jokes, too: "Jon Randon died today, ten
pounds of shit found in his pants."

"Kiss my ass," I shot
back.

"You can't deny that
happened."

"Whatever," I said. "Let's
just
not
go there
again."

"The thought never crossed my
mind."

***

As time went on we managed to gain
access to most of the sites on our list: the fire hall, the smoke
stacks, the morgue. While rummaging through the old abandoned
boiler room, Taylor turned to me and said, "I found a place online
where people posted photos of the abandoned locations they've
visited."

I turned a large, galvanized steel
wheel that creaked loud enough to wake the dead. "Making another
list of places we can check out?" I asked. Urban exploration had
become a real passion, but it was the darker places which really
held his interest.

"Something like that. It led me to
another site, a forum or something where people share disturbing
stories, real things that had happened to them. Out of the ones I
read, I don't think they're all true, but I would bet that some
were. Jon, I read this one story. It's been bothering me ever
since."

"Oh yeah? What's it
about?"

"I have no idea. It's strange but
I can't remember. I tried to find it again but…" He
shrugged.

"It'll come to you."

"Yeah, all in good time, I
suppose. I'm probably just being paranoid. But hey, I wanted to ask
you something. Do you mind if I talk about this place? I've got all
the notes and I think the people there would like to hear about
what we've seen, especially about that room with the
saw."

"Don't post anything that could
get us identified. Remember what happened while on leave in Spain?
You promised to not get me arrested again."

"Oh come on, how was I supposed to
know her brother was a cop?"

I laughed.

"Thanks, Gimp," he
said.

"Zip it. I'm almost done with the
crutches and payback is hell."

Taylor sat in one of the
hundred-year-old wheelchairs we'd found stacked up in the attic of
the psych ward and updated his copy of The Death Agreement. I drank
in silence while thinking about the places I'd like to visit once
the doctors finally released me.

I remember thinking how I wished
that day would've been more eventful. Out of the dozens of times
we'd gone exploring, it had been one of the more boring
outings.

In the end, that day became more
significant than I ever could have imagined. It was the last time I
saw my friend Jesse Taylor alive.

SECTION II - LOOK AFTER
FAMILY

On the Friday after
Taylor had last come to visit, he had called me.

"Hey, I'm really sorry, Jon. I
know I'm supposed to show up tomorrow…I can't make it."

"Everything all right?"

"Just dealing with some personal
issues right now."

"No worries," I said and waited
for him to explain; he didn't. It was unlike him to keep me in the
dark. We weren't supposed to have secrets. I cleared my throat and
said, "Maybe next week? I think we should leave the base. Rosewood
Asylum is in Owings Mills, not too far."

"Yeah, maybe," he said. "Look, I
gotta go. I need to take care of a few things."

He hung up without saying
goodbye.

I shrugged and did my best to put
it out of my mind.

I didn't hear from him all week.
When I finally decided to be the one to make the effort, his line
rang until it finally went to voicemail. I hung up and sent a text
instead: "You good?"

No return calls and no
replies.

By the second week, I was a little
pissed off. I sent three more messages, and in the last one, I
outright cursed at him for ducking me: "This isn't how you treat a
friend, dick. Call me, maybe I can help."

When the week ended without
hearing from him, I went to dial his wife, Lorie, then remembered
Taylor saying that it was a personal issue. If Taylor and Lorie
were arguing, the last thing I wanted was to get involved. Even
though I hated being left in the dark, I decided not to call.
Whatever was going on with them had to be bad, and he'd reach out
when he was ready.

I laid in bed that night more
worried than I've ever been in my life. I don't know what caused
it. Like a spider, it creeped up on me throughout the day, and in
the end, I needed to suppress the feeling that something serious
was wrong just to fall asleep.

I remember the last time I glanced
at the digital clock before drifting off. The red display had read
2:05 in the morning. I woke again when the alarm clock went off at
6:00, surprised to see a waiting voicemail on my cell. Taylor tried
to reach me at 3:33 a.m.

Long voicemails are often a bad
sign. I held the phone to my ear and listened but only heard
ambient noise, and figured that he must have pocket dialed
me.

After scrubbing through a few
seconds, I listened, then skipped forward a little bit more. Every
time I slowed the message, I heard the low hum of background
interference mixed with breathing and little else. I jumped forward
again. In the last few seconds of the recording, I heard Taylor
say, "…saw everyone but you…" Then the message cut out.

If he didn't see me, then who did
he see? I played it back again and listened more
closely.

Taylor
had
been speaking the whole time. I
maxed out the volume. His message was disturbing. The low, pained
whisper sounded like he had had been speaking to someone else, but
I still couldn't make out all the words.

Or maybe I just didn't want
to.

When the message ended the second
time, I called Taylor. It went straight to voicemail: "You've
reached Major Jesse Taylor. I am unable to take your call. Please
leave a message and I will get back to you in good
time."

"Hey," I said. "I don't know
what's going on with you, but call me as soon as possible." I
paused a moment, then added, "I'm worried. Hope you're
okay."

The day went by without hearing
from him and I tried again but only got the same voicemail
greeting.

"Seriously, Jesse, what the hell
is going on?"

I decided to call Lorie. Her phone
rang several times before going to voicemail, as well. Trying to
sound chipper, I blurted out, "Hey, Lorie, It's Jon. Give me a
call. Just wanna make sure everything's all right… Love you,
bye."

I hung up the phone, knowing
everything
wasn't
all right.

***

Later that night my phone rang. I
didn't recognize the number and was in no mood to speak to anyone
except Taylor or Lorie, so I silenced the call. Whoever it was
chose not to leave a message.

An hour later my phone rang again.
It was Taylor calling. I answered and screamed into the phone,
"Where the fuck have you been? I was about to ca—"

"Sir, this is Detective Andrew
Yang with the Anne Arundel County Police Department. May I speak to
Lieutenant Randon?"

A sinking dread stabbed through my
stomach. "Where's Taylor?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I can't answer any
questions until I know I'm speaking with Lieutenant
Randon."

"I'm Randon. What's going
on?"

"First name?"

"Jonathan Randon. Talk to
me."

"Lieutenant, I'm sorry to be the
one to tell you this." He cleared his throat. "We recovered a body
which we believe is Jesse Taylor."

I laughed. "Stop messing around.
He put you up to this, right? Put him on the phone."

"This isn't a prank,
sir."

"Bullshit."

"It was…I don't know how else to
say this. We're calling it an act of God."

I scratched my head.
"What?"

"Freak occurrences like this
happen all the time. Major Taylor was struck by
lightning."

I slumped in my chair. My mind
fought back against the truth. How could Taylor be dead? I knew it
had to be some kind of mistake and I wanted to say something,
anything, but my voice had abandoned me.

"Again, I'm sorry," Yang
apologized. "Normally we speak to the next-of-kin in person, but we
had no idea where to find you."

"What do you mean next of kin? You
haven't called his wife or parents?"

"We sent units to Mr. Taylor's
residence. No one answered the door. We called from our office and
from his cell. Still no answer. We tried his father and mother as
well, then sister and brother. None of them could be reached.
You're the only other person listed as family."

"This is crazy. Give me a number
to get back to you. I'll get in touch with them."

"443-"

"Wait," I said, suddenly
remembering The Death Agreement. "While I got you on the phone, did
you find a letter or him? Something for me?"

"A Letter? No. Why?"

"You wouldn't understand. Okay,
what's that number?"

It was the same number which I had
ignored earlier, and I thought and about all that wasted time
before hanging up the phone.

"No," I said to myself. "This is a
game. Jesse's not dead."

I realized I was crying. More than
crying, actually; I was in the midst of a breakdown, yet somehow
still able to analyze the pain as if it wasn't happening to
me
, as if I were a
scientist looking through a window of a cage and thoughtfully
considering a lab rat.

Tired of my observation, I
retreated into myself, allowing my body to grieve without my mind
having to acknowledge the pain.