“Not now.” Catron was riffling through papers on his desk. Occasionally, he would glance at me and make notes. We hadn’t spoken a word to each other since he called Cutter on the intercom.
“But I can’t be takin’ ’er back now, sir.” It was the first time I’d ever seen Cutter look frazzled. “We got trouble with that girl who dropped ’er tray in the cafeteria today. Now she’s walkin’ into walls, and a few of them other ones, too.”
“Thomasina,” I said. “Her name is Thomasina.” Both of them ignored me.
“They ain’t listenin’ to us no more. I don’t know if they don’t understand, or they’re just bein’ willful. But either way, the staff is havin’ a devil of a time corrallin’ them, cleanin’ up after them—”
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Cutter!” Catron snapped. The burly woman took a step back. “I don’t care what you do with her.” He indicated me. “Just get her out of here.”
I expected Cutter to make a few more remarks. But to my surprise, she simply nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Then she grabbed me roughly by the upper arm. “C’mon, you!” She yanked me out of the chair and into the hall. I only just managed to grab my satchel as we left.
Before I knew what was happening, she pushed me onto the bench outside Catron’s office. I felt cold metal on my wrist, and realized she was handcuffing me to the armrest.
“What’s this?” I asked in disbelief.
“A precaution. Can’t ’ave you go runnin’ off on your own. Not after you almost broke into Dr. Catron’s office.”
“I’d hardly call attempting to turn a doorknob ‘breaking in.’ ” And since when does Nurse Cutter carry handcuffs? Perhaps she always has them on her, and I just never noticed.
“See?” snapped Cutter. “It’s that kind of thinkin’ that gets girls like you in trouble. Now, the good doctor don’t need to know you’re ’ere. Don’t make a peep—just pray he don’t come out. I’ll be back for you as soon as I’m done dealin’ with them other sickos. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay right there on that bench.”
I looked at the handcuff. I looked at Nurse Cutter.
“Do I have a choice?”
She glared at me with her beady, animal eyes. “Just. Stay. Put.” Then she walked away down the hall, heavy shoes echoing.
I jerked at the handcuff, then examined it. Maybe I can animate it and make it open. I stared at the cuff and concentrated very hard. Although I managed to bend the metal back and forth, I couldn’t enlarge the opening around my wrist enough to wriggle out. And my abilities did nothing to trigger the locking device inside the handcuff. I definitely needed a key.
With nothing to do except wait for Cutter to return and “rescue” me, I listened to what was going on in Catron’s office. He was speaking to someone on the intercom, but I couldn’t make out what the other party was saying.
I saw a stout, perspiring orderly walk towards me from the other end of the hall. He had on stained overalls instead of his usual orderly’s uniform, but I recognized him from my previous weeks at the asylum. He carried an open, metal toolbox with various hammers, wrenches, and pliers spilling out.
If he thought it was odd that a patient was handcuffed to a bench, he said nothing about it. For all I knew, he saw girls at Silver Hill in similar situations all the time. It was a disturbing thought. He walked right up to Catron’s office, then stopped and leaned his head towards me.
“Psst—’ey, you there. Girlie. ’Ow’s the doctor feelin’ today?”
“Feeling?”
The orderly rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one o’ them loonies who can’t even understand a sentence. I really need to know, see. Is ’e feelin’ all right?”
“All right?”
The man rolled his eyes again.
“He seemed like his usual self when I was just in there,” I finally said. His usual self just happens to be a sadistic nut bag.
“I can’t risk goin’ in there if ’e’s not ’imself, see? ’E’s in an especially funny mood these days because of that new girl, Seluna.” He squinted at me. “What they call you, by the way?”
“Mary,” I answered quickly. Why would Catron be in a funny mood because of me? Is it because I tried to break into his office?
The orderly nodded slowly. “Well, you just do what the good doctor tells you, you ’ear? And there won’t be no trouble.”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”
Satisfied, he gave a sharp nod and a grunt, then walked into Catron’s office.
“’Ello, Dr. Catron.” I could tell by the orderly’s voice he was smiling with artificial cheer. “’Ow are you today?”
“Fairly well. And yourself?”
“Oh, splendid. Splendid I am, thank you, sir. Accounts going well, then?”
“What? Oh, yes. Lunacy is a lucrative business, after all.” Catron definitely didn’t know I was in the hall; he’d never speak so freely if he did. At least I didn’t think he would. And it seemed he wasn’t on the intercom anymore. I tried to twist my neck and look in the office to see what he was doing. But the bench was too far away, and my prisoner status limited my mobility.
“Good, good. Glad to ’ear it. I did like you asked and took a look at them pipes. Now, you didn’t ’ire me to be a plumber—not that I’m complainin’, mind you—but I tightened everythin’ that could be tightened. Took me over a week, but I think it’s safe to say the dormitories will be ’igh and dry from now on.”
“Excellent,” replied Catron. “Mr. . . .”
“Flack,” the orderly said. “Flack’s the name, sir. Remember?”
“Ah, yes. Flack. Fine work there. You may go now.” There was a pause, and then I heard Flack say:
“Beggin’ your pardon, Doctor, but you ’ad any luck findin’ . . . the creature?”
The creature? Is that “the one” Catron mentioned seeking before?
“Mmmm?” I got the impression Catron was looking at something else, only half-listening to Flack.
“You know,” Flack lowered his voice, “the creature. You said if only you could locate one, you might be able to open up its brain and find out where the goddess is.”
Is “the one” the same person as the goddess they’re talking about? It would make sense, since Catron had said whomever they were looking for was female. But that would mean the creature was something else. Were they using goddess as a metaphor? Maybe it was an ancient artifact, like a statue. But if that were true, why search for it at an asylum? One would need to host an archeological dig or something. Silver Hill was getting more bizarre by the minute.
“Possibly,” replied Catron. There was the sound of a fountain pen scratching paper. “Rumor has it one was seen not far from here—a young male with dark skin.”
My heart froze. Dym had dark skin. He was the only male anything within miles that did. Were they talking about him? What kind of creature was he? I always thought he was just a boy. A strange boy, yes, but still a boy.
“Splendid! P’raps it’ll save us all a lot o’ trouble.” Then the orderly’s voice became more serious. “I ’ate to bring it up, sir, but what about Seluna? Should we move ’er to a regular room? Nurse Cutter was sayin’ it might be best. Better to keep an eye on ’er that way and all.”
A regular room? Would that be better or worse? No more freezing garret, but more pairs of eyes on me. And I’d lose access to the secret passage, as well as any chance of seeing Dym.
Catron paused in thought. “No,” he said finally. “Let her stay where she is. She may stir things up if we put her nearer to the general population. That one seems like trouble, if my instincts are correct.”
The orderly snorted. “Don’t need instincts to see that. Breakin’ into people’s offices. What’s the world comin’ to, eh?”
“Indeed.” The sound of shuffling papers indicated Catron wasn’t that engaged in the conversation.
“I know it’s not my place, sir, but wouldn’t it just be easier to, you know,
perform that there final procedure on the patients straight off?”
Another pause, then Catron spoke very slowly. “If we performed it on them straight off, it wouldn’t be the final procedure, now, would it? And no, it’s not your place.” It was the tone of a man trying very hard to keep his patience.
“I know, sir, I know. It’s just an awful lot of ’ard work, this is. Them shock treatments is bad enough. Bringin’ these girls in and out, then ’avin’ to take care of ’em when they can’t wash themselves no more. Doin’ that final procedure first could save us a lot o’ time.”
I could only envision the withering look Catron was giving Flack. “Don’t be stupid. Can you imagine the public outcry if I had an asylum full of patients who received the final procedure? Most of my clients want their girls cured, or at least compliant. The final procedure is only for the very worst cases. And she would certainly be one of the worst. The most power hungry, the most unpredictable. As for taking care of patients, that’s your job. So, I suggest you do it. Now, if you will leave me in peace, I have a great deal of work ahead of me. Work which does not involve explaining my methods to simpletons like you.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Doctor. I didn’t mean to put you off.”
Catron sighed. “I must say, the thought of it is tempting. In the best-case scenarios, those who survive the procedure become remarkably calm and docile. You’d hardly know they had feelings or emotions at all. It would mean fewer willful females in the world. We’d be doing all of Hartlandia a great service.”
“You said ‘best-case scenarios,’ sir. Just curious, what ’appens in them worst ones?”
“What can I say?” Dr. Catron replied. “Not all patients’ bodies are meant to withstand the procedure. Then there are those who succumb to complications. Even with all the advents of modern medicine, it can’t be helped. But none of that matters. All that matters is finding her. We must find her!” His voice grew louder, more adamant than I’d ever heard him. The floorboards in the office creaked; I thought Flack must have taken a wide step back.
“We cannot let her mission in this world come to pass!” Catron continued. “We must find and remove the source of her power.”
“Are you sure she’d be only seventeen or so, Dr. Catron?” Flack asked in a quieter voice. I imagined he didn’t want to upset his employer any more than he accidentally had. “We could expand the search, admit them females much older—or much younger.”
“No. All my prognostications indicate she arrived roughly seventeen years ago. Yet, we keep trying and trying, with no luck.” Catron’s voice grew tighter. “It’s beyond frustrating.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” said Flack soothingly. “We’ve got an asylum full of—what do you call ’em—‘viable candidates’? And new admissions every day, too. She’s sure to be ’ere somewhere.”
There was a long pause before Catron finally replied. “You’re right, Mr. Flack. With enough diligence and hard work, we’ll find her.” He repeated his final thought:
“We’ll find her.”
Chapter 8
Later that night, I sat on my bed, making charcoal sketches in the few blank pages in the back of the Book. I hated to despoil what might be a sacred text, but it would have been too hard to steal sheets of loose-leaf from the schoolroom. The staff’s eyes were vigilant, especially around me. At least I’d managed to get some charcoal out of my otherwise useless fire grate.
After Flack left Catron’s office, Nurse Cutter came to pick me up. I managed to leave with her before Catron discovered I was eavesdropping, but only just. As Cutter and I turned a corner, I heard Catron’s door click shut, and his footsteps echo down the opposite corridor. I ruminated about what I had overheard for the rest of the day.
So the goddess Catron seeks is an actual person? Can a goddess even be a person? What’s her mission and the source of her power? I drew a picture of Rose, Laura, and the front hall’s stained glass window. Could she really be somewhere at Silver Hill?
What might it be like to meet a goddess? I drew some more detail on the image of the stained glass. Pity I couldn’t do it in color. She must be very beautiful. I added some length to the hair of the figure in the window. But what if she was a dark goddess? I might not be so keen on meeting her, then.
Then there was the matter of the “creature” the two men had mentioned. I had no evidence they were talking about Dym, and no reason to feel frightened for his safety if I did. Yet, I felt I had a duty—or more like a compulsion—to warn him.
Most sinister of all was the “final procedure” they’d gone on about. I put down my charcoal and looked out at the cloudy night. What could they be doing to girls that would leave them in worse shape than Thomasina? That might possibly end in their deaths? I wished I had some way to find out.
Although I wasn’t much for writing poetry, I’d found the afternoon’s events perversely inspiring. For some reason, they reminded me of a neighbor’s garden near my home that I watched every spring for signs of life. Will life ever return to Silver Hill? Or will all that ever takes place here revolve around pain and death? I scribbled the following in the back of the Book:
* * *
“Growing”
* * *
‘Someday this pain
will be useful’?
I hope to the gods
that’s true;
because I am heartsick
and discontent
to watch the undeserving
make off
with my happiness.
* * *
A neighbor’s trellis vine
every year the same—
turns bare brown
to green to rose,
yet I never expect
the flowers.
I pray hard
that all the good
of my life
will suddenly burst forth
into bloom.
* * *
It might not have been Keats’s “Endymion,” but that was all right. No one would see it but me.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed something white and fluttering. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be a ghost? A real, live ghost right here in my room? Well, it wouldn’t be a live ghost, of course. That would be contradictory. Still, meeting a ghost would certainly be interesting.
I sighed and went to investigate. Why couldn’t I be afraid of things like normal girls? As I got closer, I realized it was just the sheet I’d placed over the entrance to the secret staircase. But there was no wind in the room, so I couldn’t tell what had made it move. I pulled the sheet back, pushed the door in slightly, and watched as it swung out. I held my candle in the stairwell, but it didn’t flutter. The breeze hadn’t come from inside the staircase either.
I hesitated only a moment before grabbing my shawl, closing the door, and heading down the stairs. Maybe the moving sheet was the garden’s way of beckoning to me. Or Dym’s, I thought.
Either way, I decided it was a call I had to answer.
It had been over a week since I visited the garden. Not much had changed, though the dead vines did seem greener than I remembered. The pond was less frozen, but the water couldn’t be suitable for swimming yet. Still, it felt good to be outside instead of trapped indoors all day. Especially after overhearing Dr. Catron and Mr. Flack. Apparently, the inside of Silver Hill was even more dangerous than I had imagined.
I walked towards the pond; I knew the way now. The vines gave me no more trouble and parted easily, almost as if they were bowing to me. I walked over the gray, cracked pavement stones, stopping only to move the errant branch out of my way. Then I felt something small and soft beneath my foot. I looked down to find a dead rat lying on its side.
Most other girls would have shuddered with revulsion, but I just cocked my head and looked at the rodent. I was surprised to find anything living (well, formerly living) in the garden. The moon peeked out from between gray clouds, and I focused very hard on my discovery.
&n
bsp; It worked. The rat slowly got off its side and stood on all fours. It yawned, as if awakened from a long sleep. Then it took a few wobbling steps towards a large, dead tree. It tottered several more inches and fell on its side again. Try as I might, I could not reanimate it a second time. I went over and nudged it with my boot. It was definitely—permanently—dead.
Incredible. Even though my second attempt failed, I couldn’t help but be a little giddy. I’d never reanimated anything as big as a rat before. A few insects and a mouse or two, yes. But never a rat. It was grotesquely impressive. I smiled as I walked the last few yards to the pond.
I looked all around, but didn’t see Dym. I even peered towards the far ends of the moat on either side of the garden. Nothing.
It was silly to come, to think he’d be here. I walked the perimeter of the pond twice, just to enjoy the night. Not because I was hoping he’d show or anything. I was about to turn back to the asylum when I heard a splash . . . and a voice.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the goddess herself.” Dym smiled and swam to the edge of the pond where I stood. Once again, his body was only visible from the waist up. Why he swam shirtless in freezing water, I’d never know. But he looked as beautiful as I’d ever seen him, though I’d only seen him once.
“Goddess?” For some reason, hearing him say that made my heart leap. But I wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way. “What did you mean by that?”
Dym shrugged. “It was just a figure of speech. Beautiful girl, moonlit night.” He raised his eyes to the heavens. “Almost ethereal, don’t you agree?” Then he said:
* * *
“Yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 138