‘What kind of life is it to be locked away in windowless rooms, or in underground cells, kept on drugs, used in ways . . .’ I shook my head, spitting out the words. ‘Shit, you call that life?’
‘Your anger should be directed at those who would give them no life at all merely because they do not come up to normal expectations, abortionists who kill for money or their own prejudices, mothers who dispose of their unborn babies for the sake of convenience. Even those who deem it merciful to put less fortunates out of their misery. Look at you, Dismas. Would you rather have been murdered at birth? Has living given you no joy at all?’
‘You can’t compare my life to the lives of those you’ve hidden away here.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve always had my freedom.’
‘But what kind of freedom? Haven’t you always been imprisoned by your afflictions? And isn’t it so-called ordinary people who have forced that upon you? Tell me what you think would have happened to those flawed children – and I regard them all as such, as my children – tell me what would have happened to them had they been left to exist in the outside world. If they had been allowed to survive after their birth, that is.’
‘They would have been taken care of.’
‘They would have been treated as freaks of nature.’
‘Isn’t that how you treat them here?’
‘Have you no comprehension at all? They live among others like themselves. They are with friends, and here, no one is abnormal, because they are all abnormal, nonconformity is the conformity. They even form attachments. They are allowed to procreate, Dismas. Can you imagine that happening were they under the protection of the authorities, or in the care of their own parents?’
‘Allowed, or coerced? Isn’t that part of your experiment with them, encouraging them to produce offspring, just so you can monitor the results? Christ, I’ve seen some of the specimens in your laboratory upstairs.’ I puffed on the cigarette, not too much, just enough to keep it alive. ‘You’re a sick son of a bitch, Wisbeech,’ I told him mildly.
This time I got through to him. His patrician’s face darkened and a vein began to throb in his temple. Those keen blue eyes of his took on a glare.
I continued to taunt him. ‘How did it come to this?’ I waved a hand towards the cameras. ‘How long did it take before your interest – and maybe it was an interest born out of duty towards your brother, who knows? – how long before it became a perversion? And then how long before you saw it as an opportunity to make even more money?’
I grinned meanly at him, enjoying the glare that had now become a blaze in his eyes. But then he surprised me by smiling back, a cold superior smile that maintained his original contempt. Cigarette held between his fingers, Wisbeech gave me a slow, soft handclap.
‘Well done, Mr Dismas.’ The Mr was back. ‘You almost succeeded in annoying me again. You are quite perceptive, but not wholly correct.’
He folded his arms, one hand raising the cigarette to his lips. After exhaling a forceful stream of smoke, he said: ‘Even though my brother had inherited considerable wealth, it could not last for ever. An establishment like PERFECT REST and its annexe is expensive to maintain, even if our older and ostensibly “normal” guests pay a high charge for the privilege of residing here; little do they realize that a large portion of the fees they pay goes towards this more important work of mine. I have to travel far and wide for rare exotica, from Brazil to India, from New Guinea to Cuba, their recognized value to collectors such as myself making them ever more expensive to purchase. The wealth we had – that Dominic had – was soon dwindling and I had to look for other means of finance. You would be amazed at the high price the films we produce command. They’re unique, you see – ’
‘They’re degrading filth!’ I felt Constance start at my raised voice.
‘They are exquisite,’ Wisbeech insisted, unperturbed.
If I thought he might admit his own degenerate obsession had led to the natural progression of turning sick propensities and private activity into celluloid entertainment for those with similar tastes, I was wrong; Wisbeech obviously could never be that self-accusatory.
‘Twenty years ago,’ the doctor continued as if enjoying his own lecture, ‘“snuff” movies were all the rage and, of course, freak shows have always been popular, with or without the sexual element. Imagine a combination of both. Have you any idea of the kind of money such explicit extravaganzas can fetch? I no longer sell my films to a secret élite of well-heeled enthusiasts, whose special tastes demand more and more extreme and taboo-breaking divertissement, I auction them.’
I wanted to leap on him, wanted to smash his past-its-prime-but-still-handsome fucking head with my fists, but I contained myself. All right, I struggled to contain myself, but I managed because there were still questions I wanted to ask before I made a move of any sort.
‘You allowed Hildegarde Vogel to stay at PERFECT REST presumably at no cost,’ I said, as a preamble to the first of those questions continuing to trouble me. ‘Was she blackmailing you? Was she threatening to expose your whole operation because she’d worked for you in the past, helped you find and sneak away those deformed babies?’
He gave a short and quite unpleasant laugh. ‘Hildegarde was a person who would not even conceive of the idea of blackmail. She was a kind little woman and she always thought she was doing the best for those poor creatures she helped bring into the world. As a midwife, Hildegarde knew what would happen to them unless she intervened; she had helplessly stood by too many times and watched those infants die. Hildegarde Vogel was invaluable to me for a great number of years; I might even say she was devoted to me, or at least to my cause.’
‘She knew about your tests, your experiments with them.’
‘Good God, no. She only saw them in the place in which they were kept. I doubt Hildegarde even knew of the laboratory’s existence, and she certainly wasn’t aware of the chamber beneath us and the extreme cases kept there. But eventually her health failed her and, I’m afraid, so did her mind. She began to suffer from dementia, as well as the appalling emphysema, and I could no longer trust her to remain silent about our work. Unfortunately, her tongue had begun to ramble as much as her brain and so I brought her here, where I could keep a careful eye on her. She had no family and very few friends, so her visitors were almost nil.’
‘Did you have her killed? After I came to see her, were you scared of what she might give away?’ My stare was as blunt as my questions.
‘I was concerned, but she came to no harm from me.’
‘You didn’t answer my question. Did you have her killed?’
‘Her heart simply gave out. Admittedly, it was after a night visit from our friend over there in the corner.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Oh, her time had come, Dismas. As it comes to us all eventually. As it will come to you . . .’
I ignored the scarcely veiled threat. ‘As it came to Henry Solomon?’
‘Your agency colleague? I thought we would return to that matter sooner or later.’
‘Why? Henry had nothing to do with any of this.’
‘Wrong place, wrong time. How often does that happen in life? How often does it lead to death. It could have been you, Dismas.’
‘You came to my office to kill me?’
‘Not at all. I had no intention of killing anyone that evening. I merely wanted you frightened, a sort of warning to keep away from PERFECT REST. Your enquiries were becoming a nuisance. We had no idea it was your office address that you left in our visitors’ book.’
‘But you didn’t have to kill Henry!’
‘It wasn’t my choice. I allowed our demon friend to go up alone, aware that it would tear the place apart. Instead, it was your colleague who was torn apart. You know, I’d forgotten that Brighton is such a lively place – I thought the streets would be quiet at that time of evening, so at first I was a little worried that there were so many people about, wandering th
e streets, particularly along the street in which your office is located, with its restaurants and theatre.’ He gave another short, humourless laugh. ‘But the irony of it. Even though my – what shall I say? My protégé? – wore a voluminous cloak to disguise the worst aspects of his shape, I was concerned about the attention his appearance might still bring, so when I saw so many people dressed in bizarre costumes, wearing such extravagant and grotesque make-up, I could hardly believe our good fortune. At first I thought they were all on their way to some fancy dress event, but then I realized what the show was at the nearby theatre.’
Yes, I remembered too. THE ALL-NEW ROCKY HORROR SHOW. What a joke. I felt sick to my stomach.
‘Although I let him go up on his own, Nurse Fletcher took him to the door first – which was open, by the way. Very careless of your late colleague, although one hefty push from our friend would have opened it anyway; but Solomon’s carelessness was useful – not having to force the door saved us from gaining further attention. I had noticed a glow from a window that I assumed belonged to your office, and naturally I assumed you were working late. Thought you were a one-man band, Dismas, didn’t realize you had an organization behind you. Your type of cheap investigator generally doesn’t.’
I was becoming impatient, the cigarette I was occasionally drawing on burning low. I still wanted answers though, before making any kind of move, so I kept quiet, let Wisbeech enjoy himself.
‘I wanted you to be badly frightened, even badly beaten. What’s the phrase? Ah yes, – I wanted you put “out of the game” for a while. Obviously there could be no indication that I was involved, although it was all right for you to suspect so; as long as you had no evidence to take to the police, everything would be fine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fine for your friend. It was Nurse Fletcher who, after a suitable period of time, went up to your office to find our yellow-eyed monster sexually abusing your friend in a most horrible way.’
He was taunting me, enjoying my anguish, for he spoke as if the creature had been discovered engaged in nothing worse than picking its own teeth with the best silver dinner-set fork. I remembered that Henry’s autopsy had revealed semen among the blood inside his empty eye socket.
Wisbeech waved a hand towards the red monster across the room, docile at the moment, but closely watched by his ‘handlers’. ‘It’s an interesting creature, which can only be controlled by certain medicines. On that evening, he was on methamphetamines, the only thing that could arouse him from the drug-stupor we generally keep him under, and I’m afraid Nurse Fletcher may have been a little too liberal with the amount she administered. It has no fear, incidentally, and it’s only in recent years that I discovered the physical reason.’
The doctor leaned forward, as though sharing a confidence. ‘Fear is controlled inside our brains by the amygdalae, two tangles of neurons located just behind our ears. Investigative surgery has shown me that this creature does not possess any such neurons. I could go on, tell you of other discoveries I’ve made about these creatures by carefully opening their bodies and examining certain areas, but there isn’t time.’
‘I’m in no rush,’ I said. ‘I’ve got all night, if you like.’ I could always cadge more cigarettes, keep one alight at all times.
‘Oh, but you haven’t. Nurse Fletcher is already throwing me impatient glances and my film unit is eager to get back to work. Besides, my protégé has only been minimally sedated; he will soon be barely containable, but perfect for what I have in mind.’
Another ominous little tidbit. Time was running out, but there was one more thing I had to know.
‘Tell me what Constance has to do with all this, Wisbeech,’ I said, feeling her move against me at the sound of her name. ‘I can’t believe she approves of what you do here, so why is it she never left?’
‘Do I detect a note of affection in your voice?’ His eyebrows were raised as if he really were surprised. ‘Well, well. Like attracts like, I suppose.’
Again that almost oblivious contempt.
‘Where do you think she would go, Mr Dismas? She has been with me since she was a child. She knows no other home and I’m afraid her condition has relieved her spirit of any boldness. Constance has wonderful beauty though, don’t you think? On film she is very popular with my bidders.’
‘You bastard!’
‘I believe you’ve already expressed your opinion of me and, I can promise you, it will not be overlooked. You should be made aware though, that I have always cared for Constance.’
‘Cared for her? You mean you’ve corrupted her, don’t you?’ No wonder that since I had first met her I had noticed a haunted look in Constance’s eyes, shadows behind veils, secrets masked by the drugs she was forced to take (I wondered if Wisbeech kidded her that they were for health reasons) but never expunged completely, unfocused memories floating in the depths of her subconscious, tormenting her with elusive intimations, filling her with a bewildering dread. I felt sure that Constance was unaware of her involvement in her guardian’s sick agenda, but I’d always believed that the human psyche cannot permanently be deceived, that self-hidden truths will eventually drift towards the conscious level. And, as if to confirm my own theory, Wisbeech said something that made me even more tense.
‘The problem now with my beautiful but physically flawed ward is that recently she has begun to ask awkward questions, as if a certain awareness is stirring within. Her association with you seems to be leading towards an escalation of that awareness. I’m afraid it’s a problem that has to be dealt with tonight. It’s unfortunate, but ultimately it will be to my own advantage.’
That was the part that made me shudder. ‘So you intend to issue yet another death certificate,’ I said flatly while I screamed inside.
‘Alas, a genuine one this time. I’ve always been very fond of Constance, but she cannot be allowed to jeopardize my whole operation.’
Well, well, as if I hadn’t already suspected it, Wisbeech was a psychopath as well as a sociopath. If the spirit, the soul, whatever you might care to call it, was a visible thing, then this man’s would have been uglier than anything he kept in the cells below.
‘Such unfortunate people are meant to die at an early age, nobody questions it, least of all the officials who monitor such statistics. In fact, none of my charges here are known to be alive; as far as the authorities are concerned, each one died a long time ago. They belong to me, Dismas; every one of them belongs to me. And tonight, so do you.’
‘You’re going to have me killed?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘That won’t be so easy to cover up. People know I’ve come here.’
‘You are a very awkward man, Dismas. In the physical sense, I mean. A tumble down concrete steps, a fall from the fire-escape while trying to make an illegal entry. It won’t be hard to arrange, nor to explain.’
What really made my blood run cold was that this arrogant bastard was right. Who would ever suspect such a reputable physician, one who had spent his career researching the problems of the infirm in body in an attempt to understand and perhaps eventually alleviate the worst of their suffering, and latterly devoting his time in care for the elderly, of murder and kidnap? Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech was a pillar of society with all the medical credentials behind his name to prove it. Who the hell would doubt his word?
The robe slipped from Constance as I pulled her to a sitting position. She quickly covered her breasts with her arms again, her hands grasping her shoulders; her thin, wasted legs drew themselves up and her eyes blurred with tears of shame. I wanted to hold her close and tell her it didn’t matter, her body was wonderful to me; but this was not the time. She looked at me imploringly, shaking her head in confusion.
‘It’s okay, Constance.’ I tried to be soothing, but there was a tightness to my voice, a kind of sprung-wire action to my movements. I pulled the robe back around her again and said, ‘Put it on. We’re leaving.’
‘Nick?’ She still didn’t understand what was happening.<
br />
‘Just put it on, Constance.’ I wondered how much she had taken in over the last fifteen minutes or so. I faced Wisbeech as he rose from his chair.
But it was the beast that I had to contend with as it charged across the room at me.
42
I’d nurtured the second long cigarette Wisbeech had given me, drawing on it and the one before occasionally to keep it alive. It had burnt down close to the filter by now, but was still usable as a weapon and certainly the only one I had close at hand (literally). Many years ago I’d been taught the basic techniques of fending off an aggressor with the use of everyday objects such as a rolled magazine, a small stick, a spoon, a pencil, even a matchbox (you had a two-to-one chance of knocking someone out with a fist-clenched matchbox), my teacher a nightclub bouncer who had spent some time with the SAS before one public brawl too many had brought about an abrupt end to his military career. He had shown me how a glowing cigarette could be lethal if applied correctly to the right area of a body.
As the beast rushed towards me I could hear Wisbeech yelling, ‘Stop it, not yet, don’t let it – ’ but the orderlies were too slow and too clumsy as they tried to grab the thing, one tripping over cables snaking across the floor, while the other, Bruce (Rambo with bad eyesight), succeeded only in pulling off the loose robe his charge wore, the creature twisting its body as it ran and easily slipping free. I don’t believe Wisbeech was in the least concerned for my well-being; no, if I was to be maimed and killed, then better that the cameras were rolling to capture the moment.
It came at me with a swift, rolling gait, an animal really, hardly human, and it was a scary sight, those bared needle-teeth in that huge gaping mouth, lipless edges joined by silky drool, those yellow, demon’s eyes intense on me: the gross thing that quivered from its centre was raised more like a weapon than an aroused organ. I readied myself to meet the charge, slightly crouched, leaning forward, stronger left leg braced a little bit behind for stability, but immediately I took up the stance, I realized it was a mistake. The beast was coming too swiftly and with no caution at all: I knew I would never be able to withstand its rush. It was too reckless, too fearless, and it would be too overwhelming, no matter how fast I dodged.
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