A. Renee Art

They met the boys at the front steps of the hospital. They explained that they combed every part of the sewers that they could get into but did not find a key. As the six of them made their way to Dr. Johnson’s office, the power’s return was self-evident.

“And that thing you did find,” Lydia asked.

“We debated about whether to say or not,” Merc said. “But it has been two years…”

“What,” Janet said.

“The sewers led us to the morgue,” Connor said. “That’s how we came back up. We found a bloodstain on the floor…and this.”

The others gasped as Connor held up half a piece of paper matching the kind in Steve Moss’s notebook, torn at the holes, also stained with old blood. They were now standing outside of Dr. Johnson’s office.

“Steve Moss was attacked here at the hospital,” Janet surmised, taking the paper.

“We thought so too,” Merc said. “And not to be a total alarmist, but when Connor and I got to the sewer door, we found that it was already broken into. The lock was removed, and the door was held open slightly with a rock.”

“Someone could have seen you two,” Lydia said before covering her mouth.

“We don’t really know when that door was last opened,” Connor said. “Though that we did have that thought in mind.”

“Lydia’s right,” Caylix said. “We would have found the morgue some other way eventually.”

“Daijobu da,” Connor said. “Besides, there’s no one here but us and…old ghosts.”

He and Merc exchanged a quick glance before laughing off their fear by thinking of the phrase “old ghosts” as a metaphor.

“Well, let’s see what we can find here.” Janet said as she got out Dr. Johnson’s key-card and opened the door.

They all spread out. In a drawer under a fax machine, Lydia thumbed through some papers and found a fax from Vivian in 1995. In it, she accuses Dr. Johnson for stealing money from the hospital and threatened to open an investigation. She suspended funding for the hospital until he explained the discrepancy.

Under Dr. Johnson’s main desk was a key to 203, which Lydia recalled as Trisha’s hospital room, the room they couldn’t get into the first time around.

Seeing a locked drawer, Janet instinctively used the metal key connected to the key-card on it. It revealed some important papers.

First was the same threat letter that Vivian received the day she died. Steve Moss had a photocopy of the same letter given to him by the sheriff while the department was still in Painscreek at the time.

“It’s from the same person who killed Vivian,” Janet said. “Same weird ‘e’s and everything. And here, a message Dr. Johnson wrote:”

Charles,

I don’t know if it’s a joke that you sent me the threat letter, but if you know about the well, then you must have found out the truth. Just so you know, your wife was the one behind all of it. I was only holding baby Vincent.

If you have any grudges, it’s with her, not me. I was just a witness in Sofia’s death. Nothing more.

Dr. Henry Johnson, M.D.

June 30, 1995

There was an attached Post-it note reading “Fax it tomorrow”.

“So, Dr. Johnson received this threat letter and faxed a letter to Charles Roberts in response,” Lydia concluded.

“But he didn’t send it,” Janet said. “He left a note saying to ‘Fax it tomorrow’. June 30, 1995. Wait, Dr. Johnson was found submerged in the lake in the middle of July after going missing for two weeks. If he typed the letter the same day, he must have met the killer that same night.”

“Look here,” Caylix said opening a green file found underneath a loose false bottom in the drawer. “Another paper. This one has Sofia’s name on it!”

It was a record of Dr. Johnson attending to Sofia as she gave birth, and not at the hospital. Dorothy Patterson’s address was listed. Sofia Miller and Charles Roberts were listed as the parents, with Dorothy as a witness. Vincent Nicholas Roberts was the name of the child. The date: June 1, 1975.

Connor leaned against the phone on the desk to get a better look and accidentally pressed a button. The answering machine played messages.

Henry, I just received a letter from the investigation regarding the use of the R.R.F. funds. I need you to call me.

~

Henry, we really need to talk. Please call back.

~

What’s going on, Henry? Why aren’t you returning my calls? This is really important.

End of the messages.

“Vivian,” Lydia asked.

“Had to be,” Janet said. “The Roberts Relief Funds was the account that made donations to the hospital.”

They then made their way to Trisha’s room upstairs. They found a few old storybooks and videotapes, most likely Trisha’s, as her name was found on them. They surmised that she had sent for them and her other favorite things to try to keep her happy during her stay. The only other thing they found in one of the drawers was a newspaper story about the stabbing of Scott Brooks.

“Guess that’s it,” Janet said. “Back to the inn.”

Walking back with the group, Janet thought heavily, looking at nothing, until she stopped at a storm drain. Looking ahead, she saw another. Taking out the small sepia paper the boys found in the hospital morgue, she noticed it had the word “drain” written on it.

“The sewer,” she whispered.

“Janet,” Merc asked.

“Nothing.” They continued to the inn.