by Mark C. King
She is a brave woman, thought Sigmund. Regardless of what she felt about him, he had a lot of respect for her, and it was only increasing.
They felt, more than saw, their way to the first door on the left. There was no noise behind it that they could make out, so Sigmund tried the handle and found it unlocked. Carefully opening it, not making any noise, what they found behind it was not what they were after. With a little groping, it was clear that this was a supply room of some sort. Whoever they were following did not go in there.
Closing the supply closet, they moved along the wall to the other door. Charlotte had a grip on Sigmund’s arm as the darkness was thick and separating could be problematic. At the second door, they listened, but could not make out anything. Unlike the previous door, Sigmund found this handle to be locked. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his lock picks and went to work. It was difficult in the absence of light, but although it was slow going, he was able to eventually unlock it. With a gentle turn of the handle, Sigmund pushed against the door but, to his surprise, it did not move. Keeping the handle in the open position, he pushed a little harder, and then with his shoulder. The door did not budge. It was somehow locked or barricaded on the other side.
Sigmund looked at Charlotte, or at least in the direction that he thought Charlotte was, and asked, “Any idea what is behind that door?”
“No,” came the quiet answer.
“I know!” said an excited whisper from the door to the lobby.
They were both startled, but knew immediately who it was. “Pocket!” Charlotte whispered as she walked towards his voice. “I thought we told you to go to bed?”
“Yeah, you did. But I was too excited and you left the door unlocked.”
Sigmund, not wanting to have a long conversation, asked, “Did you say you knew what was behind that door?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, what is it?”
“That is the basement stairway.”
Sigmund was not aware that Bedlam had a basement. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve been down there once, but my mum says that it is too dangerous. But I’m not afraid.”
“Pocket,” Charlotte said, “is there another stairway to the basement somewhere?”
“Not that I know of.”
“This night is going to end quickly,” commented Sigmund, “if we can’t get down there.”
“I know a way down,” Pocket said cheerily.
“I thought you said that there wasn’t another stairway?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s not a stairway. Come on, I’ll show you.” They could just make out his little silhouette head into the lobby.
“You think we should follow him?” Sigmund asked Charlotte.
“Yes, I do. That kid is special. Besides, what choice do we have?”
“Good point.”
When they caught up to Pocket, they found him outside of the doors to the ground floor women’s wing. They heard his small voice say, “I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte. I forgot that the doors are locked at night.”
“Are you saying,” asked Sigmund, “that we need to get through those doors?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then, I think I can help.” Sigmund knelt down and went to work with his lock picks.
When the door opened, Pocket asked, “Are you a magician?”
Charlotte stifled a laugh while Sigmund answered, “Not exactly. Now, lead the way, our young guide, and show us how to get to the basement.”
The little boy headed down the dark corridor with the two grownups in tow. About two-thirds down the hallway, Pocket stopped at a door and whispered, “In here.”
Inside was very dark and Sigmund wished he had a light of some sort. It was a foolish mistake on his part to be so unprepared. When he heard a match strike he looked towards the sound right as a light flashed. Pocket held the burning match in his hand and produced a candle in his other hand which he proceeded to light.
“Well done, Pocket!” Charlotte whispered.
Sigmund looked around the now illuminated room and saw that it was a small one, like his own.
“Over here,” Pocket said and walked to the far wall. He knelt down and the light from his candle flickered over a hole in the floor. Sigmund got down on his stomach and put his head over the opening. Below was another room, although he couldn’t see much.
“Well done, indeed. Hand me the candle, please,” he said to Pocket.
With candle in hand, he held it into the hole and could see that the room below them was empty except for some dirt and debris. “Alright, I’m going to let myself down and then help Charlotte down.”
“What about me?” Pocket asked excitedly.
“I am sorry, Pocket,” answered Sigmund. “I know you want to help, but we need you to stay up here.” Without allowing time for an argument, Sigmund pushed himself up and dropped down the hole. He landed well, not too much noise, and most importantly, he didn’t hurt himself.
From below, he watched as Charlotte brought her legs down, then her stomach, and then she dropped. Sigmund did his best to slow her down, but they both ended up on the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. I think so.”
“Pocket,” Sigmund said at the ceiling, “Please stay there. We will be back soon.”
“Yes, sir.” came the small and somewhat dejected reply.
Exiting the small room, candle in hand, they could see that they were now in a basement hallway. Their small light could not penetrate the length of it, but it showed clearly the poor and dirty surroundings. Sigmund strained his hearing and was able to make out the sound of water dripping, an animal squeak, and what had to be some man made noises from somewhere further down the darkness. In looking toward the sound, he thought he could make out a hint of a light, but wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Despite their caution and slowness, Sigmund and Charlotte had difficulties navigating the space. Debris, puddles, and who-knew-what-else, caused them to stumble and fall on more than one occasion. After each time, they waited and listened for some response and when enough time passed they continued on.
As they went farther, they could see that the small light was real and was actually a bit of illumination leaking under a closed door. Before they reached it, they could hear noises coming from inside. Moving right up next to the door, the sounds of someone moving around, including the occasional clink of glass could be heard clearly.
“What now?” whispered Charlotte.
Sigmund put his finger to his lips and slowly tried the handle. It was locked. Quietly releasing it, he moved away from the door and indicated for Charlotte to follow. They stopped at an open doorway that was just prior to the illuminated one.
“Do you think you can pick the lock?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, I can, but I don’t think I could do it quietly enough. Whoever is on the other side is not far away from the door and would probably hear us.”
“We simply cannot leave without finding out what is happening in there,” Charlotte whispered determinedly.
Sigmund could not agree more. You do not give up at the first sign of trouble, or second. “Agreed. However, I think we will have to wait for whoever is in there to come out. We have to at least identify who is behind this.”
“Is it not clear that it is Doctor Madfyre?”
“I will admit that it seems likely, but, as my friend Chief Inspector Holmes would tell you, knowing the truth is different than proving the truth.”
“Fair enough,” Charlotte conceded. “I guess it is not all that different than news reporting. A story is nothing without facts.”
Sigmund nodded in the darkness and turned his attention to the wall that was shared with the other room. Outside of some faint sounds, not much could be heard, which made the loud thump seem that much louder and caused both Charlotte and Sigmund to startle and look at each other in confusion.
After a few moments of silence, their hearts st
arted to beat normally; well, at least normal for their situation. They again found themselves waiting and listening. However, the muffled sounds had stopped completely and did not return. It must have been close to half an hour until there was another noise from the unknown room. This noise was not at all muffled, but was loud and it was clear.
“Help! Help me!”
37.
Sigmund and Charlotte looked at each other with wide eyes. A decision had to be made. Stay hidden and see what happens, or expose themselves and help whoever was in that room.
“Help! Help, please!”
Without a word, both Charlotte and Sigmund headed to the occupied room. A cry for help is hard to ignore and neither of them could stomach waiting. Handing the candle to Charlotte, Sigmund pulled out the blackjack that Holmes had provided via Zachary, and with it at the ready started to slam the door with his shoulder. The lack of care that the basement received showed clearly when the door gave way after only two attempts to break it open.
With blackjack poised, Sigmund stepped in the room and scanned for danger. Charlotte was right behind him – not a surprise as she had proven herself as one who does not simply stand by. However, there was no danger to be found. It was a small laboratory, lit by a couple candles and an oil lamp on the lab desk. Of most notice was a person lying on the ground, some blood near his head.
“Oh, thank goodness!” said a man strapped to a bed.
Before moving over to the man, Sigmund stooped by the body that was face down on the floor. Something about this person looked a little familiar and Sigmund couldn’t help but exclaim, “What?” in pure surprise when he rolled the body over and saw Xavier Dalby, the silent chess player. There was a large wound on his head, as if he had hit it on something. No breath could be felt and when Sigmund put his ear to the chest, there was no heartbeat either.
“Please, get me out of here!” said the man anxiously. Sigmund was still in shock and hardly noticed Charlotte going over to the person at the table.
“Mr. Thursby?” Charlotte asked in surprise. “What is happening?”
Sigmund finally looked up and recognized that the strapped down man was indeed the Head Orderly, the one that stopped Mr. Pegg from continuing to beat him.
While Charlotte released the straps, Thursby said, “He was going to hurt me. He talked about some experiment.” His voice was excited and his eyes were wild.
Cannot blame him, thought Sigmund. Then, “Wait! Did you say that he spoke to you?”
Thursby continued, “Yes, that is right. He was not a silent lunatic as he let on, he was here with a purpose! I think he is behind the missing patients!”
The fact that it was not Doctor Madfyre was surprise enough, but to be Xavier, a man that Sigmund had spent time with nearly every day, was very difficult to come to terms with.
“What was he doing down here?” Sigmund asked.
“I’m not exactly sure,” responded Thursby, now free from restraints. He walked over to the lab table and looked over the bottles. “Perhaps when Doctor Madfyre sees these chemicals, he can determine what the goal was.”
“What happened to him?” Charlotte asked, indicating the body on the floor.
“That is a very good question,” responded Thursby. “I was working late and must have been drugged, for the next thing I remember was being strapped to that bed and this man on the floor.”
“There is some blood on the edge of this table, perhaps he slipped and hit his head?” Sigmund offered.
“Hmm, maybe. Hopefully. He was going to kill me!” Thursby was still in a state of excitement. “But, what are you two doing here?”
Sigmund could not see a reason to keep his purpose hidden anymore. “Mr. Thursby, I’m here to investigate the missing patients. I am not an insane person, but am working with Chief Inspector Holmes.”
“Incredible,” said Thursby. “And you Miss, are you working with him?”
“No. Although I am also here on false pretenses, this investigation is pure coincidence. I work for The Strand Magazine and am writing an article on life in Bedlam Asylum.”
“Like Nelly Bly,” Thursby commented.
Sigmund saw Charlotte smile at the reference. “That’s right,” she said. “And I will gladly admit that you, Mr. Thursby, will be well reported on. However, most will not.”
Nodding in understanding, Thursby said, “That is kind of you. I try to help these poor patients, but it is difficult.” Then, shaking his head, he added, “Between you two and this maniac on the floor, I start to wonder if anyone is who they claim to be.
They all looked down at Xavier silently until Thursby said, “I wonder who he really is. Why don’t you check his pockets? Maybe there is something to identify him.”
Sigmund bent down to see if there was any clues as to who Xavier was and perhaps what he was after. When a handkerchief was suddenly placed over his nose and mouth, Sigmund tried to shake it off but his crouching position gave him almost no leverage and he couldn’t break free. The smell was familiar. Chloroform, he thought just before blacking out.
38.
Charlotte watched as Sigmund, per Mr. Thursby’s suggestion, bent down to check the pockets of Xavier. It was hard to believe that a supposed patient was behind all of this, but then again, herself and Sigmund were ‘patients’ too. She felt a bit like Thursby in wondering if anyone who they seemed to be?
Just as Sigmund was about to reach into a pocket, Charlotte gasped when Mr. Thursby got behind Sigmund and placed a rag over his mouth. The quickness and surprise of it all momentarily paralyzed Charlotte. When Sigmund fell to the floor – unconscious? Dead? – Charlotte finally managed, “What…what are you doing?”
When Thursby looked at her, the frightened appearance he had had was gone. It was replaced by a calm determination that scared Charlotte to her core. “Mr. Thursby, please, what is going on?”
“Miss Charlotte, what is going on is the interruption of the greatest medical triumph in the history of insanity.”
“What? You? You are the one experimenting on the patients? I don’t understand.”
Thursby picked up a syringe from the lab table and moved towards the door, blocking the only exit. “Because no one else is helping!” he said angrily. “Doctor Madfyre was on the verge of something great, but he allowed weak morality to interfere. He failed to comprehend his own vision. I took up where he left off.”
Thursby took a step closer and Charlotte took one backwards. She could feel the wall behind her, which meant she did not have anywhere to go. “But you are killing people. Surely any sense of morality would condemn that?”
“People?” Thursby responded with disgust. “I think you are being generous, Miss Charlotte. Take Xavier here, at his best, he played chess and remained calm. What use is that to society? What use is that for anything?”
“Who are you to judge his life?” Charlotte asked with true anger. “Is it a crime to be like him?”
“There is no law in the books to condemn Xavier or those like him, but to give him the opportunity to help others, to contribute to society, even if it means his death, is greater than the law, stated or otherwise. What is better than a worthless life given meaning?”
Charlotte’s horror at what she was hearing was growing, but her situation was more worrisome and immediate. What was perhaps most confusing was that Mr. Thursby was one of the nicest of all the staff. What could have happened to make him like this? “Mr. Thursby, I have seen you speak kindly of the patients here, even come to their protection. What has happened to you?”
Thursby stared at her while contemplating the question. “I will admit to a division in perspective. But you see, the serum that Madfyre had developed those years past, could also work in reverse. Instead of balancing an unbalanced mind, it can cause a balanced mind to increase in a given direction. I am not a doctor, nor did I go to any medical school, but with the help of the serum, I could study chemistry, biology, anatomy, and come to new and exciting conclusions. It als
o helps me reason clearly, to not be burdened by the lesser concerns of societal feelings, the feelings that stopped Madfyre’s promising work.”
“Why doesn’t the serum kill you if it is killing these patients?”
“A combination of dosage, administration technique, and version of the serum makes all the difference.”
He took another step forward, syringe glistening in the lamp light, and Charlotte took a step to the side. Her eyes scanned the room for options. There were some bottles on the lab table, perhaps she could use them, or their contents as a weapon. Before she could act on that thought, Thursby rushed at her. Her mind focused on one thing, the syringe. Both hands grasped his wrist as his body slammed into her. The force of him pushed her painfully against the wall, but she didn’t lose her grip on his arm.