Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2)

by Mark C. King

  Charlotte put up her hands and backed away. After a little distance, the apple lady returned to eating.

  “Don’t mind her,” said a voice from behind Charlotte. When she turned around, she found a younger woman, around Charlotte’s age, wearing white clothes, a female orderly. “That is June. She can be a little fearful, especially around new people.”

  Charlotte had a hard time taking her eyes off of the orderly’s hair – It was ink black and done up in two very messy pig tails.

  “Watch,” the orderly said. Moving past Charlotte, she approached the seated patient and in turn, the patient, June, became frightened and once again curled into a ball. The orderly stepped back and June started to calm. After a second or two, the orderly stepped forward again and caused June to be frightened once more.

  “Stop that!” said Charlotte with more force than she wanted but couldn’t help. The orderly was tormenting this poor woman.

  Looking at Charlotte, the orderly said, “Oh, June here is fine. Isn’t that right, June?”

  The patient stared at the orderly with cautious eyes and said nothing.

  “You see? Anyway, I am Patricia Yates, you must be the new girl that the constable brought by yesterday.”

  “Yes, Miss Yates.” Charlotte said meekly. “My name is Charlotte. I was hoping to find where I could get breakfast?”

  “It is not far, follow me.” Yates started walking down the hall to the center of the building and Charlotte stayed close behind her. They exited the wing and were on the second floor landing, near the staircase that Charlotte had climbed the previous day. Yates pointed to one of the doors along the wall and said, “In there.” and walked back down the passageway.

  Charlotte approached the door cautiously, as if she was frightened of what could be behind it – to some extent, she was. Opening it slowly, she found a large room. There were four long tables with many people sitting on each side of them. She entered and took the first available space at one of the tables.

  Breakfast consisted of a porridge type food and some bruised apples. At some point the porridge was probably hot, but not then. The thick lumpy concoction had started to harden and was completely unappetizing. Charlotte took a couple bites and found it quite flavorless, which was probably a good thing. The apples were much better and became the main part of her meal.

  While eating, she examined those around her in the room. Some were eating and talking as if this was a restaurant. Others ate, but it seemed like a habit of movement more than a conscious act. There were a few staff members who helped feed the ones that didn’t feed themselves. At first, Charlotte found that kind of sweet until she watched a little closer. The staff had no patience and did whatever was necessary to put food in a patients mouth, including wedging a butter knife between the teeth to pry the mouth open. One staffer held the person’s nose until they gasped for air. When the mouth opened, he shoved food in, nearly causing her to choke.

  Old and young, man or woman, it didn’t matter. All were treated the same - poorly. A place where all were equal sounded like a fairy tale, but this was nothing of the sort. This was the absolute minimum of human empathy.

  Not being able to watch anymore, Charlotte exited the dining room in disgust. Back on the second floor landing, near the stairs, she realized that she didn’t know what to do now. How does an insane person pass the time?

  14.

  One Year Prior, Late Winter…

  The unconscious patient looked peaceful, something that she never looked when awake. The oil lamp on the table illuminated the small lab and gave a warm glow to the woman’s face. A man loomed over her and finished strapping the patient – Delphine Hubert – to the bed. He was sweating as it was more work than anticipated to bring down an unconscious body to the basement. At least she was silent during the trip.

  A new version of the serum was created and Delphine would be the first experiment. Although he would never admit it, he hoped that his new serum would work perfectly on this first attempt. That was quite unlikely, even with his mind working better with the original serum helping it. Still, he wanted it to be so.

  Without knowing exactly what to expect, he took no chances with the patient and made the straps very tight. After all, the first demonstration of the serum had proven that precautions were needed.

  It had been nearly two months since he had started injecting himself with the original version of the serum, and his studies, while under its influence, had provided great leaps of knowledge. His mind was now thinking in different and exciting directions and the new serum that was on his lab table was the first fruit of this expanded intelligence. His knowledge was growing in more ways than just chemistry, but methodology of practice, and insight into the physical brain itself. It was awe inspiring to think that the human mind was beginning to reveal its vast secrets to him.

  Delphine continued unconscious and unaware of the work happening around her. Unaware as the man filled a syringe with liquid. Unaware as the man examined her neck for the placement of the injection. Unaware as the needle pierced her artery and the serum flowed into her brain.

  With the needle back in its case, the man sat in a chair next to Delphine and started talking to her. He didn’t know if the serum would overpower the chloroform, but he wanted to give her mind, conscious or not, as much intelligent stimulus as possible.

  As she lay there, unconscious, the man talked to her about her past. “Delphine, you have been here for many useless years. You were once a normal citizen of London, but suffered a terrible accident that robbed you of everything. Now, without reason, without communication, you both exist and do not simultaneously. Like most here, you add nothing to our world. But I can change that.”

  He leaned closer to her ear and continued, “The damage that was done can be undone. Right now, the serum is interacting with your brain, manipulating it to function like it should. I’m giving you back your life.”

  The man continued talking for many minutes and didn’t stop until Delphine stirred. Her eyes started to flutter and then open. A look of concern was on her face and it turned to panic as she discovered that she could not move. At first, she made grunts and moans as she struggled against the straps.

  “Calm down, Delphine,” soothed the man. “You are safe.”

  She stopped struggling for a moment and looked at the man, suddenly realizing that he was in the room. This simple connection was the first proof that the serum was working. She looked away and struggled again, then looked back at the man and with some effort, she asked, “Why?”

  The man stood up, eyes wide with excitement, and stared at the patient in speechless exuberance.

  Delphine asked again, “Why? Why can I not move?”

  “You were in an accident,” he soothed, “but you are safe now. Tell me, what do you remember?”

  Her face took on a look of confusion mixed with concentration. She was searching the unused vastness of her mind, trying to find memories for how she could be there. After many seconds of mental struggle, she answered, “I remember playing with my sister.”

  “Yes, that is right. You and your sister were playing near the open window in your home on that hot summer day.”

  “Yes,” she said in growing comprehension, “It was hot. We complained to mum about it.” A pause for more concentration and then, “Mother had talked about taking us to the coast. Sister cried because she was scared of the waves. But… I don’t remember mum taking us there. I remember leaning out the window and yelling at the boys down below.” Another pause, then, “A few of them were around the corner, so I leaned way out in order to see them. Then…then I dreamt. Dark dreams, frightening and lonely.”

  The man could barely contain his excitement. The serum was working and surpassing the original! However, he reminded himself, the original may not have been quite as successful, but it had another failing in that its effects were temporary. Yes, the key was to make it work, and make it work permanently. “Tell me about this dream you had?�
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  Delphine again searched her mind for clarity. “It was…it was not pleasant. It was as if I was locked away from the world, and yet, right in the middle of it. I screamed and yelled, but everyone ignored me. Perhaps no one could hear my cries. I was surrounded, overcrowded, and so very alone. The impotence turned to terror and I would scream louder. My lungs would ache. Still, no one would respond. I had no power, no way to fight. It was pure and absolute helplessness.”

  The man nodded understandingly as she talked. Her thoughts would be groundbreaking, the actual feelings and views of an insane person articulated for the first time ever. He put a tender hand on her forehead and said, “The nightmare has ended. You are helpless no more.”

  She smiled at him, her eyes glistening with thankfulness. But then, the serene face went blank. She closed her eyes and started struggling against her restraints.

  “Calm down,” commanded the man, but she paid no attention.

  Her struggles turned to uncontrolled thrashing and she started to scream. Intermixed with the horrific yells were the words, “It hurts! It hurts!”

  The man watched, not certain what to do. He hoped that this was a temporary side effect and that it would pass.

  She continued screaming and yelling for a couple minutes before finally collapsing. Her breath became fast and shallow as she laid unmoving and apparently unconscious.

  “Delphine,” the man pleaded, “Talk to me. What is wrong? What hurts?”

  She didn’t answer. Her breath became more shallow until it finally stopped. She was dead.

  The man looked at the body of the woman with contempt. Despite some improvement, she now represented failure. His serum needed much more work.

  At least, he thought, there is no shortage of test subjects. Opening his leather-bound notebook, he wrote down the results of the experiment. His anger was subsiding as he was already thinking of adjustments to the serum and planning on what patient would be fortunate enough to be used next.

  15.

  Sigmund looked at the shackles on his wrists as he and Holmes rode in the back of a police steam carriage. The vehicle looked like a breadbox on wheels, with a driver cabin and a back section designed to carry multiple police officers, or criminals. On the side of the dark exterior was ‘POLICE’ written in white. Its lone electric light cut through the rain as its wheels sloshed through the puddled streets.

  The back section of the vehicle consisted of two benches that faced each other and darkness. The only light available was through the barred windows. As they approached Westminster bridge, Sigmund looked out at Big Ben and noted that even the rain and grey couldn’t take away all of its luster. It stood valiantly, a beautiful and inspiring icon of London.

  Returning his eyes to the much less inspiring interior of the cabin, Sigmund reached for his watch that was not there. He didn’t want to risk losing it, but missed the comfort that it brought him. Sigh.

  They had only left Scotland Yard a few minutes before, on their way to Bedlam Asylum, and Sigmund already had to convince himself, multiple times, that this was the right thing to do. Still, he again wondered if he was certain that he wanted to go through with this.

  “Are you certain that you want to go through with this?” Holmes asked, as if reading his mind.

  Sigmund did not answer right away as he was not sure what the honest answer was. Eventually he nodded and said, “I’m quite sure that I don’t want to go through with this, but I will. Besides the importance of discovering the source of the disease, I have other motivations.”

  “Look, Sigmund, if you are in some kind of trouble, I can help.”

  Sigmund looked at the dimly lit face of his friend and shook his head silently.

  “Fine,” Holmes said, a little annoyance in his voice. Then, a little kinder, “I’ve seen you overcome some remarkable circumstances. If it wasn’t for that, I would not have even considered this. I guess what I’m saying is that I have a lot of faith in your abilities.”

  With a small smile, Sigmund said, “I appreciate that. But the most important part belongs to you – you have to get me out of there.”

  “Don’t worry, that will not be an issue. Besides, even if I couldn’t, you have a way of getting around obstacles when you need to.”

  This was an allusion to Sigmund’s past of being a thief, of being able to break into houses or businesses. As much as Sigmund didn’t like his past, he was good at that part of his life. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of being on his own in a place like Bedlam. Knowing that Holmes was on the outside was a sort of anchor for his concerns. No matter what happened in there, Holmes could get him out. Storms could rage, but the anchor would keep him safe.

  The rest of the short journey was made in silence. Sigmund looked out the window at the grey city and tried not to think about anything. He failed. He kept remembering the judge’s face at the Magistrates Court when Holmes explained the situation and asked that he approve the request for Sigmund to be admitted. Like Holmes, the judge was concerned about the disease but was flabbergasted at the proposed investigation plan. Ultimately, he trusted in Holmes’ judgement and signed the admission form. “With that paper in hand,” said the Judge, “there should be no issue in getting admitted.” – Oh, good, Sigmund had thought sourly.

  Lambeth Road was familiar to Sigmund, as were most roads for a cab driver, but it looked foreign today, uninviting. As the steam carriage puffed its thick white breath and drew near to the entrance of Bedlam, Sigmund looked out the window that was behind Holmes and could see the large asylum building. His heart felt cold and he was scared in a way he had never felt before. This wasn’t fear about being hurt, or even fear for his families safety. What he felt in that moment was the fear of insanity, the fear that once you were admitted, you truly belonged.

  As the carriage turned into the entrance, the gates already open in anticipation of their visit, Sigmund lost sight of the building. He reached for his watch again and gritted his teeth when he realized that it still wasn’t there.

  “Last chance.” Holmes said.

  In an effort to calm himself, Sigmund closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sound of the tires crunching on the gravel seemed too loud. The air felt like it was getting hotter. Calm yourself, Sigmund screamed and pleaded in his mind. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, Sigmund opened his eyes and looked across to Holmes. “I can do it.”

  “Very well, Mr. Maxwell.”

  Sigmund couldn’t use his own name as he was widely talked about during the Grimkraken episode – some for bad, but eventually for good. Time had passed and he was not quite as famous as he once was, but he did not want to take any chances. Wanting to choose an alias that would get his attention, he chose Maxwell. The name belonged to Jeremiah Maxwell, a man that both saved Sigmund’s life and destroyed a precious future for England. If someone said that name, Sigmund would take notice. That should help eliminate any awkward moments of not recognizing that he was being addressed while under the assumed persona.

  The two doors at the back of the carriage opened, throwing in grey light that hurt their eyes. The carriage driver stood outside and waited for his superior, Chief Inspector Holmes, and the ‘criminal’ to exit.

  Sigmund jumped out of the back, careful to keep his balance despite his shackled hands. Once he had both feet on the ground, the driver grabbed his right arm. Holmes exited and grabbed Sigmund’s other arm. The moderate rain and cold air felt refreshing after the stuffy cab ride, but did nothing to settle his mood. They approached the six large pillars that stood in front of the entrance and saw that there were several people standing outside to greet them.

  “Chief Inspector Holmes, I presume?” said a middle-aged man that had some sort of optical contraption over his left eye.

  “That is right.” Holmes responded.

  “Holmes!” said a large unkempt man and then pointed at Sigmund and asked, “So this must be Watson then, eh?”

  Knowing that this was not a topic that Chief
Inspector Holmes enjoyed, Sigmund did his best not to smile at the forthcoming rebuttal.

  Looking directly at the man, Holmes asked sharply, “Your name, sir?”

  “Umm, Mr. Pegg. I am one of the orderlies here.”

  “Let me be clear, Mr. Pegg. I am not Sherlock Holmes, nor am I a bungling fool as Doyle would have you believe. I am Chief Inspector Gabriel Holmes of Scotland Yard. Are there any other inane questions or imbecilic statements you would like to make?”

  The orderly’s demeanor changed dramatically. It went from a humorous look to one of fright, as if he thought he might be arrested. He stammered, “No. Nothing more.”

  Holmes continued to stare at the man and Sigmund watched as it further beat down the orderly. “Nothing more…” Holmes asked, leading Mr. Pegg to further embarrassment.

  “Nothing more, um, Chief Inspector.”