1
The Weird Way Things Work Out
Destra
I notice things. Not like in the TV shows, where they flash briefly and – Ta-da!-- I have everything figured out. It's more like a subtle burning in the back of my skull that grows in ferocity the closer I get to something important. Then, like a wave of silver, the pain is gone. Like today. Searching for a job is a pain. With me, literally. Especially if your major in college was, say, the Arts. There isn't much to be had in that direction.
And so, while sitting crossed-legged on the old upholstery armchair in my Grandmother's house, looking at Job adds, the dull fire was started. I turned the page of the paper, and it got worse. I flipped back a page, and it lessened.
Okay, I'll play...
I continued to flip Forward through the thin paper, past adds for bleaching trays and free burgers. The pain was becoming unbearable. Finally, on page 13, the fire was gone. I looked up and down the page.
“Lower your insurance rates by 15%!” nope.
“Don't forget to send flowers this Valentines!” Huh-uh.
“Grand Opening! Stop by for your FREE flashlight!” I don't think so.
“Wanted: Position to be filled at the Zahncliff Mental Institute on the corner of 6th street and Clemence. No degree necessary. Must be able-bodied. For more info, call 609-1313.”
I've heard of this place.... Constantly under lock and key. All sorts of characters in there. The dangerous sort.
But a girls' gotta eat.
**
Adam
“A classified?” exasperation hung heavy in my voice.
“It's so ridiculously simple! Somebody calls, we set up an interview, we like them, we hire! Done! No endless scrabbling around the world, trying to find someone who has all the 'Necessary Clearance'.” The tall lanky form of Dr. MacKenzie swung his arms around with exuberant force. The sight reminded Adam of a windmill.
“Dr. MacKenzie....” The doctor readjusted his thick-rimmed glasses at the sound of his name, “I know you're new here, and I know you still think very much like a human, but this is a-- Delicate-- situation. It requires... Finesse.”
The young man looked put down.
“Oh, just say it. It's a stupid idea.”
“Now, Darwin, I---”
“It's okay. I'm used to it. People never like my ideas, unless it makes them money, or famous. That's only ever happened once.” He heaved a great sigh, “I'll just go crawl into a corner with some Duct tape then, shall I?” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I used think that only females could be Drama Queens. Then I met Darwin MacKenzie. But he did have to look of a kicked-puppy, and we can't have that if we want to have control over the Facility. Upset staff means upset patients. Upset patients means.....
“We'll look into that as an option.” He raised his eyes from his worn out shoe laces.
“Really?” he said, surprised.
“Yes.”
**
Destra
The formidable black wrought-iron gates loomed in front of me.
It was a sunny Monday afternoon, and the heat rolled over the cars and blacktop. The interview with Mr. Zahncliff had been arranged only this morning. The person who answered the phone had a unisex voice, and seemed anxious to have me come as soon as possible. When I said I was free today, the person excitedly gave me a time, and hung up.
Now, walking up to the gate.
It didn't seem to be the classic lock-and-key gate. I saw off to one corner a surveillance camera, and below it, a keypad and a microphone. I walked over and tapped the microphone.
“..... Ummm...... Testing, one, two, three?” There was silence at the other end.
“This is Destra Simmons, I've come for an interview?” Silence. Then, a male voice crackled at the other end.
“Hello? Hi! Sorry about that... Having some-- eh-- Technical issues....” a young male voice said. There was a girlish giggle in the background “.....Destra, Destra.... OH! Destra! Sorry, I'll get that gate for you.....” The heavy black metal slid away, and I walked through. The grounds were immense. Just how they were able to get this, in the smack-dab middle of the city...
Anyways. It was well kept, with a great many trees and shrubberies. The path led up to a large red-brick mansion with white trim, shutters, pillars, the works.
It was quite the trek to the large oak doors. When I finally reached them, I pulled the tasseled rope hanging close by, and a deep bell chimed inside. The door was opened by a tall, expansive woman, with deep blue eyes, and a hip-length sheet of silver-gray hair. She was wearing a frilly black apron. When she saw me, she scowled, and tore it off.
“May I help you?” her voice was surprisingly deep, and she had a faint accent I didn't recognize.
“My name is Destra Simmons, I'm here for a job interview with Mr. Zahncliff.” The woman studied me thoroughly for a few seconds, then nodded, but I could tell from her posture she was still watching me shrewdly.
“Please, come in.” she said, beckoning inward. I stepped into an impressive entry hall. Wainscoting came up to waist-high on the wall, then a delicate blue-green paisley wallpaper ran upwards to meet the white crown moldings and painted ceiling.
“This way, if you please.” The woman led me through an adjoining room, and up a stair case leading to the second story. She opened the second door on the left, and we entered a dark wood paneled office, with matching furniture, and ancient art in similar wood frames. Terracotta pots rested on pedestals sitting in each corner of the room, and the black out curtains were pulled open, shedding the last of the days light onto the desk, which was littered with paperwork and personnel files. Several contained some very sever faces, while with others, you could tell the had dropped off the deep end eons before. Sitting in a large leather club chair was a young sleeping man, who looked to be thirty-something, with curly auburn hair and a goatee. His suit was rumpled, and a cup of old coffee resided in his right hand, leaning at a precarious angle, and threatening to spill its cold contents all over the floor.
The woman walked over to him, and spoke slowly. “Adam.... Aaadaammm..... ADAM!” The young man jerked to attention, dropping his mug in the process, and making a gargling exclamation. He stretched out in his chair, creaking and cracking. Sitting straight, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and looked blearily in my direction.
“IzzaFuraInnerVuw?” He mumbled. I arched my eyebrow.
“Pardon?” All of the sudden his eyes cleared, and he stood up to shake my hand.
“Sorry, took me a sec.... You're Ms. Simmons?” I nodded, and placed my hand in his. It was cold, dry, and strong. He had white lines crisscrossing the back of his hand, and two sets of identical white puncture marks that looked as though they had come from a very large snake.
“Adam Zahncliff, owner, founder, et cetera.... May I see your resume?” I dug in my canvas purse, withdrew the white sheets of paper clumsily stapled together, and handed them over to him. He scanned them, and would glance up every now and then with a trace of amusement on his face. When he was done, he became unreadable.
“Arts?”he said in a sarcasm lined tone.
“Yes, you've got a problem with that?” Mr. Zahncliff looked slightly taken aback.
Crap.
He then tried clumsily to apologize “I meant no offense! I only meant... Well... This is a mental institute for-- Ah-- unique patients. I honestly don't what good arts would do.” I smiled, knowing how to handle this.
“Have you looked at my previous employment? Primrose House. I worked there for three years, doing art with the patients. Art helps the mentally unstable keep contact with this world, and helps them express themselves. As you will also see, I was given high marks by Dr. Lively? I know how to work with these people.”
“We have no need for an artist.” He said, a bemused expression on his face. That stung. I took the offense.
“Well,” I said adjusting my pose, and crossing my arms, “As I see it, you have a position to be filled, and I need a job. We can work together, or I can just leave.”
The office was silent for several minutes.
“Well, you have to admit, the gals' got sass.” the silence was broken. I looked behind me at the tall woman who had led me in. She was looking at me through slanted eyes.
Mr. Zahncliff spun around from the casual position he had taken up near the window. “Milly, she can't. She-- can't! She knows nothing!”
“Nothing? What kind of expertise do I require? Your add didn't say anything about requirements.”
“Adam, we need the help. Besides, she has the Blood.” The what?
Zahncliff looked up at her sharply.
“She does?” Milly nodded. Then they were both staring at me.
“Well, if you are really intent on working here, we will need you to first take a mandatory quiz.” Adam went behind his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a small stack of papers.
I glanced up at him. “A quiz?” he handed the stack to me, snatched a pen out of an old chipped coffee mug, and gestured to the chair on my side of the desk. I sat down, and began reading the questions
1. Describe the basic appearance and attitude of the common Lycanthrope?
Excuse me? I thought maybe they were pulling my leg. I did know what the answer was, as I was a bit of a nerd, but where was the relevance? I wrote down my best answer, and continued on down the line.
2. How can you tell if a Dryad's tree is diseased?
3. What herbal tea blend is most commonly used to calm a Cyclops?
4. How often should you clip the Pegasus wing?
It went on with ludicrous questions like this for the next four pages. When I was finished, I looked up, and set down my pen. Zahncliff took the papers. He read through them, then stood up.
“Welcome to the Zanhcliff Mental Institute. If you will collect your things, I'll give you a tour.” Confused, I picked up my bag, and followed him out of the room. He led me back down stairs, Milly following close behind. I was led farther back into the mansion, where long halls were lined with sturdy old oak doors. Each door had a gold plaque with a room number, and patient name.... A little below that, species name.
One in particular caught my eye. It was room number forty-seven, and the name seemed familiar;
47
Damien S. Clivestone Sr.
Species Unknown
That name bugged me. I knew I had heard it before. Where, was the question. It is a weird place.... Maybe I had heard it at college? But that thought was soon pushed out of my mind as we rounded the corner.
“Hope you understand that all of this is top-secret.... If you mention to anybody, large men in black suits will show up your front door, and they won't give you time to pack.”
We were standing between two great pillars, which opened up to a large domed room. High windows rose to greet the compass-rose skylight. Tables with sturdy wood chairs pulled up to them lined the edges of the room, and in the center a brazier stood, fire unlit. A large figure sat at the far side of the room, hunched over a news paper. As we approached, I noticed it was covered in fur.
“Munro!” The thing raised it's head, and I gasped. Being covered in fur was bad enough; he looked like my old stuffed bear. Brown eyes gazed out of a grizzled old face, and spectacles rested on a large wet nose, not unlike that of a dog. He wore a brown vest with old soda-bottle caps sewn onto it, and had a red bow-tie around his neck. Then, he replied with an acute English accent,
“Ah! Adam, my boy! Brought a friend, have we?” He looked up at me, and I felt the unwanted churning of my stomach that one gets when you see something that isn't quite right, something that isn't supposed to be. And yet a quiet voice in my mind told me that it was to be.
“Hello, Munro! This is Ms. Simmons, Ms. Simmons, Liam Munro.” Mr. Zahncliff pleaded with his eyes for me to not offend him. Munro stood on shaky legs, and grabbed a cane sitting nearby, with withered old hands the texture of leather. At the end of each finger was a thick black curling claw. He reached his hand out to me.
“A pleasure, a pleasure! And, how many years are you, Ms. Simmons?” I gingerly stuck my hand forward and grasped his. His hand shook with Rheumatism. Somehow, touching him eased my queasy stomach.
“Twenty-five and counting!” I said. Munro looked put down.
“Alas, far to young for me.” a devilish twinkle came into his eyes, and a slight smile crept across his face, revealing sharp white teeth. I felt a slight blush crawling into my cheeks. He laughed, a barking sound, his pelt shaking a golden color in the sunlight. Adam beamed and spoke.
“Destra will be working here now.... She'll help with Arts.”
“Ah, the arts.... I thought you an artist from the very first moment I set eyes on you! Useful thing, the arts.....” Munro gazed off into the distance briefly, and I shot a meaningful glance in Adam's direction. He purposefully looked the opposite way.
Finally I spoke up,“Well, I look forward to helping out around here!” Munro took my hand for a second time.
“Pleasure meeting you, truly! You had best be on your way... Adam is getting a little fidgety....” He leaned into me and whispered conspiratorially “I think its all that black coffee he drinks... He should turn to tea. Much better for a body!” I snorted laughter down under my breath. Adam rolled his eyes spectacularly, then cleared his throat noisily.
“We'll see you around, Munro. Little time left in the day, and still much more to show our newest employee!” and with a final wave in Munro's direction, we left the grand room. After that, we visited the hospital wing, a large white room filled with the oddest assortment of patients possible, all of whom seemed quite sane. I was beginning to wonder if this was actually just a sanctuary for people like Munro. I asked Adam.
“Munro thinks he is human.... There were some incidences involving campers. The most well known one is ten years back. He walked into a well known RV camp wearing a top hat, and half scared the campers to death! He is kept here for not only his own safety, but for the safety of his kind.”
I stand corrected.
Next we entered the Library, a large wood-paneled room filled to the brim with books of every kind. Hap-hazard piles and stacks of books sat all around, although it felt as though whoever did it had their own way of organizing.
As we left, I passed to close to a pile of Latin and Greek books, and knocked two off. I heard a gentle scuffing off feet, and quiet cursing. I hurried to catch up with my guides.
The kitchen, dining room, lounge room, meditation room, communications room, Employee's lounge, refugee quarters, level eight (High security), garden, and finally, an obviously disused art room. Old easels lay in disrepair around the edges of the room. Canvases lay scattered and broken all over the floor. On one side of the room, cupboards went from wall to wall, and several doors hung off of their hinges. Cardboard covered up the windows, and the wood floor was hidden underneath of layers of old newspaper. Only one picture remained on the wall, and a disturbing one it was at that. It showed a family of horribly misshapen people, all with distorted facial features. They lay spread across a red background, and black twisted trees were spread out all over. Behind the people, a great black wolf glared with red eyes, blood on it's bared teeth and claws.
I pointed at it.
“What is that?” Adam grimaced, and a darkness passed over Milly's face.
“Eldridge Vansluys. He was a Lycan.” I expected Mr. Zahncliff to go on, but he did not. After a few minutes he changed the subject. “This room is yours to use.... It has not been cleaned in many years, so obviously you have your work but out for you. I'll expect you here at seven O'clock tomorrow morning.” And with that, they both turned, and left the room. I lingered for a moment longer. There was a feeling of sadness that lay heavy over the room, and a dark evil presence that lied within the red swirling paint of that picture. I shivered, though the room was warm, and hurried to follow the others. They were waiting for me a short way down the hall.
