When he got to his feet, two of the orderlies swooped into the room, and each took hold of an arm. As they restrained him and jostled his body, another jolt of searing agony erupted in his sides. Duckworth remained at the door, overseeing proceedings.
‘Don’t try anything, understand?’ he said. Adrian just nodded in response, feeling beaten and broken. ‘Good, now let’s go.’
The other two orderlies pulled him forward, and he followed without resistance. Adrian barely registered the trip back to Ward B, instead lost in his thoughts, struggling with his internal conflict.
Did he really want to remain here at the asylum any longer? Was his need for punishment that great?
Adrian had no idea how it was possible, but he knew in his gut that what he had seen was real, despite Templeton’s assertions to the contrary. And, if Adrian remained here, he knew that he, too, would eventually end up like Malcolm, which was an irony in itself.
He was desperate not to become his father—a monster—and he had come here in the hope of avoiding that fate. And yet that was literally what he could soon become—a monster.
He remembered the sound the creature had made.
That laugh.
Maybe becoming something like that was fitting for him, but he dreaded to think of what his poor mother would have made of that.
Not that she wouldn’t have hated him already, of course.
After Adrian was dragged through the Main Hall, where the workers at their desks barely looked up at him, Adrian was then pushed through into the corridor of his ward and released.
‘Keep your nose clean, inmate,’ Duckworth said to him before the secure door was closed in his face.
With nothing else to do, Adrian ambled back towards his room.
Chapter 16
‘Try to relax,’ Reid said to David Readman, who lay on a stainless-steel table that came up to Reid’s midsection. He was standing at its head so that he could look down at the face of his young patient.
David solemnly nodded, knowing something was going to happen that would change things forever. Reid hadn’t outlined to David what he was planning to do, feeling there was little need in worrying the patient unnecessarily. David had been strapped down with leather restraints across his chest, waist, and legs to ensure he did not try to lash out and make things more difficult than they needed to be.
Reid had postponed the procedure once already and, truth be told, wasn’t exactly feeling like himself today, either, so had considered delaying it again. After all, his plan of using Arlington Asylum as a stepping stone to propel him on to greater things now looked like a miscalculation. He didn’t think he would be allowed to leave this place. Not alive, anyway.
But then again, he had to keep himself occupied, and finally succeeding with this procedure was as good a use of his time as anything.
Two orderlies were present with him in the room, watching Reid as he prepped himself. Normally, he would have paid their presence no mind, but now that he knew they were all wrapped up in the same cult—if that's what it was—it made them more difficult to ignore.
The small room was barely big enough to fit them all in, especially with the table that held David Readman. The walls were bare, and there was a single, barred window on the back wall. Fortunately, the light given by the fitting in the ceiling was generous, and that was important for the procedure Reid was about to carry out.
Come on, concentrate, Reid said to himself. This was important to him, a chance at redemption. Whatever trouble lay ahead with Templeton could wait. He needed to be in the here and now.
Reid turned to the instrument table at his side; it contained only two objects, a mallet and a pick, both made from lightweight metal. He took them both in his hands and turned back to David.
The young boy’s eyes were wide with fear and, for a moment, Reid could have sworn he was looking into the eyes of Elton Breyer, the person he’d tried this on before.
The boy who had died.
‘Everything will be all right,’ Reid said in as comforting a tone as he could muster. He then lifted the pick and brought it slowly down towards the inside corner of David’s eye. For his part, young Mr. Readman was able to hold himself together quite well, despite his obvious worry. And especially considering he had no choice but to watch the sharp point of the spear-like object as it dropped towards his eyeball.
Reid heard the young man give out a whimper, and he felt the pick make contact. Reid then raised the mallet and braced himself.
This was it.
‘Please,’ David begged. ‘Don’t.’
Reid dropped the hammer and felt the pick slide into the socket with a faint squelch. Another tap and it dropped down farther. He noticed the eyeball bulge slightly in its pit, the same as had happened with Elton.
Tap, tap, tap.
The pick burrowed in deeper, and David began to convulse, but the restraints held firm. The pick was buried in too deep to be dislodged by the boy's movements.
Another tap and Reid felt it—the sharp point had found and penetrated the brain.
He just prayed it hadn’t speared its way in too far. David began to moan as Reid set the hammer down and took a firmer hold of the pick. He gently moved the instrument from side to side, feeling resistance as the point scraped away at the matter it was buried into.
Reid was working blind, but he proceeded carefully.
David began to buck wildly now, and a string of saliva rolled from the corner of his mouth. He uttered a sound, but it was incomprehensible—like the babbling of a child.
Reid wanted to continue, to scrape away more of the matter, and to know for certain that the connections to the prefrontal cortex and frontal lobes were severed. But that was precisely how he’d felt when doing this to Elton, and then he had wound up killing his patient. This time he would show restraint. If the procedure was not successful, then he would just try again.
So, instead of scraping further, he eased the pick from David’s eye socket. A squelch sounded as it released, like the sound of a boot pulling free from mud.
The patient continued to buck and writhe for a good ten minutes, and Reid studied him the whole time.
Slowly, the convulsions ended.
‘David?’ Reid asked. The young man turned his gaze to Reid, and the doctor noticed a bruise already forming on the inside of his left eye. ‘Can you hear me?’
David did not respond.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Still nothing, just a blank stare.
‘I think you broke him,’ one of the orderlies said from behind. Reid spun his head and shot the man an angry scowl. Whether they were part of the cult or not, Reid was still in charge in this room.
‘Shut your mouth, you stupid fool,’ Reid snapped. ‘You are here to assist, not make comments. Understand?’
The man clenched his jaw, but nodded his consent.
Reid then got to work undoing the restraints that held his patient. Reid knew that David had been prone to bouts of violence, so he would need to be monitored just to be sure those episodes did not continue. However, Reid was confident in his work, and pleased at his success.
‘Come on,’ Reid said, ‘get up.’ He pulled at David’s shoulder and was encouraged when the young man obediently followed Reid’s lead. He then swung the man's legs from the table and pulled him up completely, praying David could stand and hold his own weight.
He could.
David stood, swaying gently and waiting, like a zombie without a purpose.
Reid clicked his fingers in front of the man’s eyes, and they moved towards the noise, following Reid’s digits. David’s motor skills seemed to be functioning, but the man simply would not—or could not—speak.
‘Take him back to his room,’ Reid instructed the orderlies. ‘I want him under constant observation. If anything changes, I want to know about it. Especially if he becomes agitated or excited.’
The two orderlies grunted in confirmation, but that
was all they said before grabbing David by the arms and pulling him from the room. Again, David was completely submissive and stumbled along with them from the room.
Reid was then left alone to consider how the procedure had gone. David indeed seemed more docile, but there was a danger he was now too docile. Just a husk of a person, with no personality to speak of.
The man he used to be, scraped away and erased.
Still, better that than the way he was before.
And at least he was still breathing… for now.
Reid felt a small surge of pride at his work. Things were still inconclusive, but so far the signs were good. And it was a massive improvement on his last effort.
All in all, a success.
And the distraction had been a welcome one. If Reid continued to concentrate on his work, then he perhaps could keep his mind occupied a little longer until he had the time and privacy to get more acquainted with Templeton’s diary.
He wanted to know as much as he could about what was going on here, because one thing was for certain—he did not plan to stick around to see much more for himself. He would escape this place, and not look back.
Chapter 17
As Adrian ghosted his way back to his room, he passed his neighbour’s cell and saw Tom lying on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest. The old man was shaking and sweating profusely. If it was possible, Tom seemed even worse than the last time Adrian had seen him, and the skin around his face had sunken further, making him look deathly ill. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin beneath them was a dark purple colour.
‘You don’t look so good, Tom,’ Adrian said through the open door. He stepped inside, and Tom turned his head. The man forced a friendly smile, but he looked pained, and his skin was horribly pale.
‘Don’t look too hot yourself, son,’ Tom replied with a strained voice. ‘You been done over?’
Adrian nodded. ‘Yeah, apparently I was a little unruly. Took a beating and got thrown in isolation.’
Tom forced out a chuckle. ‘Always thought you were one to keep your head down.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘Me too.’ He walked over and squatted down next to the old man. ‘Is there anything I can do for you? Should I call for help?’
‘No,’ Tom said. ‘No point. I know what’s ailing me. It’s that cursed poison they keep pumping into me. And they’ll be back tonight, I’m told. It’ll probably finish the job.’
‘Refuse it,’ Adrian said.
‘Won’t do any good, friend,’ the old man replied. ‘You know that as well as I do. We’re prisoners in here. Things to be played with at the whims of those above us, until we are too bent, broken, and buckled to be useful anymore. Then we are cast out. Ignored, forgotten, and left to die.’
Adrian went to respond, but quickly realised he couldn’t think of anything to say. There was a moment's silence between them.
‘You been getting this medicine too?’ Tom asked.
Adrian nodded. ‘Just started the treatment.’
‘Treatment?’ Tom replied, forcing out a chuckle at the word. ‘It ain’t treatment, lad. Like I say, it’s poison. You know, I remember seeing the Krauts use poison gas a few times in the Great War. Our own men used it a few times as well, to be fair. I was out in Belgium and saw what that gas did to people. Not just soldiers, townsfolk as well. People just trying to avoid death, but it got them all the same. Ruined their insides and burnt them away. I reckon I’m just going through the same kind of death as those poor people, only slower and more drawn out.’
‘Jesus,’ Adrian said. ‘I had no idea it was that bad.’
‘It wasn’t, at first. I barely noticed it. In fact, I felt a little better. Brighter. Almost had a spring in my step. But it changed me, changed the way I think. Even now, part of me is wondering if I could reach out and grab your throat.’
‘Are you serious?’ Adrian asked, instinctively leaning back.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t have the strength even if I wanted to. Guess this is what you’ve got to look forward to, lad.’
That struck a chord with Adrian.
‘Let me ask you something,’ Tom said. ‘Since they gave you that poison, do you dream?’
Adrian nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘They’ll get worse. Everything you’ve ever done that you’ve regretted is going to be replayed to you, night after night, like a stage play of shame. But behind that stage is… a place; somewhere horrible, like hell, only worse. And you know what’s scary? I think that place is real.’
‘They’re just dreams, Tom,’ Adrian said, but couldn’t deny how much the other man’s words resonated with him.
‘See, that’s the thing. I don’t think they are. And I swear to the Lord above that there is something inside me, in my head, and when things are quiet, I can hear it talking to me.’
‘Sounds like a fever,’ Adrian said.
‘Fevers don’t talk, lad,’ Tom replied. ‘Fevers don’t tell you things about the people you share this place with, and what torments them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It told me a little about you today. Told me what wracks you with guilt. How the life that you took eats you up inside.’
Adrian was stunned. How could Tom possibly know about his past?
‘My father? Yes, I regret what I did, but—’
‘Not him, lad. That isn’t what I’m talking about. That isn’t what tortures you, is it?’
Adrian said nothing in response. He couldn’t explain how Tom knew that and, furthermore, he had no desire to continue the conversation. He rose to his feet.
‘I think you should sleep,’ he said, then walked back towards the door.
‘Only more dreams waiting for me there, lad,’ Tom said.
‘Bye, Tom,’ Adrian said. He was about to leave the old man alone when Tom stopped him.
‘It’s coming for you, Adrian,’ he said. ‘It knows you, inside and out, and wants you as well. If you have the strength, maybe do something about it before it’s too late. Lord knows I wish I was strong enough to do what I need to, but to be honest I just don’t have the guts for it.’
Adrian didn’t need to ask for clarification; he knew exactly what Tom was talking about.
Adrian said no more and left Tom alone. He walked to his room next door and dropped down onto his bed. His stomach ached for food, but he had no desire to face anyone else today. He felt drained and utterly confused.
Adrian lay back and rolled on to his side, trying to quiet the frantic, confused voices in his mind.
But they would not be silenced.
Was the thing Tom spoke about now talking to him as well?
Chapter 18
Director Isaac Templeton sat in the Chapel, enjoying the quiet. It afforded him the chance to think things through in an orderly manner. He was pleased with how things had progressed with Adrian James—an excellent candidate who was starting to show a reaction to the treatment already, indulging in violent tendencies even after only a single dose.
By chance, the man had witnessed more than he should have, but that would not be a problem. The situation concerned Brother Jones, however, as he thought Adrian James’ story would create tension and agitation within the ranks of the afflicted, especially in Ward B. But Templeton was confident that another crazy tale floating about between the patients would not create any complications. Still, better to deal with the issue, just in case.
Ending the life of Adrian James was not an option, of course, not after the treatment had already started. It was a waste, and besides, Mr. James was marked now, and promised to… it. Templeton dared not take away that which was owed.
Dealing with the thing in the basement was a privilege, he knew that, but one that had to be handled carefully. Everyone answered to someone, and his superior in the Church—one Kane Ainsworth—was growing concerned at the speed with which things were moving. Because of that, Templeton had to check in with the man by telephone each and every day. Failure to do so would
mean a visit from a clean-up crew, who would put an end to what they were doing at this asylum. For the greater good, of course. It was an annoyance, to be sure, as Mr. Ainsworth was far too cautious, but it was one that Templeton had to bear. And he did not doubt that if, and when, things stepped up, his check-ins would need to be more frequent.
The other issue that played on his mind was that of their new physician: Dr. Reid.
After speaking with Adrian James earlier, Templeton had returned to his office and immediately felt that something was off.
It did not take him long to discover that the position of his chair was ever-so-slightly different than he always left it—rotated to the left by a fraction.
Someone had been in the office in his absence, just as he had expected they might.
Templeton had then moved his chair and pulled back the rug beneath, retrieving the key and opening his desk drawers. He then checked to make sure everything was in place.
It wasn’t.
His diary was gone.
And he knew who was responsible—the good doctor had taken the bait.
Hopefully, it would be enough to push Dr. Reid to follow the trail Templeton left for him. If the man came to discover the truth at his own pace, rather than having it forced upon him, he might come to accept it more easily.
And what had happened poor Dr. Vine could be avoided.
Templeton felt that Dr. Vine had found out too much, too quickly, and his scientific mind could not accept what was in front of him.
It was just too unbelievable.
And so, measures had been taken to protect the facility.
Now Dr. Vine existed in the basement below the asylum, in the dark, surrounded by horrors.
Templeton just hoped Dr. Reid would be different. Having him join them, as a true believer, would be a valuable thing.
However, if that proved not to be possible, Reid would have to be dealt with as well.
And now was the time to take another step. Dr. Reid would again see the medicine in action, only this time he would witness its full effects.
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