Boone Read online

  “It’s an iPhone,” she corrected.

  “Good Lord, I don’t need a semantics lessons on phone usage. Can I just borrow the damn thing?”

  It was the first time she’d given him a dirty look all night, but she reached into her back pocket and pulled it out. She turned it on. There was no signal.

  Doctors, nurses, and patients filled the common room. It wasn’t even late, but they’d managed to put some of the patients to bed already. They were comfortably asleep in their room thanks to various sedatives.

  Despite the unease, some residents were actually enjoying the storm.

  The candles helped as well. They glowed and flickered, sending shadows along the walls. Whatever helped to calm them down, Weasel thought, who’d managed to find two more flashlights, leaving one upstairs with Colette in the juvenile wing.

  The doctors had few penlights as well, but there still wasn’t enough light to go around.

  “We need to check the other floors,” Louis said. “Has anyone been up on the juvenile wing to make sure everything’s all right? Nancy?”

  “Colette’s up there. I can check again, though, if you want.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Louis said.

  “No!” Weasel exclaimed. Both Nancy and Louis looked at him, Lou raising his eyebrows. “I mean . . . I . . . I’ll go check. You stay here.”

  “Weasel,” Lou said, his glasses reflecting the candlelight. “We could sure use some more light right about now.”

  “Look,” he said. “This is serious. We have another problem . . . ”

  Nancy and Louis looked at each other, then at Weasel.

  “What are you talking about?” the doctor asked.

  Weasel looked from Nancy to Louis, then back again.

  “Gov is dead,” he said.

  Louis frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Gov. Les. He’s dead. I just came from his office, and he was on the floor. Boone was there.”

  “Boone?”

  “Yes. Boone. Boone was there. I think Boone killed McGovern. And now . . . I think . . . ”

  “Dear Jesus,” Louis said, looking around. He began fidgeting with his hands.

  “‘Dear Jesus’ is right,” Weasel said.

  Nancy’s eyes were wide and fearful.

  “I just think you should know . . . ” Weasel said. “I think Boone is . . . ” He shook his head. “ . . . gone somehow. He doesn’t seem like he’s there at all. He seemed really distraught. I’m not even sure Boone knew what he did. That’s how it seemed.”

  “Do you think he was provoked?” Louis asked.

  “By Leslie McGovern? Sure. Who isn’t provoked by that—”

  “Giles,” Nancy said. The name threw him off, and he shut his mouth.

  Behind them, several patients shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mrs. Abberville was staring out the window. She said three words. Weasel wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, but it sounded like: “Boone is coming.”

  They all looked at her.

  “Did she just say—?” Lou began.

  “She couldn’t have,” Nancy said.

  Mrs. Abberville was whispering to herself. In the candlelight, Weasel could see her lips moving, the same three words, louder each time: “Boone is coming. Boone is coming. Boone is coming!” Mrs. Abberville pointed to the window. Her eyes widened, and she began to scream.

  “Good Lord,” Lou said and ran toward her. The rain ran down the window. Thunder cracked. “Miriam now, really. It’s okay.”

  Lou followed her gaze. A large figure strode across the lawn, looking up at the hospital. It was Boone, an axe in his hands. “Dear God, help us.”

  Miriam started to fight the chair, squirming, her eyes wide.

  “Boone is coming!” she said.

  Lou continued to console her:

  “Miriam, I need you to calm down. Everything’s gonna be okay. Boone’s just playing a silly game. It’s just the storm. You’re a little frightened. That’s all. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  Louis grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and moved her away from the window.

  “What is it?” Weasel asked.

  Louis looked at him. “It’s Boone.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I wish I was,” Louis said, shaking his head.

  Weasel hurried over to the window and barely caught sight of Boone entering one of the rear doors of the hospital.

  ~

  “So, what do you suggest?” Louis asked.

  This was one for the ages, Weasel thought. Here was a doctor asking the janitor what they should do about a man who’d just stepped inside the hospital carrying a double-headed axe.

  “Hole up here,” he said. “I know that sounds crazy, but I think Boone can be reasoned with . . . as long as we don’t provoke him.”

  “Looks like he’s already provoked,” Louis said. “He shouldn’t be acting this way. I thought he was on lorazepam.”

  “Who the hell knows? But I don’t think now is the time to perform another diagnosis.”

  “Jesus, this is a helluva situation,” Louis said, rubbing his forehead.

  Another doctor, Carl Childs, was coming in now from the activities room. Both orderlies, Desmond and Jacks, were with him. Louis hurried over and closed the door.

  “You guys, we have a problem,” he began, then told them the situation.

  “Someone should get upstairs with Colette and the kids to make sure they’re safe,” Louis said. “They don’t even know what’s happening down here, do they?”

  “I’ll go,” Desmond said. “I’ll take the stairs down the hall.”

  The man opened the door, looked both ways, as if expecting Boone any moment, and disappeared into the hallway.

  “Get inside and close the door,” Weasel told Louis.

  Louis closed the door and locked it.

  “We’ll have to try and sedate him,” Jacks said. “You know that, don’t ya? That’s the only chance we got.”

  “What the hell do I do?” Louis asked, growing more panicky by the minute. Sweat gathered along his hairline. Weasel could see little patches of it under his coat on his striped shirt.

  “Hide behind the door,” Carl told him. “And when he comes in, give him a shot in the back before he can do anything.”

  Louis looked terrified. His mouth opened and closed. “I . . . I don’t think I can do that. I . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Well someone better decide . . . fast,” Childs said.

  “I’ll do it,” Jacks said.

  “I can do it,” Carl told them, “It should be a doctor. You shouldn’t have to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  Jacks chimed in:

  “I’ll do it. I’m bigger. If something happens, I can handle Boone. I got the best chance. Just concoct something and have it ready for me.”

  “I’ll get a tranquilizer going,” Childs said, and nodded. “Try to get it in his neck, if you can.”

  “His neck?” Jacks looked terrified. Boone was a big man . . . a big man with an axe.

  Carl Childs moved to the med-cart in the middle of the room.

  “What’s going on?” Doogie Harrison asked. He was a young kid with bi-polar disorder, Tourette Syndrome, and a tendency to self-mutilate. His eyes were big and round, his face pasty white.

  “Nothing, Doogie,” Carl told him. “We’ll be outta here before you know it. I need you to help me keep everybody calm, okay?”

  Doogie didn’t look like he wanted to keep anybody calm. He backed up toward the window, eyes bugging out of his thin face, and shook his head. “No no no no no no,” he said, evenly.

  “Do you want a sedative?” Carl asked.

  Doogie did a flighty jerk with his hands, then scrunched up his face. “No. No, I don’t want no goddamn sedatives. I want to go home.”

  “Doogie, please,” Louis said. “You gotta calm down. We have a situation here.”

  “Well, why don’t ya call the pole-ice? The pole-ice can handle it. They
can handle anything.”

  “We’ve tried that already,” Louis said. “The lines are down. Weasel tried it at the nurses’ station.”

  “Well, what about one a them cellio-phones. You got one a them cellio phones, don’tcha? Everyone carries one a’them things. They can cut through the thickiest murk.” Doogie did another flighty dance with his arms, grimaced, turned his head sharply one way, then the other.

  Weasel ignored him. Carl was getting a tranquilizer ready for Jacks. Weasel looked at Nancy. In some ridiculous, melodramatic sense, he wanted to tell her he loved her. He knew that was stupid, considering the situation, but it was true, and the funny thing was that she was looking at him as though she wanted him to tell her he loved her, or maybe just grab her hand.

  That was a good idea, he decided.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand. She squeezed in return.

  “I should help calm down some of these patients,” she told him, and squeezed his hand again.

  Lightning flashed, then a booming crack of thunder. It rattled the entire hospital. Weasel was surprised the windows didn’t break. Nancy let out a tiny eek. In any other situation, he might’ve laughed.

  “You ready?” Carl asked Jacks.

  “Yes,” the big man said, nodding.

  “Here it is, all ready to go,” the doctor said. “Just get it close to his neck, and plunge the dispenser home.”

  Jacks nodded, eyes wide. He was sweating porously.

  A crash sounded at the door. Weasel whipped his head in that direction.

  Nancy let out a full-blown scream. Weasel backed up, eyes going wide, all his senses alert. Prickly sensations moved across his body.

  Jacks, startled, dropped the syringe. He bent to pick it up, but just as he did, another crash sounded from the door.

  ~

  Boone moved like lightning, the thunder driving him.

  Little boy Booner, all grown up, making his way through the screaming. Not a bad place to be. A pretty good place. To wield what he knew best. He felt unstoppable with the Silence Maker by his side.

  He had purpose. He could feel it.

  The faces in the window had begged to be released, and he had the tool to do it.

  Boone heard it all behind the door. To anyone else, it would’ve been deathly quiet. But not to Boone. Everything was turned to high volume.

  He didn’t bother opening the door or seeing if it was unlocked. He raised the axe and swung it forward, making a loud, splintering crash.

  ~

  Jacks knelt to pick up the syringe. The head of the axe made its way through the paneling. The sight froze him where he stood, his eyes like cue balls.

  “That ain’t no thunderstorm!” Doogie cried, cowering back toward the window.

  You wanna bet, Weasel thought, and took several steps backward as well.

  “Jacks, pick it up!” Weasel cried.

  Nancy turned, eyes wide in terror. She looked around, positioning herself between the patients and Boone.

  Another crash hit the door. The paneling flew inward. Jacks cowered, throwing his arms up, the axe coming all the way through.

  Doogie, crawling up along the window now, let out a full-blown scream. More jerky movements manipulated his appendages. “You’re all a bunch of liars!” he wailed. “Liars-liars-liars!”

  Miriam Abberville clawed at Louis, who stood frozen. Weasel didn’t understand, but Jacks had lost his balance, leaning to his left. He took a step and came down directly on top of the syringe, shattering it under his foot. Weasel watched the liquid seep out under the sole of his shoe.

  Another crash sent more of the door inward. Jacks stood. Boone kicked in the door, advanced, and buried the blade into Jacks’ chest. Screams erupted. Weasel’s heart thumped in his ears.

  Jacks fell away, arms out, and hit the floor. Spillbourghs put himself in front of Miriam. Boone looked from one end of the room to the other. He tilted his head, barely acknowledging Jacks at his feet.

  It was a long shot, Weasel knew, but to his right, he saw Childs getting another syringe ready.

  Boone moved toward Miriam and Doctor Spillbourghs. She was screaming, loud penetrating wails. Weasel looked at Boone and noticed his head twitch, as if unnerved by the sound. Boone swung the axe on top of her skull, making a loud, audible crack. Blood sprayed like a fan in two directions. She slumped instantly in her chair. Spillbourghs, his eyes wide, stood splattered in her blood.

  Boone swung the axe through the air, taking out Spillbourghs in one swift motion, bringing the blade up and into his abdomen like a golf swing.

  Doogie was trying to climb up the window and along the wall, still screaming: “Liars-liars-liars!” while the rest of the room turned to a cacophony of wails.

  The whole thing began to hurt Weasel’s head. Carl was still trying to put the syringe together, while keeping his eyes on Boone, his hands shaking, sweat standing out on his forehead.

  Weasel moved to his left, away from Nancy and several patients. He locked eyes with Carl, and the man nodded.

  “Weez,” Nancy said. It was the first time she hadn’t called him Giles, and for a second, his heart broke.

  “It’s the only way. I have to get to that syringe from Carl, or we’re all goners.”

  Boone moved counter clockwise through the room, moving fast, silencing anyone who stood in his way. In the candlelight, the room had slowly begun to darken with blood. He was a machine. The axe never stopped moving.

  Doogie clawed at the window, twitching, wincing, trying to climb up the walls and still screaming, “Liars-liars-liars!”

  Nancy stood still, keeping several patients behind her as Boone moved closer toward her. Weasel hunkered down, keeping close to the wall and out of sight. The room was turning into a slaughterhouse, and the screams roared in his ears.

  Weasel watched Boone’s face. It never changed, only a driven, convicted purpose there. Weasel knew he’d never see anything like it again, prayed he’d never see anything like it again if he lived long enough.

  The man had already killed an orderly, one doctor, and several patients. He was moving toward Carl now. The man pushed the med-cart in front of Boone, then tossed the syringe through the air at Weasel. Weasel caught it in both hands delicately without dropping or puncturing himself.

  Boone kicked the med-cart out of the way, tipping it over. Pills crashed and scattered across the floor. Childs began to scream, holding his arms in front of his face, but Boone took him down.

  The ruthless nature of it made Weasel stop dead in his tracks.

  Boone moved toward Doogie now, who had been crawling along the window ledge, outlined by the gloom of the rain. He was no longer shouting, “Liars-liars-liars,” but screaming into the big man’s face as though deliberately trying to taunt him, getting as close to Boone as he dared. Boone moved the axe to his left hand and reached up with his right, grabbing Doogie off the wall by his neck. He slammed him into a small table, which buckled, then drove the boy to the floor. Weasel heard a bone snap and Doogie stopped screaming.

  Boone looked around, taking in the rest of the scene.

  Blood slicked the floor. The smell was fresh. Weasel could smell himself as well, sweat trickling from his pours, his clothes still wet, sticking to his body from the rain.

  But the giant man wasn’t done. He was moving close to Nancy now, who was doing her best to put herself between Boone and three patients.

  The lightning flashed. Thunder ripped across the sky.

  Nancy began to scream, and Weasel thought, No, Nancy. Don’t scream! Whatever you do, don’t scream!

  Another doctor, Barney Gorman, one Weasel hadn’t noticed was actually in the room, tried to make a break for the door. He’d played chess with Barney.

  Boone turned instantly, driving the axe into the man’s stomach with such force, he lifted him off the floor and into the wall. Weasel heard bones breaking, and Barney fell to the floor.

  Boone turned to Nancy and moved forward.

 
Weasel sprinted across the room, the syringe held high.

  Nancy saw him over Boone’s shoulder. She continued to scream. The patients were screaming, clawing at Nancy from behind.

  But Boone must’ve sensed Weasel. He turned as the janitor was about to plunge the syringe into his shoulder and knocked the needle out of his hand.

  ~

  Boone grabbed Weasel and tossed him over by Nancy and the others. Nancy was still screaming at the top of her bosomy, barrel-chested lungs.

  “Nancy, goddamnit, knock it off!” Weasel yelled. “Quit it! You’re only making it worse. Don’t you see that?

  But she wouldn’t stop.

  “Nancy,” Weasel tried to calm her. “You have to be quiet. You have to calm down. That’s why he’s doing what he’s doing. Nancy, for God’s sake, please!”

  His own voice only added to the din. Weasel tried a different approach and turned to the man with the axe.

  “Boone? Boone?” he said. “Please! Dear God! Have some mercy. We want to help you. Don’t you see? We want to help you, Booner.”

  He couldn’t believe this was the same person who’d let the snake go. Weasel had no idea how to get through to him. Boone was operating from a place he couldn’t get to. He did the only thing he could think of.

  He looked to the window, the storm, and closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.

  ~

  The shrill had turned to a deafening roar, wedging beneath his skin, then moving into the base of his skull like someone ringing a dinner bell in his brain. Through it all, he could hear his mother screaming: Devil child. Devil child. The best thing for you is underground, Frankie. And I’m here to make sure it happens. Don’t think I won’t . . . because I will. I promise you that. You’ll pay, Frankie. You’ll pay. Suffer in silence like a good little boy.

  The screams had turned to screeching, like a train breaking on a railroad track, showering sparks and grinding metal. His arms pin-wheeled like John Henry, making rainbows ’round his shoulders. All he knew was that he had to kill it. It had become a mantra: kill it kill it kill it.