Stolen Madness Read online

  STOLEN MADNESS

  Jeffrey D Crosby

  Copyright © 2022 Jeffrey D. Crosby

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any fashion without express written permission of the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Jeffrey D. Crosby

  P.O.Box 6704, Aurora, IL. 605989, USA

  [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-7359387-5-2. Paperback

  ISBN: 978-1-7359387-6-9 Ebook - epub

  ISBN: 978-1-7359387-8-3. Ebook - mobi

  ISBN: 978-1-7359387-7-6 Audio

  Cover design: Vibrant Designs

  Writing Coach: Jim Surowiecki

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 | Favor for Glenn

  Chapter 2 | The Library

  Chapter 3 | View from Afar

  Chapter 4 | Talk with Old Friends

  Chapter 5 | It's Not So Bad

  Chapter 6 | Talk with Glenn

  Chapter 7 | You Mean, Like Ghosts?

  Chapter 8 | An Expert's Opinion

  Chapter 9 | The New VIP

  Chapter 10 | Wake-up Call

  Chapter 11 | Act of Anger

  Chapter 12 | Get Serious

  Chapter 13 | Dead, Like Not Alive

  Chapter 14 | Good Old Jackson

  Chapter 15 | Chocolate is Fine

  Chapter 16 | Attack from Mars

  Chapter 17 | Time in the Chair

  Chapter 18 | Puppet Master

  Chapter 19 | I Don't Do Weird

  Chapter 20 | Visit to a Graveyard

  Chapter 21 | Just Enough Rope

  Chapter 22 | Spilled Beans

  Chapter 23 | You're Kidding Right?

  Chapter 24 | Valuable Yes, Safe No

  Chapter 25 | New Understanding

  Chapter 26 | Trip to the Zoo

  Chapter 27 | Please Henrietta

  Chapter 28 | I Don't Want to Know

  Chapter 29 | The Merry-Go-Round

  Chapter 30 | Your Choice

  Author's Note

  Alternate Ending

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To My Mother

  I love you and miss you.

  Acknowledgments

  Besides my wife, who supported me through every step, I wanted to name some other people whose support and advice helped bring this book to life.

  Jim Surowiecki, Wendy & Todd Brown, Ranissa & Darnell Scott, Marcia Holt, Stephanie Brown, Mike and Mary Whitcomb, George Gecas and Jessica Mathias.

  The following people allowed me to use their likeness when creating some of my characters. I have listed them in order of appearance in the book and I will leave it to them to tell you who was who.

  George Gecas, Jim Surowiecki, Mike and Mary Whitcomb.

  I also wanted to include a link to a company named in the story - www.naturalcollectivellc.com

  Chapter 1

  Favor for Glenn

  Quillon stared at the collection of pills in the little reminder box. “It’s Tuesday, right?” he said toward the phone lying on the table.

  “You’re kidding?” came the reply.

  “It’s this new shift, Glenn. Working nights is really messing with me.”

  “Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Glenn. “And if you remember, you requested the change.”

  “Darn, I missed a dose,” said Quillon, staring at the pillbox. He clicked it closed and tossed it back on the table. “Well, nothing I can do about it now.”

  “I don’t understand why you changed sites, anyway. That was a great site. Wondering around the mall, checking out the girls. Not much to look at in that warehouse overnight.”

  “Like I said, I was having trouble sleeping and decided that since I was up all night, why not get paid for it?”

  “I only bring this up because I care about you, but you know your doctor wanted you to try being more social. That’s why I got you posted at that mall. It’s a primo site, and I took some heat for posting you there.” When Quillon didn’t answer, Glenn continued, “What’s he going to say about you isolating yourself again?”

  “Nothing, I don’t plan on telling him. I just need some time to get the dreams back under control again.” When there was no response from the phone, Quillon asked, “Glenn, you are there?”

  “When did the dreams return?” asked Glenn trying his best to hide the concern in his voice.

  “About a month now,” said Quillon, leaning back on the couch, wishing he had not let the dream thing slip out.

  “Is it like before? Is she telling you to hurt yourself again?”

  “No, it’s not like before. They don’t last long. It’s mostly about the times we spent together, before...”

  There was a long pause, but both Glenn and Quillon knew the unspoken words.

  “Have you told anyone?” asked Glenn finally. “Do you think you will have to go back into treatment?”

  The worry in Glenn’s voice was clear. Quillon shook his head and said, “I’m okay. They said I would have flashbacks as my memories returned. I promise, I’m okay to work.” Quillon paused, then added, “I’ll talk to someone if it gets worse.”

  “Good, then we can get back to the reason for my call?”

  “You know I don’t enjoy working those kinds of events,” said Quillon. “Besides, I’m still getting used to the new hours and don’t really want to come in on my day or night off, whichever it is.”

  “I really need your help,” said Glenn, putting as much drama into his voice as he could without chuckling. He paused, then continued, “John called off again. It’s just for six hours and you will get paid for eight. Besides, I’ll have someone cover your next shift so you can get another day off.”

  Quillon stared at the phone, trying to think of a good reason to say no. He could hear the stress in his friend’s voice. Glenn had always been there for him during his bad times. He had even gotten him this job. Quillon just wasn’t in the mood to work a party.

  “I really need you help on this,” said Glenn, this time his voice was serious. “I’ll make sure you get posted in a spot away from the main party.”

  Quillon let out his breath in a sigh.

  When Glenn heard it, he understood the meaning. “Thanks Quill. You really saved my bacon.”

  “I haven’t forgotten how much I owe you. Text me the information.”

  “You got it.” There was a slight pause, then Glenn said, “One more thing, please wear a clean uniform.”

  “Funny,” Quillon replied as he ended the call. He could hear the smile in Glenn’s voice, but knew he had reason to say it. Quillon looked around at his apartment. Clothes scattered here and there. He picked up the pillbox, stared at it a few seconds, tossed it back on the table and said, “I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I got to do something about the laundry.”

  Chapter 2

  The Library

  The ride to the Foundation was almost as much a mystery as the Foundation itself. He didn’t have a car, so Glenn gave him and a few others a ride to the site in his panel van. He only caught a few glimpses of the outside, but mostly, what he saw were trees.

  The inside of the Foundation offered a lot to see. The one thing he quickly learned was the Foundation had money. Lots and lots of money.

  They got their briefing and were told not to speak to the guests unless spoken to. That party was going to be attended by some of the richest people in the world.

  With that, Glenn left Quillon standing at a receptionist desk near the entrance. “Wait here. I go
t to get the others to their stations,” said Glenn as he walked off.

  Quillon felt awkward standing alone at the entrance. He could see the valets gathering and knew guests would arrive soon. He looked around. Not seeing Glenn, he mumbled, “If working the door is your idea of not dealing with guests, we’re going to have a long talk.”

  “This way,” said a dark suited man about thirty, as he walked past Quillon without stopping. Quillon just stared, not sure if the man was talking to him.

  “Move it,” said the man, as he adjusted his jacket, which Quillon knew by now, hid something.

  Quillon followed the prompting of his new friend, and they quickly reached a corridor that met up with the lobby. It was wider than what he expected and long. The dark redwood paneling and recessed lighting, giving it a somewhat modern look. A red and gold carpet extended its full length, which Quillon guessed was about forty feet. The only doorway was halfway down on the right.

  At first Quillon thought the doorway led to another hallway, but discovered it was a double wide entrance to an impressive looking space, almost twice the size of his apartment, filled with books and display cases. He guessed it extended the full length of the hallway. While the hallway had a modern, almost executive look, this room was from a different time. It had a beautifully raised and tiled ceiling that had to be twelve feet high, if not higher. Suspended from the ceiling were several lights with ornamented green and red glass shades. The dark wood walls had carved, ornamented columns set into it about every ten feet. The floors, also of dark wood, had several large and beautiful Oriental rugs, each of which, he guessed, cost more than the car he was thinking about buying.

  “Wow, what a great place,” Quillon said, looking around. “If you added a pool table and a door, you’d really have something.”

  “This is the research library,” said his escort. “The only reason you’re here is because it doesn’t have a door. You’re to keep people out. Talk to them as little as possible, and touch nothing. Do you think you can do that?”

  “You must be new,” said Quillon, tapping his side, mimicking the man’s behavior with his jacket. “You really need to stop touching your gun. People will notice.”

  The man adjusted his jacket again, gave Quillon a stern look and said, “Remember, no one gets in, and you do not leave until relieved!”

  “This isn’t my first job. I know the drill,” said Quillon, looking around. “I guess if I have to go, I can find a nice, quiet corner.”

  Quillon could see that the man had no sense of humor. He touched the mic of the radio, strapped to the shoulder epaulet of his uniform, and quickly added, “Only kidding, I’ll radio if I need anything.”

  The man gave the room one last look around, paused, then left, saying nothing else. Before the man left, Quillon thought he saw a strange look on the man’s face. Quillon couldn’t decide if that look was that of a person leaving a shrine, or a place of horror. Either way, Quillon was glad to be rid of him. Looking around, he decided to take a tour of his new domain.

  Almost all the books were old, many of them with titles in foreign languages. A few of them were in display cases, opened to strange and sometimes unnerving illustrations. There were some with plants, other with strange colored wheels, and then there were the ones of people. Most showed what looked like rituals. In the more disturbing ones, people were being killed or eaten by horrible, unearthly, even demonic looking creatures.

  Many of the cases contained odd items, including some elements of clothing, fragments of stones, and a few that looked like tools. One of them contained several knives, all different sizes and styles.

  It took Quillon about thirty minutes to make his way around the library, and he was relieved to be back at the entrance. “I think I know now what that guy was thinking when he left,” said Quillon in a low voice. He spoke out loud, more to give himself company than anything else.

  Across from the entrance, against the wall, was a desk. He had almost missed it because it was so plain. Well, I know where I’m going to spend the rest of the night, he thought. That’s when he noticed a small glass case on the credenza behind the desk.

  “If that has a head in it, I’m out of here,” he mumbled as he walked over to it. To his surprise, and relief, it only contained a highly decorated box. It was about a foot long. Its width and height were both about eight inches.

  As he studied the box, it reminded him of some of the Japanese puzzle boxes he had collected when he was younger. He had gotten good at them and had a decent collection before the accident.

  “You’ll find the gift shop is in the main lobby,” came a voice behind him. Turning, Quillon saw a thin older man dressed in a tuxedo standing in the doorway. Quillon could not place his age, somewhere between mid 50s and early 60s. He was a little shorter than Quillon, had short white hair, and a close-cut beard. He carried himself with a sense of authority, which was softened by a slight smile.

  Quillon had been told that he would not have to deal with anyone at this post, and it took a few seconds to remember why he was here. He regained his composure and took a few steps toward the man, put his best official face on, and with his right hand slightly outstretched before him said, “Sorry, but this room is not open for visitors.”

  “I was about to tell you the same thing,” said the man as he casually walked past Quillon toward the desk.

  “I’m supposed to be here,” said Quillon. “I’m with security for the party.”

  “So I guessed,” said the man as he switched on a lamp on the desk. “The uniform gave it away.”

  During Quillon's short time in security, he never really dealt with any problem people. Most of the people he talked to politely responded to his instruction without questions. He was not sure how best to handle this situation. He thought back to some of his training videos. Almost without thinking, he said, “I’m sorry, sir, but this room is closed. If you don’t leave, you will force me to call someone.”

  “My name is Professor Ian Georges. I’m a regent of this foundation. In fact, that party out there is in my honor. I just released a new book on the study of Haiku from the 15th to 19th century.” Georges paused, studied Quillon, and decided that he had no idea what he was talking about. “I got bored and wanted to get away. This is our research library, and I want to spend a little time here. So, if you don’t mind,” said Georges, pointing to the door.

  “I can’t leave,” said Quillon, startled at the man’s request. “I’ll get in trouble.”

  “I’ll cover for you with your boss. You can go home for all I care. Tell me your name.”

  “Quillon.”

  There was a brief pause, followed by a laugh that took Quillon by surprise. He worried the Professor was going to turn into one of those problem drunks. He was relieved when the laughter ended in a smile.

  “Quillon, that’s quite a coincidence,” said Georges, still smiling.

  “I don’t understand,” said Quillon, still not sure how to handle the smiling man.

  “Tell me, Quillon, why were you looking at that box?”

  “It reminds me of a puzzle box,” said Quillon, glancing back at the box. “They were a hobby of mine for a while when I was younger.”

  “You’re correct, Quillon. It is very special. One of a kind. A handful of people have seen it.”

  Georges’ repeated use of his name was bothering Quillon.

  “It looks like some of the Japanese ones I had, but I can’t figure out what style it is. My guess would be a maze or sliding.”

  “You know your puzzle boxes, Quillon. I’m a fan of many of Japan’s finer arts. My passion is the Haiku. Like you, I’m also a fan of puzzle boxes. I have in my collection what many believed to be one of the oldest known working puzzle boxes. It’s from 1800s and comes from the Hakone region. This one is much older than that. In fact, we do not know how old it is, or how it works. It doesn’t appear to be wood, and the symbols and patterns do not match any I recognize.”

  “Why d
o you keep repeating my name? Do think it’s funny or something?”

  “No Quillon, nothing like that,” Georges, his hand slightly pointing toward the box. “I just think it’s amusing that someone named Quillon would be attracted to a Quillon dagger.”

  “What dagger?” asked Quillon, as he adjusted the volume of the radio clipped to his belt to make sure it was on.

  “That’s the interesting part, Quillon. We never figured out how to open the box, but thanks to modern technology, we peeked inside. Guess what we found?”

  “A dagger,” said Quillon, relieved he was following where the Professor was leading with his tale. He let his hand drop from the radio to his side.

  “Not just any dagger, a Quillon dagger. We can’t date the box, but we can date the dagger.”

  “That’s interesting, but I think I’m going to take your first suggestion and leave,” said Quillon. He wasn’t sure where he was going to spend the rest of the shift, but he didn’t want to spend it listening to a lecture.

  “That’s fine, but before you leave, why don’t you try opening the box?”

  Quillon looked back at the box in the display case. He hadn’t messed with puzzle boxes since his sister had died. Back then, he just couldn’t find the energy to focus his mind on things for a long time. He walked back to the display case and studied the box.

  “So, just how good are you with puzzle boxes?” asked Georges, as he stepped over to the display case and stood beside Quillon.

  Quillon hadn’t heard the man approach and was a little startled. He looked back at the box and after a few seconds said, “Before I quit, I had a few level 10 boxes.”

  “That’s impressive,” said Georges. “I don’t know how we would rate this one, but if you opened it, you would probably be the first since the 14th century.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I told you we think the box contains a Quillon dagger. Those were very popular in the 14th century. The truth is, the box was lost for some time. Once our Foundation acquired it, the box sat forgotten in our archives until I rediscovered it about 25 years ago. So, I can’t really tell you the last time it was opened. I can tell you I have tried several times and could not open it.”