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WINTER COMES AFTER THE FALL

by Forrest Hunter © 2004

This was the way the real world worked: Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.

The deal with Mr. Emil Garcia, Sunny Meadows Mental Institution’s chief of staff, went like this: If Mr. Lewis wrote an article praising all the good work the hospital and its staff accomplished through the years for the surrounding community and its patients, the doors of the hospital would be open for him to do whatever he wished to do.

Her editor, Mr. Lewis, agreed.

And here Manny was, notepad and pen in hand and tape recorder in pocket, standing at the barred and locked door leading into the day-room.

“You sure you don’t need anyone to accompany you? They can be a little rambunctious sometimes. Due to the drugs and all,” Doctor Garcia said.

“I used to live in New York,” she answered, as if that explained everything.

Doctor Garcia nodded, unlocked and opened the door, then closed and locked it once she entered the room. Manny looked back. Doctor Garcia nodded his chin in the direction of the window, Manny glancing in the direction indicated. She understood and waved her thanks to the doctor.

The patient Doctor Garcia indicated was sitting near the window, in a chair, clothed in what looked like a robe. She stepped up beside the man who she only knew as Josh, The Informant. In a place like this, she could think of other things to call him, but right now, Josh would do. She looked down at him; saw the dirty t-shirt and raggedy boxer shorts he was wearing peeking through his half-opened robe. He was here in nowhere, staring out the window at nothing. What a life.

“Do you believe in God?” he suddenly asked, not breaking his attention from whatever freedoms he apparently daydreamed to exist beyond the barred window.

“Uh, well…”

“We might as well start with God. What better place than here to speak of God? In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve met Jesus what seems about a hundred times.” He turned his head to her and gave her a wink. “But they never had much to say past the drool their lives have become. Come, come. Pull up that chair over there near Mr. Williams. If he objects, don’t worry. There’s no one in it. His ghostly friend is gone for the day.”

Manny looked at Josh, then at the sedated looking young black man sitting straight in wooden chair. When she pulled the chair over next to Josh, Mr. Williams looked her way but didn’t say anything.

“You said something about ghostly friend?” Manny asked.

“You’re not here to hear ghost stories, are you?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll talk of God.”

“I’m not here to talk of God, either.”

Josh cocked his head to the left, looking at her fully for the first time, and sighed deeply. “Contrary to how it looks, I’m not crazy, you know.”

“And no one in prison is guilty,” Manny countered.

A chuckle. “Tell me something.”

“Okay.”

“Look at the people in here and tell me what you see.”

“Look, Josh. I’m not—”

“Please. Look around you and tell me what you see.”

There were ten people in the room. At first, she made a quick perusal until she came upon the fifth face and noticed a pattern. They were slack-faced and dopey-eyed. Some were drooling. All but number eleven, the man at her side, Josh. This led her to answer him with a question. “So why are you so coherent?”

“The answer is a little story.”

“Which is why I’m here.”

“True. True. See Mr. Williams over there is a peculiar man. Sent here by the government for observation because of his experiences on a haunted plane at Little Rock AFB.”

“I heard about it. Named Spooky.”

A nod. “Mr. Williams has taken on that cute moniker as his namesake and one day did a little disappearing act, causing them to lock down all the dayrooms and give up the little liberal experiment of allowing the patients to cure themselves by rediscovering the essence of their being a part of the grand scheme of things. When they discovered him missing, they missed giving me two pills. By the time they tried to medicate me later to make up for their mistake, I was coherent and slipped it under my tongue. And before you ask, my tongue is longer than they think.”

Manny blushed and looked away; Mr. Williams had gotten up and was now at the door, looking out the square barred-window.

“So you’re probably asking yourself: Now what does Mr. Williams have to do with the reason you’re here?”

“Actually, yes.”

“And the answer is The Order Of The Republic. Ever heard of it?”

“In whispers. An anti-American, anti-government group.”

Josh burst into laughter. “Totally untrue. It is a group who tells the truth of the fallacies and inaccuracies of the government. Look around you again. Do you recognize any of the slack faces?”

She looked again. None painted a picture of familiarity. “Sorry. Nothing.”

“Instead of going down the line and naming people you don’t know, let me just say this place is where those who know the truth of the true governing force pushing forth its will upon the innocents of this land is closeted away.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Oh? Am I? Tell me. Where is Mr. Williams?”

She looked at the door where Mr. Williams had been standing a moment ago. He wasn’t there. A quick surveillance of the room proved the oddities Josh was spouting.

“Now you know why he’s nick-named Spooky.”

She shook her head.

“You ready to hear more?”

“Mind if I use a recorder?”

“Be my guest.”

She removed the recorder from her pocket, clicked it to record, and set it on the arm of Josh’s chair. She sat ready with notepad and pen in hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Well, it began in the basement of a bookstore called Into The Unknown and…”

* * *

During his long tale, she had to change tapes twice.

She outlined points on her notepad during much of the impossible tale. He slowly began connecting all the impossible bits of information with names and reference material to check out. She got so caught up in listening to him she stopped marking points on her notepad and sat enthralled, her skeptical mind no doubt causing her face to mimic the occupants of the room: Slack-jawed and bleary-eyed.

When he finished, it was late in the day and it was time for her to leave.

At the door, as she waited for the patient-technician to let her out, Josh called to her.

“Remember, go to Into The Unknown. Tell ‘em Josh sent you.” With that said, he turned back to the window.

* * *

As soon as she got into the car, she rewound the tape and listened to it as she made the long drive back to the office.

In the middle of the ride, she decided this was too big of a story to be taken lightly and on the merits of a Sunny Meadows’ occupant. She decided she would take his advice and go to a meeting at the bookstore in Jacksonville.

In the meantime, she would do what she always did when she had something that felt too hot to handle: She would mail it to her PO Box. She had some envelopes in the trunk for such an occasion.

Two times before she exited I-40 to find a Post Office, she felt like she was being followed. Checking the rearview numerous times, she finally decided she was just being paranoid. What was it Josh had said at one point during the interview?

“Paranoia is like a cold in here: Passed back and forth between patient and doctor until it is hard to tell the difference between the two.”

In her case, she felt as if she had the flu.

* * *

At the post office, she sent two envelopes: A decoy of empty stationary to her house and another to her PO Box under her pen-name.

She had practiced this exercise two other times in her ten year career and this felt like a good time for number three.

The parking lot of the Post Office was busy today. A white car was blocking a blue van and a black van was backing out of the space behind her.

With her back to the van, she didn’t see three men exit and approach her, one whose hand was a glove of chloroform. She slumped after a too-short struggle and was drug into the waiting van. The third man picked up her dropped keys, got in her car, and followed the black van out of the lot.

* * *

How much time passed, she didn’t know.

All she knew was the dreams she had; of her strapped to a chair, answering questions concerning an envelope sent to her home that was intercepted. Her notepad was indicated, the meaningless chicken scratches rousing more suspicion than alleviating them.

Her mantra to their questions became: It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head.

There came a time when her wish was just that: That it’d all been her head.

* * *

But she awoke one day and it became apparent it hadn’t been in her head.

It had been all too real, what little she could recall. And more was in store for her, as she groggily recognized the questioner.

“Ahh, sleeping beauty awakes,” Josh said.

“How long—”

“Since yesterday. They just brought you in a little while ago. I must say, I haven’t seen this place in such a run-around since that time Mr. Williams disappeared. As a matter of fact, the only person I’ve seen all day is the one who wheeled you in here. That’s strange.”

Manny put a hand to her head.

“The pain’ll pass. But this…” He swept an arm to indicate the room. “This won’t, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You talked to me.”

“Yes, but—”

“And now you’re too dangerous to be let out into society to spread the truth. The apple, my dear, is for the powerful to eat. The rest of society is supposed to feed themselves on celebrities and carefully orchestrated gossip. The dish of ignorance is a scrumptious delight for the blissful. And in here, we’re all blissful, aren’t we?”

“Then what you told me—”

“Was the truth, yes. But that knowledge isn’t going to help us now, now is it?” Josh got up, went to the window, and looked out the scenery beyond the bars. “I used to think this place was created to keep them out instead of us in, you know?” He shook his head and looked to the right, his mouth dropping open. “Oh, my God.”

It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it that gave Manny strength to ask, “What?”

His answer was a signal for her to join him.

She shakily stood and joined him, leaning against the window. She glanced at him in question.

He pointed to the employee parking lot below.

People by the dozens were hurriedly walking to their cars, a few glancing over their shoulders at the building, Manny meeting eyes with a couple people. Then the contact was broken and they hurried to their cars, got in, and took off. In moments, the parking lot was empty. She looked at Josh, but Josh was looking up at the sky.

“Remember when I asked you if you believed in God?”

“Yes.”

“The question is still open.” He turned to her fully and held her attention. “Do you believe in God?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Why?”

He closed his eyes and sat down in his chair. “Because if there ever was a time to begin believing, now’s the time.”

She didn’t get it and told him so.

He asked her to tell him what she saw coming toward the hospital.

She didn’t need to describe the landscape of their future to Josh. He’d already seen the coming bumble bee: Two black vans, a bright yellow Ryder van sandwiched between. The largest in their inventory, it looked like.

She turned to Josh, took his hand, and followed his lead in the recitation of a fox-hole prayer.

x x x




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