First peek into Grave Undertakings…

Brady's search for answers intensifies as he and his companions pick up the trail of the illusive Dr. Wesley Clovis. As the mysteries surrounding the man's sinister plans begin to unravel, Brady is left to ponder just what could lead a man to such Grave Undertakings……

 

December 3, 1972

Eerie, Indiana

The methodical footsteps approaching down the tiled hallway of the Pleasant Grove Psychiatric Hospital were as precise as a metronome. Their thunderous echo ended abruptly at the registration desk.

"May I help you," the middle-aged, overweight secretary asked without looking up from her finely-manicured nails.

The man's baritone voice was formal beyond reproach. She flinched beneath its weight. "Indeed. I am here to finalize the transfer of care for one," pausing as he produced a thin file from an oversized black case, "Collins, Lionel J."

The receptionist looked up from her polished nails into the ageless face of Dr. Wesley Clovis. Silver hair flowed from beneath his puritan hat, while a starched white collar concealed his throat beneath an overcoat the color of midnight. His hungry smile widened below cold blue eyes.

She accepted the file, paging nervously through the paperwork, before reaching for the phone.

"If you can wait one moment," she replied, gesturing toward a small cluster of uncomfortable plastic chairs.  The man nodded, his smile unflinching, and remained rooted to the floor.

Shortly thereafter, a boy was led by two white-clad orderlies from behind the locked doors at the end of the hall.  He was small and frail with a mess of auburn curls falling over his brow. He struggled beneath the weight of an oversized suitcase.

Clovis turned from the uneasy receptionist with a nod and cast his stern gaze upon the boy. He waved the orderlies away with indifference, his eager eyes drinking in the Lionel's fragile form.

"Son," the cold greeting was accompanied by a firm hand falling across the boy's delicate shoulder, "are you prepared to shed the shackles of this prison?"

Lionel looked up into the man's cold blue eyes and smiled warily. "Yes, sir," he replied, his coppery eyes holding the man's stare.

Dr. Wesley Clovis smiled down at the boy. He glanced briefly at the gawking receptionist, slowly tipping his black hat, and escorted his new patient down the hallway and out the doors of the institution.

One week later, Marie Quinn's name would be listed among the deceased, just one of dozens of victims claimed by a devastating fire of unknown origin. Her identification only made possible by the distinct red polish of her charred fingernails.

Coming May 2011