23
9. 7. 22, Saturday, 15:03
The bad news was that for the whole week the Phobia Club felt like kids chasing after a pigeon, only to have it fly off disappointingly just before it could be caught. And funny enough, the thing they WERE chasing after happened to be three birds: the crow, the raven and the magpie Sazana had told them about.
Only she hadn’t explained what they were, so a bazillion questions were raised about it.
Take the most prominent one: was she referring to actual birds, or depictions of it, or were they code names for something? Were the three birds’ actually anagrams or puzzles? Or were they passwords for something? The most disheartening question wasn’t articulated, but thought by everyone anyway: was Sazana saying the truth or was it just some mad ravings?
They never did find out.
The good news was that they DID figure out where the secret office of Jon Ashwood was, or vague implications of it. Either that or they really sucked at reading blueprints.
It seemed to be at the highest level and it also appeared to be the only room there – according to the label it was on the ‘sixth floor’, which was incorrect, since Ashwood Mansion only had five stories, not counting the basement. The game room, dining hall, lounge and the like were on the first floor, the Rooms on the second, the staff quarters on the third, contestants’ bedrooms on the fourth, Damon and his family on the fifth…so what better place to put a secret room than on a level no one knew about?
But to find out whether Jon’s secret office was really there, they had to somehow go on to the forbidden fifth floor. Maybe you could argue that they already went when they broke into Damon’s office, but that time they knew what they were looking for. Trying to find the secret office would be trying to find a needle in a haystack, with a bunch of barnyard animals watching you do it. Barnyard animals that could punish you.
Just once, couldn’t things be easy?
Perhaps they could figure out a solution, as well as question a few past contestants. Today was the day they were going to Hemlock’s Psychology Clinic, after all.
***
The Clinic was nothing like anything the Phobia Club had seen before.
For starters it wasn’t a building by itself. No, it was above Dr Joel McCarthy’s Dentistry and a candy store (which seemed rather ironic to them), with a peeling, old sign stating in faded black letters ‘Hemlock’s Psychology Clinic’. The windows all had the shades drawn, making it impossible to see what was inside.
Climbing up the dingy stairs furthered their amazement. Framed photos of advertisements, news articles and famous patients of Hemlock’s lined the walls, but the flickering light bulb hanging overhead made it hard to see. The grey door creaked noisily when Adonis pushed it open.
Even the lobby was shocking. It was a rectangular, small space with two grey doors at either side of the silver receptionist’s desk. The carpet was dark grey with speckled white, the wallpaper the colour of smoke and the couch had some stuffing spilling out of a tear. They didn’t seem to have proper lighting either – it was just random, spitting bulbs hanging from swinging wires. The whole place resembled an overcast day.
The plump secretary looked up from eating her sandwich and typing at her computer. “Name?”
“Lana Jensen, Emma Vincent, Winifred Thompson, Adonis Makylov, Julian Vincent, Denver Stein and Leo Finley,” Lana said, a little spooked by how eerily silent it all was.
“Appointment made by Ms. Gwenda Shaw? From Ashwood Mansion?” the secretary eyed them warily.
“Yup,” Emma said.
“Hmm,” was the suspicious reply. “Here are your forms, please fill them out. All columns, mind.”
Julian took them and handed them around to the rest. Awkwardly they stood there, wishing for a pen and a table to write on. The secretary rolled her heavily made-up eyes and handed them all pens.
They finished with various jammed-together scrawls that not-adults liked to call ‘signatures’. The secretary flipped through them and narrowed her eyes, reducing them to mascara ovals. “You look too skinny to be overeating. Are you sure that’s the reason?”
“That was the reason we got sent here,” Adonis retorted.
“Meh. Go through the left door to the Waiting Room – Dr Hemlock will see you once he’s ready.”
***
Entering the Waiting Room gave them another shock. Clearly, the Clinic’s lobby interior designer had depression.
It was very welcoming, with wooden panel walls that had abstract landscape paintings hanging from nails, overstuffed couches on three sides, yellow-and-black bean bags in front of a large TV playing the movie ‘A Prison of Storms and Seas’ and shelves full of second-hand books and board games. The lighting came from proper ceiling lights, not ones that came straight out of some Hollywood horror movie basement. Five other people were lazing around there, some glued to their phones, the others listlessly picking up things in the hope to find entertainment.
“Who the heck designed the outside?” Adonis burst out. “Are we even at the Clinic?”
“I really don’t care since there’s beanbags,” Freddie said, flopping herself down on one. Lana and Emma joined her; the boys hunted for a chess set on the shelves.
“Do you think any of them here know who we’re looking for?” Denver asked, once they got settled comfortably on the floor.
Emma plucked out three photographs, cut out from newspapers and laid them out. “We’ll just start with Christopher, Sazana and George.”
“Hey, welcome to Hemlock’s Head Shrinking.”
One of the boys from the couch had looked up from his GameBoy. His tousled brown hair bounced a little under his green-and-white baseball cap as he jumped up from the couch and scooted over. “Why’d they send you here?”
“The person who got us the appointment knows the doc,” Julian said.
“Cool. I’m Jake Dunlap, 12.” He reached out a hand to shake, but then realized it meant he would need seven hands, so he retracted it.
“Lana, Emma, Freddie, Adonis, Julian, Denver and Leo,” Lana said once again.
“What are all of you doing here?” he asked curiously. “Never seen so many people come here before. What’d you do, commit a felony and come here for rehab?”
“Uh, we may or may not have some ‘overeating diet issues’,” Julian said. Jake gave them a funny look.
“Cool, I guess. Wanna know why I’m here?”
“…sure? Are you comfortable saying that?” Lana asked awkwardly.
“Why not? Here’s a safe place – we’re all crazy here anyway,” Jake said, surprised. “I’ve got ‘atypical depression’, according to the shrink. Something about it ‘stemming from parental negligence, favouritism and peer pressure’. To be honest I don’t know what that means.”
“Those two girls reading there are Carol and Tatiana,” he went on, jerking his head into the brunette and blonde’s direction. “Carol’s depressed and suicidal, same as me, so the shrink got us to always watch her. Tatiana’s kind of mad, so don’t be too surprised if she starts laughing. Her mind’s kind of cracked from too much pressure or something.”
“Guy over there is Herman,” he said, lowering his voice. “He’s got anger management issues or something, so it’s best to not say anything he might not like. Saw him beat up some poor schmuck months ago – the guy got a dislocated shoulder.”
“And that’s Sandy. He’s only been here for 5 months so far, less than us. He’s ADHD and his parents’ are alcoholic and abusive.” The scrawny kid looked up when he heard his name and waved, before being distracted by the TV.
“All of you know each other well?” Denver commented.
“Yeah, the shrink encourages us to be open about things. This place has a whole confidentiality agreement and everything – we can actually sue if someone tells someone else.”
“Say, how long have you been here?” Freddie perked up.
“Eh, a year and a half. Why?”
“Someone we know used to come here,” Adonis said, catching on. “Do you think you’d know them?”
“I might. Do you have a picture of them?”
Emma flashed the three pictures at him hopefully, but Jake took one look and shook his head. “No, never seen them before. I could ask the rest if you like.”
“Thanks,” Julian said.
“Yo, the guy wants to know if we’ve seen these guys before!” Jake called out to the entire room. Flustered, Emma held up the pictures of George Reeves, Sazana Chiyako and Christopher Geller.
“Don’t interrupt the game,” Herman snarled from the opposite end, not looking up once. “Do you really think I go around memorising everybody’s faces’, you twit?”
“Don’t think so,” Sandy offered. “They do look – oh, hey, look! There’s a new board game!”
“That boy looks happy. I wonder what that feels like,” Carol sighed wistfully, if not mournfully.
“They do look like some people I know from school,” Tatiana said, breaking into hysterical laughter. “But then again I don’t go to school anymore.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone knows them, sorry,” Jake said apologetically.
Just then the bell above the door rang but was immediately drowned out by an ear-splittingly loud voice, that sort of voice you might expect from an annoyingly petty relative, or a self-centred hall monitor. “Try not to bite anyone, Sierra. Oh, right, I forgot. You don’t understand what that means. Ha!”
The door swung open, revealing a girl with wavy golden pigtails and a lilac sweater scowling to an older girl, who tossed her flaxen ponytail and smirked as she shut the door.
“Maybe Sierra will know,” Jake remarked. He got up and headed over to her direction, gently leading her to sit down with the seven after a long while of coaxing. She shuffled away, however, and refused to look at them.
“Sierra’s mentality doesn’t fit her age,” Jake explained for their benefit. “Also her sister Bella doesn’t like her much.”
“I’ve met some similar kids in my day, so wouldn’t she be at any old therapist’s?” Freddie asked. “No offence.”
Jake shrugged. “I think Mr and Mrs Rowland just couldn’t handle the fact Sierra isn’t normal. Also she's kind of violent, but only when some kids at school provoked her.”
“You seen any of these people before?” Jake asked, turning back to Sierra and gesturing at the photos. “They’re looking for them.”
Sierra peered at the photos, scratching her chin.
“What makes you think she’ll know what the rest don’t?” Denver said into Jake’s ear dubiously.
“Sierra, eff-why-ai, has been here longer than us.”
“Hey Sierra,” Lana said, sliding off the bean bag to be at eye level with the eight-year-old. “Have you seen any of them before? Do you know their names? Anything about them?”
Sierra tugged at a strand of hair hesitatingly, then pointed at the picture of George.
“Do you know his name or just by sight?” Emma pressed on, trying to keep her voice level despite her rising excitement.
Her only answer was a quiet raspberry. Freddie sniggered; Adonis wrinkled his nose.
“Yeah, she does,” Jake translated. “Can you write out his name?”
Julian handed her a piece of torn notebook paper and rolled a crayon over from the trolley of stationeries handily positioned nearby. Sierra snatched it up and began to scribble - when she was done she gave it to Jake, who helpfully squinted at it for a while before reading it aloud. “The guy’s name is Gordon Riley, according to her.”
Sierra nodded.
“I don’t understand,” Lana spluttered. Leo and Julian leaned over to look at the paper, blankly, uncomprehendingly. “His - his name. It’s supposed to be George Reeves! Right? Right?”
“ADONIS MAKYLOV, DENVER STEIN, EMMA VINCENT, JULIAN VINCENT, LANA JENSEN, LEO FINLEY AND WINIFRED THOMPSON. KINDLY GO SEE DR. HEMLOCK NOW.”
***
Doyle Hemlock the third might’ve been a copy of the two portraits his desk was in front of.
All three men (only one in real life) were bulky with a sallow tinge to their ghost-white skin tone, suggesting that the Dr. Hemlocks were well-to-do men who didn’t get out much, factoring in the terrible lighting from the lobby. They were all bald, their heads a shining dome, but with a perfectly oiled moustache that had curled up ends underneath their hooked noses. The real life Dr. Hemlock was the only one not wearing a black waistcoat, instead favouring a grey suit that was old but somehow free of stains, a feat unmanageable by kids and teens.
The room itself was a medium sized space. Cubbies full of files and notes were built into the grey walls on the right, the portraits of Hemlock Senior and Junior glowering above the mahogany desk. A thin Indian rug sprawled on the floor and underneath a black leather sofa.
“Sit, sit,” Dr. Hemlock directed, waving his hand towards the sofa. The seven piled onto it, wondering what was going to happen next. “I understand that you come from Ashwood Mansion?”
“Yup, Gwenda Shaw sent us,” Freddie said, pondering whether one could catch their reflection in Dr. Hemlock’s head.
“Ah, Gwenda - an old friend of mine,” Dr. Hemlock mused, sitting down on his leather chair. “Now, do you know why you’re here?”
“She thinks we’re overeating,” Emma said blandly.
“And why is that?”
“Because…we snuck into the kitchen…?” Denver said, trying to make it sound believable and ultimately failing. There was something about the shrink that made you think he’d know you were lying even before the words came out of your mouth.
“Hmm,” was the reply. “Well, well. It might as well just be a growth spurt, sirs and madams. Parents these days bring their children to me all day long, fussing about their precious Henry eating three servings, complaining that dear Prisicilla was eating too much and she was going to lose her perfect body. Judging by your looks, I’ll say that you probably got a little hungry and Gwenda overthought it. Although, I must say that you, Mr. and Ms. Vincent and Mr. Finley should probably eat a little more - don’t you think you’re looking a bit skeletal, Vincents?”
Emma and Julian took offence to that.
“So basically you’re saying that there’s nothing wrong with us and we just wasted your time,” Adonis said, curling his lip in a leer. “Well, sorry then.”
“No, no, no patient is ever a waste of time,” Dr. Hemlock said calmly, if not mildly. “I suspect Gwenda had another motive for sending you to me. I really thought that the ‘diet issues’ were an actual thing by the way she told me all about you, but I see now she was just trying to make sure I’d agree to see you.”
“Wait,” Emma said, but her mind was still a little insulted at being called ‘skeletal’. “I don’t get it.”
“He’s saying that Gwenda didn’t believe our story and still sent us here for something else,” Freddie said, planting her feet on the ground to make a quick escape. “Now this is the part in horror movies where the doctor is actually a serial killer and where we run.”
“What imagination you have, Ms Thompson, though I assure you I am no killer,” Dr. Hemlock chuckled. “Besides, the characters never make it out in these sorts of situations. No, I think I know why she sent you to me. Give me a while…”
“Is it true that your grandfather worked together with Jon Ashwood?” Denver asked as Dr. Hemlock got up and rifled through the cubbies.
“Well, your benefactor did mention I don’t ask if you have any questions, so I’ll just answer that. Yes, he did. In fact many of my methods I use are based off Jon Ashwood’s research. Fascinating, really.”
“What sort of methods? Serums that mess with your brain chemistry?” Adonis asked, not very subtly.
“Hypnotism?” Leo piped up, though if the answer to that was yes he wasn’t sure if he would be happy about it.
“Ah, no. In short, I simply listen to the patients’ and let them mingle with the others. Sometimes the reason someone is the way they are is simply because they need to be with others who won’t judge them just for being different. Many words for that, actually: racism, xenophobia, judgemental, demonophobia, perhaps, but that doesn’t really apply…ah, there it is.”
Dr. Hemlock handed the Phobia Club a yellow paper file and seated himself, fingers intertwined as he watched them open it up.
It looked like someone’s resume and a criminal profile combined. There was a picture attached by a paper clip, but alas someone had defaced it by glueing paper on it. At the top of the first paper, printed in bold, was the words:
CARLO VENEZUELA
The personal information, like the contact and birthday, was crossed out too, but at the bottom, in place of the usual ‘where-I’ve-worked’ column, there were many written notes in bullet points.
Something was telling the seven this was fairly important.
Lana flipped to the next page. This one was a transcripted audio recording but had no title.
The next was a page that seemed to be from some school notebook - with all the Phobia Club members’ names on it.
“What’s this?” Leo asked Dr. Hemlock, amazed and yet slightly afraid. “Did Leith ask you to give it to us? Or Curtis Ashwood?”
“The first and third pages, I have no idea. The second one came from my files - I had my assistant Rhonda try to find them for hours. Sometimes some patients just come here to have their confessions heard. That particular page is from the recording the patient insisted upon, saying that one day someone would probably need it. His name was Gordon Riley, I believe.”
Again with the name. Was it George Reeves, or just some peculiar coincidence?
The missing G-man was proving to be more interesting by the second.
“And no, Mr. Finley. To answer your question it was Gwenda Shaw who insisted I give it to you.”
***
The boys (Adonis, Alex, Julian, Ricky), minus Kyler, Glen and Ben, were playing video games in Adonis, Alex and Julian’s room. There was no sound save the rapid, repetitive tapping of fingers, tinny shooting and occasional shouting of orders.
“How was Hemlock?” Alex asked, keeping his eyes trained on the TV.
“Nothing really interesting, like any old therapists,” Leo lied, if any old therapists had an entire file full of useful information yet to be examined.
“Do you guys really have diet issues?” Alex asked. “Damn, the guy’s dead.”
“Nah, Hemlock just said it was a growth spurt,” Adonis snorted. “No, he respawned, idiot.”
“But you barely eat more than one bowl,” Ricky said.
“Ricky, Rick, Rickroll, not everyone inhales five bowls every meal.”
Ricky muttered ‘you wait’ and readjusted his sitting position, accidentally jolting Alex and sending his controller flying away in his surprise. “Oops, sorry.”
“Bro!”
“I’ll get it,” Julian sighed and leaned back to the left to get it, twisting his head around trying to find the runaway remote. “Move your fat butt, Adonis.”
But then he spotted something else far more attention-worthy…
***
Denver, Leo and Glen were taking a leisurely walk around the first floor, talking about whatever came to mind: the trip to Dr. Hemlock’s, the Rooms, Queenie’s leaving and their common hatred of the most despised contestant of Room of Fear, Ben Dover.
“So, like, you guys don’t have eating problems?”
“No, turns out Gwenda just got too worried.”
“My mom worries too much too - she nearly wouldn’t let me get into Room of Fear.”
“Really? Personally I think my parents were glad to see me go,” Denver snorted. “My sisters are enough for them.”
“My sister makes me text her every day,” Leo said.
“Wow, I only have a brother and he’s annoying.”
“Who do you think’s going to get booted next?”
“I hope Ben, he’s so gross, I tell you,” Glen shuddered.
“Same, he’s the snitch that ratted us out to Gwenda,” Denver fumed.
“Yeah, we had to give him all our dessert and it was all wasted,” Leo sighed.
“Now I know to never make deals with him - why’d you guys stop?”
Glen halted when he realized Denver and Leo were frozen in their tracks and staring buggy-eyed at a painting. “Guys?”
“Sorry, just got distracted,” Leo hastily said and tugged at Denver’s arm. The trio resumed their aimless chatter.
But then they had spotted something else far more interesting.
“So how was therapy?” Jordan asked, smirking as she jabbed Freddie’s sides as the fugitive ran off to avoid it.
“I would tell you, except now that you’re tickling me, no!” Freddie yelped.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop - not my fault you’re ticklish though,” Jordan jibed.
The duo were originally playing Bingo in the games room before Jordan had discovered that Freddie had been, in fact, lying about not being ticklish. They resumed the game.
“Met some other patients - 18 - in the waiting room, and let me tell you, it was nothing - 9 - like the lobby or the stairs. I swear, the designer must have a dual personality - 2 - or something.”
“Imagine having - 54 - no proper lighting. Couldn’t - 32 - be here, haha. What was Dr. Hemlock like?”
“He was - 29 - bald, like Megamind. And you know that - 11 - Mr. Potato chips dude? Yeah, he had a moustache - 22 - like that but, y’know, going upwards.”
“Ha! Wish I could meet him. Bingo!”
“Hey, you cheated!”
Jordan scrambled out of her chair, laughing, and ran a circle through the games room, Freddie erratically on her trail. She squeezed through the gap between the table and chair, but Freddie’s dungarees got caught on the edge and knocked over Checkers. “Crap, look what you made me do!”
“At least you’re stuck now.”
Freddie groaned as she untangled herself. She looked up to find Jordan.
But then she spotted something else far more interesting…
***
Adonis, Denver, Julian, Leo and Freddie all burst into Anne-Marie, Tanya and Sherry’s bedroom, puffing and panting. They startled the three girls, including Lana, Emma, Shauna and Heather, in their game of Uno.
“WHAT THE HECK?!” Sherry demanded. “Knock!”
“We found the Birds.”