The atmosphere in the bar you’ve been abandoned at can best be described as ‘surly,’ with subtle overtones of ‘hostile’ and ‘unfriendly.’ New England is not famed for their hospitality with good reason, it appears. Rockland, Maine has thus far been far from welcoming to you or either of the other two people at the table with you.
Reminiscing over what you know about the island you are supposed traveling to, you know that the North Island Sanatorium has been open for seven years. Under the savvy leadership of Dr. Aldous Brewer, the enterprise has been a financial success, attracting an assortment of embarrassing and wealthy eccentrics to a facility that is ostensibly for the rehabilitation of its patrons while also providing privacy and respite for their beleaguered families. The large fees that Dr. Brewer extracts allows him to take on several charity cases, on whom he’s been testing experimental psychotherapies. The results of these experiments, some of them published in a recent professional journal, have brought him criticism.
The article is readily available online – in it, Brewer talks of the obscure but fascinating myth patterns that emerged from the subconscious of certain patients. Although supported by some, Brewer’s article has also received scathing rebuttals.
Your reverie is broken by the return to the bar of Ebenezer Waite, Dr. Brewer’s emissary to the mainland. Evidently, the preparations that he wandered away to take care of hours ago are now done, and the four of you can depart for the island. You grab your bags and follow the old man.
The small motor boat that Ebenezer leads you to looks like it’s pilot – certainly old, but sea-worthy yet. If you had to guess, the boat must be almost twenty years old, and Ebenezer is certainly not a day younger than 80. According to his heated rambling conversation as he shoves the boat into the ocean, he’s been around the globe in his heyday, privy to a dozen strange adventures – but now, he’s simply the semi-retired handyman of the sanatorium. The waves slap against the slowly-moving boat, sarcastic clapping to punctuate each of his sentences as Rockland fades into the distance.
Sal, having grown thoroughly bored and appropriately surly during the wait, doesn't really try to make himself approachable. When Ebenezer and his decrepit dinghy show up is the first time his mien changes - to one of worry. All that money and this is their ferryman?
Hunched over and trying to avoid most of the spray, Sal finds himself musing over how wrong this feels. When Baker turns and basically echoes his own thoughts, he glares at the man a moment.
"Afraid I didn't do my homework," he snarks, "Don't suppose I can cheat off you?" After a beat his expression turns serious and he adds, "Really, though, mumbo-jumbo's exactly what we call that in the 'biz'..."
In fact he had been wondering just how the study had even gotten into the Journal. The 'test subjects' sounded more like relapses, though Dr. Evans was a general practitioner and not a psychologist, so maybe it was just beyond his ken. If anything Subject B was the only one at all likely to be interesting, but probably not because he was channeling some human hive-mind.
"If I'm lucky maybe there's something to it and Brewer's not just off his rocks. I do love a good mystery."
Bobby, leaning rather uneasily on the side of the boat, tugs his jacket collar nervously. He's completely out of his element, and the boat's rocking is making him queasy.
"The paper?" Bobby snorts despite his discomfort. "Pretty sketchy if ya ask me. 'Course giving people drugs will make 'em imagine they're Egyptians or whatever. Probably a load of crap, eh?."
Bobby reaches into his pocket and pulls his Blackberry out, checking the signal.
"Besides, I'm not coming to see the Doc to argue about psychology. I'm just a cable guy, ya know."
"Oh no, not at all, sirs!" Ebenezer leaps to the defense of his employer; the overall impression is decidedly canine-like. "Dr. Brewer's got some real odd 'uns up at the place - right creepy things coming outta their mouths, there are, but Dr. Brewer's gotta keen mind, ya know, really gets that they're all on about the same things..."
Ebenezer has begun to wax long-winded and poetic. Compliments begin with Brewer's extensive knowledge and his generosity; terms such as 'visionary' are bandied about. Soon, Ebenezer has begun to meander from his own train of thought - he's complimenting the staff, the facilities, and almost every aspect of the island.
As he talks at length, too naively good-hearted to hear criticism, the Blackberry oscillates between no signal and next to no signal. It appears that service will be scant, if available at all, this far from the mainland.
"Oh, I'm here at the behest of the esteemed Saint Brewer," Sal replies both dramatically and derisively as he glances at their 'captain'. "We had a few courses together in college. He was the guy who sat in the back row looking stoned all day. Can't remember what classes those were; maybe basketweaving."
After a beat, he adds, "And like I said, maybe this is a good mystery, maybe it's a crock, but it gets me out of having to stitch up some gang banger's knife wounds for a weekend. And if I'm lucky, maybe I can convince the administrator it's a medical conference and get out of one of the real ones."
The conversation grinds away for the two hours, each of you learning a teaspoon about each other compared to the buckets that Ebenezer keeps heaping on. He's a well-traveled man, certainly, but is notably verbose.
Soon enough, the island stands before you. Ebenezer maneuvers the boat up to the dock smoothly and flawlessly. Nimbly springing ashore, he ties the boat up fast enough to help the three of you step up on the dock. It is near dusk and a light fog rolls in, as it does every night this time of the year. The shore rises steeply from th eend of the dock and the sanatorium, lights warmly aglow, can be seen high above. From its vantage point atop the southern cliffs of the island, the huge house seems safe from sea and storm.
"Sorry I can't go up with yeh right now," Ebenezer says, affectionately slapping the side of the boat. "Someone's got to put this girl to bed. If'n yeh leave yer luggage here, I'll carry it up as soon as I've gotten her putted away." He turns back towards the boat to continue tidying and packing up.
The path to the sanatorium seems clear enough - a flight of stone steps are cut into the steep hill and lead upwards.
"No thanks," Sal says as he hefts his lone suitcase. "I'm sure I'll be needing this for my communion with Saint Brewer. And wouldn't want you to strain yourself, anyway."
He follows John up the stairs, occasionally looking around to look around at the fog. About halfway up, he remarks, "Either of you think this looks like the setup for a cheesy horror movie? Maybe a SyFy original?"
Glad to be off the boat, Bobby sighs. "Right, sure." He points to his piece of luggage. "You can take that," Bobby lifts the briefcase that hasn't left his hand the entire time, "But, this stays with me."
Looking up the steps and the sanatorium in the distance, Bobby grimaces."Here's hoping we don't have to bunk with the inmates... er, patients."
As he clambers up the steps, Bobby pulls his Blackberry out of his jacket pocket to check the signal once more.
The climb up the hill is safe, albeit tiring, but after a moment you've reached the top of the hill. The last rays of the sun setting behind the old-fashioned manse give it a certain mysterious grandeur. The lights spilling out from the house are a warm counterpoint to the cold and damp sea air.
Bobby's Blackberry scrambles for purchase this far from the mainland - the signal peaks at two bars for a moment, but fades again to one.
Listen vs 40
Sal falls silent, focusing his efforts on getting up the hill and thinking he should have let the old guy have the luggage. He doesn't hear much apart from the scuffle of shoes and his own occasional curse.
Bobby is the only one that responds to the sound of running feet. He turns slightly, having a mere moment to catch a maddened, angry face coming from around the corner of the house.
From inside the house, an old voice cries "Hold onto your horses, I'm comin', I'm comin'," in response to the knocks on the door.
The sight of the crazed person charging at them causes Bobby to stumble backward, closer to the others. He braces himself against a charge.
"Hey, hey, hey, watch it! Guys, we've got company, and he doesn't look friendly, ya know?"
"Oh, yeah, Brewer's a great doctor. They come in all better, and he cracks 'em up again," Sal says as he catches Bobby's directions. He carefully positions himself on the far side of the techie, figuring the other two can handle this well enough - or better than him, at any rate.
The man's crazed charge carries him straight into the group, knocking heavily into Baker. Startled, the detective stumbles backwards and falls, taking his assailant down with him. With a loud crack, both men freeze - the wiry attacker stands up after a pregnant pause, but Baker does not, his neck bent at a grotesque angle. His attacker stands, shaking visibly.
From the house, an old woman with sharp, aware eyes and a wild mane of gray hair peers out into the deepening night. "What's that? What's going on out here?"
"What the HELL!" Sal cries as the crack seems to echo around him. "You OK Baker? ... Baker!" he barks as if demanding the man to stand up.
After realizing that's not the kind of wound he - or probably anyone - is equipped to treat, he remembers the old woman's question. "One of your patients just killed a guy!" Sal keeps looking at the still-shaking assailant, wary should he make another move.
"Holy s@&~!" Bobby stands in near shock, clutching his briefcase to his chest.
"LEONARD!," the woman shrieks. The man, apparently suddenly cowed by his own capabilities, scampers in a way that could best be described as rat-like past her into the front doors.
"Oh no, Dr. Brewer is not going to be happy when he wakes up," the woman tuts. "Leonard's going to be in big trouble." Her tone seems more like a dog that has messed upon a floor, and less as though there was a dead body mere feet away from her.
"You.. you gotta be kidding me! He just died!" Bobby loosens his grip on his briefcase and pulls his cellphone from his jacket pocket. "I'm calling the police. Screw the doc."
Bobby checks his phone's signal again, preparing to dial the authorities. He looks over at Sal. "He is dead, right?"
With the likely threat removed - for the time being - Sal gets on one knee and examines the body more closely. "You know, I get a day off and suddenly everybody expects me to be an ER doc."
"Poor unlucky bastard," he says as he stands up, brushing his pants legs to try to mask his nervous shakes. "He's dead, Bob." Sal looks at the woman, wonders if she's another patient, and sighs heavily.
"Who's in charge at this hour, ma'am? That man needs to be restrained before he hurts someone else."
Fingers trembling, Bobby checks his Blackberry's signal again. "Restrained?" He scowls at Sal. "He needs to be hauled to prison. He just whacked Baker! While I hate to call the cops, I can't wait to see what they think about the crazies running loose here killing visitors."
"Dr. Brewer's taking a nap upstairs, so I'm in charge," the woman explains, nervously wringing her hands. "If you'll come in and wait in the library, I'll take care of Leonard." She shakes her head nervously. "Leonard, Leonard..."
"Dammit, no reception." Bobby angrily jabs his cellphone back into his pocket and leans close to Sal. "Let's watch our backs. This place doesn't seem right."
As Bobby moves to follow the lady, he clears his throat. "You're not just going to leave Mr Baker just lying there, are you?"
"If you wanna take a trip back across the drink with ol' Ahab and the psycho killer, be my guest. I'd say a straight jacket and a padded room will do for now," Sal says as he matches Bobby's scowl.
"Alright, pal. You've got mine and I've got mine," he whispers back in confidence. Though his tone is the same half-playful, half-condescending one he's used the whole trip, his facial expression is serious.
With the woman talking about going after Leonard on her own and Bobby pointing out their very-real corpse problem, Sal finds himself suggesting an uncharacteristically chivalrous act.
"Miss," he says, looking over the woman again and still finding himself surprised she's not a patient, "Are you sure you can handle him? At the least, we can move Baker off your doorstep for you."
"Well, I'd hardly say I'm a Miss..." she says in a tone that seems far too girlish for her advanced years. Catching herself, she coughs embarrassedly, and when she speaks again it's more brusque. "If you bring your friend to one of the empty rooms, we can leave him there until someone can tend to him - and then we can find Leonard, though I'm sure he won't be much of a problem. Leonard's a sensitive boy, just a touch more exuberant than he knows how to deal with at times." She shakes her head sadly.
"Well, come on then," she says after a moment. "I'm sure I can find a spare bed." She walks in, leaving the door open behind her.
Inside the building, a stately foyer greets you. It's beautifully tiled, with a tastefully elegant chandelier suspended from the second floor ceiling. Two sweeping staircases wind sinuously up to the second floor in the best Federalist style. The walls throughout the room are decorated with high set plaster friezes displaying garlands, festoons, and medallions. The high ceilings and broad mantels are similarly ornamented.
The old woman reaches the center of the lobby and pauses, tapping her lips thoughtfully. "I think the best place to put your friend would be upstairs in one of the guest rooms. Top of this staircase," she says, pointing to the left stairs, "on the left. Put him there. I'll go downstairs and talk to Leonard - don't you worry, he's like to be a bit skittish to you gentlemen, but he'd never harm anyone on purpose."
Sal's expression has contorted somewhere between an intense frown and glare of disbelief. The vaguely grandmotherly tone she takes towards Leonard is one thing, but a nagging suspicion makes him wonder if she realizes that Baker is dead.
"S-sure thing. Bobby, give me a hand," he says as he bends down to lift Baker's body from the head-side, thinking the other man would rather not have the wound on his end. He shoots a glance at him that's clearly disbelieving of the situation but resigned to dealing with the situation, at least for a bit.
"Let's get Baker here to the morgue," Sal says as the woman leaves. Once she's out of earshot, he adds "Hopefully Brewer's not off his rocker like everybody else we've met here. Otherwise I think I'll take my chances swimming back."
As he helps Sal lift Baker's corpse - trying not to look directly at Baker's head and disfigured neck - Bobby nods in agreement. Suddenly, he remembers the strange experiments described in Brewer's paper. "I don't have high hopes for Brewer being much better than the people we've met here so far. Hell, maybe that crazy guy was on some of the drugs Brewer was giving to his test subjects that paper talked about. Could've thought he was a gorilla or Atilla the Hun or something."
"You know, given his assistant and that little hypothesis, doesn't that make him the mad doctor? That cold, salty embrace is sounding better every minute."
The ascent with Baker's body is at least scenic, if a little difficult from the weight of carrying a body. At the top of the stairs, a door on your right greets you, but the woman's instructions carry you leftwards into freshly dusted and dressed rooms that appear to be for you - you place Baker into the first one, but a brief inspection reveals each of the two doors adjacent on the north wall to be practically identical accommodations. Across the second floor of the foyer, on the southern wall, four doors indicate other bedrooms.
"Well, as much as it worries me to go see the doc himself, my boss would kil... er..." Bobby glances at Baker's lifeless corpse. "Well, he wouldn't be happy if I blew this Popsicle stand without doing my job. Anyways, someone needs to let him know that one of his patients killed a man, and I have my doubts that woman will. She seems a few McNuggets short of a Happy Meal herself..."
"You noticed that too?" the question comes off habitually snide but with just a hint of relief. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was another one of Brewer's kooks on the loose."
"You're right. The esteemed Saint Brewer probably deserves a wake-up call. Just a question of where is he. Probably somewhere up here, away from all the psycho killers."
"Well, wandering around aimlessly would be inefficient to say the least... probably even dangerous. If there's nothing up here to point us in the right direction, I vote we head back downstairs and question that old lady. Though, keep your eyes peeled."
Seeing it as his only option, Bobby decides that it would be best to head back down to where the old lady was.
"I'm sure Baker will be safe and sound here, so let's go ask that lady where Brewer is so we can get the hell off this island."
Psychology vs 60%
"You know, if you weren't feeling like you were in a slasher movie yet, I think this place is built like one of those old creepy mansions. We could probably sneak off into whichever wing the rooms are in and just find the biggest and most pretentious quarters." After a moment's pause, he adds, "Or we could go see the maybe-crazy lady and her definitely-murderous beau. Probably better to face the evil you know, huh?"
As the two of you descend the stairs, quietly talking, a familiar head of frizzy gray hair bobs into view through the double doors, which swing shut behind her. "Ah, gentlemen!," she cries as you come off the stairs. "I found Leonard - he's in his room now, and he won't be scaring anyone else, that's for certain. I gave him quite the talking-to, hear you me. Now, if the two of you want to wait in the library for Dr. Brewer? It's really unlike him to sleep this late, but I'd hate to disturb him. It's through the door down there," she says, indicating one of the southern doors. "I need to start dinner, I'm afraid - so make yourselves comfortable there. And please, stay out of the living room. I'm afraid we've had a little accident in there." She turns and heads towards the door on the northern side of the foyer.
"Ma'am, maybe we should check up on the Doctor. He probably won't mind since I'm an old friend of his, and in any case he might want to know what's going on. It seems like you've had an... eventful day here." Sal takes a few steps down and makes the floor before he adds, "If you could just tell me which room is his, we can see to him and have a nice chat before supper."
Fast Talk vs 60%
She turns and her eyes narrow at Sal's botched attempt to be charming. "His bedroom is upstairs and to the right. If he's not there, then he's probably back in his office. It's also upstairs," she says coldly. "I'll be in the kitchen if you... gentlemen need anything else." She imperiously turns and strides through the northern door before either of you can say anything.
She's clearly unimpressed, but at least she was cooperative.
"I think I made her mad," Sal murmurs confidentially to Bobby. "So, try to find the mad doctor or do like his quacky servant asked us to?"
"I'm a bit skeptical about the quality of the food that lady could produce, so I say let's skip dinner and any waiting around and go straight to the doc. I'm here on business, not for a vacation in crazy town."
The two of you turn and head back up the stairs the way you came. As you walk past your guest rooms, your footsteps echo through the two stories of the empty foyer.
On the south wall, an alcove forms, with four doors surrounding it. The left-most door is open, revealing a clean and modern restroom. The door on the right is also ajar, showing a slightly messy room - male clothing lies on the floor and the bed. A few posters are tacked on the walls, celebrating notable sporting events of the past few years. Nothing of interest stands out.
The middle left door takes you into a similarly inconspicuously decorated chamber - the favored pattern appears to be floral. Pictures sit on the desk and dresser, showing assorted exotic locales and a pretty young woman and a handsome young man often hugging in them. This room is once again pleasant but uninteresting.
The middle right door, however, is notably nicer. Instead of the functional "Buy-them-en-masse-for-the-support-staff" beds in the past two rooms, this queen-sized bed is handily decorated in mahogany. The dresser, too, is the sort of quiet understated declaration of wealth that connoisseurs are expected to notice. It appears you've discovered the chambre de Brewer. It also appears that he is not home right now.
Bobby takes a look at the fine furniture. "Well, it's safe to assume that this is the Doc's room, judging by the fancy woodwork. But, I wonder who the other two rooms belong to..."
Bobby takes a step closer to the dresser, a glint in his eye. "Wonder where the doc's gotten off to? An office or study, maybe..." He reaches over, looks around the room once more, and attempts to open one of the dresser drawers. "Couldn't hurt to take a look..."
Socks. Underwear. The various trappings that you'd expect a man of modest wealth to wear. The dresser doesn't apparently contain anything of value with a quick perusal.
"I bet he's not in the library, waiting for us like a good boy," Sal says in a tone un-indicative of whether he's being sarcastic or not. He paces around the room once, ponders rifling through his host's stuff, and decides that such a grievous disregard for Brewer's privacy would probably be a detriment to speedy removal from this place.
"Maybe we should check, anyway, since we know where it is. If he's not there we can bumble around the haunted mansion until the guy with the chainsaw jumps out to offer us directions."