Seeking Asylum Page 3

  “Can you handle Caleb if I cuff him?”

  She nodded immediately and reached out to touch Caleb’s shoulder lightly. “Caleb, let’s go sit over here. Come on. It’ll be fine.” She looked at Eric. “Do you have to cuff him? He’ll be quiet. He trusts me, don’t you, Caleb?”

  Eric felt the easing of the spring-loaded tension in his brother’s limbs at Rachel’s touch and shrugged involuntarily, imagining how her slender, capable hands would feel comforting him.

  Caleb walked stiffly beside her to the straight-backed chair. She had to push on his shoulders to make him sit, but he complied without question. He stared at the wall, hardly blinking.

  Eric pulled his attention away from his brother and the lovely doctor. Retrieving the gun, he tucked it into his belt, then knelt beside Decker, dread pooling in his stomach. He gingerly pressed two fingers on his boss’s carotid artery.

  Decker’s pulse beat strongly and rapidly. A shuddering relief streaked through Eric, weakening his limbs. He blew his breath out in a sigh.

  Decker moved.

  Sitting back on his heels, Eric put a steadying hand on his boss’s arm. “Careful, Mitch. You’re wounded.”

  With a colorful curse, Decker sat up. “Believe it or not, I remember that.” He put a hand to his head, then looked at the blood, grimacing. “It’s just a graze.”

  “Let me take a look—”

  “Hang on.” Decker retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and pressed a speed-dial button. “Ford? It’s Decker.”

  The sheriff.

  “Yeah, stray shot, no problem. Hold back. Give us a few more minutes. Right. I’ll call if we need anything. The suspect is under control and the hostage is fine.”

  Clicking off the phone, he pushed himself to his feet and dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. “They were ready to storm the house. How’s your brother?”

  Eric shook his head. Sick. Disturbed. And still capable of affecting Eric, even after all the years apart. “I’m sorry you got involved—”

  Decker wiped blood out of his eye and pressed his handkerchief against the wound. “We’ve already had this discussion.”

  He glanced toward Rachel. “Dr. Harper. Are you injured? Did he hurt you in any way?”

  Her black hair swung around her face as she shook her head. She never took her eyes off Caleb. “He didn’t hurt me. He’s not violent. Not really. He’s afraid. And in need of medication.”

  Eric gaped at her. “What do you mean, not violent? He’s shot two people within twenty-four hours. He’s held you at gunpoint. We don’t know if the security guard is going to make it.”

  Her wide blue gaze met his for an instant. “He’s not dead? Caleb didn’t kill him? Oh, thank God.”

  “What happened?” Eric asked. “How did the guard let Caleb get the better of him? He had Caleb by the throat.”

  She shot him a surprised glance. “How did you know that?”

  Eric clamped his jaw. He’d almost said too much. He had to be careful to separate what he knew about the case from what he’d seen in his dream. “Some newscaster must have mentioned it,” he said noncommittally.

  Her gaze swung back to her patient as she talked. “Caleb woke while sleepwalking. He was agitated. I almost had him convinced to go back to bed, but the nurse called Security, even though I’d specifically told her not to.”

  Irritation flowed over Rachel at the memory. “The guard was too aggressive. He frightened him.” She pressed long, graceful fingers onto Caleb’s wrist, checking his pulse, her full lips flattening into a grim line.

  She bent until she was in Caleb’s line of sight. “Caleb, how are you feeling?”

  Caleb continued to stare as sweat dripped from his chin. He started rocking back and forth and pounding his forehead again. Rachel took hold of his hand, but she couldn’t stop its incessant movements. A shadow of worry and confusion crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Eric asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Take a guess.” He hadn’t seen his brother in twenty years, but he’d seen him like this. It brought back all the protectiveness he’d always felt for Caleb.

  “He’s exhibiting classic symptoms of schizophrenia, the paranoia, the delusions.”

  “He did that when we were kids.” Eric’s voice rasped with bitterness as the memories surfaced. “I didn’t know what they were back then. My grandmother called them spells. She’d lock him in the broom closet until he calmed down. Couldn’t have the crazy grandkid embarrassing Olivia Stanhope in front of the help.”

  Rachel looked up at him, a dark pain in her expression that went beyond professional concern. For an instant she seemed to turn inward.

  “He was locked in the dark?” Her voice choked on the last word. “How old were you?”

  Eric couldn’t tear his gaze from hers. He felt a strange compulsion to confide in her, something he’d never done—with anyone. He stepped closer, drawn by her empathy. “All our lives, until we were eleven. Until—” He’d almost said, Until Caleb died.

  He rubbed his neck, his fingertips seeking the faint scar below his ear—the only visible reminder of that awful day. He glanced over at Caleb, whose fist pounded, pounded, against his forehead. Eric knew what Caleb was doing. He was trying to stop the voices.

  “We were on the third floor, in Grandmother’s sitting room,” he said, barely even aware that he was speaking out loud. “Caleb’s voices were loud that day. He pushed me and we got tangled up in the drapes and crashed through the window. The drapery cord caught me around the neck and kept me from falling. Caleb fell to the ground.” He traced the scar with his fingertips.

  Rachel’s face drained of color as understanding dawned like the sun in her eyes. “Oh, my God. Your grandmother told you he died.”

  Eric nodded grimly. “She locked him away.”

  “How horrible for you. And you never knew?”

  “I always wondered—” He stopped. He’d definitely said too much. He’d almost told this stranger his deepest fear.

  He had to watch his every word. The shock of discovering that his brother was alive had lowered his defenses. Rachel Harper had nearly gotten inside his head, and that was something he could never allow. He blinked and turned toward Caleb, deliberately ignoring her question.

  “If he’s on fenpiprazole, he shouldn’t be paranoid, should he? Isn’t the usual reaction to withdrawal a catatonic state? The drug’s half-life is only eight hours or so.”

  Rachel’s disturbing gaze stayed on him for an instant, her blue eyes twinkling in surprise and admiration, immediately replaced by a puzzled frown. “That’s right. You know a lot about fenpiprazole.”

  His lips curled. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking it. I’ve read the literature.”

  Decker walked up beside Eric. “What’s the problem?”

  “Caleb seems to be having an adverse reaction to his medication. Even the shrink here agrees that his symptoms aren’t typical of withdrawal from the drug he’s on.”

  Decker looked at Rachel, who nodded.

  “He’s becoming increasingly paranoid,” she said.

  “Is that what caused him to panic and shoot the guard?”

  Rachel took a step toward Decker and spoke in a low tone. “It certainly contributed. Caleb believes he’s being used in some sort of experiments. He’s been rambling about switched drugs and altered medical records. He has a history of paranoid behavior.”

  “So what Caleb is saying is not true?”

  Rachel started to speak, but Eric cut her off. “Caleb does not lie. If he says there are secret experiments and altered records, I believe him.”

  “You believe—” She shook her head. “You haven’t even seen him in twenty years. If you had experience dealing with mentally ill patients, you’d know you can’t believe what they say.” Her throat closed up. The terror and trauma of the past few hours had taken its toll on her usual detachment. She crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, pretending to study Caleb’s
jerky movements until she could compose herself.

  Eric could not know. He’d been separated from his brother. He hadn’t lived with the illness his whole life as she had.

  Mental illness was cruel and greedy, sucking away at trust, at security, at love. Her mother’s bipolar disorder had forced Rachel into the role of adult much too young. Her childhood had been a kaleidoscope of dark fear and brittle normalcy, spiked with blinding shards of mania.

  She touched Caleb’s shoulder. If Eric had been around his brother all these years, he’d be less inclined to trust him.

  Caleb stirred at Rachel’s touch, and her heart squeezed in compassion as his gaze sought his brother.

  “Eric.” Caleb’s tone was filled with trust and love.

  Eric stepped closer. “How’re you feeling, bud?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Hard to breathe. It’s the drug. Had…this problem before.”

  He stood abruptly and grabbed Eric’s arm. “You’re going to…help me, right? You said I wouldn’t…have to go back.”

  Eric’s insides clenched at the fear in his brother’s voice.

  Rachel squeezed Caleb’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Caleb. We’ll get you back to the Meadows, back on your medication, and—”

  Caleb jerked away and shot her a wild-eyed glance.

  Eric stepped protectively in front of Caleb. “Get away from my brother,” he stormed, sudden anger pulsing through him like blood, his protective instincts overriding his professionalism.

  Rachel stopped immediately and backed away. Eric had heard the fury and frustration that colored his voice. When he wasn’t in total control, his throat muscles contracted and his voice rasped ominously, a legacy from the day he’d almost died, the day he’d lost his brother.

  Behind him, he heard Decker talking to Rachel, making excuses for Eric’s actions. “He’s been under a lot of pressure with recent cases. He’s exhausted and worried about his brother.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Tell me about this Dr. Metzger.”

  “Let me take a look at your head wound first.”

  Eric shut out their voices. He stared directly into Caleb’s eyes, steeling himself against the disorder he sensed inside his brother’s head. “Hey, bud. Tell me about the experimental drug.”

  Caleb’s breathing was labored. “It’s Frankenmetzger. He’s…obsessed with curing schizophrenia. Has a secret—laboratory. Only certain people. Me. Misty. A few others. He injects us with chemicals—they’re poison. Deadly.” Caleb’s ragged fingernails scratched Eric’s arm. “I think he sucks the chemicals out of our brains. He’s afraid I’ll talk, that someone will believe me. He knows Misty and I found…proof.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “Eric.” Rachel spoke from behind him. “Dr. Metzger is a world-famous neurologist, the foremost authority on schizophrenia in the country, arguably in the world. He’s renowned for his research on the disease. But there are no research studies going on at the Meadows right now.”

  Eric bristled at the reverent tone of her voice. “It sounds like you’re his biggest fan.”

  She blushed, but she lifted her chin and gave him back look for look. “I’ve always wanted to study with him. It’s why I took this position. But my admiration for Gerhardt Metzger doesn’t change the truth. There’s no indication in Caleb’s medical records that he has ever participated in a study, under Metzger or anyone else.”

  “That’s because if he put me in a study, he couldn’t do his private experiments on me. Don’t you get it?” Caleb’s voice rose.

  “I’m afraid what you’re seeing is classic paranoia. He needs his medication.” She lowered her voice. “That’s why we need to get him back there.”

  Eric clenched his jaw. “Don’t say that again.” His voice grated.

  He placed his hand over Caleb’s where it rested on his forearm. “What kind of proof did you and Misty find?”

  Caleb’s eyes darted rapidly back and forth before he settled his gaze on Eric. “I found a way to get into the basement without being seen. That’s where the records are kept. We’d sneak down there…late at night. To be…together. There’s a secret room. It’s hidden behind the elevators. It’s where Frankenmetzger sucks our brains. He keeps the real records there.”

  Caleb’s breath was coming in gasping bursts. “He kills people, Eric. Everybody pretends—the people just die, but Frankenmetzger kills them.” Caleb’s shoulders heaved with his labored breathing. “He has this big needle. It burns. And for a while everything seems beautiful—normal. But then it gets worse and you need more chemical. Dr. Green knew something was going on. Ask him.”

  Eric raised his brows at Rachel, who looked blank.

  “I don’t know Dr. Green,” she said. “I may have seen his signature on some doctor’s orders, but I’ve never met him. I don’t think he’s still there.”

  Eric turned to his boss. “Mitch, can we check out the Meadows? See if there have been any suspicious deaths, especially associated with Metzger?”

  “I’ll call Natasha,” Decker said, punching a number into his cell phone.

  If there were any information, Natasha Rudolph, the Division’s computer expert, would find it.

  “Eric—” Caleb gasped. He grabbed Eric’s shirtsleeve, his mouth open, his face turning red.

  “Hey, Doc,” Eric called, suddenly alarmed. “He’s having trouble breathing. Get over here!”

  Rachel stepped over. “Let me take your pulse again, okay, Caleb?”

  Caleb clawed at his throat. “I can’t—” His voice died to a guttural rattle and he crumpled.

  “Caleb!” Eric grabbed for him, but Caleb’s limp body slid right through his hands to the floor.

  “Move!” Rachel pushed Eric aside with surprising force. She bent over Caleb, her fingers at his carotid artery. Then she wet a finger and stuck it under his nose.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s not breathing. Help me straighten him.” She pulled at Caleb’s arms.

  Eric quickly and efficiently laid Caleb’s limp body out, clamping his jaw against the lump that sprang to his throat. He couldn’t lose his brother now. He’d just found him.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Rachel snapped at Decker, who was just disconnecting from Natasha.

  “I’ll do better than that.” Decker hit speed dial. “Get that ambulance in here—now!” he ordered.

  Rachel had quickly and efficiently positioned Caleb for CPR and was breathing for him. “Respiratory—arrest,” she said between puffs. “Doesn’t make sense—”

  Eric felt the haunting guilt of helplessness. Caleb wasn’t breathing. He could die, and there was nothing Eric could do to save him.

  Within seconds the house was swarming with officers and emergency medical technicians. A man dressed in white with the letters EMT on his jacket intubated Caleb and hooked him up to a portable respirator. Another quickly cleaned and bandaged Decker’s wound, while Decker filled in the sheriff and the local FBI agent on what had happened. The EMTs transferred Caleb to a gurney and started toward the front door.

  Eric watched impotently, his brain on fast-forward. His innate gift for processing a situation and foreseeing the most likely outcome sent him on a virtual journey into the next few hours. Caleb would be rushed to the nearest hospital, admitted to the cardiopulmonary unit, stabilized, then transported back to the Meadows, where he’d be drugged again while he awaited arraignment on charges of attempted murder and kidnapping.

  Then, like a poorly edited movie, images from the past flashed through his brain. Caleb pounding his fists against his head, screaming, begging Grandmother not to lock him in the broom closet. Him sitting next to the door, talking through the wooden barrier to his brother, promising to stay right there and protect Caleb from the monsters that clawed at his brain.

  Can’t go back there. I’m sorry, Eric.

  “No! Wait!” Eric blurted.

  “Sorry, sir, we’ve got to get him to a hospital. The
portable respirator is only good for ten minutes.”

  “Mitch,” Eric appealed to his boss, “I promised him he wouldn’t have to go back to that place.”

  Decker clapped Eric’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s probably the best place for him,” he said kindly but firmly.

  Eric shrugged off his boss’s touch. “No. He’s terrified. I’d go myself before I’d send him back in there.”

  Rachel’s head snapped up and Mitch’s eyes narrowed.

  He met Rachel’s shocked gaze, then look at Decker, who was already shaking his head.

  Go himself. He hadn’t even thought about it until he’d said the words. It made perfect sense. He’d go in there as Caleb—investigate what was really going on inside the Meadows.

  “Mitch—”

  “I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.”

  “It’ll work. Send Caleb to the hospital with my identification. Put the word out that I collapsed, I was shot—whatever. Then after Rachel briefs me, I’ll go in undercover as Caleb and see what’s going on.”

  “Slow down. Let’s wait to hear from Natasha. There may be nothing going on at all.”

  Eric jerked his head at Rachel. “Ask her. She knows something’s not right.”

  Rachel heard Eric’s accusing words as she checked Caleb’s oxygen levels.

  When she lifted her gaze, she ran smack into Eric’s intense brown stare. “Ask me what?”

  The older man stepped forward. “What can you tell me about Metzger and his experiments?”

  Rachel swallowed. In Eric’s eyes she saw the reflection of doubt that had been planted in her brain.

  “I—I’m not aware of any experiments. I’ve read Caleb’s current file.”

  Eric silently challenged her to tell the whole truth.

  She blinked and squeezed Caleb’s limp hand. “But fenpiprazole doesn’t cause respiratory problems.”

  Decker’s blue eyes assessed her. “Never?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still glued to Eric’s. “Never. Of course he could have an infection, or this could be an allergic reaction…” Her voice died. She wasn’t convincing anyone, not even herself.