Damned

by Lynda O'Rourke

  “You can stop this!” hissed the voices. “Just open up the gate!”

  I looked down at Sylvia. She had fallen to her knees – arms still trapped between the bars – Cleaners wrenching her tight up against the gate. Their breathing heavy and rasping – aprons creaking.

  “I want to go back to the asylum!” Sylvia cried out. “I don’t want to be here… please… please take me back…” She turned her head and looked up at me. “Take me back! I beg… take me back… you can come with me… I was safe in there…” She screwed her eyes shut tight and then screamed, “Shut up… shut the fuck up! I don’t want to hear you… leave me alone! Get out of my mind!” She smashed her head into the gate again and again. “I’ll knock you out of there if I have to… be quiet… stop messing with my mind!”

  I looked back at the iron handle. All I had to do was twist it and the gate would open, the voices would stop. The fight would be over. But then I thought of Ben. It wasn’t over for him. He still suffered. Life hadn’t got better for him with a demon inside his body. Was that what I wanted for myself?

  My thoughts were broken as another yank from the Cleaner had me smashing into the gate. The impact seemed to waken me. I had to get this Cleaner off me. I had to get away – break its hold on my arms. I had to shut the voices out of my head and not open the gate.

  Bending my wrist and curling my fingers around the arm of the Cleaner, I tried to get a grip of its plastic glove. Using my fingers like pincers, I pulled, scrunching up the plastic with each tug. The Cleaner flung itself at the gate, desperate to get in. It hit the bars, face uptight so its surgical mask was just touching the tip of my nose. The fabric moved in and out with each raspy breath it took. I pulled my head back and continued to scrunch up more of the glove until I had enough to grasp it firmly and yank.

  “You’re not getting me today!” I yelled, tugging hard on the glove. I pulled again and again. I watched in earnest as the glove started to slip from the Cleaner’s arm, down to the wrist. With my other hand still being held tight, I hit out at its rotten flesh slowly being revealed from the slipping glove. The Cleaner rasped heavily and loosened its grip as it realised what I was doing. It let go just as the glove fell away and tried to snatch my arm up again. But it was too late. I withdrew my arm from between the bars. With one arm free, I looked around to see if there was anything I could use – anything that would help me to escape the hold that this Cleaner had on me. There was nothing.

  “The crucifix… use it!” A voice suddenly said.

  I looked over my shoulder. Who was that? But I couldn’t see anyone. It was too dark.

  “Hurry!” the voice said again.

  With my free hand, I slipped my fingers down under my top and reached for Father Williams’s crucifix. I yanked it out, just as I was tugged back into the iron bars by the Cleaner, I held it out high. Within a flash, the Cleaners shrunk back. Not just the one who had held me but all of them. They disappeared into the fog like a ray of sun had melted them away.

  Knowing it wouldn’t be long before they were back, I reached out for Sylvia and pulled her away from the bars.

  I helped her to her feet and said, “It’s all right, I’ve got you. We’re okay… see?” I breathed heavily, my limbs shook. I stared into the fog. It moved gently on the other side of the gate unable to pass through or over the perimeter of Doctor Langstone’s property.

  Sylvia circled me, her head shaking from side to side, handcuffs clinking together. The voices in my head had gone but I could see Sylvia was still struggling with them.

  “Sylvia, don’t listen to them… shut them out.” I held out my hand and grabbed onto her arm, breaking the cycle of her steps. “Sylvia! Listen to me – not them.” I looked back at the gates afraid I would see the Cleaners – scared they would break through the fog and this time, find a way through the gates.

  With both hands, Sylvia snatched fistfuls of her hair and yanked on the matted clumps. “They won’t shut up… they won’t be quiet!” As if the voices had told her something of significance, she suddenly gasped and said, “They want me to kill…”

  Sylvia stopped and stood motionless. Her eyes were wide and crazed as she fixed her stare on me. Fearing I was going to be the target, I stepped back, and with my voice lowered, said, “Whatever they tell you to do… don’t. Don’t do what they ask! Sylvia, please… you have to listen to…” I stopped, my heartbeat jumped and I heard myself gasp. Sylvia lifted her arms up, and taking hold of one wrist with her other hand, I cringed at the sound of popping and snapping as she appeared to dislocate the bones in her hands and wrists.

  She cried out in pain and sobbed. “Please don’t make me… it hurts… it hurts!”

  But Sylvia’s pleas went unheard by the voices in her head as she continued to twist and wrench her hand to positions that would be impossible for any human to do.

  Gulping back my revulsion and covering my mouth with my hands, I gasped, “Oh shit, Sylvia! What the hell are you doing?” I turned away unable to watch but the sounds of bones popping rang through my ears – snap… snap… pop.

  Consumed by the awful sounds, I turned away from Sylvia. I should have been more concerned that she was breaking free from the handcuffs. I should have been scared that she would soon be free from the restraints – free to do anything – free to attack – to kill. But the noise of bones popping was all I could concentrate on – all I could focus on to block out of earshot. It was only when I heard the handcuffs hit the ground in a rattle and Sylvia had quietened that my senses seemed to come back – that I realised I could be in trouble. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Sylvia, fear eating away at my insides.

  She stood, slightly hunched forward, hair hanging over her face and her arms up, slowly popping back the bones into place.

  I took another step back and said, “So that’s how you got free last night… I thought either someone had let you loose or you’d somehow used the knife to pick at the handcuffs.”

  With a glimmer in her eyes, she peered up at me and said, “The knife… I forgot about the knife.” Looking down at her white coat, she pulled open one side and reached into a large pocket.

  Silently cursing myself for mentioning the knife, my eyes darting from Sylvia to the fog on the other side of the gate and then back to Sylvia, I said, “Who do the voices tell you to kill?” I glanced over my shoulder. I needed to plan my escape, a way back to the staff quarters. Sylvia stood on the gravel lane. If I wanted to head back along it, then I would have to pass Sylvia and if she produced the large kitchen knife, that was one way I would be avoiding.

  “Why do you want to know?” asked Sylvia, pulling her hand free from the inside pocket of her coat and revealing the knife. It glinted in the dark as she continued to stare at me.

  I almost wanted to laugh – a nervous laugh. Wasn’t it obvious? If I was the target of the voices then I’d like to know.

  “Look, Sylvia, last night the voices in my head wanted me to kill Jude and you stopped me…” I glanced back over my shoulder spotting a gap in between the trees – a possible escape route I could take. Looking back at Sylvia, I continued, “I still don’t know your reasons for stopping me last night, but the point is… or the point I’m trying to make is, that now the shoe is on the other foot, it’s you obeying the voices… not me. Don’t you think it would be wise not to listen to them?” I could almost hear the pleading in my voice. I wanted to beg her not to listen to the voices but instead, I took a deep breath and waited for her response.

  Shuffling forward, knife held high, Sylvia grinned and said, “Who said I’m listening to them? I won’t do it. I won’t kill Jude.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kassidy

  I could feel the fear leave me. As I stood facing Sylvia, the relief I felt at not being the target of the voices in her head calmed my racing heart.

  Sylvia lowered the knife, shuffled forward and said, “The voices have gone. I can’t hear them anymore.”

  “Good,”
I gasped, turning my attention back on the fog. Had I just seen movement within its thick white swirls? Were the Cleaners coming back?

  “Let’s move away from the gates and the fence,” I said, stepping under the burnt branches of a tree. Now wasn’t the time to relax and assume all was okay. The Cleaners weren’t the only things that could come back. The voices in Sylvia’s head could return at any moment and next time it might be me who could be the victim. Sylvia still had the kitchen knife clasped tightly in her hands. I had to get it off of her somehow without turning her mad. Instead of just trying to snatch it off her, I said as calmly as I could, “Sylvia… I think you should give me the knife.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those voices might come back and tell you to kill someone. If I have the knife, then at least you won’t be able to use it on someone.” I nodded my head and tried to smile at her – a reassurance that it would be the right thing to do.

  “No!” snapped Sylvia. Her eyes narrowed.

  “But you said the voices wanted you to kill Jude and you don’t want to do that, do you?” I said, trying to reason with her.

  Sylvia shook her head and cradled the knife to her chest. “I’m not giving it to you.”

  “Why? It makes sense to give it to me,” I pushed. “I could hold it, and…”

  “You shut up!” spat Sylvia that crazed look back in her eyes. “You’re no safer with the knife then I am! You tried to kill Jude last night. What’s to say that the voices won’t come back in your head and tell you to kill Jude… or me?”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself but words failed me. Sylvia was right. I couldn’t be trusted with a knife. But I wasn’t as messed up as her… was I? As I tried to think of something to say, Sylvia edged nearer and said, “Jude is my friend… he’s one of us. He’s suffered because he saved us. You should be grateful that there’s someone out there looking out for us.”

  Feeling confused but wanting to get to the bottom of this so-called friendship that Sylvia seemed to think she had with Jude, I asked, “He saved you from the police station – is that what you mean? Because if it is, I don’t want to spoil this friendship you have but it means shit, Sylvia.”

  “No! You’re wrong. He is my friend and I won’t let you hurt him.” She raised the knife above her head and glared at me. “Doctor Fletcher was the one who got us out of Cruor Pharma – but it was Jude who helped us to escape from Ward 1.”

  “What?! You mean Ward 2 – I was on Ward 2 with Jude – you were on Ward 1,” I said, feeling annoyed that Sylvia was getting so mixed up.

  Stamping her foot and grinding her black, stumpy teeth, she glared. “Jude was on Ward 1 with me and Robert and when it all went wrong – when the volunteers started killing each other it was Jude who got us out. He was the only one who got left behind. Lucky for you I guess – he helped you to get out of that place!”

  I stood motionless, all my fears and doubts about Jude rushing through me. I tried to take apart everything that Sylvia had just said but it was plainly obvious that she wasn’t confused and she wasn’t deranged enough to be getting this all mixed up. I covered my eyes with my hands and breathed deeply. So Jude was playing volunteer on both drug tests. His so-called act of kindness – helping Sylvia to escape and helping me to escape, hadn’t been out of the goodness of his heart. It had been his intention all along. Act as a volunteer and then get us out of the building so he could have us to himself. That’s what Doshia wanted. I felt sick.

  “If Doctor Middleton hadn’t shown up when we were escaping, then Jude would have got out with us,” continued Sylvia, still holding the knife above her head.

  Uncovering my eyes and feeling shaky, I said, “Let’s just get this clear. Jude was one of the volunteers when you were at Cruor Pharma… is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, Sylvia, Jude was a volunteer on my drug test – a very willing one at that,” I said, remembering how he had persuaded me to stay when I’d gotten cold feet. “If he was a volunteer the same time as you, you don’t really think he would be volunteering himself again after what happened during your drug test, do you? He’d be fucking insane!”

  Sylvia stood quietly for a few moments. She lowered the knife. “But I just thought that… that…” She shook her head and turned away.

  “We have to get back to the others,” I said, “We need to warn Raven and Max.”

  “I don’t understand,” mumbled Sylvia. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense to me,” I said, stepping out from under the branches.

  Spinning around to face me, Sylvia said, “But the voices… if Jude is the bad guy, why do those evil voices tell us to kill him?”

  Before I could answer, the gates and the fencing rattled. The fog seemed to be pushing hard against it, trying to break it down – weaken it. Gloved hands appeared through the mist, snatching the air with its fingers. With my heart jumping, I took hold of Sylvia by the arm and shouted, “Come on! We have to get away from here… we have to tell Max and…” I stopped. That strange voice I had heard before called out to me. I spun around trying to locate where it was coming from or who it was coming from. But there was no one else out here with Sylvia and me. Just us and the Cleaners.

  “Kassidy!” it hushed.

  I heard myself gasp as I spun around again expecting to see someone behind me. “Whose there?” I called out, frustrated that I couldn’t see anyone. I stared at Sylvia who stared back at me, a look of confusion across her face. “Did you hear that?”

  Sylvia shook her head and whispered, “It’s the voices again, isn’t it? See, I told you. You’re not safe with a knife.” She stepped away.

  I grabbed hold of Sylvia’s arm again, stopping her from walking away. “No wait! It’s not the bad voices… this is different… this is just one voice, and it’s female.” I jumped as the gates clattered, filling the night with a loud clanging sound. The fog was swarming, thrashing about against the fence.

  I turned away from Sylvia and peered up at the tall iron bars that sheltered us from the Cleaners. Something moved within me, sending a shudder down my spine. I wrapped my arms about me, the sensation making me feel sick. Holding up my arms, I watched VA20 surge through my veins. It travelled quickly, making my veins look as though they were bubbling. The voice spoke again.

  “Go to the fence and make a path,” it whispered in my ear.

  I shivered as the voice seemed to breathe down my neck. It scared me. But what frightened me more was the fact that I was now heading for the fence, even though I didn’t want to. It was like my legs had a mind of their own. I wanted to call out – to scream at whatever was making me move to stop – to leave me alone. But my voice was somehow lost. My mouth opened but my words were silent. As I stood now in front of the fence, its iron bars bearing down on me, the fog gathering near, I heard the voice whisper. But it wasn’t anything I could understand. It spoke so quiet that its whispers were lost in the night. I felt my arms lift and move around in some weird kind of movement, like I was conducting an orchestra, and as they moved gracefully, the fog on the other side of the fence seemed to part. I stood, wide-eyed. My arms suddenly dropped down beside me and I breathed in deeply. My voice returned as I heard myself speak. “What the hell is going on?” I stared down at my arms, my legs, and wriggled them about. Confused, but relieved that I seemed to have control over myself, I turned and ran back to Sylvia.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sylvia, raising the knife up as if suspecting I was going to attack her.

  I shook my head and whispered, “I don’t know what is going on – but we need to get away from the gates. I think us being so close to the Cleaners is fuelling them up – sending them in a spin. They want us and I’m scared they might just get in.”

  As we fled back along the gravel path, the cold night air nipping at our skin, my head was full of questions. Like the strange voice I kept hearing and the power that it seemed to have over me. But more pressing than t
hat, Jude.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Ben

  “Are we lost?” I whispered to Quint. We seemed to be going in all directions. I felt sure we had circled around more than once inside the fog.

  Quint’s voice piped up inside my head. “I don’t get lost,” he snapped.

  We turned to the right and moved slowly forward. The pace of my feet told me a different story to what Quint had just said. My footsteps were hesitant – unsure. Quint was either lost or he was waiting, but for what, I had no idea. I just wished he would get a fucking move on. Inside the fog was no place I wanted to be – not with all the dead that the Cleaners had accumulated – their cries of pain and torture screaming down my ears and their cold, see-through fingers touching me. If we could just get the hell out of this fog then that would be one hurdle over with and then we could find a way into Langstone’s place. But until then, we seemed stuck.

  “Don’t worry that head of yours, Ben,” sneered Quint. “I know what I’m doing… I’m…”

  Quint stopped talking. He must have heard the same noise that my ears were now picking up over the cries of the dead. My heart started to thump as the sound of creaking leather seemed to get closer. That was something I never seemed to forget – the sound of the Cleaners moving. Their old leather aprons had that unmistakable noise like a wooden door creaking and groaning in the wind. I checked to my right and then to my left but it was pointless; I was blinded by the fog. If the Cleaners were close by, I couldn’t see them. But the dead seemed to know what was near. They slithered away into the fog and disappeared, taking their screams and cries with them.

  Another voice called out from somewhere behind me. Quint turned sharply. I heard him laugh – sneer inside my head.

  “This should be good,” Quint spat, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to let this happen. I shouldn’t do it – not yet but…”