Chapter 8 - Why are small towns always obsessed with Satanic Cults?

Old rural Hospitals are different from the hulking complexes that most people nowadays are familiar with. To start with they are smaller, both because they are older but more because they see less patients in these rural areas. Most of the towns far up in northern Maine's Aroostook County have populations below a thousand, many below half that. These are towns where it's actually possible to know every single one of your neighbors, and likewise for each of them to know everybody in town too. Aroostook County General Hospital is an old private hospital that served nearly a dozen nearby towns, including the town of Bath, the town it is actually located in.

As far as hospitals go, Jack had seen better. But even he had to admit it was the second nicest hospital he had ever had a coma in. Jack woke up feeling significantly better than last time, but realistically last time he had woken up from a coma, and this time he was only waking up from a pleasant little nap after waking up from a coma. That is good, because Jack's room was suddenly a little cramped feeling with the addition of two large brown-uniformed men.

“Mr. Elder? Hi, I'm Dick Johnson, Sheriff of Aroostook County. This here is my deputy, Dick Johnson. Before you ask, yes, we're related. We're cousins. The Johnson family is a big fan of public service in these parts. If it helps at all, you can call me Sheriff Johnson and the deputy goes by Willy. Don't ask me why.”

“OK, I won't.” Turning to speak to deputy Johnson, “So, why do they call you Willy?” asked Jack.

Opening his mouth as if to speak deputy Johnson had a hand put in his face stopping him. “Don't ask Willy why either. At least not while I'm around. I'm sick of hearing about it.” Said a slightly red-faced Sheriff.

“Uh, Sure. Nice to meet you, Sheriff Johnson. Willy. When I asked Dr. Posey how I ended up here, he told me to talk to you. So, do you guys know what happened? Why was I in a Coma?”

“We will get to that. But first I have questions for you. And I hope for your sake you have some good answers, because what we have is a bloody crime scene, and so far, the only story we can figure doesn't look good for you. You met Marty Goldman Monday afternoon, where he gave you the keys to Randall Elder's house. You remember that, right?” Asked Sheriff Johnson.

“Uh... Yeah. Now that you mention it, that is actually ringing a bell. You do know I was just in a coma, right? There's a lot I can't seem to remember, though you mentioning Mr. Goldman jogged my memory a bit. So, yeah, I was contacted by Mr. Goldman ah, well, I guess it was a few weeks ago now? That feels weird, like kinda surreal. He Informed me that I was listed as the heir for this guy's house. Randall Elder. I'd never heard of him before, but Goldman tells me that he was my mother's uncle. I drove up there to his office, and again, you're right, he gave me a key. I was supposed to meet up with him again to finish up some paperwork for other parts of Great Uncle Randall's estate, but I can't seem to remember if that happened. I stopped in town and picked up a few groceries and went to check out this house. One look at it and I knew that I could never afford this place, the taxes alone would be more than I make in a year... Anyway, it was late, I remember feeling exhausted. It's a long drive up from Salem... um, the Boston area. I found the guest room and went to bed. That is all I seem to remember.” Jack finishes his explanation and looks expectantly at the Johnsons.

“We know all that from Marty. What we want to know is why there is blood all over the sitting room? Its looks like some kind of battle happened in there. The furniture is all broken and covered with... actually we aren't sure what it is, but the lab's working on it. There's also a puddle of blood in the kitchen, along with a sword, if you can imagine that, and there's some other weird shit in there too. Occult stuff: strange symbols on the walls and carved into the kitchen table, crystals, weird scrolls covered in more symbols. Add that to all the blood, and the weird weather? I'll be honest, a bunch of the guys been whispering about some kind of Satanic ritual sacrifice. What we are trying to figure out is: are you a victim, or did you have something to do with all this? If there is any part of this that you can explain, it would really go a long way to fixing this problem for you.” Sheriff Johnson had the slow soft-spoken affect common to all small-town law enforcement, but he was getting visibly heated up. This sort of thing doesn't happen a lot around here, your typical Satanists much preferring warmer weather and more prosperous and populous locales like the sensible folk that they aren't.

“What? Blood? How badly was the house damaged? Jesus, it's just my fucking luck that I finally inherit something, and it gets wrecked the same day!” Jack is stunned by this news, as far as he was concerned, he just had some kind of episode and was doing OK now. News of blood and battles and Satanists... Jacks Brain was not happy with it, thus it attempted to again access Jack's memories hoping to make some sense of what had happened. No luck, the place where those memories should be, was the equivalent of a boarded-up Bank's regional branch office after a hurricane passed through town. Literally anything could be in there. Realistically, it was lucky that Jack couldn't access those particular memories at the moment. Primarily because it would be very confusing to keeps his lies straight while talking to this Dick, um, sheriff Johnson, but also because Jack has a strange habit waking up from coma's with very strange memory problems. Lord only knew what ridiculous false memory the coma combined with his Pararibulitus, Jack would be stuck dealing with this time. God forbid he dreams up another twin, or other lost sibling like the last damn time. As long as he didn't end up in another Psych ward, he would be a happy man. Ok, not exactly happy, happy, but relatively happy for someone who tends to not be happy alot, like Jack, anyways.

“The house is fine, mostly. Marty wanted to look at it too, because you guys hadn't passed papers yet, so it technically didn't belong to you yet. After we secured the scene, we brought him in, a couple thousand in damages as far as Marty says. Your Ex,” leafing through a small notebook, “one Gwen Elder, took a flight up here after we informed her of the state of the 'wellness check' she had called in on you. Guess you forgot to call her when you got here? Oops. Lucky for you though I guess. What with the storm, you could have laid out there for weeks before anyone but Marty noticed or even thought to look. Instead, you got discovered by Willy here on Thursday morning. Looks like you owe your Ex-wife your life, Jack” Sheriff Johnson said.

“She's not my Ex. We're just separated. Temporarily, until I get my shit together.” Jack said defensively. “She came up here? Where is she now? Could you go get her? I'd really love to see her right about now...” Jack tripped all over himself, metaphorically, hoping he could see Gwen. That she came here at all was something of a blessing, Jack wouldn't have expected that after how things went the last time they spoke. Or rather, shouted at each other. Jack has been kind of... a mess and Gwen said that she wanted nothing to do with him until he could get some control of himself. And preferably get into some serious therapy.

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“From what I've gathered, she had to go back down south to Georgia. Sick Mother? Gwen came up, stayed with you a few days, I talked with her about you. A lot. She told me about your... problems... she met with Marty and finished up your paperwork for you. Its lucky she has your power of attorney, but I guess she needed it given some of your... difficulties. Then she took a flight back to Atlanta. Sounds like you should call her, after we finish our little chat. You know, the lab typed the blood from the house?” Questions like this are very popular with investigators. They hope that the guilt or fear of being caught might make people reveal something useful by accident. But Jack doesn't take the bait. Mostly because he has no idea what blood types have to do with anything.

Jack was depressed to hear that Gwen hadn't stayed, but it had been over two weeks that he had spent in a coma. “Did she leave a phone number? I don't have her number memorized, it's programmed into my phone, which never apparently made it here.”

“She didn't give her number to me, but maybe someone at the office got it. As for your cell phone, I have no idea where it is. It wasn't logged as evidence, so it's probably still at Randall's place.”

At that very moment, both of the Johnson's radios chirped. Willy pulled his radio from his belt. “You got Big Willy. What's going on Sally?”

“Zeke just called in from the Elder estate. He said there's something in the basement that Dick needs to see. He said he would wait there until Dick's finished talking to the nutbag.” As this was said, Willy got a very embarrassed look and slunk out into the hallway after glancing at Jack.

“Sally, we were in the room with him! Try to act professional! Jesus!” whisper-yelled Willy.

Great, thought Jack. Barely even up here and already the rumors start up again. This is just like last time.

“Sorry Jack, I've gotta go take care of this. We can finish this little chat when I get back. Unless you have anything to tell me about what Zeke found in your basement?” probed the Sheriff.

“I've told you everything I remember.” Jack said with all honesty. It really was very lucky for Jack that he couldn't remember Tuesday. Jack had never been a very accomplished liar, and he had a feeling that anything that he did remember in the future wouldn't be the kind of thing that he would want very much to share with the pair of Dicks, or the sheriff's department in general.

“I hope for your sake that you're telling me the truth, Jack. I'll be back later tonight.” Dick Johnson then walked out of Jacks hospital room and stopped to chat with Nurse Chapel at the nurse's station. Dick then left, alone, leaving 'Big' Willy to chat with the quietly giggling nurses, and probably also to quietly keep an eye on Jack. Looks like they aren't leaning toward 'victim' thought Jack. Here's to hoping I didn't do anything fucked up this time.

#

The rest of that day saw Jack being given the full Monty in terms of medical exams. By midafternoon he was pronounced as vaguely fit for a forty something, or at least not in any immediate medical peril, and thus his IV was removed and Jack was encouraged to roam about the hospital as they started processing his release. The cafeteria was Jack's first stop, and while the food was bland and boring, they made up for it with quantity. That was very helpful as Jack's brain was convinced that it had two weeks of not eating to make up for.

While shoveling food into his mouth, Jack was surprised by a sudden visitor abruptly siting at his table. The stranger was an elderly man, maybe eighty-ish, gray of hair, and grayer of complexion. He was of average height, and somewhat skinny, as are so many of an advanced age. As far as his apparel, he wore what the typical local farmers wear, dusty jeans and a red plaid button down. Honestly, he looked like he belonged on a porch with a shotgun and a spittoon for his chewing tobacco rather than sitting in a rural hospital cafeteria.

“Is this seat taken?” the man said with that shitty grin that people tend to make when they know that their joke is a terrible cliche. Or if their joke was a fantastic cliche. Any kind of cliche, really. Jesus, old cliche's suck. We collectively as a species really need to come up with some new cliches...

“No sir, by all means, sit. I'm Jack. Nice to meet you.” It is considered polite to be respectful of your elders. It is also considered polite not to talk with your mouth full, so on balance, Jack was only half polite, as he barely slowed down eating when making his response. At least he managed to keep the food in his mouth. Well, most of it, anyways.

“You're Randall's grandson, right? The one who inherited the estate?” Asked the still as yet unintroduced gentleman. His piercing blue eyes staring straight through the back of Jack's head. His intensity chilled Jack a bit, giving him a slight shiver down his spine.

“Great nephew, actually. But yeah, I inherited the place.” Jack finally finished swallowing his food and pushed the rest of it on his plate to the side of the table so he could properly talk to... whoever this is. “As, I said, I'm Jack...” Jack said leadingly.

Another large shit eating grin spread across the cagey man's face. “I beg your pardon, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?” Red shirt said.

“Yes, yes you did. If you tell me your name, then I can stop calling you 'Red Shirt Man' in my head, for which I would be much obliged.” Quipped Jack.

“You know, I like you, Jack. Was not exactly a fan of your uncle, but you and I might be able to be friends.” Says red shirt man.

“Sure, why not? I mean if you ever get around to telling me your name. I can't really see much of a future as friends with me calling you 'red shirt man'. Especially if you decide to change your shirt someday. Then I'd all be like 'Hi, Red Shirt!' even though you were, for instance, wearing a blue shirt, and everybody would think I was crazy as a June bug in January. Or maybe colorblind, I guess, if they were the kind of folk who were charitable like that. And besides, I really don't need any help making people think I'm crazy.”

This makes Red Shirt Man laugh a dry wheezy laugh. The cafeteria isn't stuffed full at this hour, but there are a few others using it, including one of the doctors who had earlier given Jack his cognitive exam, and Dr Posey. 'Big' Willy was sitting with them too, also taking this chance to have a slice of pie while keeping one eye on Jack. He and the doctors all seemed to be watching Red Shirt. Or maybe Jack. Likely both, Jack supposed.

“Hey Jack, you want to see something funny?” Red Shirt had a dangerous gleam in his eye, apparently Red Shirt has a mischievous streak. In one swift movement, Red Shirt pulls a large 'working knife' from his boot and plunges it into the cafeteria table. Though it did pass through Jack's left hand first. The pain was instantaneous, and Jack did exactly the stupidest thing he could and ripped his hand away from the knife, screaming the entire time. Then Jack swung at Red Shirt with his undamaged right hand. Jack's hand never connected with red shirt's face, primarily because Red Shirt wasn't where his punch landed. It instead landed on Dr Posey, who had been walking up behind Red Shirt while Jack was busy not noticing because he was being stabbed. Red Shirt was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared right in the middle of the cafeteria. Or maybe he had never been there in the first place. Which would explain the looks Jack had been getting from the others in the cafeteria.

As Jack was busy sputtering and looking for the cantankerous old bastard, he was tackled by deputy Willy, just in time for a team of orderlies to arrive who just happened to be entering the cafeteria at a run. Well, they just happened to be coming after being called in by a very concerned Dr. Posey. And who wouldn't be concerned watching a post-coma patient talking to himself in the middle of a cafeteria before screaming like a lunatic and attacking people? Hey, why isn't my hand all bloody? A sharp but familiar jab in his buttock told Jack that he had just been tranquilized. Oh no! It's happening again! The last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was a dry wheezy laugh. Great, at least somebody was happy. Jack was gonna kick Shirt's ass when he saw him...