Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild Read online

  Not good.

  Definitely not good.

  A motorcycle down, with a rider who had obviously launched and landed face down in the breakdown lane. Dr. Strong was going too fast to be able to note whether or not the rider was breathing, but he definitely wasn’t moving. He checked the rearview and braked hard, but traveling as fast as he was, he was easily a hundred yards beyond the accident scene before he managed to stop. He put it into reverse, all the while eyeing the rearview, and began to back up. It was then that he noticed that the radio had quit. “That’s odd,” he thought. Back he went, as quickly as he could. Back … back … back. “Man,” he thought. “I must have been flying. I thought for sure I would have gotten there by now.” He continued backing up. Nothing. “What the heck?” he thought. He continued back. Nothing. He passed back under the old railroad bridge. “Oh, this is too bizarre,” he said out loud. “I went right by it! I know it was after the bridge.”

  It was then that he noticed the odd static coming from the radio, kind of a high-pitched whine. He clicked the radio off, eased it into drive, and started forward again, slower this time. He pushed the “On” button for the radio absentmindedly; same high- pitched whine, otherwise, nothing. He clicked it off again.

  “There it is,” he thought. He could see it now, same motorcycle about 30 yards ahead. He gunned it hard and within seconds was at the scene, except the driver, who moments before had been face down in the breakdown lane, was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, come on,” he thought. “Now where the heck did he go?”

  It was strange, in that he felt relieved that he really had seen an accident and it was not his mind playing tricks on him because he had been up all night in the ER, but at the same time it bothered him that he had managed to back right by it in broad daylight. And now he had to find the missing driver.

  “Hey!” he called out loudly. “Can you hear me?” No response. “Hey! I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you. Is anybody there?”

  Nothing.

  “Time to call for some help,” he thought. “If he was well enough to crawl away, I can take the time to call the ambulance.” He scanned the scene while he punched in the speed dial for the hospital on his cell phone. To his surprise, when he put the phone to his ear, all he could hear was the same sound that he had heard seconds before coming from the radio. He tried again. Same thing.

  “Oh come on now,” he thought. “Now I have to search for this guy.”

  He got out of the car and walked past the demolished motorcycle towards where he had seen the driver down. For the third time all he got on the cell phone was the same static. It was then that he saw the blood. He quickened his pace and soon was standing over an ominous looking pool of bright red blood. He called out again; still no answer. He spied the trail, leading away from the highway, and followed it down into the drainage ditch. It was muddy at the bottom, but across from the muddy spot he could see a clear trail leading up over a small rise and into the woods beyond. Spots of blood dotted the trail as far as he could see.

  “Poor guy has a head injury and is disoriented,” he thought. “I hope he isn’t combative. That would be very bad.”

  Soon, the going got rough as the trail led into some seriously thick brambles. He was forced to crawl. On his hands and knees, he pushed onward as thorns and such clawed at his face, almost as if they were trying to hold him back.

  “Gosh dang it,” he cried out as a particularly nasty one ran its way across his cheek, adding a drop of his own blood to the mix. At least it was an obvious trail. He wondered how far this poor fellow was going to lead him off the road. “If this doesn’t beat all heck,” he muttered.

  The brambles thinned out and he was able to stand, but the trees were clustered close together, and the going was slow as he focused so as not to lose the trail. He called out again. Silence. He kept onward.

  He found himself at the edge of a clearing, and to his amazement, at the far side stood what could only be described as a wizard, dressed in a plain white robe painted with all sorts of strange symbols on the sleeves and front, complete with a long white beard and flowing white hair. He looked as thin as a stick. The wizard spoke first.

  “There has been no accident, Doctor,” he said, “I’m sorry to have had to stage that, but I’m afraid it is absolutely necessary that we speak in total privacy. ”His voice had a soft quality, slightly accented. It sounded almost British, or perhaps Australian.

  “First of all,” Dr. Strong responded, “who the heck are you, and what the heck are you talking about? I know what I saw, and there surely has been an accident. I just followed a very clear blood trail of the victim up over that hill, and he is obviously seriously disoriented and in need of emergency medical attention. Second, I don’t know where you escaped from, but you had better either point me in his direction, or help me find him, or you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

  “To answer your first question, sir, my name is immaterial. You may call me Hemlock if you like. Hemlock Simpleton, even. To answer your second question, ‘What the heck are you talking about?’ it is as I have said. There has been no accident. I repeat, it was all staged so that you and I could speak in private about a matter of the utmost importance. Please believe me. Many, many lives depend on us, on you really.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “And on Jessica as well.”

  At this point Dr. Strong realized he was going to get nowhere with this nutcase and he called out again, “Hello! Can you hear me? I’m a doctor. You need help!” He heard nothing.

  Hemlock spoke again. “Doctor. Please. Two things: First, I beg of you to not call out again. There are ears who might be listening whom we cannot afford to have hearing us speak. Second, if you would please look at your feet. You'll notice, I’m sure, that the blood trail, indeed the trail itself, ends where you now stand.”

  And then there was what might best be described as a flash, although there was no light, and the world went black.

  It was the strangest thing. He was wide-awake, but he could see nothing in the total and complete blackness that surrounded him. He tried to touch his finger to his nose. Oddly, he felt like he was moving normally, but he felt nothing.

  “Hemlock,” he said. “Are you here?”

  “I am,” came the reply.

  “Do you mind answering my second question again?”

  “You mean, ‘What the heck are you talking about?’”

  “Very good,” said Dr. Strong. “That was indeed my second question.”

  “Well, that is sort of complicated.”

  “Okay, then, let’s start by you telling me where we are,” he said. “This is all starting to tick me off.”

  “I don’t think you’ll believe me,” said Hemlock.

  “Try me.”

  “We are in an acorn.”

  “Now what the heck does that mean?” barked Dr. Strong.

  “Exactly what I said,” replied Hemlock. “You recall that the clearing in which we were standing was surrounded predominantly by oak trees? Well, that being the case, I had a pressing need to hide us from the owner of those same ears about whom I spoke a minute ago, and one of the acorns that happened to be lying about was the most expedient means to that end.”

  There was a pause in the conversation. This was too extraordinary for Dr. Strong to get a handle on. The accident, the radio malfunction, then the cell phone, the wizard, and now this, the darkness, trapped in some cosmic void with seemingly no body, with a most bizarre individual who referred to himself as Hemlock Simpleton. It was too much, way too much. Being an Emergency Room physician, he had found himself in the company of some very strange characters and situations over the last ten years, but this was so beyond anything he had ever experienced; he found himself incapable of any further speech until his intellect could make some sense of it all. Yet, try as he might, he could not. He again tried to move. This time he chose his arms, and while it felt like they were moving, the simple act of bringing his hands together elicited no sense o
f touch. He tried to put his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Nada.

  “Hemlock,” he finally said. “I can’t feel anything. I mean, it’s like I have no body.”

  “I know,” Hemlock replied. “And you must believe me when I tell you that you’re handling it quite well. By way of explanation, let me say that, for the moment, you don’t, at least in the conventional sense. As I said, we are in an acorn. I have temporarily stored your body in another place. Now please do not be nervous. It is a temporary circumstance.”

  “Can you please tell me how you have done this?” he asked.

  “That, I’m afraid, would take considerable explanation, far too lengthy that one. I’m afraid we don’t have the time, Doctor.”

  “Well, can you tell me why an acorn?” he asked.

  “Yes, but again, the explanation would take up far too much of the time we have at our disposal.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Now that,” Hemlock chuckled. “Now that really would be strange.”

  There was another long silence. This time it was Hemlock who broke it.

  “Your name is Dr. Blake Lee Strong. You were born in Thayer Hospital, now known as the Mid-State Medical Center, in Waterville, Maine on December 2, 1970. You did your undergraduate studies at Colby College, also in Waterville, Maine, despite the fact that your parents had moved to Massachusetts when you were three, right after your father completed his undergraduate studies, also at Colby. You have a brother, Daniel, eighteen months your senior, who currently resides in Woburn, Massachusetts. He is married to his second wife, Jocelyn. You also have two sisters, Susan and Jane. Susan is older. Jane is younger. Shall I go on? I can, you know.”

  “Don’t bother,” Blake responded. “I’m sure you can. Personally, I’d rather hear the general overview as to why you have obviously chosen to meet me, and talk to me ‘in total privacy’ as you put it. And why I have no body. And why we are inside of an acorn. You’ve obviously done your homework about me, and my family, and I’m sure you can tell me the names of our horses …”

  “Mickey and Johnnie,” Hemlock interrupted.

  “Whatever,” Blake continued. “The point is none of that autobiographical junk has anything to do with this twilight-zone stuff. I mean, I’m here having this out-of-body experience, Hemlock. Cut the crap, man. Please tell me what the heck is going on. I’m telling you, if I could see you, and I could use my arms, I’d lay you out. Then again you’d probably immobilize me with your phaser set on stun …”

  “Rod Serling and Captain James T. Kirk.”

  “Why did I know you were going to say something like that,” Blake muttered. “And by the way, if I temporarily have no body, how is it that I can, a) speak, and, b) hear you?”

  “Good questions, both,” Hemlock answered. “And know that I will provide you with what I am sure you will find reasonable answers in good time, all in good time.”

  “Well why not now?” Blake asked. “It’s not like we can have a game of racquetball for goodness’ sake.”

  “That I can answer. The fact is I have decided I want to give you the big picture in the company of Jessica. When we get out of here. The overview, if you will. We won’t be here much longer. In fact, it is probably safe now. Yes, it is.”

  There was another flash without light and Dr. Blake Strong found himself standing in the same clearing where he was at the precise moment before he had first seen the man in the wizard’s outfit, only now he was alone.

  “Hemlock,” he called out. There was no response.

  He looked down. There was no blood anywhere. He turned around. He could see the signs of the disturbed forest floor where he had crawled his way through the brush but, again, there was no blood at all.

  He stood for the longest time as he took this all in.

  All he could hear was the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

  “I’ve lost my mind,” he thought. “I’ve really lost my mind.”

  He made his way back to the car via the same way he had made his way in. Back through the briars, back through the muddy irrigation ditch, and up to the car. The radio was on. The announcer was the same one, recounting the same piece on the election results. Of course, the motorcycle wreck was gone. He turned the radio off, picked up the cell phone, and punched in the speed dial for home. Jessica answered.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” he responded. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. “That’s an odd question. Why wouldn’t it be? Hey, you’re not going to believe this, but both the kids’ games have been canceled. There was some weird flu-like outbreak in Westerly today, so they had to close the school. Ours too. It’s very strange. A lot of kids are quite sick. Nobody has died or anything, but the whole town is in a panic. It’s all over the news. Have you heard anything?… … … Hello? Are you there?”

  “Yes, hon. I’m here.”

  “Are you all right? Is something wrong? You don’t sound all right. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing's the matter. I’m alright. We’ll talk about it when I get home. How are the kids?”

  “They’re good. They’re both disappointed about the games being canceled, but they’ll get over it. They’re doing their homework. We’re having pizza. Check that. They’re having pizza. You and I are having shrimp and a roast. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds great. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

  “What’s wrong, Blake? You don’t sound well.”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll see you shortly. Tell the kids I’m proud of them for getting right to their homework.”

  “Your father is proud of you for getting right to your homework,” she called out. “Look, Jacqueline needs some help with her history, so I’m going to go. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

  “I love you. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “What the heck happened?” he thought, after he hung up. He glanced down where the wreck had been. The ground was entirely undisturbed. He glanced up at the patch of woods on the knoll to which he had crawled. His thoughts came in one jumbled rush as he put the Acura in drive and checked the rearview for oncoming cars. “Am I having an acute psychotic break? I must be. This is bad.”

  What would they do? New onset Schizophrenia? He wasn’t the right age, but he was the right sex. This was too incredible to grasp; a complete loss of reality contact. Yet it had all seemed so real, right down to the weird symbols on Hemlock’s robe. How could he possibly tell this to Jessica? How would he ever be able to continue to practice medicine? This was serious. He would clearly need a full psychiatric evaluation. Heck, he was going to have to be admitted. Please, oh please don’t let it be a malignancy. He thought of his grandfather, Sturgis, who had died of the complications of a Glioblastoma multiforme, a particularly horrible brain cancer. He remembered his grandmother, Ruth, telling him as a boy of how Sturgis had suffered terrible mental status changes early in the disease. But she had never mentioned hallucinations. And this was no ordinary hallucination. This was more like some sort of weird fugue state. He suddenly wished he was more adept at Psychiatric diagnosis. He felt lightheaded. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. He took his pulse, 80 and regular. The nausea passed.

  His only thought was, “Please don’t let it be a cancer.”

  The sound of a horn brought him quickly back to reality as he realized he had strayed into the wrong lane. He swerved just in time to avoid the fatal head-on.

  “Dang-it-all!” he yelled out. “Get a grip! Get a hold of yourself, Blake. You’ll get through this. It’s going to work itself out.”

  But he only wished he could believe that. He turned the radio on again and tried to concentrate on what the news broadcaster was saying, but he was so overwhelmed with panic he found he couldn’t follow him for more than a sentence or two before he would think back to the deranged experience.

  “Alzheimer’s,” he thought. “That has to be it. It has to be Al
zheimer’s …”

  And so it went for the remaining twenty or so minutes home when, in a total panic state, and sweating profusely, he finally turned into the driveway. Rosie, the dog, was there to greet him. For some strange reason, the sight of her made him so happy he could have cried. Ordinarily, his first thought would have been how they could get rid of her, for despite being a lovable Lab of seven years, she had never outgrown the tendency to poop and pee all over the house. But today, her being there to meet him with her tail wagging happily meant everything to him.

  He made his way up the stairs, stopping to look down on the magnificent view of the barn and the lower pond. He had built that barn. With some help from friends, neighbors, and family, to be sure, but nevertheless, he owned most of the nails in it. It was a four-staller, complete with a full-court upstairs for basketball. “Well, at least if I pass soon, they will still have the barn …”

  He opened the door to the kitchen off the front deck.

  “Hey Dad,” Stephanie and Jacqueline called out. Orie was too engrossed in some complicated math problem to know he had entered.

  “Hi guys, where’s your mother?”

  Stephanie and Jacq’ both stood and rushed over to give him a welcome home hug. Stephanie noticed right off that her father didn’t look well.

  “Dad,” she said, “you look awful. Do you feel all right? You’re all scratched up. What happened? Come, sit down.”

  She pulled out a chair for him. Orie looked up, “Oh, hi Dad,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  He declined the chair, instead leaning over Orie’s math book to have a look.

  “Did you get it solved, professor?” he asked.

  “Not yet.” He grinned. “It’s a tough one.”

  “Well, you keep working on it, and I’m sure you’ll crack the case.”