His back was to Cutter and me as we entered the room, but he turned around slowly when he heard us come in. He had a cap on and a surgical mask over his face, but I could still tell it was him. Plastic gloves covered both his hands, and one of them held a scalpel. His usually spotless white lab coat had a number of dark red blotches on it. My stomach turned over.
“Se-lu-na,” he said when he spotted me. I couldn’t see his mouth beneath the mask, but I could tell by his voice he was smiling. “How nice to see you again.”
“Wish I could say the same,” I retorted, still struggling. Cutter slapped me across the face again. If I ever get my hands on that bitch, I thought, I’m going to pound her senseless.
“Now, now, Nurse Cutter,” Catron chided, “there’s no reason to exert yourself. We’ll need all our strength and concentration for the procedure.”
“Of course, Doctor,” Cutter said. “Shall we strap ’er down now?”
“Yes, it’s time.” Catron put the scalpel down and turned up the gas lamp above him. They took me out of the straitjacket and put my hands and feet in leather cuffs attached to a freezing-cold operating table. A larger strap was tightened across my waist, and the last went over my brow so that I could barely move my head. I tore and kicked and even tried to bite, but it was no use. Cutter was an immovable mountain of a woman, and Catron was surprisingly powerful as well. They tilted the table up so that I lay at a forty-five-degree angle.
There was no doubt in my mind now. The final procedure—the acceleration of treatment—was definitely a lobotomy.
I struggled against the straps as they cut into me, mainly along my wrists. I could feel my skin tearing and bleeding, but I didn’t care. All I could think of was the drip, drip, dripping sound of an IV, the smell of isopropanol. The only light came from the flickering gas lamp, and the moon shining through a high, barred window above us.
I twisted my head to one side, but just barely. On a metal tray, I saw several different-size scalpels and a small hammer. There was also something that looked like an ice pick, and a saw. I felt my stomach drop out from under me. I didn’t even want to think about what the saw was for. There were also a few tools I didn’t recognize at all.
Cutter donned a surgical mask and gloves as well, pulling the latter over her hands and releasing them with a snap. She tied a cap similar to Catron’s around her head. Before I knew it, both villains were leaning over me. Catron picked his scalpel up again and sighed.
“I do hope these are better than the last ones.” He looked at the slim piece of metal in his hand.
Cutter made a clucking noise with her tongue. “No one is committed to quality these days, is they, Dr. Catron?”
“Only us, I’m afraid,” he replied.
“Oh, of course, Doctor. I wasn’t referrin’ to you. I know ’ow seriously you take your work.” There was a strong note of admiration in Cutter’s voice that made me want to be sick.
“Yes, it’s good to be hardworking when you’re a pair of raging sociopaths,” I said. At least they didn’t muzzle me.
“Se-lu-na,” Catron drawled in his patronizing way. “Is this really the time for insults? I wouldn’t say our behavior is deviant.” He used the scalpel to indicate himself and Cutter. “You’re the one with the abnormalities.”
“Oh, really? How do you figure?”
“We’ve been observing you,” Catron replied. “Your refusal to conform. Breaking and entering. That clandestine meeting with Francine.” My eyes widened. “You didn’t think we knew about that?”
“How on earth did you—”
“Never mind how,” Catron said. “What matters is that we know. And that our little Francine problem has been taken care of.”
I struggled uselessly against my bonds. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” I yelled.
“Now, now, calm yourself, Se-lu-na.” He leaned over the tool tray and began sharpening the scalpel on some sort of miniature grinding machine. “This will all be over before you know it.”
“Serves ’er right, the little blighter,” Cutter snorted. “A deviant of the worst sort, and a bloody stupid one, too. As if a simple sleep charm would get through the protections this man ’as on him.”
“Protections?” I repeated. Catron was almost done sharpening the scalpel.
“Of course ’e’s got protections!” Cutter all but threw up her arms. “One don’t have a psychic foretell ’orrid things and not demand a protection spell right after the tellin’.”
So that’s why the sleep spell didn’t work. But maybe it means it will work on Dym. Unless, of course, he uses protection spells, too.
“How did you know I cast that—” I started.
“Well, who else could it ’ave been if the magic came from the garret? Besides, the protected always feel somethin’ bouncin’ off them when someone tries a spell.” Cutter rolled her eyes.
“Of course, they don’t work against everything, I’m sorry to say.” Catron finished sharpening the scalpel and turned to me again.
“Like this Event you’re so afraid of?”
Catron looked taken aback. Ah, so you’re not inside my brain yet, are you? I thought. Don’t know everything I know, do you? But he quickly regained his composure.
“Protection spells work well enough against the small minds of pests.” He raised the scalpel above my forehead. “We’ll see if that’s what we have here.”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t doctors usually anesthetize patients undergoing these types of procedures?” Of course, the last thing I wanted was to be anesthetized. I’d need all my faculties to get out of this mess—if I could get out of it. But I also needed to stall for time.
“We feel it’s important for patients to participate in the treatment process,” Catron said sweetly. “Otherwise, how will they grasp the full benefit? How will we know if the treatment is effective?”
“Or if you find what you’re looking for,” I said.
“That, too,” said Catron. Again, I could tell he was smiling. “But your thoughts on the subject are of little consequence. Your resistance is simply more evidence of your madness.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said through gritted teeth. “You want to experiment on me—essentially torture me to death—and I’m mad for trying to stop you?”
“Something like that,” Catron replied absentmindedly. His attention was on the flickering gas lamp. “But it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I can avoid the disastrous Event that would have laid waste to our plans.”
Our plans? Does he mean his and Cutter’s plans? The woman doesn’t seem capable of planning so much as a birthday party without his help.
“Soon—very soon—I shall discover the one thing that lies between me and greatness.” Now, his eyes were piercing mine. “And I shall destroy her.” Cutter let out a girlish, almost hysterical giggle.
My sangfroid was disappearing fast. My heart beat wildly, and I had to control my breath so it didn’t come out in gasps. But I vowed not to let any sign of emotion cross my face. I would be like a girl in a book I once read. She was a princess who’d lost her father and fallen victim to an evil boarding-school headmistress. The headmistress always wanted to see her beaten, broken. But the princess never gave her the satisfaction. She pretended to be a brave solider instead.
That’s how I will be. Brave and unyielding to the last.
“At least tell me what you’re talking about.” Beads of perspiration were beginning to run down the sides of my head. “What’s the reason behind all of this? What—or whom—are you looking for?”
“That reminds me, Dr. Catron.” Cutter jerked her head up. “What about the creature?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” Catron said. “We don’t need the creature anymore. Not if this procedure goes the way I think it will.”
Dear gods, they’re really going to do this. They’re going to get inside my brain and tear it apart. What if I don’t die? What if I turn into someone like Laura—or worse? I coul
dn’t decide which fate was more terrible. I saw the light from the gas lamp flicker once or twice again, then dim considerably and stay that way.
“Bloody hell, there’s not enough gas!” Catron threw the scalpel to the floor. “I knew I should’ve topped it off before we started.” He tore off his mask, gloves, and cap, gnashing his teeth.
“I can run and get the canister for you, Dr. Catron,” Cutter offered.
“No. All the canisters are in my office, which is locked. And you know how I feel about other people having a key. I’ll get it. Wait here.” He walked towards the door. Then he turned and pointed at me. “And keep a sharp eye on her.”
“Will do, Doctor,” called Cutter as he left. “’Onestly, ’e’s a brilliant man, but so forgetful these days. It’s the mental strain that’s gettin’ to ’im, it is.” She looked down at me. “But all that’ll be over shortly, won’t it? Soon ’e’ll be back to ’is old self.”
His mad, delusional self, I thought. But at least I had a bit of time to think. A thin sliver of moonlight peeked out from between the bars of the window high above us. I hoped it was enough.
It was difficult to focus the moonlight on the scalpel; I couldn’t move my head a great deal. But if there was ever a time to work hard at something, it was now. I concentrated as intensely as possible, and the scalpel darted across the room and sliced open the top of Cutter’s cheek.
Cutter howled, and her hand flew to her face. The scalpel clattered to the floor. Cutter drew back her blood-smeared palm and stared at it in disbelief.
“What the? ’Ow did—”
“Never mind how,” I said in the firmest voice I could manage. “Untie me before I use that thing for more than a cut on the cheek!” Cutter just stared at me, blood dripping from her face and fingers onto the white-tile floor.
“I said, untie me!” I looked at the moonlit window, then at the tray filled with surgical tools. The metal saw leaped in front of Cutter, bending back and forth like a scrap of paper. The twanging sound it made was almost musical. It was certainly music to my ears.
Cutter, however, was decidedly less enthused. She stood plastered against the wall, body frozen, eyes wide. I moved the saw to the right, then to the left, inches from her face. Almost as if I were daring her to try and escape. She grabbed the ice pick—or whatever it was—from the tray and jabbed at the saw. Her cap went askew and her surgical mask came halfway off. I kept making the saw move in swift, menacing waves.
“Dammit to hell, untie me or I’ll take your head off!” I shouted. Cutter’s eyes darted from me to the saw and back again.
“Oh, for the love of the gods, I don’t have time for this!” Keeping the saw in front of Cutter, I lifted the scalpel off the floor with my mind. As fast as I could, I used the scalpel to cut away the straps that bound me to the table. Then I leaped off and ran out of the room before Cutter could stop me.
I burst through the double doors; there was no sign of Catron. But as I dashed down an adjacent hall, I could hear his footsteps moving swiftly back to the operating room.
“You let her get away?” Catron roared. “I’ll have your head for this, Cutter!”
“Please, Doctor, it wasn’t my fault!” Cutter begged as I flew past portraits and gas lamps on the walls.
“How could she have escaped? She was sodding tied down!” I heard sounds of metal objects overturning and crashing; Catron must have been throwing things.
“She—I—I don’t know, sir! She just, that is—”
“Damn all, Cutter. Stop your blubbering. I don’t have time for excuses. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is getting her back.” Their voices faded away as I tried to think of a plan.
I had no idea where I was going. My only thought was to run, run, run. So, I wasn’t prepared when I stumbled into the main hall and saw what had become of most of the other patients at Silver Hill.
Chapter 14
There was something ghastly in the main hall, and I smelled it before I saw it.
Formaldehyde. No doubt to preserve the bodies; not for dignity, I wagered, but so the stench of decay wouldn’t attract wild animals. It stung my eyes for a moment, and I covered my nose with one hand, trying not to inhale. Blood from where the table straps dug into my wrists had run down my hands. It was drying in ugly streaks. But I ignored the blood, and the pain, gaping instead at the unholy sight before me.
There must have been eight or ten dead girls stacked in piles on one side of the room. Everything about them looked wilted and gray, from their flat, cloudy eyes to their limp and tangled hair. Some had a waxy, green tinge to their skin. Others were bluish purple, or bloated, with wide-open eyes bulging out of their sockets. I could see veins making black, marbled outlines against their hands and faces. Waves of horror passed over me.
I recognized several faces plainly. Geraldine. Thomasina. Francine. Some I didn’t know by name, but I’d seen them before in the schoolroom or solarium. Almost every one had lobotomy scars like Rose’s just above their eyes.
This is what that mousy nurse was talking about, I realized. “Should at least cover ’em . . . it ain’t right . . .” They must have been awaiting disposal. My guess was that Catron planned to get rid of them in the least noticeable manner. Maybe he was going to throw them into the asylum furnace in the basement. My stomach threatened to revolt. Why isn’t Rose with them? Perhaps Catron and Cutter anticipated moving her here after they’d dealt with me.
I turned away, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. That was when I spotted the front doors flung wide-open, as if someone had left in a great hurry. It didn’t take me long to figure out who. I could see the orderlies Cutter had fired hitching a ride on the back of a horse-drawn carriage, suitcases in hand.
“Hi-yah! Hi-yah!” shouted the driver, whipping the horses madly. Even he knew better than to stay here long. The mousy nurse sat next to him. “Faster, you fool!” she screeched. Over it all, I could hear Laura inside the carriage, wailing. Any hope I had of catching the last ride out of Silver Hill disappeared rapidly onto the distant moors.
The sound of an alarm rang, unbearably loud as the noise came in angry waves. Why is an alarm ringing? I thought. I didn’t even know the asylum had an alarm. Then again, it seems there are a lot of things at Silver Hill I didn’t know about. My eyes scanned the room, trying to determine where to go without looking at the bodies of the girls. The long walls of mirrors once again made the hall seem infinite.
Is there really no escaping this hell?
“FIND HER!” Catron’s voice was so thunderous I could hear it over the alarm.
Dammit! I had to hide, to think. I couldn’t run away from the asylum; Catron and Cutter would come after me. I needed a way to destroy them. There was only one place I knew about at Silver Hill that my enemies didn’t. And that was the secret staircase.
As I shut the door to the staircase behind me, I realized too late that I had no way to camouflage it with the sheet on the other side. It was very likely they’d search my room, thinking I’d return there. Maybe they were under the impression it was my safe haven, or that I’d rush to collect mementos before escaping. They really didn’t know me very well.
I sighed and swore. The sheet was a loss. Still, I hoped they wouldn’t figure out the trick way of opening the door. That might buy me a bit more time. But I couldn’t stay in the stairwell indefinitely. And I didn’t feel safe at the top of the steps; if Catron and Cutter came to the room, they might still be able to hear me breathing through the wall. I went halfway down the stairwell, taking my Book, candle, matches, and shawl with me. I’d only brought the necessities, praying they would be enough.
The unrelenting noise of the alarm had blessedly stopped. I sat, shawl on my shoulders, candle in my hand, and Book in my lap. I turned the pages furiously, trying to find Drawing Down the Moon or anything else that would get me out of this waking nightmare. I was moving my hands so fast it upset the candle, and drops of hot wax splashed my fingers.
O
w! Bloody hell, that really hurts. I stopped flipping pages and put my burned fingers in my mouth, then put my hand to my head.
Maybe I really am mad, I thought. Maybe there’s something in me, a darkness, an evil that I can’t see. I mean, nonliving things that I make move? Vines that act strangely whenever I’m near? Who wouldn’t think I was odd at least, and perhaps mad at most?
Yet, I couldn’t help but think those things didn’t strictly point to madness. Differentness, yes. But madness, no. And evil, well, not necessarily. Whatever the case, it wasn’t something I wanted to die for, or believed I deserved to. I was just so tired. Tired of thinking, tired of fighting. Paralyzed by indecision, I felt more than a little tempted to give up.
What’s the point of all this? Do I really stand a chance, all alone out here with two maniacs hot at my heels? I turned back to the Book, accidentally tearing out a page.
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” I said under my breath. I couldn’t even read a book right. Trying to fit the torn page gently back in place, I noticed the next page had something tucked inside it. I never would’ve seen it if I hadn’t torn out the previous one. The frail paper was brown with age, even older than the rest of the Book. I had to move it delicately back and forth to get it out, almost as if it were hiding there. There was one word at the top of the page, then a column of text below it. The word was . . .
“ ‘Stay,’ ” I read aloud, then pored over the rest silently.
* * *
Stay.
* * *
Stay.
* * *
Please don’t take
your light away.
Though day may break you
and sun may burn
thought, word, and soul,
mock the yearning
and push towards night
with peace-seeming dreams . . .
* * *
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 144