Chapter 4 – What Was Left Behind

Mrs. Crawford led us further on in silence. She was angry at Alex for trying to enter the basement, but her refusal to answer even the most basic question about the place, had only further ignited my curiosity.

Before long, we stood by the door to my mother’s room. The letters were rusted, and had clearly been neglected even before my mother’s death. Dawson looked nervous, he kept looking over his shoulder, then back at Mrs. Crawford, who wore her usual annoyed expression.

“I trust you can inspect the room without assistance?” she asked. “Me and Sheriff Dawson need to have a talk.”

I nodded anxiously as a response. With that, she just unlocked the door, and ushered Alex and myself inside, before shutting it behind us.

The room looked the same as I remembered it, a perfect window into my partially forgotten childhood. Not a single thing had changed, down to each piece of furniture, and some stains on the carpet I myself had created when I was six.

Alex ran inside, happy to escape the scolding stare of Mrs. Crawford. Once there, he finally eased up a bit. Still, I needed to know what exactly had happened to him down in the basement.

“Why did you run away?” I asked him, as kindly as I could.

His frown returned. He looked more guilty than scared. “The children told me to come with them. They said I had to.”

“What children?”

“They’re… they’re not really children…” he responded meekly.

“What do you mean? What are they then?”

“Well… they were kids like me. But… then the Acolytes changed them. Now they’re something else.”

The word sounded familiar. It was something Mrs. Crawford had briefly mention during memorial had said as well, but its meaning remained a mystery.

“Who are the Acolytes?”

“I don’t know. They said they would hurt you if I didn’t go with them.”

If it hadn’t been for the children’s laughter I had heard, I wouldn’t have believed him. It shouldn’t have been more than his overactive imagination at play, but things in Tenebris weren’t like they were supposed to be.

“Why would they hurt me?”

“Because of me. They wanted to kill you.”

I was left speechless by his last statement.

“The children said that?”

Alex just nodded.

“Alex, I need to know exactly what you saw. Can you please describe it for me?”

By then, he was looking down at the ground, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to respond, which said more about the place itself than whatever he could have described. I needed to get him out from the hospice care as soon as possible. But first I needed to check something.

As a child, I’d frequently gotten candies and other small things from the patients. Unfortunately for me, my mother had a strict, no sugar rule. So, whenever I got a hold of a piece of candy, I decided to hide it.

One of the old cupboards had a loose plank, which I could easily dislodge, even as a kid. I used to hide the forbidden snacks inside a small space at the back of the cupboard, hoping to eat them when my mother wasn’t watching. Alas, I wasn’t very slick, and she almost always caught me.

It became a running joke, one we both enjoyed. Among all the hardship I remembered from my childhood, that was one of the few fond memories I had of us together.

Since the place hadn’t changed, I figured it might be worth a look. If my mother had left something behind for me, she just might have hidden it in our secret stash.

I walked into my old bedroom, and sure enough, the cupboard was still there. Without hesitation, I pried open the backside, and stuck my hand inside. The hole had seemed so big as a child, a place fitting for an endless amount of ill gotten goods, but now it was all too small, I could barely fit my hand inside.

Then I felt something, the familiar touch of paper against my skin. I struggled a bit, but eventually managed to pull out a bundle of tied together papers. Just like the suicide note, they had torn edges, and were made from the same type of paper as the journal itself.

I didn’t need to inspect the room any further. Money or not, it wasn’t worth sticking around. My plan was to talk to Riley, sign whatever documents he had ready, and leave town with the full journal.

Once we left the room, Mrs. Crawford and Dawson were still talking in the hallway.

“Leaving so soon?” Mrs. Crawford asked, trying to put on a fake smile.

“Yes, unfortunately I have to go over the house before returning back home. I need to get back to work and so on,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Before you leave, Laura; there is something I would like to talk to you about, regarding your mother.”

“Why don’t you just tell me now?”

“It would be better if we could discuss that in private. It is a complicated situation.”

I thought about the offer. I couldn’t hurt to hear her out, but there was little I wanted more than to just leave. If I just agreed to her meeting, then fled town, no one could ever stop me.

“When can we talk then?”

“How about tomorrow morning? You could come by the hospice, and I will tell you everything you want to know about her.”

I looked over to Alex, not willing to let him out of my sight again. I agreed to the meeting, still not sure if I would show up at all.

We left the building, and I looked for my phone so I could give Riley a call. It was almost noon, and I desperately needed to sign the papers and escape.

But my phone was missing… A fact I had forgotten during the craziness of the day. It was probably still laying somewhere inside Riley’s car. I just turned to Dawson, hoping he could help me out.

“Sheriff, do you have a phone I can borrow?

“Sorry, I only have my radio when on duty. I’m sure you can use the landline in the lobby, though.”

The mere thought of reentering the clinic made me shudder, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I went back inside, and called Riley.

“Hello, this is John Riley, how may I help you?”

“Hey, it’s me, Laura.”

“Oh, hello Miss. Florence. I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, I’ve been backed up at work. I actually wanted to ask if we could postpone our meeting until tomorrow? Something urgent came up.”

I sighed, but agreed. I wanted to leave that day, but since Mrs. Crawford had insisted that we meet again, I might as well stay until morning. As long as I could avoid the hospice at least.

That way, I could spend the rest of the day just sorting out the ripped pages. Sheriff Dawson took us home, and offered to give us a lift if we wanted to go anywhere else. He kept insisting that we call him if anything happened, almost as if he expected something horrible.

Before I sorted out the diary, I had to deal with Alex. It was an easy enough task, I simply put him in front of the television, which would buy me at least a couple of hours. It wasn’t the best method of parenting, but these were extraordinary circumstances that called for alternative means. Alex certainly didn’t mind.

Just touching the paper felt odd. It was the last bit of my mother that still existed in this world. It astonished me that something so simple could contain the entire life of a whole person.

It took me about half an hour just to reassemble the book. I put it down in front of me, taking a moment to admire the work I’d done. It was finally time to figure out what my mother had so desperately tried to hide.

April 19th, 1997…

Mr. Clarke died last night, took his last breath when I was sleeping. I’d promised to be there with him when the time came, but I failed him. There were just no real warning signs, he’d seemed fine the evening before, and we expected him to have at least another week left.

He just died… died in silence, without a soul noticing. He drew his last breath, and the world just didn’t change. He was pronounced dead when the morning staff found him at 5:34 AM, just like that.

But… that’s not the worst part. Because when we moved him to the morgue, I accidentally touched his arm, and I could have sworn I felt it twitch. I told the other nurses to stop, but they just kept going, claiming I’d imagined the whole thing –

I double checked to see if the ripped out segment fit, and continued reading.

I couldn’t just let it go, so I sneaked into the pathology lab as they were starting the autopsy. He wasn’t breathing, and his skin looked as pale as any other corpse I’d seen. I was starting to think I might just have imagined the whole thing, ready to leave the room before they made the first incision.

He shouldn’t even have needed an autopsy. But his family insisted, claiming his death to be preventable, despite all scans proving he had advanced cancer.

The pathologist brought out the bone saw, ready to cut through his sternum. I couldn’t watch, so I rushed out the door. But just as it closed behind me, Mr. Clarke sat straight up and started screaming in agony.

He was still alive. It didn’t necessarily mean that the doctors were wrong, but he’d somehow come back from the brink of death. It was a miracle!

They quickly sent him to surgery to repair the damage. I guess I’ll know more tomorrow.

I still remembered Mr. Clarke. I’d met him when I was only four years old. He was actually one of the first patients I ever met at Tenebris Care. Though his mind was far gone, I’d spend hours just listening to him play the piano in the lobby while my mother worked. It was pretty much the only thing he could still do. He always seemed so tired, but not in a sickly way, more like he was ready for bed, getting his well earned rest.

He was a good man, so reading about his live dissection was a horrible thought that almost made me gag. But if he’d lived, then why hadn’t I ever seen him again?

I had to continue reading.

April 21st 1997…

A couple of doctors came to visit me today. They wanted to talk about Mr. Clarke’s miraculous revival. When I asked why they wanted me, they simply said I had the most exposure to the patient, and that I might be able to help them figure things out.

Of course I agreed, I thought of the man as a friend, and if I could aid in his recovery in any way, who was I to say no?

They brought me to a rehabilitation facility just at the outskirts of town. Mr. Clarke had been isolated in his own room, with restraints pinning him down to the bed. He didn’t move, he just lay there, and stared lifelessly up at the ceiling above him.

I asked them why they had tied him up. To which they just shrugged and said he had a couple of violent outbursts. It was mainly for his own protection, but they also warned me not to get too close.

The idea seemed ridiculous at the time. Mr. Clarke was so unbelievably frail, he couldn’t possibly lift a finger to hurt anyone. Then I saw the pair of torn restrains lying on the bedside table.

“He broke through the first pair,” the doctor said without any further explanation. “I guess they were just old, but better be careful.”

I went inside, and Mr. Clarke just stared at me. The skin under the restrains had turned raw from the struggle, but the wounds didn’t seem to be bleeding.

“Agatha,” he said, letting out a strange chuckle.

“You know that no one ever calls me that,” I said.

“Please, kill me,” he then begged, his expression quickly changing from apathy to one of absolute, soul breaking fear. It only lasted for a moment, before he started to laugh again.

I took a step back in shock, which seemed to confuse the man.

“You fear me? Why?”

“You’re not acting like yourself. The doctors said you’re experiencing violent outbursts.”

“I could never hurt you, Nephilim. You granted me life.” he said. “No, I don’t want to be here, I’m not supposed to be alive. Please kill me.”

“Nephilim?”

“Kill me. It hurts to be here. Please!” he groaned in pain.

It felt as if he was arguing with himself, like two people were trapped inside his body. He didn’t sound like Mr. Clarke anymore, but he knew my name.

“Who are you?”

He started laughing again. “We are the Acolytes, and I am just the first of so many to come through.”

Then he cried again, begging for death, switching between the gleeful and desperate personality.

“Thank you, Nepihlim,” was the last thing I heard him say.

With that, he just pulled the restraints off the bed frame, and sat up in bed. The doctors and nurses rushed into the room, pinning him down as they administered some kind of sedative. Even then he didn’t stop, he just kept laughing. They gave him a second shot, then a third, and finally he fell limp in his bed.

One of the doctors pulled me to the side, asking for me to confirm some information. Though he seemed scared, he wasn’t at all surprised by Mr. Clarke’s bizarre behavior.

“The chart says he died from complications of stage four pancreatic cancer. Is that right?”

I nodded.

“We did some scans, there’s no sign of any tumor mass. Apart from his obvious delusions, he’s perfectly healthy.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. We’ll keep him here for observation.”

They kept asking me questions about his prior history. How he’d acted before he got diagnosed with cancer, and how the disease had changed him. Once they realized that I couldn’t help them, they escorted me off the premises.

Officially, the weird behavior was explained by hypoxia during his ‘death,’ but I’m not so sure. Whatever the case, they’re not letting me meet with Mr. Clarke again. I’m happy he’s alive, of course… but… I’m not so sure it’s really him anymore.

I skimmed over the next few pages of the journal. They were pretty much just recounting her average day. Despite the trauma, my mother was slowly falling back into old habits. What had happened to Mr. Clarke was just written off as a one time event so much that weeks would pass before another miraculous resurrection took place.

June 2nd 1997…

It happened again… A dead man was brought back to life, hours after he had died. I just happened to be by his side as he drew his last breath. He was so afraid, begging for me to just hold his hand. I felt the life drain from him, I felt him fall limp as his heart stopped beating.

As the doctors called the time of death, I just sat there staring at him for a while. His name was Jonathan Gate, and he’d lost his entire family in a car crash almost a decade earlier. He was alone when he got sick, and he died without any familiar faces around him.

We put him in the morgue, hoping that he could finally be with his family again. Hours passed, and we started to hear knocking coming from his mortuary cooler.

As we pulled him out, he just sat there and stared at us. He didn’t even seem confused, nor at all affected by the hours he’d spent dead. He was just fine… I didn’t make any sense.

I don’t understand.

What had been a singular, unexplained event, turned to repeated impossible resurrections. Throughout the next months, even years, my mother went through these incredible recoveries, quickly understanding that her presence around the dead was in fact bringing them back. Any person she touched after their death, would be brought back to life.

Of course, my mother never shared that detail with anyone. Had it gotten out that she had the ability to bring people back from death, she’d be locked up in a lab instantly. The only ones aware of her powers, was herself and those she’d saved.

Whether it was a gift or a curse, she didn’t yet know. But seeing how her life eventually ended by her own hands, something must have made her come to the latter conclusion. I kept reading on, hoping to finally learn what had caused my mother to finally take her own life.

8th of May 2000…

I can’t leave. The Acolytes won’t let me. I tried so hard to stop bringing people back, but they’re forcing my hand. If I don’t keep working for them, they’ll kill the ones I love, and bring them back as their own.

But the hospice care isn’t enough for them anymore. I keep hearing about people dying in their homes. Not the sick, nor the elderly, but perfectly healthy people.

The Acolytes tell me I’m saving lives, but I know that’s not the truth. The people I save, they always change. They take something back with them from the other side, entities that aren’t supposed to be here.

Mrs. Crawford is horrified. She’s one of the few that realizes the extent of the situation. She knows something dark is coming back with the resurrected. I need to tell her the truth, I need to tell her I’m the one bringing them back. Maybe she can get Laura out of town before they take her too.

But if she has the same abilities as myself, she’ll never be safe. I don’t know how I’ll keep protecting her.

I wish I could tell her the truth, but it’s better for her if she just thinks I’m crazy. As long as she stays safe, it doesn’t matter.

I’m so sorry Laura, I hope you can forgive me one day.

That last page awoke new memories within me. I vaguely recalled Mrs. Crawford being the one to drive me out of town. She dropped me off at my grandparents place, saying my mother had gotten sick, and that I couldn’t visit her for a while.

Of course I didn’t understand that at the time. But as I got older, my grandparents told me it was due to mental issues. They started spewing lies about her being crazy, that she wasn’t fit to care for me anymore. Whether that was part of the deal or not, I didn’t know.

In any case, they passed away when I was seventeen. They died in an unexplained house fire, taking their lives and everything they ever owned away. I was out with friends that night, coming home to find that everything was gone.

As my legal guardians, there wasn’t anyone forcing me to go back to my mother in Tenebris once they died. Instead, I got emancipated, and started working as I lived with three roommates in a tiny apartment.

But my mother wasn’t crazy, I’d come to believe that much. And the worst thing was that I’d given up on her, never thinking to check in as I turned to an adult. She was just trying to protect me, but I still had so many questions.

I turned to the next page, just as I heard the house phone ringing. I had completely forgotten about its existence, and had just naturally assumed that the landline had been disconnected following my mother’s death.

“Hello, this is Laura.”

“Miss. Florence, this is Marianne Crawford. I am calling about our meeting tomorrow. I understand that the past two days must have been tough for you. But you need to know the truth about your mother. She was not who you think she was. Please come to my office at Tenebris Care tomorrow at 9AM.”

I’m calling about our meeting tomorrow. I know the past few

I nodded in response, forgetting that she couldn’t see me.

“Miss. Florence?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you for calling.”

The conversation felt forced, and ended shortly after. Mrs. Crawford had known my mother her whole life. I was torn between skipping town and learning more about my mother. If anyone could give me the answers I thought, it would be Mrs. Crawford. I put the phone down, and kept on reading.

December 7th 2015…

Marianne is dead. Of all the people in the world, I thought for sure that she would outlive us all. She wasn’t even sick, nor did she have any underlying conditions any of us knew of. Sure, she was in her late sixties, but she was fit as a fiddle, just as always, resisting the burnout that affected us all.

She was my best friend in this world, and my last hope of ever escaping Tenebris. But now she’s gone, and I’m all alone, carrying this secret with me. If I leave town now, they’ll just go after Laura. I have to stay here, but that means they’ll force me to bring Marianne back… as one of them.

It’s going to be long before every single citizen of Tenebris has turned into one of the Acolytes. I need to talk to Morgan, he’s the only one I can trust right now.

Mrs. Crawford had died… I put the book down, and thought back at our meeting. She was so happy to have me back in town, which should have been suspicious enough as she’d never before been appreciative about my company. It wasn’t her, that much I knew for sure. But I didn’t understand why she needed me to stay in Tenebris, unless she thought I possessed the same power as my mother.