Haunted Secrets: Tales of Frank Benedict Vol. 2

Angel of Death

Essex Gardens had suffered one of the worst public relations nightmares in history. The once-lauded retirement community near Stamford, Connecticut, was meant to be an assisted living facility for the elderly with round-the-clock medical care, high-quality facilities, and a caring staff.

Its ads tugged at people's heartstrings and were meant to assure you that your elderly loved one would not just be looked after but have fun and feel accepted. They would make friends, engage in activities, and be cared for non-stop.

In many ways, all of this was true. The Essex Gardens facility was very clean and advanced, and it offered a lot of great perks for residents. Most of the staff was incredibly courteous, skilled, and well-liked. There was even a James Beard Award-winning chef who managed the dietary restrictions of the residents while ensuring the food was still delicious.

There was a reason, however, for the saying about one bad apple spoiling the bunch. In the case of Essex Gardens, the bad apple was devastating.

Dr. Gregory Pasternak had been accused of murder. It's a cold, hard, fact that many people die in retirement homes. These facilities exist with everyone fully aware that, for most residents, this will be the last place they would live in. Death is inevitable and expected. Dr. Pasternak took advantage of that reality to his end.

The story made international headlines after the county coroner noticed a pattern. Dr. Pasternak’s patients tended to die with a greater regularity than those overseen by other doctors. Dr. Pasternak was also signing off on a lot of cremation certificates that he needed another doctor to cosign for.

An investigation began while Pasternak was still working at the facility. The police were involved, as it seemed there was evidence Pasternak might have been behind the deaths of as many as fifty patients over the past seven years.

Amazingly, the police concluded that there was not enough evidence to charge Pasternak with a crime. Given that all the bodies had been cremated, no formal complaints had been made, and they could pinpoint no motive, they could make nothing stick. This was when things went wrong for Pasternak.

Either because he had grown extremely smug or because his madness was just so profound, Pasternak continued killing patients. Three more died under his care in the next two months.

Because the coroner had already had suspicions from the first investigation, the new patients who died were investigated more thoroughly. While Pasternak had signed off their death certificates, listing a cause that fit the symptoms, the coroner dug a little deeper.

Toxicology tests determined that each of the new victims had diamorphine in their bodies. One victim’s cause of death was listed as cancer, one as cardiac arrest, and one was chalked up to old age. The administration of a serious painkiller, in large doses, was too much to overlook.

Dr. Pasternak claimed that he had not administered a fatal dose of drugs to any of the patients, but he was the last person to see them alive, and he was the person who signed off on their cause of death.

After the police arrested him, the story became even more sensational when he made his first public statement with his lawyer outside of the police station. Right on the steps, with cameras in his face and microphones lined up, Dr. Gregory Pasternak claimed innocence and put the blame on someone else inside Essex Gardens. He claimed a ghost had done it.

The press had a field day with his statement, and pundits on various news shows argued the merits of his apparent attempt to lay the groundwork for an insanity defense.

No one believed him, but no one could understand why he had said it in the first place. Some questioned his lawyer, some questioned him, and some speculated he was trying to set the stage for a mistrial or another technicality to get himself off while making the whole thing into a callous circus.

Frank Benedict thought there was some merit to what the man said. He'd had an experience with a ghost who had doled out its perverse form of mercy by killing hospital patients.

Frank didn't necessarily think Dr. Pasternak was innocent. He had signed the death certificates and rushed the bodies through cremation, and regardless of whether he committed the murders or not, he had to have been complicit. He said he knew a ghost did it, and he could not have known that unless he’d seen it. To only come out with it after the fact suggested some level of involvement.

The issue was that, if Pasternak was telling the truth, someone else was also responsible. No one would look into it, and really, no one could. The police were not going to arrest a ghost at a retirement home.

But even if Pasternak was convicted and sent to prison, there could still be a ghost at the facility. Maybe it would not kill any of the patients on its own, but maybe it would. Maybe it would rope in another doctor. Frank had to find out for sure.

Despite the terrible blow the story had struck, the facility didn't close. Numerous residents had been on a waiting list for years to get inside. The cost was high, reflecting the perceived value. For many, there was no alternative.

No one wanted to be put on a waiting list somewhere else, and there was nowhere to go in the interim. The average family was not able to care for its elderly relative in their home. The doctor had been arrested, and that was reassurance enough for many that the facility was now safe.

The news also affected the staff, though. Some people did not want to be associated with an elder-care facility that was full of ghosts and murderers. It was a blight on the resume of most, especially those who were new to the field and felt they couldn’t use the place as a reference or rely on the experience to get them ahead. A lot of people quit, and that left openings.

“Mr. Benedict,” a woman in a business suit said, entering the lobby only minutes after Frank checked in at reception. She was taller than him and looked very serious, but sounded friendly enough as she extended her hand.

“Mrs. Albright?” he replied.

“Yes, call me Carol. A pleasure to meet you. So, you’re looking for a placement on our nursing staff?”

“Yes. I was a military medic for years and have been looking for something closer to home,” he lied.

Frank would have preferred to tell the truth, but he was fairly certain no one at the facility would allow him to search for a murderous ghost. If anything, they would be desperate to put the bad news behind them and pretend like nothing had happened.

“Well, our head of human resources is just finishing up with some meetings, but while we wait for her, let me show you around.”

Mrs. Albright walked Frank through the facility, showing off common areas where residents were doing crafts, watching television, playing cards, and socializing. She took him through some of the outdoor areas, physical therapy rooms, a spa, a dining room, and patient rooms.

She rattled off statistics about how many residents called the facility home, how successful it was in treating various conditions, feedback from residents on happiness and satisfaction, and everything Frank would have expected her to tell him. Naturally, she did not mention a word about what had happened, even though it was still in the news.

The fact that she was the facility’s administrator and had taken the time to give him a personal tour meant that the situation was probably more dire than Frank first thought. They were desperate for staff, and she was trying to sell the place to him, rather than the other way around.

By the time Frank met with HR for his interview, Mrs. Albright seemed sold on him. He had already forwarded his resume, and the interview, which Mrs. Albright sat in on, was one of the most softball experiences he'd ever been through. They offered him the job within a half-hour.

Frank arrived the next day for training. He was shown around by an enthusiastic young man named Barry who gave him a much more in-depth look at how the facility ran.

“Can I ask you something?” Frank asked as they broke for their lunch.

He had been observing the facility closely the entire morning and had seen no sign of a spirit, but that didn’t mean there was nothing to see.

“Pasternak?” Barry asked after lowering his voice and looking around. They were eating in the staff lounge, and only a janitor and a porter were in there with them.

“Yeah. You believe his story?”

Barry took a sip of a Coke through a straw and leaned in closer.

“The ghost stuff? You believe in that?” Barry asked.

“I believe in ghosts, yeah,” Frank replied.

Barry looked around again. Neither of the other men had looked in their direction.

“Me too! Man, you don’t want to talk about that here; trust me. Albright will write you up in a second if she even thinks you might go home and watch the movie Ghostbusters. You don’t talk about that or Pasternak where anyone can hear.”

“Right,” Frank said, eating a sandwich he’d brought from home. “But what do you think?”

“Hell, man, I’ve seen it.”

“You saw… the ghost?” Frank asked. The other man nodded and ate some chips from a bag.

“I’ve seen it, half the nurses have seen it, and I bet you five bucks Albright has, too.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. Likes the patient rooms and the garden the most, but it turns up in hallways, the laundry, you name it. You don’t want to run into it alone, though.”

“Is it dangerous, like Pasternak says?”

“Do I think it’s the real killer, you mean?”