The Odd Deaths Of Lance and Bink

On a particularly cold evening in May, as the sun sunk low in the sky, blazing its last colors as a goodbye, Detective Paris Lance received a very strange phone call that prompted an investigation. Currently, the evidence of this investigation resides in an archived case file, that can be found in a bent in and dust covered filing cabinet, in an underground library, that no one has been able to turn up since the four above ground floors of the library were entirely demolished and forgotten. The officers and individuals involved in the investigation found that what they uncovered had disturbed them so permanently, they would have preferred it if it never came to light at all. How, or why, this investigation was abandoned was never understood, but researchers say that it might have something to do with an old VHS tape, one of the last remaining in the world, dating back sometime in ___. It was believed that all VHS tapes were demolished by this time, so it took the Nation’s top technological scientists and museum experts to piece together a working VHS player, without damaging the tape. 

When the tape rolled, though its contents were unnerving, it provided little closure for the watchers who had hoped to add some clarity to the case that had come to be called “Hush 1404”. It was the face of the head of the investigation, Detective Lance, who sat alone in what appeared to be his study, the room in a looming shadow, the only light, the small desk lamp, that highlighted the beads of sweat he wiped off his face. Lance’s hands shook, and his eyes were perpetually baggy. It was hard to understand what Lance was saying, the tape static, and scratchy. “This is Detective Lance of the _____ Police Department. I’ve been leading the investigation on the events at _____. Against the advice and warnings of the State, I have pressed this investigation and put officers under my jurisdiction in danger, and I take full responsibility for the impact and severity this investigation hit them with. 

“Please, forgive me, for what I’ve done and what I’m about to say. I’m…officially closing the investigation. The remaining officers are released. This case has gone cold, and will be sealed permanently, I will not authorize the reopening of this case. Effective immediately. Anyone who continues with this case will no longer be assisted by the ___ Police Department, and will therefore be breaking the law, and tampering with police mandation.” 

The video ended, and Lance rubbed his eyes, a hefty sigh escaping him slowly, before he sat back in his chair, and looked at something past the camera. “It’s okay. I know it’s you.” The shadows seemed to shift around him, and his eyes followed the unseen inhabitant, a sad smile curling his lip. “I’m afraid, I am afraid.” 

And the dark swallowed the screen as the sound of something breaking ripped the speakers for only a moment, before the tape ran out, and there was nothing but fizzy static. 

The researchers uncovered a truth about this tape, through a page 4 article in an old newspaper, that highlighted how Lance was found dead the next morning, a lit cigarette between his teeth. There was no determined cause of death, no evidence of foul play or of heart attack. He simply stopped. Whether the researchers knew it or not, this would stick in their heads, and haunt their deepest dreams, and at times, leave them lying awake questioning the odd feeling that built up in their throat.  

A little over a month before Lance had died, meaning, a little over a month before the tape was made, Lance journeyed to the ____ State Institution For the Clinically Insane. He was ushered awkwardly along some corridors, and down an elevator, carrying a bouquet of sad flowers that were already beginning to wilt. The man, doctor, janitor, whoever he was in this place, asked him if he remembered the rules. Lance said he did, but the man repeated them at him anyway, telling him he wasn’t to touch the glass, stay so far away, don’t share too personal information, etc etc. Lance just nodded along, getting deja vu from the last time he was here a year or so ago. 

It had been easier then. It had been Lieutenant Bink’s first week there, and their conversation was easy, Bink had been placed in solitary for only the second day, under the impression it was his turn in rotation and observation. He’d stretched out on his bed, cracking ill timed jokes and asking Lance about his dog, who had been a favorite of Bink’s, the terrier exceedingly friendly.

 Now, Bink sat curled like a ball on his bed, hands rubbed raw, gripping his ankles. His face was a mix of permanent terror and paranoia. When Lance entered, the room seemed darker, more sinister, as Bink’s once laughing eyes looked too dark and sunken in, and they followed him wordlessly as Lance sat down in the folding chair on his side of the glass. 

The glass was a wall, it separated the two sides of the room. There was a line of tape on the floor, and as Lance saw that the edge of the chair leg crossed it, he scooted the chair back an inch or so. “Good morning, Bink.” 

Bink said nothing. His eyes just poured into Lance. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in a while. I wanted to but your doctor suggested that you’d prefer I didn’t, considering…I’ve continued with my work.” 

Now Bink spoke. Harsh whispers, that broke in and out. “I asked you to stop.”  It wasn’t a demand, or a scold, but a plea. 

“I can’t do that, Bink. You know, we both know. It's done terrible things to you, and that’s my fault, I should never have…but. What it has done to you, you understand I have to keep going now more than ever, I have to know why. I don’t want to discuss it, I was told not to. But you deserve to know.”

“You scooted your chair back. I noticed, Lance, I noticed.”

“I’m just following the rules, they’re what's best.” 

“Do you remember the last time you were here?” Bink slid off the bed, and paced wildly around the room. 

“I do…”

“You were wearing black slacks with your mother’s favorite tie over that dress shirt you hated, and you touched the glass and asked me not to kill you which was funny and we both laughed but now you scoot your chair back, it’s what’s best, it’s what’s best.”

“Bink…” Lance was getting nervous. 

“Touch the glass then scoot the chair back. Tell me I’m your favorite lieutenant, ‘you’re only twenty three, they’ll promote you after this case’, no promotions, no more promotions, Lance, they brought me here instead, after a case you assigned me on cause I was bright.”

“Bently, come on. I’m using your first name. Please, calm down.” 

Bink stopped pacing to stare at Lance, who had, unconsciously, scooted his chair back further, in defense. “Are you afraid, Lance?”

“No-Bink-”

“You are afraid, look at you. You scooted it back now, two times!” He held up his fingers in a peace sign. “Two. Times. You said they’d promote me because I was very bright, but I wasn't very bright because I got scared and they send scared people to places where the scary things can’t get them so I guess I wasn’t very bright, but I’m over here and you’re over there and you’re scared, you scooted your chair back and you’re scared, so neither of us are getting promoted.” 

“They didn’t send you here because you got scared.” Lance’s voice came out quiet, and slow.

“No you’re right. They didn’t send me here because I got scared, they sent me here because I got scared and couldn’t stop being scared, and I did things that you’re not supposed to do when you get scared. All because you said I was bright, but now I’m scared so I must not be very bright since I got scared and did things that you’re not supposed to do when you’re scared.” 

“You were screaming, Bink. You shot someone.” Lance’s voice was soft, he knew he would feel guilty when he saw Bink, but he didn’t anticipate the overwhelming urge to let gravity pull him through the floor until he didn’t exist at all. 

It was true though. After Bink was sent to assess part of the assignment by himself, and was going quite well, something changed. Bink was institutionalized temporarily, a week of confinement, and seemed to be getting better. They released him back into civilization. After about two months, Bink dropped all contact with his fellow officers and was found by Lance, in his house, gun in hand, screaming, crying at walls, every light in the house on, constantly. He threatened unseen entities, screaming for them to leave them alone, that he knew who they were, despite Lance’s efforts to assure him that he was alone. Bink was forcibly removed from the house and entered into an institution over the next few days, where he refused to discuss the events of the case, and had violently aggressive episodes when asked questions about the investigation. He began to disassociate and have frequent schizophrenic episodes, followed by days without speaking or moving. 

It was later determined that while on the case, where Bink investigated an abandoned church’s basement, alone, he encountered a carbon monoxide leak that was escaping from a small furnace, undetected. Bink’s nerves were already shot, and Lance had warned him not to let it get the better of him. The gas leak caused Bink to have fear induced hallucinations, ringing in his ears, and he sent seventeen S.O.S. distress messages on their pagers before he was rescued, half alive, and having screamed himself dry. 

Two days after Lance’s second visit, Bink was reported to have died from lack of sleep and self starvation. The haunting thing, however, was not the cause of death. Rather, the frozen open mouth scream on Bink’s face.