Bedlam Lost

by Jack Castle

  “How much do you remember?” the doc asked.

  “Not much, it’s all a blur. I’m having trouble separating my real life from what happened in HavenPort.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember before coming to HavenPort?”

  Hank told them about the shootout at the Russian Wager Saloon.

  “Hank, after that shootout you were incarcerated for ten years for killing the people responsible for murdering your family. Because of your exceptional circumstances, you were a perfect candidate for our experimental program. Someone we could prove was no longer a danger to society. You volunteered to have your memory wiped and be rehabilitated on the grid. You were constantly observed. If you performed well, and deemed no longer a threat to society, you would be released. And you did it. After treatment, when given the chance to make the same choice again, you made a different choice, the right choice. You are living proof that the system works.”

  “You’re saying it was all an artificial dream. But how is that possible? I felt pain.”

  Horatio answered, “That’s the mind and the memory. You burned yourself on the stove as a child. Your mind remembers that.”

  Paula explained further, “Just like in a nightmare there isn’t a complete disconnect between the body and mind. When the terror is imagined in the brain, the heart races just as if the threat were real. In this manner the body is equally affected. This works on many levels.”

  As Hank struggled to take it all in, he recalled all those who had died. “Can you die in the grid?”

  Hank watched as the three of doctors exchanged worried glances. “Originally no. But ever since the nano probe stage was introduced something’s changed. We had several fatalities.”

  Horatio piped in, “And just last month we started having blackouts in the system.”

  Both the doc and Paula gave the younger man a hard stare.

  “Blackouts?” Hank asked.

  “Everything patients do on the grid is recorded,” Horatio explained. He seemed to be the guy with all the technical answers.

  Burnett bobbed her head. “Then people started dying. One woman actually woke up, somehow snapped the needles off in the side of her head, found a scalpel, and sawed her hand off before we could stop her. We think she was sleep walking, but we can’t really be sure. Another victim simply died in her sleep.”

  Hank remembered the crazy lady in the abandoned building he had met on his first day on the job.

  “What happened?” he asked, and then added, “…to the system I mean.”

  The doc just kept studying him, Horatio was the first to answer. “To be honest, we just don’t know. The original program was never meant to be so violent. HavenPort was meant to be a peaceful, isolated community.”

  Paula must’ve decided it was time to redirect because she quickly said, “Of course, as soon as we detected the malfunction, we decided to pull you and the other patients out of the grid.”

  Horatio, oblivious to Paula’s frustration with him was eager to share, “Yeah, but there was a problem. For some reason we were unable to separate you all from the grid. After several failed attempts to literally scare you guys awake we finally just pulled you out. The tornado was my idea. What did you think?”

  Forcing down his anger Hank asked, “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just dunk us in a tub of water or something?”

  Horatio’s face went utterly serious. “The shock would’ve killed you.”

  Ignoring Horatio, Paula interjected, “Considering this was our first time out, and we had a thirty percent success rate, the board is still classifying the problems only as a minor glitch.”

  Dr. Clemens made a face that told Hank he suspected it was more than a technical glitch that was responsible, and Hank had a pretty good idea of what, or more specifically who, that glitch might be.

  Fearing for her safety, Hank asked, “Emma? Is she out?”

  “Yes, Hank. She’s fine, and so are Odessa, Jeb, and all the other patients.”

  “Can I see them?” he asked.

  “They’re still in the recovery stages, and probably will be for the next twenty-four hours. Quite frankly, we’re surprised you woke up so quickly.”

  Hank forced a nervous laugh, “I’ve always been a light sleeper.” A sense of dread came over him when he realized no one had mentioned one particular person in the grid. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer but he asked anyway. “Was Simon real?”

  Clearly, the question put them all at unease.

  Finally, the doc turned towards Paula and Horatio and simply said, “Give us the room.”

  Paula took a breath. Biting back her words, and, after exchanging worried glances, the two younger doctors departed the room. The hierarchy was becoming pretty apparent to Hank.

  Doc Clemens pulled a chair over and sat down beside Hank’s bedside. “Hank, we chose each patient carefully to gain a wide range of the criminally insane. Emma killed her step father when she found out he had raped her stepsister to the point of suicide, Jeb went on a drunken shooting spree at a port, Odessa was addicted to cocaine from birth and shot an off duty police officer in a drug store robbery, and you murdered the ones responsible for killing your wife and children. We wanted to prove to the world each of you could be reintroduced to society. We wanted to give each of you your lives back.”

  Hank seriously doubted that the welfare of their patients was their honest intent. He decided to let it go for now, instead he asked, “Was Simon real?”

  “Yes. The military made us put him in the program. I think they wanted to see if we could undo whatever they did to scramble him up in the first place.” He said the next part as though more to himself. “What I don’t think those idiot bureaucrats understand is that boy was long scrambled before even they got a hold of him.”

  The doc stared off into space as though reliving some horrible memory. Maybe it was when the Unfortunate under Simon’s control buried an ax in his chest. Realizing Hank was watching him he said, “Perhaps we should pick this up at another time. You’ve had a pretty big day to say the least and this is all a lot to take in.”

  “Tell me,” Hank said more forcefully than he intended.

  The doc studied him carefully before continuing. “At one time, Simon Privet was a real man. Now I know all of this is a lot to take in but Simon died nearly four weeks ago. The man you encountered doesn’t exist. In fact, we still can’t explain his presence on the grid.”

  “Then what was he?” Hank asked. “Some kind of virus, an untethered consciousness still stuck in that place…?” A demon, Hank added in his mind but didn’t dare say aloud for fear of the answer.

  Doc shook his head. “Truth is, we don’t rightly know.” Deciding to change the subject for the better, he quickly patted him on the arm. “But the good news is that all of your suffering hasn’t been for naught. I’ve already spoken to the review board. And, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but they’re recommending you for a full release. You’re going to get your life back.”

  Memories of his long incarceration began to return in small waves. So much time, so much bitterness, emptiness. Could he really move on? Sarah and the kids were everything to him. According to what the doc was telling him that was over ten years ago.

  The doc’s knees cracked as he rose to his feet. “Get some rest, Hank. I’ll be back in the morning and we can go over what comes next.” And with a twinkle in his eye he added, “Maybe even have that talk over a morning cup of coffee.”

  As Hank watched the doc head for the door and put a hand on the light switch, he asked the one question that couldn’t wait until morning. The one question that, if left unanswered, wouldn’t let him get any sleep.

  “Hey, Doc. What about Simon, where is his body now?”

  “Don’t worry, Hank. Simon Privet has been in a coma for over a month now. He is completely br
ain-dead. In fact, we just got the authorization from the military to pull him off life support and a military transport will come and pick up his remains tomorrow morning.”

  The doc was about to turn and leave but then added, “Not soon enough if you ask me.”

  Chapter 34

  Wakey, Wakey, Rise and Shine

  A small hand clamped over Hank’s mouth muffling his scream of surprise.

  A harsh whisper, “Be quiet, or he might hear you.”

  Dr. Burnett’s worried face combined with the flashing yellow lights in the darkened corridor outside his room was an immediate indicator that something was terribly wrong. The red hue of emergency lighting also told him someone, or something, had shut the power, and the emergency generators had kicked on.

  “Hank, we’re in trouble.” Dr. Paula Burnett glanced down at him, and then across to Horatio, who was hovering nervously on the other side of the bed.

  “We don’t have time for this, he could be here any second,” Horatio hissed.

  “Everyone else is dead; you’ve got a better idea?” Paula shot back. “You saw what he did to Dr. Clemens.”

  Hank’s heart sank. Just when he thought this nightmare was finally over.

  “Emma and Jeb?” Hank asked, as Paula threw the sheets off him and tried to help him sit up.

  “Both fine, but for how long, we don’t know.” That said, she grabbed a syringe, flicked it with a forefinger to remove any errant air bubbles and gave him a quick painful injection. “None of that matters right now because there’s a psychopath on the loose in the facility. He’s sealed us in with him. Everyone else is dead.”

  “Don’t you people have security?” Hank asked incredulous.

  Is this really happening all over again?

  “They’re dead.” Horatio exclaimed in a shrill voice.

  Instinctively Hank knew who the perpetrator was, but he asked anyway. “Simon Privet?”

  They stared at him as if surprised that he’d already known somehow.

  “I thought you said he was dead?” Hank growled.

  Horatio bobbed his head up and down. “He should have been. His brain was dead. But then the moment we pulled him off life support he woke up.”

  Hank cursed. Why was he surprised? He knew this was going to happen. Thinking quickly he asked, “Who is this guy, I mean really?”

  “We think he was former CIA.”

  “You don’t know?” Hank asked.

  Horatio fielded his question by answering, “The military wasn’t exactly forthcoming when it came to his job description. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t work in administration.”

  Paula added, “Hank, we can’t read your minds, or enter your dreams, it’s not like that. We can only observe your actions on the mainframe.”

  Hank tried to get out of bed. He swung his legs over the side, felt them shake violently as he tried standing on them, and then dropped to the floor. The pain was excruciating. It felt as though every single muscle was cramped up into a charley horse.

  When he cried out in anguish, Horatio exclaimed in a nervous whisper, “Quiet, quiet. He’ll hear you.”

  Paula knelt next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Your muscles will come back in a moment. I’ve given you a stimulant to speed up the process. Just sit back and wait for the drugs to take effect.” She removed a 9mm pistol from her lab coat pocket. “I took this off one of the dead security guards,” she explained, pressing it into his weakened palm.

  When he flashed her a look of confusion Paula explained, “I’ve never even held a gun before today.”

  Summoning what little strength he had, Hank checked the pistol for ammo and confirmed that it had a round in the chamber. As he did so, he detected a burnt smell from the barrel, indicating the pistol had recently been fired. The pistol was only missing a few rounds so he slammed the clip home.

  Horatio, after checking the corridor for the thirteenth time, said to Paula in frightened hushed tones, “I told you this was a waste of time. We should’ve just left when we had the chance.”

  “Simon is former CIA. He’s obviously a highly trained assassin. When was the last time you ever even fired a gun?”

  “Hey, I shot one on the range, once,” Horatio protested.

  “Really?” Burnett interjected firmly. “At a target five yards away that wasn’t moving?”

  Horatio’s face sank, and he stared at Hank blankly before turning away.

  “Thought so,” Burnett said. “No. We need to fight fire with fire. No way am I ending up like Dr. Clemens. Hank here’s our best chance of getting us out of here.”

  “And you think a sheriff of some podunk town is going to be much better?”

  “As usual, you didn’t read the patient’s entire file. Before he went into law enforcement Sheriff McCarthy was a U.S. Marine. If anyone can take on that psychopath Privet and get us out of here alive, it’s him.”

  “Ummm, I’m just a podunk sheriff from Wyoming,” he began, staring accusingly at Horatio. “So you might want to dumb it down for me, but you want me to kill Simon, when killing is what got me sent here in the first place?”

  The irony was not lost on him.

  Horatio didn’t seem to hear him, instead he was staring at Hank’s partially naked form. “Maybe we should get him some clothes.”

  Paula rolled her eyes, “I concur,” she said and handed Hank a pair of scrubs she stole from a nearby drawer.

  Hank slipped into the clothes slowly, barely able to move. Everything hurt so much. He could only hope Simon was having equal difficulty moving or they were all finished.

  The amber emergency lights flickered, went out, and came back on red. Now the room and hallway outside was even darker than before.

  Horatio glanced through the window to check the hallway again. “C’mon. We should go,” Horatio whispered as he stepped into the hallway. “I’m not big on the idea of having my head being mounted on a broomstick.”

  “Horatio, wait, don’t be in such a hurry,” Hank said, but it was too late.

  Showing no initial signs of being unbalanced whatsoever, Simon suddenly jumped from the shadows to land behind Horatio and bashed the young doctor over the head with something heavy. Hank winced from the sound, and before his sluggish body could react, Simon dashed away, sliding back into the darkness.

  Grabbing the pistol from the bed and holding it towards the door, Hank pulled Dr. Burnett behind him. He then grabbed Horatio by his outstretched leg and dragged him back into the room.

  Dr. Burnett bent down over Horatio and checked his pulse. He was still breathing but his skull was bashed pretty bad.

  A voice from the darkness. It was singing. “Hanky-Hankey, wakey-wakey.”

  Wobbly, Hank could barely carry himself toward the doorway a second time. Before he could pass through it, Simon stepped from the shadows.

  Simon was covered in blood. But now he appeared unbalanced enough that he had to lean against the doorframe. His eyelids were shut as he spoke and his head lolled forward as his hands came up to rub his temples. He was breathing heavily and appeared to be doing his best not to throw up. Hank also noted the pinprick holes that leaked blood on either side of his head.

  Seeing the blood stained scalpel clenched in Simon’s hand Hank raised the handgun with forced vigor and held it aimed squarely at Simon’s face. “You know I won’t miss at this range.”

  When Simon opened his eyes at him they were half-dead, drowning in a mass of pain and confusion. “I wouldn’t want you to, Hank,” he muttered in a tone drowning in defeat. “But then that pesky conscience of yours always gets in the way.”

  “You wanna bet on that this time?”

  “Oh I wouldn’t worry yourself, Hank.” Simon said, grinning now, the expression worn and haggard where it once beamed. He raised a tired arm and pulled Emma out of the darkened
hallway and over to his side. “Because I brought a date.”

  Of course it was Emma. She appeared even more sluggish than Simon and had the same bloody pinpricks at her temples; her scrubs were soaked crimson.

  “What did you do to her?” Hank growled when he saw the blood, but even as he said it he realized it wasn’t her blood. It was Simon’s. He had slit his own wrists and was rapidly bleeding out.

  “Simon, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  Simon flinched at his words. “You really don’t have any idea of what’s going on, do you, Hanky-Pankey?” He pointed his scalpel at Paula. “You still think they’re the ones pulling the strings?” His voice rose in anger, “They’re not even real, Hank!” then more to himself he added, “I swear, you can be so dense sometimes.”

  Hank considered Simon’s words for a moment. Could all of this be an illusion too? How could he possibly know?

  A small whimper escaped Emma’s lips and brought him back to the task at hand. “Let her go, Simon. I mean it.”

  “Nuh-uh, you’ll just have to kill me.” Simon shook his head and kept raising his scalpel to Emma’s throat. “Are you really going to make me kill her, Hank?” He managed a small, knowing, apologetic tilt of his head. “Oh well.” He began to draw the blade across her neck.

  Hank squeezed the trigger.

  The shot hit Simon in his exposed shoulder. He spun in the air, Emma tumbling out of his arms before he thudded to the floor in the hallway.

  Emma crumpled to her knees but managed to slow her own descent by using the doorframe.

  Still covering Simon with his gun, Hank knelt beside her. “Emma, you okay?”

  Emma concentrated hard. She studied him curiously, her eyes pleading. She swallowed hard and then asked, “Where are we?”

  Hank managed a quick smile. “That’s going to take a lot of serious explaining.”

  “Hank,” a weak tired voice said from the shadows.

  Simon lay in a heap, his head canted at an odd angle as his body landed crammed up against the wall. Hank pitied him. He no longer thought of Simon as the man who murdered his family and friends, but a pawn, like him, in the psychologists twisted and experimental nightmare.