by C. J. Sutton
“Wait,” she pleaded, sobbing. “Please, wait, talk with me.”
“No.”
The Siren
Crazy seems to be a new fad, a fresh excuse for crime. Crazy was once a label for an unstable brain, Magnus. Now it even has positive connotations in pop culture.
“When I’m free, I’ll target the youths. Anyone under twenty-five who looks me in the eye. Fuck the clubs, I’ll do it out in the open and bring fear to the streets. That’s until one of them stands up to me, and brings me down. Jungle rules.”
Johnson Morgan, one eye normal and the other absent, picked his toenails, blood a pool beneath him. Magnus remembered the tale, one thousand pills infected with rat poison that never reached a single young hand…and he remembered the dead. Johnson wanted to add to his kill count. Magnus wasn’t deterred by the ugly features on Johnson’s face, or the grim reaper tattoo that covered his arm; quite stupid, for even if the pills had been distributed, it was obvious this kingpin was the maker. But Magnus thought on a deeper level, and knew this man wanted to be caught, to be classified as a sick fuck with a streak of shattered youth. Sitting in this room, alongside a murderer with foul hygiene, vicious scarring and a story he loved to recite; wasted time that could’ve been spent with Jasper to uncover facts about Dortmund. Jasper never left his mind, even in the presence of Lee the night before; he’d seen Jasper sitting on that bed, analysing. For Jasper assumed a dominant position in his mind, that image of him rising without shackles. The rumbles of nightmare.
“Are you even…listening to me?” said Johnson, approaching the bars.
“Why should I? You said you want to continue killing; if you don’t want to be saved, I don’t care.”
“Because,” he growled, “they pay you to fix me, not for me to fix myself.”
As the stare waged on like a ten-year war, a deafening siren caused Magnus to bring his hands to his ears. Johnson Morgan opened his mouth in a ghoulish smile.
“It’s time,” he said, standing up straight and readying for something.
Magnus could hear commotion outside, but was reluctant to leave the room. For whatever was occurring would likely be more dangerous.
“Do you know what that noise means?” said the drug dealer, stiff as a pin dropped into the ocean.
“I’m going to burn this place to the ground,” he said, high pitched.
“Just shut up and be quiet.”
There was no quiet, for the booming siren continued, a loud WOOOOOP every two seconds. Footsteps approached the room…and then retreated away down the hall. Curiosity was a hangman’s noose, but the doctor needed to see what was happening. He left The Reaper in his cell and opened the door, stepping out and almost colliding with Carter.
“Run…social room,” he panted, bleeding from the temple.
“What—”
“Out…they got out…”
“Who?”
The question was answered; a dark figure charged at the duo like a zombie from an apocalypse needing brains to survive, moaning. Matthew Chaos, eyes pure white, ran like a man possessed. Carter sprinted away, arms flailing, so Magnus followed…but up ahead, blocking the social room door was Brutus, as bald as the day he was born, cracking knuckles with a grin, waiting for someone to challenge him. He made no rush, no instigation, for he knew their sanctuary was now under his guard. Chaos slowed upon seeing Brutus, bared his teeth and sprinted the other way; towards the exit of the Asylum.
“Brutus,” said Magnus, approaching with hands out, head bowed, a gazelle trying to calm a lion who desired a feast.
“Doctor,” he reciprocated, folding his arms, revealing slabs of veined muscle itching to be used. Screams rang out from the opposite end; Shirley. The female guard was fighting her own battle with an unknown member of the nine.
“The exit is that way, go. No more blood needs to be shed tonight.”
“You’re wrong, doc. A prisoner must exact revenge on his captors. I’m not haunted by the men and women I’ve killed; only by the ones I let live. If I was to let you live, I’d regret that, because if we’re ever on opposite sides of thick glass again, I’ll know I could have avoided the situation.”
“Killing me does nothing,” he tried, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. For the doctor was terrified; breath was failing him, the darkness became pain once more, and time ticked away as others would likely surround them from all sides sooner rather than later. If Jasper was to get out, would he seek Magnus?
Brutus didn’t want to converse any further. He took three giant strides away from the social room door towards Carter (who was so pale he illuminated the space around him) and Magnus; three more of the same stride and the men were squash.
A door opened beside Brutus’ position. Out stepped Brian, having hidden in the cleaning closet. He held a metal pole, the edge sharpened. Full attention, he stood in between the two men and Brutus.
“Back in your cage,” he muttered, shaking the pole. Height-wise, they weren’t dissimilar, but Brian’s large frame was half that of Brutus, who ripped away his shirt and snarled, body shaking from a pent-up aggression festered over many years. Magnus thought he could make it to the social room…but needed further distraction. He briefly fantasised about throwing Carter to the beast, then shook away the idea; it’d be like a shark with blood, for one would not be enough.
“Back…off,” growled Brian, thrusting the pole forward, jousting with air. A flustered Shirley charged into the social room with clear perspiration, a cut on her left cheek. But with Brutus dodging Brian’s attempts at intimidation, she found her haven and slammed the door shut.
“Put the stick down,” said Brutus, content, aware his prey had no retreat. Yet Brian saw it as opportunity, and swiped at his ankles.
“That’s enough, curly fries.”
Brutus stepped forward, grabbing the pole and hurling it like a javelin through the dark of the hallway. Magnus was pleased he didn’t use him as a target…until the former weightlifter picked Brian up between his palms, smirked as the guard kicked at air, a tread of a waterless pond, and hurled him down onto the ground, snapping both of his legs. Brutus lifted again, both lower limbs flailing like jelly, and slammed down with even greater force, cracking more bones as sounds of torture escaped from Brian’s mouth and nose. Magnus froze, but Carter sprinted towards the social room door…locked.
“Open up the fucking door!” he yelled, pounding the surface with a closed fist, eyes wild, hair wiry. Brutus didn’t turn to see the escaping old man; he was transfixed with the body of Brian, breaking parts one by one, blood smearing his naked torso, lathering up the juices. Magnus wanted to help, despite knowing the man would never surrender the guard. He could retrieve the pole…but Magnus had never felt the true fear of death before, even at the policeman’s gunpoint. This feeling…made the doctor forget who he was. He did the only thing that came natural; he ran. And that’s when he heard Brutus crack Brian’s large skull against the closet door, a sound that couldn’t be mistaken. The guard wailed no more, slain by an inmate of Dortmund Asylum.
“Open it, Shirley, it’s Carter, quick!”
Carter struggled with the handle, the constant clicking an impatient plea to the resident. Magnus joined him.
“Sh…” he tried, but his mouth was dry. “Shirley, it’s Magnus, it’s safe to open up.”
The door moved, and Carter streamed in like a man desperate for a piss in a pub. Magnus couldn’t help himself; he looked across his shoulder at the mass throbbing in darkness. Brutus was beating Brian’s lifeless body rhythmically against the ground, raising the former guard high above his head like a barbell and smashing him down in a heap; deadlifts in the middle of an escape with a dead body killed seconds prior. But then he saw Magnus watching him and dropped Brian for the final time. He put his bald head forward and charged at the social room, at the doctor who’d taunted him when a glass barrier separated the duo days before. Magnus slipped through the crack in the door as Carter was pulling it clos
ed, and a moment later a deafening THUD vibrated the social room. Shirley, Carter and Magnus slumped against the floor, gasping for air. The light flickered in time with the constant beating of Brutus outside.
“Walter…Brian?” questioned Shirley hoarsely with each breath.
“I can’t say for Walt, but Brian was crushed by Brutus,” said Carter matter-of-factly, withdrawing a flask of bourbon and swigging deeply. Shirley noticed Magnus staring at her wide-eyed, and tried to regain her iceberg exterior beneath his gaze…but failed.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked, exchanging glances with each guard.
“They’re out, doc. All of them. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I’ve never heard that type of siren before. I don’t even know who pressed it.”
There were another two thumps on the door, before the echoing of heavy footsteps retreated away. Magnus noticed blood pouring from Carter’s nose, but Carter wiped it away every few seconds like a snotty kid with a crusted sleeve.
As Magnus rose, brushing hair aside, to move to the comfort of the chair to collect his thoughts, a rattle at the door startled all of them into position; crouched. The turn of a key unlocked the door…and a figure stepped in. Magnus cursed himself for not remembering his own key.
“Walter, fuck me, thought you were done for,” said Carter, another three gulps from his flask. The lead guard quickly closed the door behind him, a parent returning to his family after being fired from his job.
“How…?” he said, more to himself before noticing his audience. “How can they all get out? It hasn’t happened. Keys are the only way to get in or out of the cell. I pressed the siren when I saw Chaos and Digits out…I’ve never seen more than one try to escape before.”
Beneath his bushy eyebrows and with moustache twitching he watched, and Magnus thought he waited for a confession. If he’d known about the master key, Magnus would’ve chanced his luck outside with the escaping inmates.
“Wait, where’s Brian?” asked Walter, and this time Magnus answered.
“Brutus crushed him like a doll. If it wasn’t for Brian, we’d all be dead.”
They stood in silence, afraid to speak, honouring the only guard with a physical presence amongst such anarchy. But Magnus needed more, as was his way.
“What the hell do we do now?”
A dripping in the silence alerted Shirley, who waddled to Walter and almost slipped on the blood at his feet. A gash on his forearm leaked hurriedly, hoping to escape Dortmund by leaving the body of a man responsible for saving the city below. Magnus snatched a tea towel from the sink and wrapped it around the arm, fastening it with a clip from his back pocket.
“Thanks, doc,” said Walter, before pointing with his uninjured arm to a cupboard.
“Shirley, can you fetch me the walkie.”
She did so, in record time. Her admiration for her unofficial boss shone through all crevices, respect for the methods in dire straits.
“Which one got you?” asked Magnus, checking the tea towel was tight enough.
“The Reaper, armed with his toilet. If I hadn’t heard a scream behind me, I’d probably be without a head.”
What Lies Beneath
Insanity is in the eye of the beholder, Magnus. Generally it is from the eye outside the cage, looking at the creature within.
“This is Walter Perch, guard at Dortmund Asylum, come in…”
Static responded from the other end. Magnus, Carter and Shirley stood in the middle of the social room, invading personal space, as Walter waved the walkie around like a smell-deterrent, trying to receive reception. Nobody had a phone. This emergency procedure was years out of date. Walter’s half-lean and ready eyes remained, unchanged from when the inmates were safely locked in their cells.
“This is Walter Perch,” he repeated, monotone, “come in.”
“Who?” came a voice from the other end, a voice that caused the hairs on the back of Magnus’ neck to stand up. The cop from Lee’s room.
“Walter Perch, up at Dortmund Asylum. There’s been a breach. All inmates have escaped. Code Nine.”
Magnus looked to Carter, the old man with one eye closed straining to see if any liquid remained in his flask.
“Code Nine calls for every exit in Dortmund to be blocked; there are only three,” said Carter, turning to Shirley. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding any booze in that brassiere, would you?”
On another shift she would have throttled him. But not today. Not here.
A chorus of loud thumps against the walls and door startled the quartet, laughter finding a way in to their minds. Magnus wondered whether it existed, for it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. And then it returned.
“Fuck off!” yelled Carter, tossing his flask at the door, the pang nothing in comparison to the efforts of the inmates.
“Yeah, that’s going to help,” said Magnus, wondering why he’d been nice to Carter over the past ten minutes. The man had caused enough issues in this very room. He was likely enough to open the door and let death seep in.
“Oh,” he replied, closing the distance between them as Shirley grunted, “been in a predicament such as this, have you? Nine deadly sins await; some have probably reached the town by now. Jasper is fucking your little woman. I bet you’re the one who gave him the ticket out.”
Magnus clenched his fist, tired of the old man and his blame.
“I was putting my money on you being the assistant to the breakout.”
“Listen here, you little runt, I’ve been here ten years and never has—”
“Enough!” boomed Walter, a power none had heard from the man before that moment. His eyes bled anger now, enough having been enough. Shirley joined his side.
“The cops have blocked off the three exits. There is no other way out of town. That’s the joy of being surrounded by mountains. We’re not alarming the big city. We can deal with this ourselves, so long as we find a way to work together. The closest town is hours away, calling for support is pointless and too risky. Code Nine,” he said, full attention on Magnus, “was put in place before I began, and has never been used. We’ll soon find out if it works. There are not enough police to storm the town and take control. The exits are priority. Will the cops risk their families being unprotected? Probably not, but we must stick to the Code.”
Carter closed his eyes and held out a shaking hand.
“Sorry to question you, Walt, but how are three guards and a doctor going to solve the issue? All the cops we have will be at the exits…all the guns…we have four tranquilisers and that’s it.”
Walter moved across the room and tapped on the wall on the opposite end to the door. He leaned close, listening with each tap, finally satisfied when a hollow tap suggested more than solid foundations. He used his key to scrape away chunks of plaster, paint and whatever else the building had been constructed with. The audience of three watched. Carter first looked shocked…then annoyed; slits that didn’t appreciate secrets. Left out of planning. Walter dropped his keys and scratched out a thin piece of string…not string…metal. It uncoiled slowly at first, then a large part of the wall broke away and a compartment was revealed. As Walter tugged on the metal length, a trapdoor fell away.
“Alternative exit?” asked Shirley in hope, forgetting the people out of their cells and remembering her partner in the home mere kilometres down a steep hill.
“Weapons,” said Carter, in assumption and shaking his head at Shirley.
Walter felt around in the dark space, withdrawing a red bucket. He placed it in the middle of the room on the coffee table, alongside Magnus’ belongings. What they saw made Magnus step back and Carter step closer. Two handguns with a small cache of ammunition and four other, larger guns with dart-like projectiles and thin tips, an eye-catching red scope on top.
“Tranquilisers, long range,” said Carter, picking up the rifle and closing one eye, looking through the scope. He turned his mood on Walter, who was checking the chambers on the handguns. �
��You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me? I was going to head into battle with a tranquiliser the size of a fist.”
“I couldn’t…and I mean I didn’t believe it anyway. The cops always said there was an emergency stash…but there had never been an emergency. The small tranqs were always enough.”
Magnus picked up a handgun, and it felt heavy in one hand, enough weight to make him step forward. These weapons were aged.
“Will they work?” he asked, fingering the trigger in desire.
“One way to find out,” said Carter, clicking off the safety and aiming it at the coffee pot. Walter snatched it away before he could blink.
“Are you senile?”
They all stood bolt upright when a calm knock on the door entered the room. Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.
Knock…knock…knock…as though a neighbour next door was coming over to return a ball that sailed over the fence.
“I know you’re in there. I’ve been listening.”
The words of Jasper were enough to let the true horror of their situation sink in. He spoke in the same relaxed tone of a neighbour, merely announcing that he was there. No thuds, no curses, no cries of ecstasy.
“Private party then? I’d like to join, maybe a cup of coffee. A beer…now that would be…sweet.”
Shirley stole a handgun and raised it to the door, chest heaving, sweat like tears down her cheeks. Magnus held up a solitary finger, ticking it left to right. He wanted to tell her that shooting the door was the dumbest idea in the situation; not only would she miss the target, alert the escapees to the presence of guns and likely destroy their one barrier between chaos and planning, but it would also awaken the dragon in Jasper. Magnus read stories of the biker snapping into a crazy killing spree when triggered by a deafening noise…such as a gun-shot. Magnus knew what Jasper could become.
Nobody spoke. There stood four ghosts.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want my new friend Magnus to come outside, and walk out of this foul place with me.”