Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  “Krauss, tell me about the last person you murdered,” Drake was shaking with rage. But it was nothing new to the guard.

  “Politicians family. Cut them to bits,” he replied.

  Drake remembered and smiled, calming down a fraction. The man in question had stood in the way of certain business interests and had to be removed. A burglary gone wrong was arranged, and installed in his place was a man far more open to mutually beneficial arrangements.

  Dialling the number again, it started to ring and he nodded to Krauss in gratitude. On the second ring it was answered, “Dr. Llyod. You have made a mistake, and you know how much I hate mistakes,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “If you look right there, we can see that the cartilage has deteriorated further,” Dr. Franken showed the elderly woman who squinted before putting on a set of glasses.

  “Does that mean I need surgery?”

  “I’m afraid so,” replied the doctor, sympathetically, “It’s the only way that we can reduce the pain and get you active again.”

  “It would be nice to get out in the garden,” she said cheerfully.

  “I expect your gladioli would be grateful for your magic touch.”

  “How do you know about my flowers?” gasped the woman.

  “You told me about them during our last consultation, Mrs. Pearson,” Dr. Franken smiled.

  She was taken aback, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “A good doctor listens,” he explained, “I pride myself on trying to give my patients the personal touch.”

  “And we appreciate it, dearie.”

  “Now, the way this will work is we invite you in for a pre-op assessment. This will involve some questions followed by checking your height, weight, pulse, blood pressure, and taking a swab for MRSA. We will also need a urine sample,” he outlined the first stage.

  “And if everything is ok?”

  “Depending on the questions we may need to do an electrocardiograph. It’s merely a precaution and someone as young as you will fly through it, I’m sure. I know it is impolite to ask a lady her age but how old are you?” he flicked through the notes, “Fifty-five, sixty?”

  “You are such a charmer. I’m seventy-six.” She beamed at the good natured banter.

  “Are you sure?” he feigned shock, then broke into his own smile. “Well I just pray I look as young as you if I reach that age. Somehow I doubt it.”

  “Will I be bedbound? I can always get Burt to move our bedroom downstairs for a while.”

  “We try and get you mobile as soon…”

  The door burst open and the panting form of Dr. Llyod rushed in, startling Mrs. Pearson. His eyes were wide with terror and she shrunk back, fearing an attack.

  “Now what on earth is going on?” Dr. Franken stood up, furious.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about his other history? Do you know what you have done?” shouted the psychiatrist.

  “What? Who the hell are you talking about? You’re making no sense, man.” He helped Mrs. Pearson to her feet and ushered her out of the door.

  “Malachi, the stabbing victim. Why didn’t you tell me about his healing abilities?” Dr. Llyod was beside himself, pacing then sitting before standing again.

  “I’m at a loss, why would his physiological traits impact your psychological assessment. I thought it was just a preliminary induction?”

  “That’s not the point!” Dr. Llyod slammed a fist onto the table, scattering notes. “I should have been told.”

  “What is going on here?” Dr. Franken confronted the shrink and stood a whole head taller.

  “I need to find him.” Dr. Llyod nodded to confirm his own idea, “Yes, that’s it. What ward is he being kept on?”

  If he could keep him occupied until the collection crew arrived, it might be enough to mitigate some of Mr. Creighton’s disciplinary measures. Specifically, the one that involved the butchery of his whole family before he was flayed living.

  “He has been discharged,” Dr. Franken explained, oblivious of the ramifications to the animated psychiatrist. “This is most irregular; I will be speaking to the board about your behaviour.”

  “No, no, no that can’t be!” shrieked Dr. Llyod who then crashed out of the room just as abruptly as he had entered.

  “What on earth?” mumbled the surgeon to the slowly closing door.

  ****

  Got to hold it together. Got to hold it together. What are those nurses looking at? Are they laughing at me? Fucking whores! They have no idea what is going on, he thought to himself. The whole world seemed to be shrinking, walls threatening to squeeze the life out of him, ceiling descending in his fevered mind. The crazed doctor actually ducked to avoid the imaginary obstacle and the nurses giggled again.

  “Fuck off!” he cried out, wiping frantically at his streaming eyes. This only brought more laughter and disapproving tuts from the duty doctors at his unprofessionalism.

  Time seemed to speed up, hurtling towards the inevitable reckoning with Creighton’s psychopathic henchmen. The big man himself would do the final wet work, he always did with a subordinate who fucked up. And there were no other words for what he had done.

  “Dr. Llyod, can I arrange a meeting with you this afternoon?” asked a smiling, young doctor, blocking his path.

  “Not now,” he tried to reply, but the words were choked and unintelligible.

  “Are you ok?” he asked, still smiling, “Please, it won’t take long.”

  “Stop fucking smiling!” screamed Dr. Llyod and punched him; a blow given extra power by terror and adrenaline.

  Flailing backwards, nose shattered and pouring blood, the doctor fell against a tea trolley. Without thinking, his reactions had been to clutch at the steel side. His angle of fall and the momentum of his body pulled the whole lot over, covering his body in boiling liquid. The facial injury was instantly forgotten as every nerve screamed in protest at the scalding agony. People came rushing to help, giving Dr. Llyod a wide berth as blisters sprouted on the young physician’s face and forearms.

  “Oh my God, why did you do that?” asked one of the previously giggling nurses, but he didn’t acknowledge the question.

  “Someone call security,” came another fading voice.

  As he stumbled down the never ending corridors, the only thoughts in his mind were for his loved ones. He needed to get control before he saw the duty nurses on the intensive care station or they would know something was amiss. Leaning against the wall, he took ragged breaths until his galloping heart slowed to a canter and stepped to the locked doors. Swiping his access card across the reader, a green light blinked on and he pressed through, wiping as much of the free flowing perspiration away as possible. The desk was unmanned and a childlike whine escaped his lips as he looked around desperately for a member of staff.

  “The notes!” he said to himself and started to rifle through the paperwork.

  “Hi, Dr. Llyod. Is there something I can help you with?” asked Shannon cheerfully until he turned to face her. His eyes were wide and red, as if he had recently been crying. The incoherent mumbling pouring from his mouth didn’t help his façade either.

  Coughing to buy a second to compose himself, he tried to smile and asked, “The young man I saw, Malachi I think his name was. I am trying to find his medical notes.”

  Something wasn’t right with the man, that much was obvious from his pacing and sweating. Thinking quickly, she replied, “They have been taken back down to storage. I’m sure you can catch up with Craig if you hurry, he just picked them up on his rounds.”

  “No, that won’t do!” he screamed and flung the contents of one desk onto the floor.

  “Then I don’t know what to suggest,” Shannon replied bravely, although she was terrified the maniacal doctor would turn his attention to her.

  “The computer, that will have his address!” he laughed madly and sat down, tapping away at the keyboard.

  Shannon
looked under the desk and saw that Malachi’s notes hadn’t yet been collected and if Dr. Llyod was more focused he too would have seen it. Moving around the counter, she surreptitiously nudged the plastic container deeper into the gloom. Whatever reason he wanted to find Malachi for, she was certain it didn’t bode well for the young man.

  “Where is it?” shrieked Dr. Llyod, “It has to be here!”

  Shannon had made up her mind to disconnect the electricity supply to the computer if he managed to pull up Malachi’s patient details, but the records were empty. Frowning in confusion, she looked again as the computer flashed with ‘Patient not recognised. Please try again’.

  “Fucking computer!” shouted the doctor, slamming his fist into the keyboard, “Work, damn you!”

  A growing audience was gathering to see what the disturbance was about, keeping a respectable distance to minimise their danger. Once again, ‘Patient not recognised. Please try again’ came up on the screen and Shannon was dumbfounded. She had watched him carefully input his correct name, but for some reason all trace of Malachi was gone from the main NHS database.

  “Please, no. No, no, no,” muttered Dr. Llyod, tearing at his hair.

  “Security are on their way,” called out a doctor from the end of the corridor.

  Leaping to his feet, he grabbed Shannon by the throat, “You said Craig took the notes! Which way did he go?” Specks of spittle covered her face.

  “I don’t know, he didn’t say,” she lied, trying to pry his hands loose.

  “You’re all in on this aren’t you?” he accused, letting her go and wagging a finger at everyone. “You want me dead.”

  With flailing arms and a banshee wail he sprinted out of the intensive care unit and was gone.

  “Are you ok?” asked Penelope, a trainee nurse.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Shannon replied, shaking from the encounter.

  “You’re not fine, sit down.” Penelope ushered her to a chair. “Let me get some antiseptic wipes for the scratches.”

  Shannon felt at her throat and the fingertips came away with traces of blood. They weren’t deep and a simple plaster would suffice. All around her, calls were being made and people gossiped in hushed tones. The only thing on Shannon’s mind was the box in the shadows and the information it contained.

  ****

  “Sir, we are here. How do you want us to proceed?” asked the police officer.

  “Find that fucking doctor and ensure he gets what we need. After you have found the target, bring him and the doctor to the asylum where I will deal with them,” Drake replied.

  “As you wish.”

  Climbing out of the car, the two men looked to any casual observer members of the local constabulary. No one knew that their uniforms were fake and had been collected from a nearby safe house as well as the police car itself. Concealed beneath their fluorescent coats were silenced pistols but they were under strict instructions to maintain the cover at all costs. Questions could prove problematic and would necessitate some high level phone calls which, at present, were not necessarily going to end in a positive outcome.

  “Where do we start?” asked Minford.

  “The security office is just inside the accident and emergency department. We check in with them so it doesn’t look suspicious,” replied Carter.

  The automatic doors hissed and parted for the two men who looked around the waiting room. Only a few people were sat in the chairs, varying levels of pain etched on their faces as they waited to be seen by the doctor. Carter nodded to the receptionist who smiled warmly before returning to her phone call. As they approached the glass window of the security office, it was apparent the doctor had been causing quite a scene. Radios chirped with updates and the chief gave a thumbs up to the officers.

  “Come on in!” he called out, pressing a door release button.

  “What seems to be the trouble? We had a call saying there was an altercation?”

  The call in question had involved eavesdropping on the police frequencies and picking up the assault. Most of the local force was occupied after a pile up on the local motorway and would be unable to attend for at least twenty minutes, which meant they had to work fast.

  “One of the doctors has gone crazy, hitting members of staff and making a right scene. He is currently down in records smashing the place up. I’ve pulled my guys and told them to lock him in, we don’t get paid enough to take on a nutter,” said the chief unapologetically.

  “We’re here now so you can rest easy. We’ll deal with him.”

  “I’ll show you down to the basement where they archive all the notes, it’s about two minutes’ walk.”

  This left just under eighteen minutes to achieve the desired outcome. The stairwell was in disarray, with paper strewn everywhere; images of procedures and doctor’s letters had been tossed around like confetti. Craig the porter was nursing an abraded cheek and an injured arm after being pushed down the stairs.

  “Tell the officers what happened, Craig,” directed the security guard.

  “I have no fucking idea,” he snapped, “I was just bringing the notes back and this idiot starts to have a go at me. He looked through the files I had and then went mental when he couldn’t find something. Before I knew what was happening, he had pushed me and I fell over the cart down the stairs. I’m going to knock him out when I get hold of him.”

  “It’s not worth losing your job over, let the authorities deal with him.”

  Craig just scowled in response; his pride had taken as much of a battering as his body.

  “Keys?” asked Carter, holding out a hand.

  One of the security team handed the bunch over with the correct key already selected. The two burly men descended to the cacophony of cursing and objects being broken. Twisting the key, the lock disengaged and they pushed through the accumulated paperwork which had gathered by the door.

  “Dr. Llyod?” called out Minford.

  A face appeared around the nearest filing racks and glared at the men, “Fuck off, I need to find his address. I know it’s here somewhere.”

  “Sir, we are here to help. Mr. Creighton sent us,” explained Carter and the doctor fell silent.

  Peering around the shelves again, he couldn’t have looked more scared or pitiful but it meant nothing to the fake police officers, “No, you can’t take me. I have nearly found it.”

  “We don’t have the time for this. Why didn’t you check on the hospital system?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried, you moron? He has vanished!” shouted Dr. Llyod before going back to his rampage.

  “Even if his notes were here, you will never find them amongst all this, you fool,” Minford snarled. He had lost patience and grabbed for the doctor, backhanding him hard enough to bring the destruction to an end.

  “Now think. Where else could the information be kept? Do you remember his last name? Anything we could use to find him on the web? Think, Doctor!”

  “I’m trying,” he wept. His mind was so addled by fear that he couldn’t picture his notes and the surname of the young man. By now it wouldn’t be safe to return to his office as security would be checking for narcotics or other cause of the mental break.

  “Sixteen minutes,” Carter said to his partner.

  “Wait!” Dr. Llyod gasped, “I don’t know where any other records are kept but there are two people who will know his name. Dr. Franken and Shannon, one of the ICU nurses.”

  “Good, let’s go. We have to cuff you so it looks genuine, you will then point them out to us,” Minford explained.

  Dr. Llyod shrunk back but Carter was waiting and wrestled him into submission. After being secured they left the records room and met the security team.

  “The doctor has provided us with a worrying tip off that there is a group of people within the hospital who are creating a synthetic drug from morphine and distributing via fake patients. He feared for his safety which is why he struck out at people. We need to get to a couple of people before the
y have a chance to destroy evidence, do you understand?” Carter lied to the chief.

  “Bloody hell! What do you need us to do?”

  “Two of the suspects are Dr. Franken and nurse Shannon Walker. I need to ensure they don’t leave, so if you could man the exits for us until backup arrives?”

  “You can count on us,” nodded the chief and started barking orders. This was the most excitement they had ever experienced within the hospital and as the two henchmen guessed, they were loving every minute and eager to help.

  While the security team dispersed to watch for signs of their quarry, Dr. Llyod was frogmarched to Dr. Franken’s office. The door was locked and on closer inspection through a break in the blinds, the room was deserted.

  “Looks like we are relying on the nurse,” said Minford.

  “Twelve minutes,” Carter remarked.

  “Take my card, swipe it there,” the doctor instructed and the trio converged on the reception desk. The mess was still being tidied and the nurses scowled at him. Looking around behind the counter, the records box was open with the lid laying on the floor. Bitch!

  “Where is Miss Walker?” asked Minford to one of the women.

  “I don’t know, probably gone home after being traumatised by that prick,” she snapped, pointing at Dr. Llyod.

  “I think I saw her heading to the changing rooms. She said she wanted to clean up,” said another member of staff.

  Leaving the reception, they rushed towards the female facilities and barged through. The room was empty, but the faint smell of smoke hung in the air. Tracing the source to one of the private shower rooms, Carter drove a hefty boot at the door and shattered the lock. Shannon leaped in fright and dropped the smouldering notes out of the window. She had managed to destroy most of the file, including all references to his address and name before being caught. Her fear was replaced by resolve and she stood up proudly.