Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2)

by Mark C. King

They finished quickly – not a meal one would want to linger over or savor – and Basil turned to Sigmund and said, “Mr. Pegg’s not so subtle allusion to ghosts and monsters is the reason I am here.”

  Sigmund was surprised at this. Partly because he couldn’t believe that this man was afraid of such things and partly because he wasn’t expecting a confession of illness.

  “Night terrors,” Basil continued. “I seem to have a condition where part of my brain wakes up, but most of it doesn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me describe it a bit, that will help. When we sleep, our brain shuts down the part of it that controls our movements. This is why we can dream about walking or running and yet not find ourselves out of our bed. What happens to me is that at some point my eyes will open and I will be conscious of being awake. However, the part of the brain that controls movement has not awoken. This leaves me aware of my surroundings but unable to move. That alone is a terrifying condition, but what is worse is that the part of the brain that dreams is still active. Imagine lying in a bed, awake and aware, but your mind creates creatures that populate those surroundings that seem as real as I am to you right now. Next, add to that the inability to move.”

  Sigmund did try to imagine it and found it to be a horrifying thought. The word ‘nightmare’ came to his mind, but this was actually worse. It was like living a nightmare. “What is the treatment for that?”

  “Lucid dreaming,” Basil answered. “Doctor Madfyre is helping me to control my dreams. I may not ever be able to stop the partial consciousness, but the creatures are from my mind. If I can control my mind, I could make the creatures go away or replace them with whatever I want.”

  “Lucid dreaming…” Sigmund thought out loud. “Once in a great while, I will be in a dream and realize that it is a dream. When that happens, I try to fly.”

  Basil chuckled at this. “Ah, the pinnacle of dreams – flying!”

  Sigmund smiled. They both looked up in surprise at the sound of a shattering plate. A food server evidently had more than he could carry and was now bending down to pick up the pieces. Taking his attention away from the server, Sigmund wondered if it was protocol among the patients to reciprocate the reasons for admission to the asylum. He looked at Basil and saw no particular anticipation in his face but decided that he might as well. Basil could be a good source of information and being open with him could help keep the communication flowing.

  “My wife left me,” Sigmund started. “I was okay at first. Upset and sad, of course, but managing. I went to work as usual, I ate as usual, all the day to day things. But one night I was in a small restaurant and ordered hot soup as the weather was brutally cold. It was delicious, but the chill I had still persisted. I ordered a second bowl only to have the waiter tell me that they were out. I don’t know why but his answer seemed to set free all the hurt and anger that I had. Of course, it wasn’t the server’s fault, but he became the target. My vision blurred with rage and I leapt at him stabbing him over and over. Being that I was eating soup, my weapon was, fortunately, only a spoon. He ended up with several bruises before other workers and patrons pulled me off of him. The police decided to bring me here.”

  Basil listened intently to the entire story. There was a hint of a smile when he found out that the weapon was a spoon, but other than that his face showed only empathy. “Sigmund, I am very sorry about your wife.”

  Nodding, Sigmund tried to look sad, and hoped there weren’t many follow up questions. To change the conversation’s direction, he asked, “Before you were admitted, what line of work were you in?”

  “I was an Egyptologist. I worked for several wealthy contributors and ultimately the British Museum.”

  Sigmund’s eyes grew wide. He was both in awe of this man and his occupation but also confused that such a person could end up in Bedlam. “You mean, like studying the pyramids and digging in the desert for mummies?”

  Smiling, Basil said, “Basically, yes. I was a key member of several expeditions. However, my ailment has, at least temporarily, put me on hiatus. It was on an expedition, in the desert near Cairo, when I was first struck by the night terrors. I was in my tent and when I finally woke from them, I was absolutely horrified. I said nothing to anyone, for I didn’t know what to say that didn’t make me sound crazy. When it happened a second time, less than a week later, I told the expedition leader who chalked it up to a bad dream. I knew it was more than that, but what could I say? Eventually word spread of my experiences, that continued regularly, and many of our workers, excellent Egyptian men, concluded that I was cursed.”

  “Cursed?” Sigmund exclaimed. “Surely not!”

  “I know that here, in the heart of Britain, that the notion of a curse sounds absurd. But put yourself in the desert, surrounded by ancient tombs that contain terrible warnings for any that disturb them. As a man of science and a student of history, I put no stock in these things. However, our Egyptian men were naturally more in harmony with the old ways and more ready to believe that my strange affliction could only be from one those warnings. And, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit, without an explanation for my night terrors, I also wondered if I was cursed.”

  Sigmund tried to see himself in the situation and decided that it must have been horrific and that any reasoning would have to be an option. He commented, “I guess if you do not understand what is happening, all options are open for explanation.”

  “Exactly. I cannot tell you the relief I had when Doctor Madfyre diagnosed me with a known issue. The curse was broken, as they say.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Sigmund said, “You are quite an interesting chap.” Then, trying to bring the subject around to his investigation, Sigmund said, “Speaking of unknown ailments, my parents were allowed to visit me before my admission here and they said that strangest thing.”

  Basil cocked his head. “Oh?”

  “Of all the thoughts or warnings they could have said to me, they told me to be careful of diseases. Evidently they had heard rumours of a deadly disease currently in Bedlam. Do you know what they were talking about?”

  Basil considered the question for a few moments and then said, “Hmm. Outside of the ordinary illnesses that one would face, perhaps a few more due to the poor condition of this building, I am not aware of any particular disease. Not one that is killing people. However…” his voice dropped off and Sigmund could see that he was thinking something over, perhaps making connections.

  After several seconds of silence, Sigmund couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. “What is it, Basil?”

  “Oh, well, I am not exactly sure.” He rubbed his chin and continued, “As I said, there is no disease that I’m aware of, but we have had some very unexpected releases.”

  “I’m not following what you mean.”

  “There are people here, patients, that probably don’t belong in an asylum. It is sad but true. The process for release from Bedlam is a very slow one. Some, however, belong here fully. Such as Xavier or The Beast – people who cannot operate in society. Over the past year or so, I would notice that one of the patients would be missing. When I ask, I’m told that they were cured and released.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing? How does that relate to a possible disease?”

  “It would be good if these patients were truly healed. But the ones I’m talking about were far from a cure. To say it is suspicious is an understatement, but, as you can assume, I have little means to investigate. What if, and this is pure speculation, that these ones were not released, but caught that deadly disease and it was hidden from the patients?”

  Excitement was sparked in Sigmund. He tried not to show it too much, but this was the first clue he had as to this mysterious illness. It made sense. A patient would get sick, would be taken away, dies, and is disposed of quietly. He felt one step closer to getting out of here.

  Sigmund asked, “Do you think that is really possible?”

  There was only a moment’s h
esitation before Basil responded, “Yes. It is possible. The orderlies are terrible and I wouldn’t put it past them. They would probably have to keep it from Mr. Thursby, though.”

  “Who is Mr. Thursby?”

  “He is the Chief Orderly. He is one of the very few people in this asylum that seems to care for the patients. He treats us with respect. Although, if a patient died of disease, he could reason that the idea of release is much more comforting to the patients than the idea of death. I must admit that it is all very curious.”

  It certainly was, thought Sigmund. They sat there silently, each contemplating possibilities. For Sigmund, he was trying to think of next steps. The thoughts and reasoning of Basil fit very well to what Sigmund knew so far, but it wasn’t proof. There was still work to do.

  His mind turned to Richard Sutton and Chief Inspector Holmes. He hoped they didn’t have any issues with their next step in all of this. Sigmund would find out that night.

  18.

  Three Years Prior, Late Spring…

  Silvester and Amberlyn walked towards the shore of the Thames, both enjoying the sun shining warmly on them. Their families had quickly fallen into conversation with each other leaving no need for mediation on Silvester’s part. He wondered what it would be like if his family did not get along with Amberlyn’s. Well, not something he needed to worry about – certainly not now.

  His heart started beating faster as he felt the small box in his pocket that contained the engagement ring. If he could keep his courage up, it was about to happen. A dream come true. He would ask her to marry him.

  As they walked, he looked over and smiled at her and she returned it. She was so beautiful. Looking back to the Thames, he could feel a bit of sweat on his brow as he was now in a state of nervous rapture.

  “Are you alright?” Amberlyn asked. “You are looking a little ill.”

  Not the quickest of thinkers, he was happy to be able to spit out, “The sun. It’s warmer than I expected. That is all.”

  She seemed to buy it and said, “It is quite warm. But quite glorious too, don’t you think?”

  It was, but he didn’t care. It could be raining mud and he would not have minded. He cared about only one thing at this moment, and that was Amberlyn. “Yes, quite glorious,” he answered, not talking about the sun.

  The couple stepped onto a small dock that fingered into the water. There was a single row boat attached to one of the pylons and a man stood near it. As they got close, the proprietor greeted the young couple. “Good day to you, Miss, and Sir.”

  “Good day to you,” Silvester responded. He had arranged previously that the boat would be available. It was a good thing he did as a day like that would have made for many takers. It cost him a few pounds, but it was well worth it. “We would like to rent this boat, if that is alright.”

  “Of course, of course. My last one! A beautiful day for a ride on the river. Please step this way and I will help you in.” The man stepped to the side and Silvester went first. He placed a foot in the boat and it rocked under him causing his arm to immediately grab the strong hand of the proprietor. Once the rocking subsided, he brought in his second foot and sat down quickly.

  Amberlyn went next. Silvester stayed seated, hoping to keep the boat as steady as possible, and offered his hand. Amberlyn stepped down, the boat rocked again, but the effort of the three of them kept it reasonably stable. Once Amberlyn was seated, Silvester gave a little sigh of relief. Falling in the water would have dampened – literally and figuratively – his plans.

  Untying the rope, the proprietor said, “You’re all free. Enjoy the ride.”

  Silvester grabbed the oars and clumsily moved the boat away from the dock. He was not adept to rowing, or any water activity, and it showed in the meandering path he took to the middle of the river.

  One good thing about the struggle to row what that it took his mind off of his goal. It wasn’t until he reached his destination and stopped rowing that he realized that all the steps leading up to the proposal were done. He had nothing to hide behind anymore, except his own nerves.

  The boat rocked very gently and the lapping sound of water could be heard as it brushed against the side of the hull. His heart beat quickly, surpassing what the bit of rowing had caused. He felt sweat rolling down the back of his neck, a mixture from heat and nervousness. He just needed to start talking. Just a word.

  While Silvester was a tangle of nerves, he noticed that Amberlyn was simply taking in the sun and the surroundings, enjoying the moment. Silvester couldn’t take in anything beyond Amberlyn. His entire world was her and the question he needed to ask. The words felt as if they were caught in his throat. He was so close to uttering them, but they weren’t coming out. He took several shallow breaths as he struggled to speak. Finally, he managed to break through and said, “Amberlyn, I need to discuss something with you.” It was a bit more formal than he had practiced, but at least he started.

  She turned her attention to him and said, “Of course. Are you sure you are alright?”

  Silvester ignored the question, he would allow nothing to sidetrack him. “Amberlyn, I am amazed every day since I met you that you are someone I could call a friend. The fact that you are more than that, that you accepted my request of courtship, is nearly incomprehensible to me. I have never felt like I could deserve someone as special as you.”

  Amberlyn looked at him kindly and gave a small shake of her head to indicate that she was not that special and that he was being much too hard on himself.

  Silvester continued, “Deserving or not, I never want to be without you. The happiness you bring me has ruined me for anything less than bliss, for anything less than you.” At this point he reached in his pocket and palmed the box. Pulling it out, he asked, “Amberlyn, will you do me the great honor of being my wife?” He opened it, exposing the ring, and held it out to her.

  Her mouth opened and her eyes grew wide. She stood up and put her hands to her mouth and whispered, “Oh, Silvester…”

  19.

  Chief Inspector Holmes looked at Zachary, the monkey, asleep on Richard Sutton’s lap. He smiled and thought that 2:00am is early for man and animal. The carriage was parked on Lambeth Road, near the entrance gates to the asylum. There were a few street lamps along this stretch, but they struggled mightily against the drizzle and darkness. Holmes had driven the carriage and although well dressed, was happy to be out of the elements and in the passenger cabin.

  “Are you sure he can do this?” Holmes asked Sutton.

  Sutton petted the back of Zachary and said, “I’m sure. He’s not your average monkey.”

  Holmes smiled again. The whole thought of this endeavor was straight out of a Conan Doyle story: To have a monkey sneak into the asylum and deliver a set of lock picks to Sigmund.

  “Do you have the drawings?” Sutton asked.

  Holmes reached into his jacket pocket and took out his sketches from when he brought Sigmund to Bedlam. It was for this reason that he insisted on going with the orderlies all the way to Sigmund’s room. To get an exact location.

  Sutton continued to pet Zachary and said, “Time to wake up little one. Time to wake up and do some work.”

  Holmes watched as the monkey raised his head and blinked his eyes. Zachary looked around the dark carriage and then up at Sutton.

  “That’s right, time to help Sigmund.”

  Holmes didn’t think that the monkey looked particularly pleased to be awake, but then again, he didn’t look particularly unpleased. Who knew what went on in the mind of a monkey?

  “Hold up the first drawing,” Sutton told Holmes.

  He held up a rough sketch of the outside of Bedlam Asylum. There was a red circle around the leftmost second story window, the window closest to Sigmund’s room.

  Sutton touched the red circle and said to Zachary, “Sigmund. This is Sigmund.” He then went back and forth between pointing at the picture and pointing out the window at the actual building.

  Holmes
understood what Sutton was trying to do, but it seemed a bit of a stretch. Could Zachary make the connection, even as basic as it was?

  Another minute or so passed with Sutton alternating between the picture and the window. When satisfied, he said, “Alright, next picture.”

  Holmes flipped the page and showed his other sketch. This one was a basic view of Sigmund’s door – a red circle around the viewing window. Included in the picture was the door next to Sigmund’s and the end wall of the hallway. For a person, it would be easy to determine that Sigmund’s room was the second to last door of the corridor. Again, Holmes wondered about the ability of Zachary.

  Sutton pointed at the red circle and repeated, “Sigmund.” He didn’t spend as much time on this picture, but seemed satisfied that the monkey understood. Sutton looked at Holmes and said, “He’s ready. Do you have everything?”

  Holmes nodded and removed from his pocket a pouch containing the lock picks. Sutton took it and placed it in a small bag that was attached to Zachary’s back. From his other pocket, Holmes produced a blackjack – a six inch long piece of leather with a weighted end. This was a basic weapon that should be easy for Sigmund to hide and yet give him a little protection. Holmes hoped he wouldn’t need it. Sutton took this as well and put it in the pack.