Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2)

by Mark C. King

  25.

  “Basil,” Sigmund said, “all those released patients you were telling me about – as you surmised, they were not released! I am certain that something happened to them.”

  Sitting in the community room, Sigmund leaned across the table to be able to speak freely but not be overheard. Although there were many people in the community room with them, he worried mostly about Mr. Pegg. The orderly was not too far away from them and for all Sigmund knew, was in on the disappearances.

  Basil leaned forward as well, looking the part of a conspirator, and said, “I tried to find legitimate excuses for those that were released, some way that it could be true. But, despite my prodigious optimism, I see no way that Roland Oxley, The Beast of Bedlam, was cured.” His eyes were intense with excitement and concern. “So where does that leave us?”

  After a sigh, Sigmund answered, “I’m not exactly sure. Perhaps he had a disease, but I can’t figure out how anyone would know. He was the most segregated patient in this place, and certainly received no attention from the staff. Who would or even could detect an illness in him?”

  “If not a disease,” mused Basil, “then we are talking about something deliberate.”

  Sigmund nodded. He wondered if he should tell Basil his real reason for being in the asylum, but was hesitant to involve him anymore than he already had. If there was murder happening, then anyone who was on to it was in danger. Still, Sigmund thought, it could be a disease. He wished he had more information. He wished he was able to have followed that squeaky wheeled-chair.

  A crash sounded and Sigmund looked to the source. The large orderly, Mr. Pegg, was on the ground, his chair broken beneath him. Those aware of what was going on smiled, but most didn’t even respond.

  Mr. Pegg stood up, red faced, and looked around the community area. His voice bellowed out, “Who did that? Who rigged my chair?”

  Once again, a few paid him attention, but most were satisfied with their own worlds. Pegg walked angrily towards the nearest patient, a man who hadn’t moved during the whole episode, and grabbed his arm and stood him up. “You!” he screamed, “Against the wall!” He then shoved him towards the painted brick wall to the right of the door. Pegg grabbed another person, a woman, then another, until he had five patients lined up.

  Sigmund wasn’t sure what the orderly had in mind, but he knew that the chair was old and it broke due to its age and the heaviness of the man who sat on it. No one had done anything to it, especially the individuals that Pegg had chosen. They were all ones that never spoke and hardly even moved without prompting.

  Pegg approached the line of patients standing along the wall, facing towards it, and examined them briefly. He undid his buckle and pulled off his thick leather belt. “You all think it is fun to play games with me? I’ll show you how fun it is!”

  He walked towards the man on the right and raised the belt to strike.

  “Wait!” Sigmund called out while standing up. “They did not do anything! The chair, it was…it was just old.”

  The orderly glared at Sigmund for a long second and then turned and raised the belt again.

  Sigmund ran towards the orderly shouting, “No!” Then, without much thought, said, “Punish me instead!”

  Pegg stopped and watched as Sigmund pushed the patient out of the way and took his place against the wall.

  “I would call you crazy,” said the orderly, “but that is redundant in this place. Suit yourself.” Without another word or warning, Pegg slammed the belt against Sigmund’s back with a loud SLAP.

  Sigmund screamed in pain as a line of his back felt like it exploded in fire. He wanted to drop to his knees, but he remained standing. He wasn’t finished.

  Pegg moved to the next patient, an older woman, and Sigmund yelled out through clenched teeth, “I’m taking hers.” He looked at the woman and breathlessly said, “Go sit down.” He took her hand and led her away from the wall. Once she walked out of striking distance, Sigmund stood in her place.

  The orderly said nothing, just raised the belt and struck Sigmund again.

  This strike was slightly higher than the first one and took the pain to a new level. Sigmund let out a scream, tears coming to his eyes. Taking in deep, painful breaths, saliva escaping his mouth, he again fought to remain standing. Through the agony, he regained awareness of the orderly. Pegg had moved to the next person, a young man. Without saying anything, Sigmund pushed the young man away and took his place.

  “If you think that you are breaking my heart,” said the orderly menacingly, “You’re not.” Another vicious blow came down on Sigmund’s back.

  Another scream and this time he fell to his knees. The pain was white hot and nearly rendered him unconscious. Stars swam in his vision. He looked up to his left at the next person in line, the other woman, grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the wall. Through clinched teeth, he managed a guttural, “Me!”

  The blow came with as much force as the others. The orderly, as indicated, was clearly not showing any mercy. Sigmund screamed again and fell flat on the floor. Blood could be felt trickling off his back and down his sides.

  “They are not going to thank you, you know,” said Pegg. “They don’t even understand what is going on. You are nothing more than a confusing sensation to these addled brains.”

  Unable to speak through the pain, Sigmund could only think, I’m not doing it for gratitude.

  “You want the last one?” asked the guard. “Or should I give it to this mindless thing?”

  Still unable to speak, and trying not to think about what another strike would feel like, Sigmund pointed to himself – it was all he could manage. Anticipating the strike, he closed his eyes tightly.

  “Mr. Pegg!” a voice bellowed out from the doorway. Sigmund opened his eyes and was able to make out the fuzzy shape of Mr. Thursby through his tears.

  “What is going on here?”

  “One of these nutters rigged my chair to collapse. I could have hurt myself.” Pegg answered confidently, as if it was the obvious answer.

  “Mr. Pegg,” continued Thursby, “How many times do I have to tell you that your idea of discipline is completely unacceptable. And when will you understand that these patients are not, ‘nutters’, but people who have been dealt a bad hand. Be thankful for your mind and show sympathy for those less fortunate.”

  “You always take their side. I don’t know why you care so much,” responded Pegg and Sigmund could see him push past Mr. Thursby and out the door.

  When Thursby knelt next to Sigmund, he asked, “It is Mr. Maxwell, correct? Do you think you can walk?”

  The pain was fierce and the thought of moving was not appealing, but he answered, “Yes, I believe I can manage.”

  “Good. Let’s get you to Doctor Exton, he can look at your wounds.” Thursby then grabbed Sigmund’s arm and helped him to stand. Each movement reinvigorated the pain and Sigmund hoped that Exton wasn’t too far.

  “I think it might be better if we take you to your room and have Dr. Exton help you there. His office is on the first floor and I think that is asking a bit too much from you right now.”

  Sigmund appreciated the kindness of this man as they walked down the long hallway to his room. Once there, he nearly collapsed onto his bed, face down. He wouldn’t be sleeping on his back for a while.

  “I’m going to go get the doctor and be back soon.”

  A simple, “Thank you.” Was all that Sigmund could manage.

  * * *

  Charlotte stared in horror as Mr. Pegg raised his arm to strike a patient with his belt. She took a step forward, with intention to take many more and try and intervene, but Anne grabbed her arm.

  “Charlotte, no!” she said urgently. “You cannot help and you do not want his attention on you.”

  Looking back, Charlotte knew that Anne was probably right, but couldn’t stand this injustice. She pulled on her arm and freed it from Anne’s grasp. That was when another patient, a man near the disturbance
, stood up and protested. She watched, briefly motionless with surprise, as this man took the place of the first patient and took a blow on his back. She cringed at the strike. Then the man moved to the next position, moving another patient out of the way. Another strike.

  Charlotte again started moving towards the scene. The man had taken the third patient’s place and received another blow. He fell to his knees this time. The cries were agonizing and she held her breath as he took the fourth position and took yet another strike. The man fell flat on his stomach.

  The fifth blow was about to be delivered when Mr. Thursby came in and put a stop to it. Charlotte was relieved, but was shaking with shock and anger. The man lay on the floor, still conscious, but clearly in great pain.

  Who was this man? Why did he do this? Continuing to move closer, she looked on as Mr. Thursby helped him to his feet. The man stood up slowly and turned which allowed her to see his face. Abruptly her movement stopped and a gasp escaped her lips. She knew this man!

  It was Sigmund Shaw!

  26.

  When Charlotte woke up on Saturday morning, she was cold, but focused. She had one goal: Talk with Sigmund Shaw. What was he doing in Bedlam Asylum? This could be a story inside of a story for her article. One of the heroes of the Grimkraken Affair, now a lunatic?

  And what he did for those poor patients. Whatever his reason for being here, lunatic or otherwise, that was a brave thing to do.

  She was able to talk briefly with a man, Basil, who was sitting at Sigmund’s table and was she was able to find out that Sigmund was here under the name of Maxwell, not Shaw. Basil had told her something about Sigmund attacking a waiter with a spoon. It didn’t make much sense, but one had to take what they heard with a grain of salt here – it was an insane asylum after all.

  In the dining area, Charlotte sat at one of the women’s and watched the door for Sigmund to arrive. She was sure to get there early and planned to stay as long as she needed to. When the food was nearly gone and she being the last patient in the room, Charlotte gave up hope that Sigmund would show that morning. Maybe he wasn’t able to? How bad was he hurt? The blows were vicious, but surely not life threatening. Perhaps someone brought food to him. Maybe he was not a breakfast person?

  Charlotte stared at the scarred table and bit her lower lip in thought. There were not a lot of options to meet him as women were not allowed in the men’s wing. There were only two places that men and women were able to mix – in the dining room, although the men and women sat at separate tables, or in the community room after the evening meal. There was no guarantee that Sigmund would show up for any of the meals or choose to fraternize in the community room – the place where he was attacked. It was bad enough that she would have had to wait until the evening to have a conversation with him, but she hoped to at least set up the appointment, let him know that she knew who he was.

  If she knew who might have brought him food, she might have been able to pass a message. She didn’t recall if Basil had come that morning and she cursed herself for not thinking of perhaps using him.

  Maybe she could get an orderly to help? Probably not a good idea. The orderlies have proven less than helpful and she didn’t want to give up Sigmund’s secret, at least not without a good reason. No, she would need to figure another way.

  Why couldn’t he just have come to breakfast? she thought frustrated. Her eyes fell on the remains of porridge in her bowl, the room temperature lumps of tastelessness, and an idea occurred to her. If Sigmund didn’t come to breakfast, perhaps breakfast could come to him. She scraped up what remained in the serving dish into her bowl. It was not appetizing, but she wasn’t really expecting him to eat it. She left the dining room with the bowl of food and turned right towards the men’s ward. When she reached the double doors, she tried the handle and was disappointed, although not surprised, to find them locked. She could still back out of this if she wanted.

  Steeling herself, she knocked on the door. The knock was not tentative, but it was certainly not confident. She listened for any response from the other side.

  “Who’s there?” an angry sounding voice called out. It had to be Mr. Pegg.

  “It is Miss Caine, sir.”

  “What do you want? Women are not allowed in here.”

  “Yes, sir, but Mr. Thursby asked me to bring some food to Mr. Maxwell.”

  She jumped a little when the handle unlocked and the door opened quickly. The ugly and unshaven face of Mr. Pegg looked at her through the opening, his eyes roving about her in a very uncomfortable way. Through his body stench, she could also smell alcohol. Maybe this was not a good idea. Mr. Pegg has proven himself to be quite unpredictable.

  “Mr. Thursby,” he sneered. “That man needs to stop babying these patients and treat them like the mindless sheep they are.”

  Charlotte didn’t respond at first, just held the bowl of food and tried to not make much eye contact. Then she suggested, “I could give this to you and you could serve Mr. Maxwell.”

  “Me?” Pegg asked angrily, “You want me to serve one of the patients? That’s rich.” He opened the door and said, “Well, go on then and make it quick. I’ll be watching you.”

  The last sentence made her shudder as it was unlikely that he would be watching for her benefit. She moved by him quickly with a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

  The men’s wing was very similar to the women’s side. In fact, other than the occupants, it was almost identical. That gave her a little hope of at least not getting lost. As she slowly walked down the hall, her eyes searched every face she came across looking for Sigmund. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go in any of the rooms. Being out of sight from the orderly, even if it was Mr. Pig, was a very uncomfortable thought. If she was attacked by a female patient, she knew that she would be at least a physical match, but she did not like her chances if she was attacked by a crazed male patient. Or several.

  Her worried thoughts turned to excitement when she spotted Sigmund. He was about two thirds down the long corridor and sitting with two other men around a chess table. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts and imagine her approach.

  Walking up to the three men, two of them looked at her, Sigmund and the man she talked to the previous night, Basil. The third man never took his eyes off of the game. “Excuse me, are you Sigmund Maxwell?” She asked.

  “Yes, miss, I am Sigmund,” he said as he looked up at her.

  “Umm, Mr. Thursby asked me to bring you some breakfast.”

  “Oh. Well, Basil here was kind enough to bring me some food already, but I could probably do with a little more.” Sigmund reached out his hand to take the bowl.

  Charlotte handed it to him, but made sure the spoon fell onto the floor. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said and then immediately kneeled down to pick it up. This maneuver put her face very near his and she said in a voice that she hoped only he could hear, “I know who you are, Mr. Shaw. Community room. This evening.”

  As she handed him the fallen spoon, she looked at his face. Yes, he had definitely heard her. His eyes were a little wider and full of questions.

  He gave a subtle nod and said, “Thank you miss. May I ask your name?”

  “It is Charlotte Caine.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Caine. I hope we meet again.”

  Charlotte smiled, gave a nod, and then walked away. Once past Mr. Pegg and back on the second floor landing, she stopped and took a couple deep breaths. Her hands shook a little as she tried to relax. Her plan had worked and the excitement of it all was exhilarating. Her husband would have been proud.

  Now all she needed to do was wait.

  Standing alone on the landing, a grim smile broached her face. That night she was going to talk with one of the men responsible for the death of her husband.

  * * *

  Of all the things that Sigmund thought could go wrong, being recognized by a patient was not one of them. What was worse, that red headed women was not anyone he ever remembers meeting. Sh
e was a complete and total stranger to him. The feeling it created was uncomfortable and a bit familiar. There was a previous occasion when a perfect stranger knew Sigmund and it turned out rather badly.

  “You alright there, Sigmund?” Basil asked, shaking Sigmund from his thoughts.

  “Uh, yes. Quite,” he answered. “I guess I was just surprised to see a woman in the men’s ward. Do you know her?”

  Basil paused as he considered the question and then answered, “No. I can’t say that I know her, but I did meet her briefly last night after the incident with Mr. Pegg.”

  Sigmund tried hard to not seem too interested. “Oh, really? What did she want?”

  “Well, she was asking about you. Evidently, she was impressed by what you had done. For that matter, we all were.”