Free The Haunting of the Gemini by Jackie Barrett Page B

The living dead . . . I lived among them; they communicated with me on every level.
    â€œDo you believe that the devil has an army of living beings—human? Do you believe the dead have a message and that they would go to any length to be heard? Do you believe that these demons can take shape into any form or can pass through from person to person?” I asked. “Well, do you?”
    He finally nodded yes, as though we had something in common.
    â€œThrough the ages, I have seen structures torn down to a complete wasteland,” he said. “Starvation, the sun burning down, spreading fire, destroying everything in its path. Disease, devastation, and poverty. Human beings, cattle—together to be wiped out. The war of the worlds.”
    He shook his head sadly. “It’s disgraceful, just disgraceful.” His head stilled. “But I have also seen the power and the mighty. The rise of man. Pandora’s box was lifted, shifted, and slammed down. The earth moved once again; the meek stood up in the name of bravery and fought back. So my answer is yes. I do believe!”
    He sat back in the pew, staring up at the crucifix as if it were speaking to him—or through him. I stood up and left quietly so I would not disturb his silent moment with God. I stopped at the large doors and looked back to whisper my thanks. As I pushed the doors open, he called to me in his gentle voice.
    â€œJackie, just one thing. Always stay in the middle of the road.” He winked and smiled at me.
    â€œWho are you?” I asked.
    â€œJust a messenger,” he said. “You won’t know your strength until you face your weakness.”
    I walked outside as his words repeated in my head. My weakness, my fear. The schizophrenic soul. I was going to have to go in to find my way out.

SEVEN

    I stood outside the church, where everything looked normal and sane. But I now knew I was going to have to go somewhere that was neither. Patricia had been pulling me toward her nightmare, and I was done resisting. I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the Bellevue psych hospital.
    â€œDid you say you want to go to the old Bellevue ward?” Before I could answer, he ripped into me. “Look, I had a hard night. Punks skipping fares, girls dropping their drawers having sex in the back. Fights, hair weaves being pulled out. It’s out of control, and if I don’t pick them up, it’s called discriminating. It’s called bullshit to me. So what is it, lady? Don’t think you’re going to jump while I’m on the clock. God as my witness, I’ll beat the devil right out of you. You got that?”
    How I wished he could. But he was just a tired working stiff at the end of a bad shift. I told him I was just going to see a friend.
    He eyed me. “Okay . . . one false move back there, and a can of whoop ass is going to be opened. Yeah, that’s right, New York style . . .”
    Oh, I did like this guy. He’d seen almost everything—the night crawlers, the drunks, the weirdos, the freaks, and maybe even the ones like me. He wore a small cap tilted to one side and a leather jacket that was probably two sizes too small. He spent the ride gnawing on a smelly unlit cigar stump and giving me the hairy eyeball in his rearview mirror. Finally, he couldn’t contain his natural cabbie chatter any longer.
    â€œSo, lady, what is it? Guy problems? Nah . . . Why would someone like yourself try to get into that crazy house?”
    â€œWho said I’m trying anything?” I asked back. “I told you, I’m just making a fast visit, sort of collecting something . . .”
    He told me that the place was now a homeless shelter for men, which I already knew. Although it was down the street from Bellevue Hospital Center, the famous trauma and research facility, the old psych building wasn’t affiliated with it at all. The