Shutter Island(55)

Halfway across the field, they were met by a guard, his rifle hanging lazily under his arm and pointed at the ground.

Teddy said, “They sent us over. Something about a tree on the roof?”

The guard looked back over his shoulder. “Nah. They took care of that.”

“Oh, great,” Chuck said, and they started to turn away.

“Whoa, Trigger,” the guard said. “There’s still plenty of work to be done.”

They turned back.

Teddy said, “You got thirty guys working that wall.”

“Yeah, well, the inside’s a fucking mess. A storm ain’t gonna knock a place like this down, but it’s still gonna get inside. You know?”

“Oh, sure,” Teddy said.



“WHERE’S THE MOP detail?” Chuck said to the guard lounging against the wall by the door.

He jerked his thumb and opened the door and they passed through into the receiving hall.

“I don’t want to appear ungrateful,” Chuck said, “but that was too easy.”

Teddy said, “Don’t overthink it. Sometimes you get lucky.”

The door closed behind them.

“Luck,” Chuck said, a small vibration in his voice. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“That’s what we’re calling it.”

The first thing that hit Teddy was the smells. An aroma of industrial-strength disinfectant doing its level best to disguise the reek of vomit, feces, sweat, and most of all, urine.

Then the noise billowed out from the rear of the building and down from the upper floors: the rumble of running feet, shouts that bounced and echoed off the thick walls and dank air, sudden high-pitched yelps that seized the ear and then died, the pervasive yammering of several different voices all talking at once.

Someone shouted, “You can’t! You fucking can’t do that! You hear me? You can’t. Get away…,” and the words trailed off.

Somewhere above them, around the curve of a stone staircase, a man sang “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” He’d finished the seventy-seventh bottle and started on the seventy-sixth.

Two canisters of coffee sat up on a card table along with stacks of paper cups and a few bottles of milk. A guard sat at another card table at the base of the staircase, looking at them, smiling.

“First time, huh?”

Teddy looked over at him even as the old sounds were replaced by new ones, the whole place a kind of sonic orgy, yanking the ears in every direction.

“Yeah. Heard stories, but…”

“You get used to it,” the guard said. “You get used to anything.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

He said, “If you guys aren’t working the roof, you can hang your coats and hats in the room behind me.”

“They told us we’re on the roof,” Teddy said.

“Who’d you piss off?” The guard pointed. “Just follow those stairs. We got most of the bugsies locked down to their beds now, but a few are running free. You see one, you shout, all right? Whatever you do, don’t try to restrain him yourself. This ain’t Ward A. You know? These fuckers’ll kill you. Clear?”

“Clear.”

They started up the steps and the guard said, “Wait a minute.”

They stopped, looked back down at him.

He was smiling, pointing a finger at them.

They waited.

“I know you guys.” His voice had a singsong lilt to it.

Teddy didn’t speak. Chuck didn’t speak.

“I know you guys,” the guard repeated.

Teddy managed a “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re the guys who got stuck with roof detail. In the fucking rain.” He laughed and extended the finger and slapped the card table with his other hand.

“That’s us,” Chuck said. “Ha ha.”

“Ha fucking ha,” the guard said.

Teddy pointed back at him and said, “You got us, pal,” and turned up the stairs. “You really got our number.”

The idiot’s laughter trailed them up the stairs.

At the first landing, they paused. They faced a great hall with an arched ceiling of hammered copper, a dark floor polished to mirror gloss. Teddy knew he could throw a baseball or one of Chuck’s apples from the landing and not reach the other side of the room. It was empty and the gate facing them was ajar, and Teddy felt mice scurry along his ribs as he stepped into the room because it reminded him of the room in his dream, the one where Laeddis had offered him a drink and Rachel had slaughtered her children. It was hardly the same room—the one in his dream had had high windows with thick curtains and streams of light and a parquet floor and heavy chandeliers—but it was close enough.

Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Teddy felt beads of sweat pop out along the side of his neck.

“I repeat,” Chuck whispered with a weak smile, “this is too easy. Where’s the guard on that gate? Why isn’t it locked?”

Teddy could see Rachel, wild-haired and shrieking, as she ran through the room with a cleaver.

“I don’t know.”

Chuck leaned in and hissed in his ear. “This is a setup, boss.”

Teddy began to cross the room. His head hurt from the lack of sleep. From the rain. From the muffled shouting and running feet above him. The two boys and the little girl had held hands, looking over their shoulders. Trembled.