The Tenth Ward Read online

  The Tenth Ward

  Book 1 in the Randolph Casey Series

  Rockwell Scott

  Copyright © 2019 by Rockwell Scott

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by The Cover Collection

  The Tenth Ward

  Prologue

  Although his heart was still beating, Thomas Mowry considered himself dead.

  Why shouldn’t he? With what the doctors had told him and his parents three days ago, there was no point sucking up anymore clean air.

  There had been tears and wailing and hysterics from everyone except Thomas himself. He only sat and listened to his mom and dad and sister cry their eyes out. He’d run out of tears long ago.

  Sixteen years old and no longer able to cry. Sixteen and dying.

  “How are you feeling?” Thomas’s mother asked him for the fifth time that day.

  “I think I’ll go to the cafeteria.” He hopped out of bed, grabbed his portable oxygen, and left the room before she said anything else.

  Lunch time was nearing, so there were a myriad of smells wafting about. Fried food, sweet desserts, and something spicy coming from the international counter. Thomas took a plastic container of his favorite chocolate pudding and brought it to the register, where Mrs. Eloise was balancing the cash drawer before the midday rush.

  She looked at him from over her glasses. “You’re going to spoil your lunch, Thomas.”

  “Don’t worry, I can always eat more.”

  She smirked as she pushed the drawer closed with her hip and rang him up. Thomas paid with his quick swipe card, which only employees used, but he'd managed to get one because he was there so often. “Have a good afternoon,” Mrs. Eloise said.

  “You too.”

  It was nice to have a casual conversation with someone who didn’t know he was dying. She was the cafeteria manager, so she would not have heard the latest news of his prognosis.

  He walked down the hallway, wishing he could eat the pudding as he went, but he needed his spare hand to pull the oxygen cylinder behind him.

  He passed by the chapel and spotted Father Calvin outside. Thomas wished he’d gone the back way and used the other set of elevators.

  The priest gave him a look, one that told Thomas he’d heard the news. “How are you, Thomas?”

  “Fine. And you?”

  Father Calvin licked his lips. “I haven’t seen you here in a few weeks.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “I understand things are hard for you right now. But this is the most important time to have faith.”

  “You know I lost that long ago.”

  “I think you are just having a period of struggling. Please come and attend services. I’ve been praying for you.”

  “Thanks, but obviously it didn’t help.”

  Thomas saw that Father Calvin was sad, and that made him feel guilty. But Thomas was also disappointed about all the time he spent believing in and praying God who seemingly wasn’t there at all. And if God was there, then clearly he hadn’t cared much about Thomas to begin with.

  So, Thomas grabbed the handle of his portable oxygen and walked away before Father Calvin moaned anymore about his lost little sheep.

  Back in his room, he ate the pudding at his desk while surfing the internet. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother watching him, and he knew she was about to say something, so he put on his headphones and cranked up some loud heavy metal music.

  The chirping notification of an incoming video call interrupted the music.

  Georgia.

  Thomas sucked on the chocolate-covered spoon as the app danced on his screen, beckoning him to answer.

  He clicked the red button and the music resumed.

  He read a new article announcing the upcoming album from one of his favorite hard rock bands that he would not be around to check out.

  The video-calling app chimed. He had a message.

  Why are you ignoring me? Please talk :(

  Thomas sighed. He clicked the messages and stared at them for a while, wondering if he should reply. Georgia could see he’d read the messages, but regardless, he closed his computer.

  That was it. He had to do something.

  He had to know for sure what would happen to him. No more of this guessing by the doctors or “hoping for the best” from his parents. He needed real, concrete answers.

  And he only had one idea how to get them.

  Thomas rarely visited the game room at the end of the hall. St. Mary’s, having the largest children’s ward in the city, meant it was often packed with the youngest patients, so the room was noisy and, honestly, a bit depressing.

  He was sixteen, and even though technically still eligible for the children’s ward, still felt like he didn’t belong.

  He pulled his tank behind him. This particular holder had a gimpy wheel that made it wobble. The oxygen filled his nostrils first, and then his lungs, but it still couldn’t stop his violent coughing fits.

  As he walked to the board game closet, he caught eyes with Kristen, one of the high school volunteers. She was playing chess with Morgan, an eight-year-old, although it didn’t look like they were strictly following the rules. Kristen gave him a small, awkward smile that Thomas returned. A month ago he’d asked her out to the movies. She’d shuffled her feet and looked at the ground before reluctantly agreeing. The next day, she’d told him she had plans, and they’d never rescheduled. Maybe she thought his oxygen tank or heavy wheezing would make too much noise. More likely, she wanted to go on a date with a normal boy. Thomas was only a little bit mad about it.

  Besides, it was a blessing in disguise. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but there was no point in starting a new relationship now.

  He went into the board game closet and closed the door behind him just enough to not block out all the light. The bulb inside was dead, and no one had bothered to replace it. Nurse Donna was always going on about budget cuts.

  At the back of the closet, Thomas rifled through all the old games shoved to the corner, the ones with torn boxes and missing pieces.

  There, underneath them all, was what he’d been looking for. A Ouija board. Just as Georgia had said.

  “Weird something like that’s in there,” she’d told him a week before. “Since this place is so Catholic and all. I bet if they knew they would throw it away.”

  “Did you tell someone about it?” Thomas had asked her.

  “No.” Although they’d been speaking via video chat—hospital rules—Georgia still picked up on his interest. “Why? You want to try it out? Those things are bad, you know.”

  “Nah,” Thomas had said, waving his hand.

  He hadn’t mentioned his plan. She would’ve gotten mad at him.

  Thomas blew off the layer of dust and examined it. The picture of the kids on the cover looked to be from the 80’s.

  What do I have to lose?

  The answer was nothing. So he left the board game closet, making sure Kristen or anyone else hadn’t noticed he slipped out with the box tucked under his arm.

  That night, Thomas waited until lights out—nine o’clock—before opening his door a crack and peering down the long, tiled corridor. He looked left and right, making sure no one was coming. It was after hours and past bedtime.

  If he got caught, his plan would be interrupted.

  He closed the heavy wooden door. It did not lock from the inside. Hospital policy.

  He’d told his parents he wanted to sleep alone that night. Given
his current condition, they were reluctant to leave his side, but they were usually good at giving him his privacy when he asked. They’d said they would return first thing in the morning, and he agreed.

  Thomas threw the blanket off his bed. Hidden underneath was the Ouija board.

  Loud thunder boomed outside. Rain pelted the window and the hard wind blew against the glass, making it shudder. Whenever the lightning struck, the dark room lit up blue.

  He laid the board out on the floor and placed the planchette in the middle.

  Knocking.

  He pushed the entire thing under his bed just before the door opened. It was Ms. Donna, one of the regular night shift nurses. A nice woman, but if she found the Ouija board, he would be screwed. Thomas knew she was quite devout.

  Ms. Donna frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Thomas, what are you doing? You should be asleep.”

  “I know,” the boy said, pretending to be ashamed of himself. “I’ll go now.”

  Ms. Donna forced a smile. Thomas recognized that look. He’d gotten it from all the other nurses who had access to his chart. “You need to rest. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  And come right back in a few months? I don’t even have that long left. What’s the point?

  “I’ll see you tomorrow for my next shift.”

  “Good night, Ms. Donna.” He feigned his most innocent and compliant voice.

  Once the coast was clear again, Thomas took the board out from under his bed and put the planchette back in place.

  He sat on the floor and looked down at the array of letters and numbers, a nervous feeling sprouting in his stomach. Although he’d planned it all day long, and he was uneasy about the outcome.

  “Dear God. Are you listening?” he asked out loud. He stared at the planchette, daring it to move.

  It stayed still.

  “Did you hear me, God? Are you there?”

  He gave the little piece of plastic enough time to act, but nothing happened.

  Thomas felt silly. The picture on the box showed more than one person touching the planchette, so maybe that was what caused it to work. But if God was as powerful and all knowing as Father Calvin always talked about in the chapel, then surely he could nudge a small little board game piece on his own.

  “Dear God. You know I stopped believing in you a long time ago. But I figured it was time to give you another chance. So this is your last shot to convince me you’re real. Are you here right now?”

  He let a long minute of silence go by. He finally released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then, as leaned over to pick up the board and put it away forever, the planchette moved.

  It zipped over to YES.

  Thomas gasped and stumbled back a few paces, startled. Yes, he had definitely seen it happen. That thing had been in the center of the board, and then moved all by itself.

  His breathing quickened. His heart pounded. Thunder roared outside, sounding as if it were right on top of the hospital.

  Was he in the presence of God?

  Strange. He didn’t feel any different. He would’ve thought being close to the Lord would have caused something out of the ordinary. At least, Father Calvin always made him think so.

  Although, the room had suddenly grown freezing.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked the board.

  The planchette moved again, this time darting between the letters.

  GOD was spelled out.

  “If you’re God, tell me my name.”

  THOMAS

  “How old am I?”

  16

  He backed away from the board as far as he could go, pressed against the wall, not sure if he was frightened or in awe. These were the kinds of supernatural things that Father Calvin talked about. Although he wondered why normal prayer had always resulted in silence.

  Maybe Father Calvin should be using a Ouija board to get in touch with God.

  “If you’re real, then thank you for proving it. I struggle to believe in you sometimes.”

  The planchette moved again.

  I FORGIVE YOU

  “I’m afraid, God. They say I don't have much time left and I don’t want to leave my friend Georgia behind. Do you know her? She doesn’t deserve to be sick. Why are you doing this to us?”

  I WILL PROTECT HER

  “Do you promise?”

  YES

  Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. That was all he needed. If he couldn’t live, then he just wanted Georgia to be okay. She was a special girl, and he was lucky to have met her, even though their time together had been short.

  The next question came to his mind, but he was hesitant to ask. God could know the answer that his entire team of doctors and nurses had been looking for. It had caused him to live each day in uncertainty, walking an agonizing path of confusion and dread.

  But his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Do you know when I’m going to die?”

  At first the planchette didn’t move, but then it sprung into action.

  17 DAYS

  Tears flowed freely down his cheeks now. Such a short time.

  But at least he knew.

  And if he saw day eighteen, he would be certain God was not real. Or if he was, then he definitely wasn’t all knowing like Father Calvin said.

  So, Thomas put the Ouija board back in the box and returned it under his bed sheet.

  He climbed into bed and turned out the light. But with the storm booming outside and the sudden foreknowledge of his fate, Thomas found it very difficult to get to sleep.

  1

  Randolph Casey held up three fingers.

  “How many fingers do you see?”

  The room was much too large for his class, which made it look sparsely attended even on a good day. Since it was the Friday before a big football game, and the middle of the afternoon, nearly half of his students had flaked.

  “Three,” someone answered.

  “Good.” Rand brought his hand down. “Today’s lesson will be all about the number three.” He clicked the space bar on his computer and the PowerPoint presentation began. The first slide was a big 3 he’d taken from the internet. “Can anyone tell me why this number is important for our purposes?”

  He paced in front of the front row of students. The seating was stadium style, like a movie theater. Each student had two or three desks between them—except the ones who were close friends.

  “It’s the time this class starts?”

  Rand didn’t catch who said it, but it received a fair share of chuckling from the other students, as well as Rand himself.

  “True,” he said, a smile on his face, “and a little bit ironic, now that I think about it. After the lesson today, I feel like you’ll agree with me.”

  He used the remote in his pocket to click to the next slide. All it said was, “Three is a demon’s favorite number.”

  Rand let that information sink in.

  “I thought six was the number of the beast?” The girl—Stacy—sat on the front row every time, always enraptured by the subject material. In all honesty, that alarmed Rand more than it flattered him.

  “In the Biblical sense, it is. You’ll learn all about that in your other Religious Studies classes. But in my class, we focus on this number. It’s a more practical approach.”

  The door at the top of the stadium opened. Rand thought he had a latecomer, but instead, a woman wearing a pantsuit entered and took a seat in the desk closest to the exit. She sat up, straight and stern, and laid a folder of papers in front of her.

  “Umm.” Rand lost his train of thought.

  A few students noticed Rand’s distraction and turned to look at the woman. She only crossed her legs, pen poised over her paper, and focused on Rand.

  Really? We’re going to do this on a Friday? He hadn’t seen that particular lady before, but he knew she was yet another auditor sent to scrutinize his class.

  “Right,” Rand said. “The number three. Why it matt
ers.”

  He clicked his remote again, and the slide changed to another with pictures.

  “I’m sure you are all familiar with the Trinity. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The three in one. The Christian God is the one God, but he is also all three beings. Demonic spirits hate God, so they will often use the number three to mock him.”

  The next slide was a smattering of pictures of clocks. Some digital, some wristwatches, and others antique grandfathers. All of them read three o’clock.

  “These are some of my personal photos,” Rand explained. “Each was taken in the home of someone I’ve known or consulted with. Whenever one of these demons was present, their clocks would always stop at three o’clock in the morning.”

  Rand shot a glance to the woman at the back of his classroom. She stared at the screen now, her note-taking forgotten. She looked confused.

  “Why three o’clock in the morning?” Stacy asked, raising her hand, but not waiting to be called on. “Why not three in the afternoon?”

  “Great question. It’s because demons prefer to operate in darkness. There’s still daylight at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  Stacy scribbled a note.

  “You could have gotten those off Google,” said a guy in the third row. Rand knew Garrett. The kid had a C in the class, which was near impossible considering he made the course so straight-forward. The kid was only enrolled for the easy A, and was a skeptic through and through.

  “True, Garrett,” Rand said. Garrett seemed surprised that Rand remembered his name. “But I didn’t.”

  Rand clicked the remote again. The next slide was of bodies. Lower backs, stomachs, necks, legs. And each of them showed three long, red, and jagged marks gouged into their skin.

  “The more violent hauntings usually come with scratches,” Rand explained. “Again, these are my own pictures of people I’ve assisted over the years.”

  Rand glanced to the back of the class again. The woman used her cell phone to snap a picture of the screen, looking very put off.