A very important update. PLEASE READ!I've decided that, as people start to buy the ebooks, they might start looking online and find this blog. However, this chapter holds some major spoilers, and it's also going to be pretty gruesome in parts. If you've already read DEAD MEN, SWAMP MONSTER, and EVIL CARNIVAL, it won't be that shocking (I think)...but a newbie might freak out at some of the things coming up.So, here's what I propose: email me at peterandthevampires( at symbol )gmail.com (I didn't put the actual email because I don't want it getting harvested by spam bots - just stick the @ in there instead of the parentheses). I'll start emailing updates to everybody who does this. EMAIL ME, QUICK, because I'll probably start doing email updates only within the next 7 days.Since people like commenting - and I like SEEING the comments - I'll probably continue posting blank pages on the blog with a simple descriptor (such as "Dr. Prescott returns"), and you can put in comments below that. It'll be a slightly wacky secret society, kind of. We'll see how that goes. But definitely be sure to email me NOW at peterandthevampires(at symbol)gmail.com if you want to continue to get the rest of the pages on "Peter And The Crazies."
Thanks!
7
They turned the corner and came to yet another guard station. The man on duty buzzed them through another set of gates, too – but this time Peter was happy to go through, because once on the other side, the muffled moaning and screaming died away.
They were in a completely quiet hallway of metal doors. Dr. Prescott strode purposefully to one at the end, took out a plastic card, inserted it into a slot over a keypad, and punched a few numbers.
“We’re here,” he announced, and opened the door.
In the middle of the room sat Dr. Veedermeier.
Peter froze. Nightmarish images played in his mind as though from the scariest movie he had ever seen – except this was a movie he had lived through.
Dr. Veedermeier was the mad scientist who had graverobbed bodies and used them to construct a collection of horrific monsters. Dr. V had attempted to kill Peter, Dill, and Grandfather when they tried to stop him, and had only been thwarted when one of his own creations turned on him. The last Peter had seen of him, Veedermeier had been taken away in an ambulance, screaming and cackling, to Shadow Hills.
Now he sat here on a rickety chair, dressed in a white t-shirt and prison jumpsuit, surrounded by a jumble of chemistry equipment. Behind him was an elaborate structure of glass tubing that dripped a clear fluid into a metal cup.
The short, chubby, bald man looked up. His eyes were unnaturally large through his oversized, thick glasses.
He smiled. “Hello, Peter.”
Peter felt Dill tense up beside him and grab his arm.
“You, too, Dill – good to see you!” the little man said cheerfully.
“What’s he doing here?!” Peter cried out.
“He’s a patient here at Shadow Hills,” Prescott said. “You know that.”
“No, I mean, what’s he doing HERE?! In this room with us?!”
“This is part of your therapy. You obviously have a shared history of trauma, which you need to address. In addition, I believe Dr. Veedermeier is one of the sources of your delusions and paranoia, which you have to confront if you’re to break through the elaborate fantasy world you’ve constructed for yourself.”
Peter wasn’t quite sure what all that meant, but he knew he didn’t like it.
“I don’t care about that – get us out of here!”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” Prescott said.
“He’s a mad scientist! Why did you give him this stuff?! He’s probably making something horrible!”
“Yeah, a nuclear bomb or something!” Dill wailed.
“I highly doubt that,” Prescott sniffed.
“I’m not making a nuclear bomb, Dill.” He smiled slyly as if sharing a little joke. “For one thing, I don’t have any plutonium or uranium.”
Dr. V and Dr. Prescott both chuckled, which alarmed Peter even more.
“Well, he’s probably doing something bad!” Peter looked up at Prescott. “Why’d you let him in here with this stuff?”
“It’s occupational therapy,” Prescott explained mildly. “It’s part of his rehabilitation.”
“Peter,” Dr. V said, “I know that the last time we saw each other, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances – ”
“You tried to kill me!” Peter yelled.
“We all make mistakes, and I certainly made my fair share with you,” Dr. Veedermeier said apologetically. “I really am sorry, and I hope that we can move past that.”
“Okay, fine, I forgive you, can we GO NOW?” Peter snapped at Prescott.
“No, you’re all going to talk with Dr. Veedermeier for 15 minutes,” Prescott said as he physically pushed them inside the room.
“Why me?” Gwen asked. “I don’t even know him!”
“You all have shared delusions. Dr. Veedermeier is an integral part of them, thus you all must participate at once.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Nonetheless, it’s what I prescribe.”
Dr. Prescott stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. Peter, Dill, and Gwen stood there in horrible discomfort. Dr. Veedermeier just sat smiling pleasantly as the clear liquid drip, drip, dripped out of the glass tubing into the metal cup.
There was a moment of silence.
“Well?” Prescott asked, irritated.
“Well what?” Peter barked back.
“I’m not talking to you,” Prescott said, and looked at Veedermeier. “I’m talking to him.”
“I was waiting for you to leave,” Dr. V explained, “so the children and I could talk privately.”
“WHAT?!” Peter cried.
“Oh, hell no,” Dill said.
“Leave you alone with them?” Prescott asked Veedermeier. “Are you insane?”
“Uhhh, YEAH-uh,” Peter snapped in a DUH tone of voice.
“Doctor…I really don’t want my interaction with the children psychoanalyzed,” Dr. V said with a smile. “As one professional to another, I’m sure you understand.”
“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” Prescott snapped.
“What agreement?” Peter asked in alarm.
“I’d like to alter the arrangement.”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Prescott answered.
Dr. V reached over, took the metal cup from under the piping, and held it over a small drain in the middle of the room’s bare concrete floor, as though he were about to pour out its contents. “Oh…that would be very disappointing.”
Prescott’s sweaty, pale face went ghostly white. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.
“All I’m asking is fifteen minutes.”
Prescott hedged. “Five,” he finally said.
“WHAT?!” Peter almost screamed.
“Let’s say ten,” Veedermeier said, and tilted the metal cup even farther.
“Fine,” Prescott snarled between gritted teeth.
“You can’t be serious,” Gwendolyn said in horror.
“He can’t touch you, he’s shackled to the chair,” Prescott said crossly.
To prove the point, Dr. V lifted up one leg. A metal band was locked around one ankle, and a short, heavy chain linked it to the chair leg – which, Peter noticed for the first time, had all four legs bolted to the concrete floor. It was immovable.
“He’s a genius!” Peter snapped. “He can get out of that no problem!”
“I promise I won’t,” Dr. Veedermeier said, holding up his free hand as though pledging an oath. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll be right outside the door,” Prescott muttered.
“That’s not going to help us when he kills us!” Peter shouted.
“I wouldn’t do that!” Dr. Veedermeier exclaimed in a voice both shocked and hurt.
“Don’t kill them, Doctor,” Prescott said ironically, as though scolding a naughty child. He opened the door, then eyed the drops of liquid plopping quietly on the tabletop. “And for god’s sake, please put the container back.”
Dr. Veedermeier smiled sweetly. “As you wish,” he said, and placed the metal cup back under the dripping spout.
Prescott, visibly relieved, stepped into the hallway.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Peter howled. “DON’T LEAVE US!”
“I’ll be right outside,” Prescott said, not at all reassuringly, as he shut the door.
Peter turned around, horrified, and stared at Dr. Veedermeier.
They were alone with the madman.
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