A Place of Healing

Photo from my trip to Moro Bay, California

A man stands on a cliff, outlooking Buck Hill, a small town in Northern California scattered with hunting cabins. The man, James South, a private detective from LA has driven long and far up North to where pines grow and rain pours, investigating a missing persons case. A sanguine escape from the Hell he spent the last two years fighting in. He breathes deep, gripping a crumpled newspaper covered in notes. South inhales long and hard again, something about this town has unnerved him since his arrival this morning. He didn't used to be this tense, but ever since the war, South has found himself constantly on-edge. The occasional car will pass him, he can hear the boats in the distant harbor, but he has yet to see any actual humans. Unsure if it's the cold or something else, a shiver runs down his body.  A boat horn wails through the air. South wipes his forehead with the back of a leather glove and shoves the newspaper in his trench coat pocket. He turns from the cliff face and makes his way down a gravel path towards the only gas station he had seen for miles. He finds a payphone, rusted from years in the fog. Dialing the numbers scrawled on the back of the newspaper, he waits for an answer from the other side. 

“Hello?” A nervous voice crackles through.

“Norman Wells, this is detective South, I made it to Buck Hill -”

“Oh that’s just great Detective South!” Says Norman, cutting off South from excitement or nerves. “Have you made it to the sanctuary yet? I told you they must know something about her… It was the last place she was seen…” Norman trails off, South can hear him starting to hyperventilate. What a wreck South thinks, growing impatient.

“You said you gave me all the information you could but look, I have not seen one person here yet, I’m starting to think this case might be a lot harder than I thought. Solving a case in LA is one thing, when you’re practically living on top of your neighbor it’s easy to notice when they go missing. Your wife... You said she’s been at this hospital- I mean sanctuary for nine months. Did she have any friends here?”

“Detective South I told you everything I can! I sent Celeste to Buck Hill months ago so she could clear her mind. She was… unwell. I haven’t heard from her since. They don’t allow visitors. Please, just help me find my Celeste…Remember the reward money I promised you…” The phone clicks. 

“Hello? Norman?” South shoves the phone back onto the hook and storms out of the booth, ripping the newspaper from his pocket as he pauses to examine his notes. This might be the most ridiculous case I’ve taken on, Norman couldn't even give me a picture of his wife, Damnit! He breathes deep and unclenches his jaw. Anything for justice. He rolls his eyes.  Anything for money.

  Rolling up to massive iron gates, the thick fog obscures the sign above, but South can just barely make it out, “Buck Hill Sanctum A Place of Healing”. South gets out of his car, making sure to park it facing the road, just in case… he thinks to himself, still on edge about the mysterious town. As he approaches the gate, he notices the latch has rusted together. It looks as if the doors had not been opened in years; now, it would be impossible. A breeze chills him to his bone, windchimes ring in the distance, and just beyond the fog on the other side of the gate, a lanky figure appears. South reaches into his coat and clutches the revolver at his waist, ready for the worst. As the figure sways towards him, he notices its unusual silhouette. South realizes it must be a nun, her garment giving her the illusion of appearing as a phantom as it blows in the wind.

“Hello-” South chokes on the fog, he coughs, losing focus on the nun. Regaining his composure, he squints, the nun is right in front of him. A tall nun. A very tall nun wearing a gas mask. “Excuse me, Sister, I’m James South, hired by Norman Wells to find- Er, perform a wellness check on Celeste Wells.” Great. Way to blow your cover.

“I would appreciate it if you would be upfront and blunt with us here at Buck Hill Sanctum Mr. South” Her voice strains at the word “sanctum”. “We face enough hardship here, we don’t need dishonesty within our gates.” The mask gasps. 

“Sorry, Sister. Mr. Wells has asked me to find his wife and ensure her safe return to home. If you could show me in the right direction-”

“I know why you're actually here” she hisses. The mask wheezes as she inhales sharply, “You’re a government worker. The last thing our Buck Hill needs is another investigation. The press will disturb our oasis. People come here for peace and healing. An escape from the horrid,” She shudders, “Horrid world America has become.”

South sighs and looks back at his car, ready to find another way in but the sudden wail of distant alarm makes him jump. The nun gasps. She unlocks the rusted gate with ease and practically drags him inside. Before he has time to compose himself, the nun has ushered him up the path, through the fog, and through arching, dark, wood doors. He can just barely hear the siren through the thick stone walls that make up a chapel. 

“What the hell was that? Air raid sirens?” The nun ignores him as he follows her through another set of doors down a long corridor. To South’s surprise there are other people frantically running alongside them, but they don’t look like humans, not with their white gowns and gas masks. What is going on here?

Determined to find Celeste and leave Buck Hill behind, South takes a deep breath as his eyes adjust to the dark. They ended up in a candlelit basement, South assumes it’s under the chapel as it is massive. People are huddled with their heads down, prayer whispers through the crowd. This is how it always goes, sirens, panic, no bombs. Yet everyone acts the same expecting the same thing every single time. However, someone catches his eye, a figure at the very edge of the candle light, he can just barely make out what they’re doing. He inches towards them, careful to avoid the nuns’ gaze but she is deep in prayer, her hands clenched around a rosary, trembling. This person was stacking boxes underneath what South could now see were cellar doors. The person returns holding another box, they almost drop it out of shock when they see South staring at them.

“Shh- I’m not gonna say anything, I need help. I’m looking for someone.” South looks up at the cellar door, light trickles through, he realizes it leads outside. “Are you trying to escape? I can help you if you help me.” The person pauses then slowly nods, pulling South deeper into the shadows. He hears them slide off their mask, barely making out a pale face framed by long pitch hair. A woman He leans in closer. An Asian woman. South recalls the removal of Asian-Americans, specifically Japanese people from their homes as they were rounded up in those internment camps as the war progressed. He looks down at her hand as she pulls it away from his arm. A wedding ring. A small feeling, intuition, creeps into South’s mind. No, it couldn't be…

“You’re looking for me. I am Celeste, but you can’t bring me back to my husband. I won’t go with you.” She raises her chin, as if to challenge him.

“I can’t help you if you’re not going back to Norman. He paid me to find you and bring you to him.” 

“Did you fight?” She leans in close, right in his ear, yet again the question sounds more like a challenge than an inquiry. 

“Yes. On the Eastern front. Why do you want to know.”

The woman drops her head and sighs. “What are your chances of helping me escape if I can’t offer you anything? Do not lie to me. I cannot handle dishonesty anymore. Not from someone like you.” She spits.

South nods, he may not know what she feels but he can understand why she wouldn’t trust an American soldier. “Why can’t you go back to Norman? Did he send you away to keep you safe?” Someone shushes them, they hold their breath, waiting for the hiss of a gas mask. Nothing happens. 

“I guess you could say he had the mercy to send me away to somewhere that’s not… a camp… but my family. He watched as they came and took them away. He had the money to protect all of us, but he doesn’t care about me. He just needs a wife, not a family.”

It all clicks. Of course Celeste wasn’t writing him. She was trying to disappear. Celeste gets up and starts stacking the boxes again, climbing on top and carefully unlatching the doors. South clenches the paper in his pocket, thinking of the money promised to him. I can’t stop her. Why am I not stopping her? Celeste heaves herself up, kicking as she struggles. I could do something right now, I could grab her. I could help her. South does not move, he stays there, crouching, breathing deep as Celeste disappears, fog pours in after she shuts the doors, someone coughs and the nun hushes them. The siren cuts through once again, snapping South back into reality. Am I weak? Was that weakness? He looks down at the beams of light pouring through the cracks, illuminating Celeste’s gas mask lying on the floor. A shiver runs down his spine, chilling him to his bones. He breathes deep, choking on the dust and fog, a coughing fit engulfs him. He wheezes, staggering and gasping for air when a hand catches him, the nun. She scoops the gas mask off the floor and offers it to South, fighting for air he has no choice but to put it on, desperately sucking in stale air, breathing deep, and at a loss for words. 

The End.

This was my final project for English 207, my professor gave us free rein as long as it related to the topic of our course, detective fiction. Shout out professor Todd DeStigter who introduced me to detective fiction and helped me fall in love with it, Silent Hill which heavily influenced the setting and and atmosphere, and Sophie Matonis (Scary Fingers) for editing this story. I have not written fiction in a long time so this is all still a work in progress and I hope to publish more of my work soon.