Fast: When a dive is moving or rotating very quickly, sometimes too quickly to control.
WE RUN like hell across Ward Hill Cemetery, straight toward Chip’s moving flashlight. Driven by adrenaline mixed with punch-drunk exhaustion, I could either run for days or pass out cold. When we reach Chip, I throw myself on hands on knees, sweating, panting so hard I can’t form words. He’s four-feet-deep in the ground, covered in dirt. Iris is a little farther behind me, going as fast as she can with Mom who’s been locked up for the last four years to aid Phil Maddox’s human vivisection.
“Holy shit,” Chip says. “You found her. What happened in there?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I manage to answer in one word. “Everything.”
“I haven’t found anything out here yet.” He chucks the shovel into the earth like a spear and we hear the clang of the cutting edge hitting pay dirt.
Chip’s eyes pop wider before he starts digging again, faster, unearthing a metal box too small to be a coffin for anything more than a pet. I jump into the grave to help and the dankness of the grave seeps outward from all sides and coats my skin with the earthy stench of manure and wild mushrooms. I won’t forget that smell for as long as I live. Iris gets on her knees and pulls the box from the top while Chip and I hoist it onto the grass. We crawl out of the grave and I take the shovel from Chip. I direct all my rage into slamming the lock until it springs open then drop to my knees in the freshly lifted soil and push back the lid.
Inside are Mom’s admittance papers to Boston Public Hospital from when she was a kid, my parents’ marriage license, Mom’s birth certificate, her school records, even her passport—everything needed to erase a person from existence, buried inside this sarcophagus. Another folder is stuffed with page after page of psychological analysis on Phillip Maddox from his childhood as a ward of the state. It’s hard to resist: childhood neglect, higher than average intelligence, conduct disorder, narcissism, fascination with fire, antisocial personality disorder.
“Why would he bury these? Why not just burn everything if that’s his M.O.?”
“They’re his trophies.” Hearing Mom say this, knowing what he did to us, is chilling.
“He’s a psychopath.”
“And he’s heading this way,” Chip says.
I jump to my feet and grab the shovel. “Iris, take my cell phone and my mom and make a run for my truck.”
They try but Phil fades left and intercepts them. He catches Mom by the arm and Iris by a fistful of her long hair. She yelps as Phil yanks her closer, her face pure terror.
“I could never discern whether this fortune-teller was as real as her mother or a little charlatan,” Phil says, staring straight at me.
Iris whimpers and he wraps his arm across her shoulders to keep her close, leaning to whisper in her ear. “Shh. I know you’re the real deal now. It’s just a little too late.”
“Let her go,” Mom says. “She’s not part of this.”
“But she is. She always has been. Our son merely made her a bigger part of it when he brought her to Green Hill. I suppose I should thank Dave Malone for that. Pity she’s not an athlete, though. I can always use new subjects.”
Chip takes the dirty shovel out of my hand and steps forward, primed to strike, and I know my visions were clear, even if they weren’t always absolute.
“Don’t make another move, Langford,” Phil says. “There won’t be ‘Mercy, Mercy’ for anyone here tonight.”
I put an arm out so Chip will lower the shovel. “Was it worth all this?” I ask. “Using us? Alienating your only real family? Is this the legacy you intended to leave behind?”
“It will be,” he says. “When I’m the most well-respected psychiatrist of my time.”
Sirens rip through the quiet night. Phil stiffens.
“Those sirens aren’t for me,” I tell him. “You can either cut and run now, or…”
He doesn’t give any indication before throwing Iris to the ground like a rag doll. But when he dives for the metal box on the ground, I field goal–kick him so hard he flips onto his back. I pounce and start punching, blinded by rage and years of mistrust. Phil’s cheekbone splits open, then his lip, but I can’t stop. I don’t care. I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him for this.
Chip jumps on my back and pulls me off while I’m still swinging. “He’s out, man. Stop.”
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and taste blood. My knuckles ache. But when I look at the guy I once thought of as my uncle, laying unconscious on the ground, a bloody mess, I feel nothing. “That was for Mom.” I haul off and kick him in the ribs one more time for good measure. “That’s for Dad and GP and Iris and every other person whose life you corrupted.”
Checkmate.
I reach into Phil’s pockets until I find the Zippo my dad gave him. I look at the inscription. My best man. My brother. My friend. Every word is a lie. I glance at Chip as I slip the lighter into my front pocket, knowing someday he’ll be the person that makes Dad’s sentiments ring true.
The sun is beginning to rise, lifting this nightmare from darkness with the wailing of sirens growing louder in the distance with each passing second.
Three state trooper vehicles pull onto the grounds, closely followed by Curtis in his black sedan. The staties jump out of their cars, reaching instinctively for their weapons, then relaxing when they see the perpetrator is down for the count. They check Phil’s vitals, then call for an ambulance.
Curtis takes inventory of Iris first. She whispers something to him, then rushes at me, flying into my arms. I run my hand over her hair while her tears soak the front of my shirt.
“We’re okay.”
“He killed my mom,” she sobs.
“I know.” My heart shatters into pieces beneath her cheek.
Curtis approaches us with a stack of frown lines creasing his forehead.
“GP?” I ask, my question loaded.
He shakes his head and the weight of every lie crushes me.
Iris squeezes me tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” Sorry enough to finally put something else to rest.
“Did I start the fire?” I ask Curtis. “The one at my old house. I was lighting matches in my room that night and—I just need confirmation of the truth.”
“That couldn’t have been you,” Curtis says. “That fire originated in the basement.”
“Is that what you put in your report to protect me or is that what really happened?”
He gets a chagrined look when he realizes I know the truth. “That’s what we put in the report, because that’s the truth. At the time, we were worried it was your father, trying to get back at your mother and Phil. I think we know now it was Phil.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder to reassure me.
Chip comes over and we fill Curtis in on the details of what happened tonight, while Mom gets checked over by a paramedic. Curtis keeps shaking his head, not so much surprised by what transpired as astonished we made it out alive.
One of the staties interrupts our conference to ask if we know the woman walking across the lawn toward the scene. I turn and see Lianne Cole.
When she sees me, she smiles and nods, and a new wave of relief surges through me. Without her help, Mom would have been trapped inside that place forever.
“Well?” the statie asks.
“Her name is Lianne Cole,” I say. “A nurse who works here. She knows everything there is to know about why my mom has been locked in this hospital against her will, by this man.” I point at Phil, who’s starting to rouse from unconsciousness. “I think there are others being held against their will inside. On the basement level.”
The state trooper narrows his eyes at Phil, still in handcuffs on the ground. “Do you know this man, son?”
Phil turns his head and bores his green eyes into mine without a shred of mercy.
“He’s my biological father,” I tell the statie. “Dr. Phillip Maddox. But I never really knew him at all.”
I leave Curtis to explain the rest and go to my Mom.
“Are you still glad I’m like you?” I ask.
“More than ever.” She pulls me close.
Relief and happiness rock me so hard, I’m almost glad I didn’t learn the whole truth until now. Almost.
“Remember our day at the cliff, when I promised to tell you if I saw that girl again?” I point to Iris. “Do you see her this time?”
“JoJo’s daughter,” Mom says and smiles. “I should have known.”
Deep down I think I always did.