Using both hands, I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, twisted him around and slammed him up against the wall. The Monet print there toppled off the hook and landed with a bang on the floor. I brought a knee up into his groin. This prevented him from engaging in any possible defense. He doubled over, giving me the opportunity to assume full control of the situation. I threw him to the floor, flipped him on his back and straddled him, one hand still gripping his shirt, the other successfully seeking out the few strands of hair left on his head.
Tears sprouted from his tightly squeezed eyes. His mouth was wet and twisted with fear. "You're hurting me..." he cried.
"It's my intention to," I said.
"Please stop."
"I will...when you answer my questions."
His eyes darted open. They were wet and red and glossy. I let go of his hair and fisted his collar to make sure he didn't go anywhere, then slammed him a couple more times against the floor just to reaffirm how serious I was.
"Questions? I...I don't know if I can..." His words were interrupted by a fit of coughs.
"You can, and you will. Ready?"
He remained silent, unmoving.
"Ready?"
"I'll t-try. Jesus, don't hurt me."
I kept my grip tight. Clearly he didn't want to talk. Probably knew he couldn't because common sense told him that the new doctor in town had finally come in contact with Ashborough's strange governing body and wasn't all that ready and willing to give in to their decrees yet, so he picks on this poor unsuspecting character in the
Grand Scheme
who simply wants to rid himself of his ails while keeping everything he knows under lock and key so the little fuckers in the woods won't drag his wife or son or daughter into the woods and send them back with a limb or two missing.
The thought of all this made me want to kill the man. I really wanted to fucking
kill
him.
I took a deep breath, tried to get a grip on myself. "No...you'll do more than try," I said. "You'll tell me everything you know, 'cause if you don't, God help me, I'll break your arms and legs and drag your sorry ass up there into the woods and plant it on that big bloody stone and feed you to those motherfuckers. Would you like that? Huh?" God help me, I meant it, too.
"Let go of me."
"What? I don't think so."
"You let go of me and I promise I'll tell you what I know."
I pressed down harder. Cramps shot through my hands. Sam grunted in pain, then coughed. Dapples of saliva hit me in the face. His already pale skin went whiter when he realized what he'd done.
"I'm sorry..." He coughed again. More spit. "Sorry...just please let go of me."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You have my word...I'll tell you everything I know."
I loosened my grip. "Everything..."
"Everything I
know
," he stressed. Meaning don't expect much. He again added, "Please don't hurt me."
I loosened my hold, then stood up, pulling him up with me. We staggered a bit, but I gained a foothold and dragged the smaller man into my office. I shoved him deep into the room then closed the door. He caught his footing against my desk and stayed there, unmoving with the exception of his heaving chest; evidently he hadn't been used to this level of activity.
Start exercising and cut out the high fat foods. More fruits and more fiber. Doctor's orders
. We both took a moment to catch our breath. I then swept an arm toward the chair at the forefront of my desk and told him to have a seat.
Sam Huxtable's eyes avoided me like the plague; he'd been defeated. Never had a chance really, and he knew it. He nodded then paced like a wounded soldier to the chair and sat down, keeping his eyes pinned to some non-descript spot on my desk. His shirt was torn at the collar. A juicy red spot marked one of his cheeks. Tears streamed down his face. He looked pathetic, though probably not as much as I did.
Staring at Sam Huxtable, a gale of sudden remorse whacked me, and I felt suddenly ashamed of my actions. My frustrations and determination had driven me to get to this point, and now that I was here guilt riddled me like a virus. I'd just committed some irreversible, self-deprecating act, and had chipped away a bit of my soul in the process. What little soul, that is, I had left. I told myself that all my actions had been utterly necessary, all for the well-being of my family. I'd had no choice in the matter. Do or die.
Sam gazed up at me. "You look like shit," he expressed rather brazenly. Given his predicament he should've kept his mouth shut, but he probably saw through my weak facade. I was no murderer. Far from it. And he knew it too.
Yes, but would a man murder to protect his family?
I shoved my hands in my pockets, seeking false comfort and finding nothing. "So do you...at least now you do."
"I was feeling like shit before I came here."
I nodded. "What's wrong?"
"You said you wanted to talk," he remarked angrily, ignoring me. His priorities had taken a bit of a shift; I'd taken the ball away from him and placed it in my court, putting him on the defensive. Now I could press forward and slam dunk some info out of him, what I'd aimed to do all along. However hastily.
"I have some questions, Sam, and I think you know where I'm going. I'm the type of person that doesn't like to be kept in the dark about certain things, especially when they affect me and my family. And let me tell you, I've never been more affected in my life, as you can well imagine."
Sam stared at me, said nothing.
I continued, "Basically I've been fucked up the ass just like you and everybody else that lives here in Ashborough, if that's what you want to call it: living...it's more like a modern inquisition if you ask me, wouldn't you say? The only difference is that I'm not gonna stand for it, and I don't give a shit if everyone here, and in all the surrounding towns for that matter, are in on their diabolical plot. I've paid my dues, and now I'm gonna take my family and get out of here."
Sam grinned incredulously. Suddenly he had a voice, and he used it. "What a genius...don't you think I've tried it, that hundreds of others over the years have tried leaving here? You don't understand, doctor. They're everywhere, like goddamned cockroaches. They hear all and see all. And just when you think it's safe to pack up your things and slink out of here they'll come at you twice as hard and make life miserable for you and your family. They have no qualms about killing, I'm sure you've seen some of their handiwork by now, right? But that's why you're questioning me now, isn't it? Because you've seen what they can do and you simply don't want to take a chance. Paid your dues? I don't think so. You haven't even scratched the surface."
"Yeah? Well...then how can they possibly stop me in my car?" Somehow I knew they could, but I wanted to hear it from a man with experience, someone who had more answers than me.
"Why don't you try it and see what happens? They'll fuck with the engine or even toss themselves under your wheels if they have to. Anything to stop you. And you want to know what's really fucked up? Afterwards they'll come and get you, dear doctor, to fix up their injured martyrs after they've committed their nasty deed. Yeah, go ahead. Go and get your family and make like wind in your minivan. You'll be mending broken arms and crushed ribs for a week."
I thought about Christine and the mystery 'animal' that had darted out in front of the car. Then, of my visit last night to their dwelling. How one of them had crawled over to me after I'd completed the caesarean,
how it dragged its leg behind it as if it's been run over by a car.
"Jesus," I said, suddenly sobered.
"I tried to leave once," Sam said. "It was in the middle of the night. I had my wife and son in the car, and at the time I didn't think they knew anything about the Isolates. But I was wrong. I ran inside to get the keys which I'd forgotten on the kitchen table and when I got back outside the car was teeming with them. I couldn't even see the wheels. It looked like a piece of sucker candy swarming with ants. My family was trapped inside for hours and I could do nothing but stand there and watch helplessly until morning came. The Isolates eventually skittered away—all at once mind you, a real frightening scene—and at that moment I still had the mind to get in the car and start driving but my son had hyperventilated himself into a coma and nearly died. Thankfully Dr Farris had taken care of him, although I'm not sure if it'd been the right thing to do. Now everyday I have the pleasure of waking up and seeing Josh lying in bed all curled up and twisted, full of bedsores."
"You...you never brought him to the hospital?"
Sam rubbed his tired eyes. "You're not listening to me, doctor. The hospital is in Ellenville. I couldn't even get my car out of the fucking driveway."
I was going to ask him why he hadn't tried calling another town, even the city. But I'd had the frustrating experience of trying just that, and it'd gotten me nowhere.
"Jesus, this doesn't make sense to me...I mean, how is it that the whole outside world is conspiring against Ashborough. What about the fucking government? Jesus, let's call the goddamned national guard and have the fuckers smoked out of here."
Sam folded his hands on his lap. "You have a drink?" he asked.
I nodded, went to the cabinet, retrieved two shot glasses, and poured us both some brandy.
He sipped it gingerly, then continued, "It's a buffer effect. There are five towns within fifty miles surrounding Ashborough. Ellenville, Claybrooke, Townshend, Beverly, and Beauchamp. Between here and all those towns lies thousands of acres of woodland. Within those woods live the Isolates. I'm assuming you've been to their den by now."
I nodded. "Yeah, I've had the pleasure."
"The den...the one you've been to, here in Ashborough, is the largest. But there's dozens of smaller ones all over between here and those towns. It's a great labyrinth, they're all interconnected and they can travel between them with amazing ease. The Isolates keep eyes on the people living on the outskirts of the towns. These are the town 'officials', who make sure that all order is kept and that no information about the Isolates leaves Ashborough. They keep track of who goes in, and make sure that no one comes out."
"Are you saying that the Isolates have spies? Human spies?"
Sam nodded. "Like you and I, they are under strict watch and constant threat by the Isolates. They have no choice but to adhere to their demands, otherwise they and their loved ones will fall victim to their savagery."
"I've heard that before."
"And undoubtedly, you've seen it. These aren't animals we're dealing with. They're a cunning, intelligent race of, dare I say, people who for hundreds of years have had things done their way. They live by a strict set of mores and practice them with utter purpose and determination. There's no escaping them, doctor. I suggest that if you wish to live as normal a life as possible, simply go about your duties as you normally would, and do as they demand, when they demand it. And most importantly, remember that their laws are not tolerant of any discussion of their existence."
"So...why are we talking about them now?" I asked.
"You threatened to kill me."
I nodded, again feeling remorseful. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't apologize, doctor, I know where you're coming from. I've been here for five years now. I do the best I can, given the situation with my son, but frankly I'm tired of seeing him the way he is. I'm wondering whether he might be better off as...as..."
"Don't say it," I said. Sam Huxtable was talking because he wanted the Isolates to come take his son. But who's to say, I thought, as to whether they might come and torture the poor kid even further? Or perhaps lay claim to his wife.
His wife...
"You mentioned to me that when you tried to leave you didn't think at the time that your wife and son knew anything about the Isolates. What did you mean by that?"
He took another sip, then downed the rest and grimaced. I refilled his glass. "Just as I'd been keeping my knowledge of the Isolates a secret from my family, wholly terrorized from their threats, my wife Janice had also come in extreme contact with them. She too had been threatened by Old Lady Zellis and had been keeping it all pent up inside, doing only what had been instructed of her. For three years the Isolates had separately manipulated myself and my wife, both of us having no knowledge of the other's torment, keeping the quote-unquote existence of the Isolates a secret for fear of them hurting Josh. Eventually Janice broke down, tried to overdose on the anxiety medication Farris had given her, which simply made her vomit for twenty-four hours. At this point we came to the discovery that each of us had had a run-in with Old Lady Zellis and were duly being tormented by the Isolates, had been for quite some time, and found no alternative but to ignore their threats and leave. As you now know, they lived up to their threats."
Lauren Hunter's words shot back to me like a missile, now, suddenly, making sense:
They have Christine...
"So what you're saying," I said, the horrible truth of the matter setting dread deep into me, "is that I may not be the only one being tormented by the Isolates?"
Sam nodded, then stood up. "I believe it's time for me to go."