Baby Talk, Book 3: The Exorcism

By Mike Wells

It’s been six months since Neal Becker was convicted of the murder of his mother-in-law. He’s been committed to the Central State Psychiatric Hospital for life.

Meanwhile, ‘poor, innocent’ Baby Natasha is in the custody of Susan Matlow, the compassionate nurse who helped ‘rescue’ her from her criminally insane father.

Neal knows what his daughter is. And he knows he only has one chance to stop her from causing more death and destruction.

He has to break out of the asylum, avoid the intensive statewide manhunt, track down Natasha, kidnap her...

...and take her to an exorcist.

Readers of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub, as well as fans of Twilight Zone, will enjoy this twisty, fast-paced story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Wells
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018

Mike Wells

Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

Book preview

Chapter One

Baby Carriage

The Central State Psychiatric Hospital, located in Milledgeville, Georgia, is a grim, unnerving place.

The decaying cluster of antebellum buildings is so old that General Sherman’s troops once camped among them during the Civil War. The mere sight of the facility prompts images of lobotomized patients shuffling aimlessly down institutional green corridors, with the blood-curdling screams of those in straightjackets echoing in the background.

At its peak during the 1950’s, Central State housed over two thousand patients. Nearly a thousand electroshock treatments were performed each week.

Today, most of the older buildings are boarded up and abandoned, with others rotting and covered with vines. The hospital now only houses a couple of hundred forensic patients, the clinical term for the criminally insane.

Neal Becker was one of those patients.

On this particular morning, Neal sat slumped on an uncomfortable metal folding chair on a loading dock that hadn’t actually been used since President Nixon was in office. The crumbling concrete platform served as a kind of back porch and smoking area for the staff.

With his mouth partially open and a string of drool dangling from his lower lip, he stared absently out across the grass.

Mistuh Becker, you gots to eat your breakfast, the orderly was saying, holding a spoon near his mouth.

The disgusting green glob on the end of the spoon was actually baby food. The irony of this was not lost on Neal.

You don’t wanna make us force-feed you again, do you, Mistuh Becker?

Neal didn’t respond. He continued to stare into space, careful not to move a muscle or show any reaction whatsoever.

Why do you think that zombie understands a goddam thing you say? Willard muttered. He was a pot-bellied security guard with the face of a weasel, and a personality to match.

He understands some, Tyler said defensively.

Yeah, I’ll bet. Willard stepped down off the loading dock to make his rounds.

The truth was, Neal Becker understood every word.

The idea of faking a catatonic state, and being sent to a low security mental hospital, had come to him when the court was about to ship him off to a brand new, ultra-high security supermax type facility, a place where the most violent and dangerous murderers were held. The day before he was due to be transferred, Neal picked a fight with one of the guards who was in charge of transporting him. He had purposefully let the guard slam his head into a concrete wall.

He began the catatonic routine the moment he regained consciousness. Uncle Perry, his mother’s brother, had been thrown through the windshield of a car and, due to brain damage, had remained in a catatonic state for years. Neal had spent enough time around Uncle Perry to believe he could fake it.

For two long weeks, he had been subjected to numerous CAT scans and examinations by physicians. No actual brain damage was detected, so naturally, they were suspicious. Neal used every morsel of his willpower to keep up the Uncle Perry act regardless of what tests they performed. Finally, the shrink with decision-making authority concluded that the trauma of the concussion had caused Neal’s conscious mind to fold in on itself, unable to cope with the reality of the horrific way he had treated his baby daughter.

And, they’d re-assigned him to Central State.

"Mistuh Becker, please open your mouth, Tyler said. I’m givin’ you one last chance ’fore we have to ram another tube down your throat. You didn’t like that one bit, sir..."

Eventually, Neal let his jaw slacken enough for the spoon to be inserted between his lips. When he was first sent here, he had refused to eat for five days, just to be convincing, and he didn’t want to go through that again.

As he slowly swallowed the disgusting glob of baby food, his mind seemed remarkably clear, clearer than it had been in months, especially during the murder trial. During that awful time, he had experienced periods of utter confusion. At some points he actually believed what the prosecutor was telling the jury, that he had killed his mother-in-law with rat poison, and that all the unthinkable things that he’d seen his little Natasha do had been nothing but the bizarre hallucinations of a madman.

He was no longer confused.

As he swallowed another disgusting spoonful of the baby food, his eyes focused on the fence in the distance, and the coil of razor wire that snaked along the top.

All he had to do was wait.

Soon, the staff would think of him as little more than a piece of furniture—they would believe that the biggest threat he posed was someone tripping over him.

That’s when he would make his move.

Chapter Two

Atlanta, Georgia

Two Months Later

A re we weady to go for our walk? Susan Matlow cooed. She gently guided one of Natasha’s little arms into the small pink jacket.

It made the child look so adorable.

The weather may be chilly out there by the lake, thweetie so we have to get you aaaaall bundled up so you’ll be toasty-warm!

Natasha was seated on the edge of the bed, her small legs sticking straight out. She remained expressionless as Susan finished dressing her, or at least that’s how she appeared. Susan did not notice the minute flicker of distaste that crossed her small face at the word thweetie.

Fastening the little buttons on Natasha’s coat was awkward. Due to her hand injury, Susan was still not accustomed to performing certain tasks. She continued to go to physical therapy twice a week, taking Natasha with her. Her entire pinky finger was missing, along with half of her ring finger. They had been sliced off and chopped into fine pieces when little Natasha had kicked the switch that turned on the garbage disposal.

Of course, Susan could never blame a baby for such a thing—the child hadn’t any idea what she was doing. She was just happily kicking her legs, like all little ones do. In her mind, all children were innocent souls, at least up to the age of puberty. Susan was a pediatric nurse, or at least had been before that accident—now she was a full-time mom and housewife, collecting disability.

Natasha seemed lethargic today, the same way she acted after a vaccination. Susan hoped she wasn’t coming down with something.

"Aren’t you excited about going to Piedmont Park, to the lake? Susan said, as she put on the child’s shoes. They had hook-and-loop fasteners and were much easier for her fingers to deal with. We’ll see the trees, and all the other children, and the ducks. You can feed the ducks!"

Susan reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic bag with a few stale pieces of bread, and raised it in the air. "See? We’re going to feed the ducks!"

The baby’s eyes finally brightened at the sight of the bread, and she grinned. Gaaaaaaa! Duhh. Duhh.

Natasha was trying to say duck. For an eleven-month-old baby, her speech and fine motor skills were far advanced for her age. She could already clearly say apple, bird, moon, go, and mama, and a few other words.

Susan picked Natasha up in her arms, along with Miss Allison, a rag doll with yellow hair and rosy cheeks, and headed to the steps that led to the lower level of their small house.

Hold Miss Allison tight! Susan said, as she hugged Natasha. She grabbed hold of the railing and carefully took the first step. Her balance had never been great. She had always harbored a deep fear of falling down a flight of steps and breaking her neck, so she was extra careful whenever she carried Natasha down a staircase.

With that thought, Natasha let go of Miss Allison and the doll went tumbling down the stairway, all the way to the bottom.

Bagada! Natasha said, laughing and motioning with her hand.

Susan frowned. You mustn’t laugh, honey. Stairs are dangerous—Miss Allison could have hurt herself.

Natasha looked bothered by this, her mouth slightly open. She only had two teeth that were visible, the lower central incisors.

But I’m sure Miss Allison’s okay, Susan said quickly, and she made her way down to the landing. Straining, she picked up the doll. I’m okay! Susan said, in Miss Allison’s high, little girl voice.

Natasha smiled at this and hugged the doll to her chest.

Susan finished preparing to go for their daily walk at Piedmont Park—there was so much to remember when you took a baby out! She felt excited, too, but not about feeding the ducks.

Her excitement was of an entirely different variety, one that made her face flush, her heart beat faster, and created a little moisture between her legs.

Dr. Rayson happened to live right across from Piedmont Park. She would be meeting him for some fun and games when he came home from the hospital for lunch. He had a sexual kink that she didn’t mind fulfilling, not after all he’d done for her and Natasha. Since she was a licensed nurse and had done the procedures on a daily basis at the hospital, it was more or less routine for her.

With Natasha in her arms, Susan opened the door of the front closet to pick up the needed equipment. At the very back of the top shelf, hidden behind a pile of hats, scarves, and gloves, was a medical bag. She normally kept it in the trunk of her car, but in between visits to Dr. Rayson’s apartment, she had to sterilize the instruments. She’d done that yesterday, while Harlan, her husband, was at work, but Natasha had been difficult yesterday after her afternoon nap, and Susan had forgotten to take the bag back out to the car before he came home. Harlan rarely opened the front closet door because he was too lazy to actually hang up his coat, if he wore one, which he usually just tossed onto a chair.

During the drive over to Piedmont Park, Susan kept glancing at Natasha through the special baby mirror she’d bought that allowed her to see into the back seat. She smiled and talked and cooed to the sweet little child, nonstop.

Natasha was so cute! Her blonde hair was still fairly short and naturally formed a kind of pageboy style, tightly framing her small face. Since she was often mistaken for a little boy, Susan always pulled her hair up into a short topknot, and it splayed out in all directions. So adorable!

Susan could hardly believe it. Natasha was her baby now! Her baby! Although the custody papers were only signed over a month ago, it still seemed like a dream.

Fortunately, the kindhearted Dr. Rayson had been able to pull some strings with Child Services and the court, and had fast-tracked the case. It was Susan, after all, who had rescued the baby from her criminally insane father, a violent nutcase who very likely would have killed her if Susan had arrived at the apartment even a minute later. The judge had taken this into consideration when Susan petitioned for custody, thank goodness, and now Natasha had a wonderful mother and home.

The poor little thing had to have had the worst luck of any baby in the world, Susan thought, glancing into the baby mirror again. First, to be born with an abusive father who completely lost his mind, who put crushed up sleeping tablets in her formula, and who taped her up inside a dishwasher—the very thought made Susan shudder. And a moron of a mother who left her in the car, with the motor running, while buying a few things in a convenience store. Could anyone be more brainless?

Susan often thought that aspiring parents should be required to pass an exam to show that they knew how to care for children. Wouldn’t that cut down on all the violence in the world, if all kids were raised by people who at least knew the basics of good parenting?

In addition to the bad luck with her biological parents, poor Natasha was placed in a natal foster care facility after her father was sent to prison. A week later, it almost burned to the ground! The fire had been caused by one of the nurses who worked there. The idiot (they came in such variety these days!) tossed her sweater on a shelf at the nurses station, directly over a desk lamp. One sleeve of the sweater had dangled down and come into contact with the light bulb, and after a few minutes, burst into flame. The blaze quickly spread to the file cabinets, which were of course filled with paper, and then to the nursery. Five sleeping babies would have lost their lives if not for an alert postman who happened to be delivering mail and smelled the smoke.

Fortunately, little Natasha had never been in much danger, because she’d had a doctor’s appointment that morning and the same idiot nurse who had started the fire had carried her to the other side of the building, where she was to receive a scheduled vaccination. In fact, this dumb nurse had set Natasha down on the desk at the nurses station to fill out the form just before the fire had started.

It was still a close call, and such terrible luck for the poor child!

With a glistening tear in her eye, Susan looked in the baby mirror again and smiled at Natasha. She swore to herself once again that she would be the most loving, attentive mother that any child could possibly have.

Chapter Three

When they arrived at Piedmont Park, Susan strapped Natasha into the stroller and they went on their usual stroll around the lake. To help the baby learn new words, Susan constantly pointed out things and repeated their names several times. "See the fountain , Natasha! Isn’t the fountain beautiful? Don’t you love the fountain ?"

Gaaaa, Natasha would say, enthusiastically kicking her little feet.

They had a quick lunch on the patio of the Park Tavern with a couple of nannies and other mothers Susan had gotten to know, along with their babies, and then she and Natasha made the short drive over to Dr. Rayson’s place.

On the way, she found herself becoming aroused again. Okay, maybe the doctor’s fetishes turned her on more than she liked to admit. But the main reason she indulged them was because in the long-term, she hoped he would ask her to divorce Harlan and marry him. Harlan was such a dull, plain vanilla kind of man, a blue-collar worker, and Dr. Rayson was well educated, classy and generally an amazing human being—in Susan’s eyes, the man could practically walk on water.

And he was rich.

Dr. Rayson lived in the prestigious Ansley Park area of Atlanta. The in-town, posh residential area was just west of Piedmont Park and was filled with mansions that reeked of Old Money. Dr. Rayson owned a luxurious, one hundred and fifty year old antebellum home, complete with Greek columns lining the front porch. Remodeled from top to bottom on the inside, the elegant house was outfitted with sleek, modern furniture befitting a highly successful bachelor. From the upstairs windows, there was a spectacular view of Piedmont Park and the skyscrapers of downtown Atlanta.

One of the most stunning features was a flying staircase which curved down from the second floor and gracefully descended into the elegant foyer. The staircase was original to the house and had no points of support between the beginning and end—Susan could easily see Scarlett O’Hara floating down the stairs in one of those ruffled, off-the-shoulder dresses, the banisters just wide enough to accommodate her hoop skirt.

Susan liked the masculine way that the inside of the house smelled, a mixture of wood and leather. The interior was a bit cold for her taste, though. She already had plenty of ideas about how she would warm the place up after she became Mrs. Susan Rayson, adding the right feminine touches. But this scheme had to come about very slowly and carefully—Child Services was still monitoring the custody process, making scheduled visits to her and Harlan’s home.

She quickly fed Natasha her formula and then created a makeshift sleeping area for the baby on the thickly carpeted floor. To keep Natasha safe, she arranged four heavy sofa cushions in a square around a fifth cushion, on which the baby lay, bundled up in her blanket, hugging Miss Allison and sucking on her pacifier.

Are you comfortable, my wittle pumpkin?

Natasha gazed up, her eyelids already sinking shut.

Susan glanced at her phone to check the time. She knew Dr. Rayson would be here in a few minutes, because he always confirmed their session, as he referred to it, via text message. This morning, he had simply written Are we on?

Smiling wickedly, Susan had tapped out an enticing reply, according to his instructions—he wanted her in role when she responded because it was more exciting for him.

Susan picked up the medical bag. In addition to the actual needed equipment, it contained a nurse’s uniform and a few other garments and accessories for their role-play—a black garter belt, nylon stockings, and black, four-inch high heels. Dr. Rayson had supplied the shoes himself.

About the time she was slipping