The Redwood Asylum: A Paranormal Horror L.A. Detwiler (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

the few leads I had. Crayon drawings weren’t enough evidence to solve a murder. I didn’t think the farm would give me all the answers, but at least it would be a start.

My phone sat on the passenger seat, turned off. I resisted the urge to turn it on and see if I had any messages from Redwood as I pulled up to the peeling white house. The front porch was crowded with abandoned furniture, worn-out recliners, and odds and ends of household items. It was as if the interior of the house had seeped to the outside, as if the walls weren’t strong enough to hold it all in. I wondered what sadness, what secrets crept about amongst the forgotten relics.

I shut my door as gently as possible as a mangey looking dog emerged from behind the house, barking and wagging its tale. Its goliath size was breathtaking, but it seemed friendly enough. Taking a deep breath, I proceeded toward the wooden steps. I said a silent prayer that the impromptu trip would give me the answers I desperately needed.

A woman promptly flung open the door and peered out suspiciously as I offered a weak smile and wave.

“Hi, Mrs. Ambridge?” I asked warmly. I froze in place, the dog’s enormous muzzle nosing at my legs.

She ambled onto the porch, a girthy woman with grayed hair. I thought she must be in her late forties, but she had a weathered face that seemed to suggest she could be much older.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice quieter than I expected.

“I’m from Redwood Psychiatric Hospital. I work there as a nurse, and I just have some questions about a former employee of yours, Robert Essic. I was wondering if you could take a few moments to talk to me, if it wouldn’t be too much bother.”

She stared at me questioningly, and I noticed she took a step backward. After a long moment of holding my smile, she seemed to soften.

“Okay, come in. I don’t know that I’ll be much help. It’s been so many years since he’s worked here. But come in.” She turned to the house, plucking open the screen door as I followed. She yelled at the dog, Henry apparently, when he tried to follow us in.

“Damned flea bag. I told Russell to get rid of him long ago.”  She led me to the kitchen. The house smelled of oranges and cedar, a mixture that was altogether pleasant and inviting. The house was filled with pictures, antiques, and knickknacks. It expertly maneuvered the line between claustrophobic and cozy.

She sat me down at the table and wordlessly headed toward the coffee pot, where she prepared two mugs. I peered around, taking inventory and trying to shove down the awkwardness I felt, the intrusive quality of my visit.

“So what do you want to know about Robert?” she asked when she joined me at the table, sliding a mug toward me.

I inhaled. “Well, I’m just trying to sort through some treatments for him, trying to help him. He’s a very troubled man, as you’ve probably heard. Anything you can tell me really would be helpful. Would help me help him.” I decided that talking about the phantom children I was seeing and how I suspected the man to be a murderer probably wasn’t the best gateway to the tricky dialogue I wanted to open up.

Mrs. Ambridge warmed her hands on her coffee cup. Her eyes looked distant.

“Well, he worked here for several years. He’d gotten back from Iraq and was struggling to find a job. My husband had placed an ad. He was looking for a farm hand at the time, ours just having quit. Back then, Anthony would help when he could, but he was still a boy. Only ten. And we just couldn’t handle it all.”

I could see that time hadn’t dulled the pain of the boy’s name or loss. Her eyes leaked a few tears, which she furiously swiped. She made a tiny, stifled noise that sounded like sorrow.

“And what was Mr. Essic like when he worked here?” I asked, chiding myself for not better preparing questions. I hadn’t, in truth, expected to be admitted into the farm. Still, I needed to make the most of my time.

“Quiet. Troubled even then, I suppose. There was something spooky about him. Not that he caused any major issues. He always showed up early for work and stayed late. He was kind. He even took Anthony fishing sometimes on his days off. Anthony really looked up to him, in truth. But I don’t know, it was like he was vacant, you know? Like you could look right through him, I guess. War messes with a person. But there was just something missing in him. I wasn’t completely surprised when I read about the incident in the paper. Sorry to lose him, though.”

“Where did he go fishing? With Anthony, I mean? Sorry, I just liked fishing, too, when I was a little girl.”

She smiled at me and continued. “There’s a lake about five miles from here. Great place for fishing. Even has a bit of a beach. Not too many people know about it. Anthony loved it there. My husband took him a few times, too.”

I sighed, knowing I needed to ask but afraid it would cause her to clam up. “I don’t want to be insensitive. But I heard that Robert Essic was investigated when your boy . . .” I paused, seeing the lines on her face grow deeper.

She looked away for a moment, out the kitchen window into the vast fields. The sunshine was a foil to the darkness clouding her eyes. I shuddered, thinking what it must be like to have your child ripped away. My hand started to shake, visions of past nightmares haunting me. I squeezed my own eyes shut for a moment, inhaling and clearing my mind. Not now.

“He was. We all were. But he was cleared, and we were too. It’s crazy, because I didn’t want Anthony