Page 21

From my cell, I hear Terry’s rubber soles roaming up and down the halls.

Coming up on six in the morning, I prepare for our daily wake-up call.

Once I stop lamenting the situation I’m in at Fulton and the theft of my canines, I become more aware of the schedule of the place and allow myself to settle in for the ride.

After all, I’m not planning on being on that ride for as long as everyone believes.

Terry and Don are talking loudly in the hallway, and I can pretty much make out every word they’re saying.

“Don’t shush me, Terry. What does it matter if these freaks hear what I’m saying anyway?” Don replies defiantly.

“He’s been behaving himself well these last few weeks. Becoming rehabilitated and following the rules. What would be the use in riling him up again?”

Obviously, they’re talking about me. I move close to the solid metal door and strain my ears to hear what they say next.

“If I’m lucky, he might give me a reason to have some fun with him… I just find it hilarious that his precious teeth ended up in a sideshow exhibit of urban legends.”

“It’s an occult exhibit, numbskull.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Terry sighs and lowers his voice some more. “What doesn’t matter is why they sent his teeth to L.A. They’re not evidence and they aren’t anyone’s property anymore. The director can do with them as he sees fit.”

What I hear leaves me in shock. Dr. Redfield sent my fangs to Los Angeles? What in the hell for?

The two men stop in front of Richard’s cell next door. I quietly slide back onto my mattress, roll over on my stomach and pretend to be asleep. Just in time, too. Don bangs on my cell door with his nightstick and slides the slot open.

“Time to wake up, Bitey!” he says with a smile in his voice.

“Okay, asshole,” I mumble under my breath.

For the rest of the morning, Don and Terry’s conversation plays over and over in my head.

An occult exhibit in Los Angeles. How would Redfield even know where to start looking for a buyer for something as oddball as overly long human canine teeth?

And why would he think he has the right to sell my teeth anyway?

Something seems fishy about the whole deal and I decide to do some checking of my own.

That afternoon, instead of logging in to the chat room to talk to Cassandra, I pull up Lycos.com.

In the search field, I type: “occult exhibitions.” There are a few results, but nothing shows up in the Los Angeles area.

Pondering where to look next, I change my search to: “occult organizations.” Perhaps the two clods are mistaken, and my teeth are sold to a research facility or something similar.

That’s when I strike gold… an article with a caption of, ‘Secret lodge at center of murder investigation: Victim’s former employer refuses to comment.’ I read as much as I can, as quickly as I can, all the while trying to retain as much of the information as possible.

As I read the article, I suddenly recall Bruce saying something about how Don’s father worked at Fulton before him and that something ‘got’ him real good, just outside the gates of the institution.

As far as I know, Clive could’ve been ‘got’ by anything out there; apart from the one-acre field that runs along the south side of the hospital, the place is surrounded by woods.

Thick woods. He could’ve been attacked by anything from a bear to a wolf…

or some other wild animal. Even so, some of the investigators in the case and Bruce aren’t convinced that Clive’s death is caused by an animal attack; at least, not from any critter native to the area.

Time to find out what happened and why...