by Stevie Barry
It wasn't something he'd ever get away with. His very height made him noticeable, and growing up in rural Scotland, his race had, too. His father had worked in India as a young doctor, and brought an Indian wife home with him. Ratiri was their only child, born in Scotland a few years into their marriage, and though he'd never been teased he'd often been whispered about. Blending in had never been an option, and it still wasn't. And this was not a place where you wanted to stand out.
So far, he'd been lucky enough to escape all but perfunctory notice, but that wouldn't last forever. His curse was neither drastic nor flashy; he saw auras, and to an extent he could manipulate them, but it wasn't like Katje's or Geezer's or Lorna's. It was a quiet curse, and it might not have got him caught if he hadn't been desperate enough to use it. When he ran out of money in Canada, he'd started tweaking the auras of cashiers, willing them to believe random scraps of paper were actual bills. Though he never did it at the same store twice, somebody noticed.
In theory he could use it to trick his way out of here, but where would he go? He hadn't been kidding when he told Lorna they were in the middle of nowhere. From everything he'd gathered, the Institute wasn't even accessible by road; everything was brought in by air. Getting out could probably be done, if he felt like freezing or starving in the wilderness. Whoever had built this place had probably been advised by Von Ratched, who knew what he was doing, even if no one else did.
His ruminations were interrupted by a sudden jag of pain, white-hot agony that stabbed through his brain lightning-fast. It was gone within moments, but the inexplicable horror that accompanied it lingered. It was so sharp and so terrible that for a moment he stopped breathing, and came dangerously close to passing out entirely.
Katje cast him a worried look. "What?" she asked, but he couldn't answer. The pain came again, worse this time, searing through his nerves like brushfire. It was so intense it sent his vision grey, and before he knew what had happened he'd collapsed off the couch, landing hard on the unforgiving tile. Its chill made such a horrible counterpoint to the heat of his anguish that consciousness all but gave up again, leaving him almost unaware of his surroundings.
He had no idea how long it lasted, but it seemed an eternity before a merciful, dizzying dose of Dilaudid coursed through his system. The drug rendered him pleasantly numb within minutes, though it made his head spin so badly he shut his eyes. Someone had put him on a gurney, and he vaguely heard Hansen's voice.
"--no idea," he was saying. "I want to run some bloodwork. You're sure nobody gave him a sedative this morning?"
"Yes, Doctor." Nurse Grieggs, sounding highly exasperated. "And he ate the same food as everyone else. I'd better tell Doctor von Ratched."
Panic seized Ratiri, but Hansen said, "Let's not bother him until the bloodwork's done. Might be best to rule some things out first."
Thank you, Hansen, Ratiri thought, and he was even more relieved when he opened his eyes a fraction and saw Grieggs stomp out. Her aura might not be as bad as Von Ratched's, but it was bad enough.
"Hang in there, Ratiri," Hansen said. "We'll figure this out."
I was afraid of that, Ratiri thought, and once again lost awareness of everything around him.
He was hovering in a nebulous dream-state when he realized he wasn't alone. Some completely alien presence was lurking in his mind, but it wasn't nearly malevolent enough to be Von Ratched. Angry, yes, but also confused and hurt.
Who's there? he asked.
Me. Where's here?
The thought sounded like a voice he recognized, one he'd thought he'd never hear again. My head, I think. Lorna?
Unfortunately -- kind'v wish I wasn't me right now. This Ratiri I’m talking to?
It is. Where are you?
Aside from your head? I haven't got a bloody clue, and I don't want one. I don't even know how I got here. Or how to get out. Sorry.
Don't worry about it. If this was a dream, he could do much worse. And he wasn't quite prepared to admit to himself that it could be anything else. Lorna seemed like a decent woman, but the thought of her being actively within his mind was something he just wasn't ready to confront.
I can pretend I’m not here, if you'd like, she said, and there was an unnerving sorrow in her mental voice, that all but dashed his dream theory. His own mind would never assign her something so melancholy.
No, it's all right. This is just…
Bloody odd? she finished. Tell me about it. All things considered, I'd rather be in your head than mine right now. I don't know what Von Arsehole did to me, but…
She trailed off, and he didn't ask her to finish the thought. It was probably better she not remember.
Stay, he said. It's better to not be alone here. He meant more than just his mind. Isolation in this hellhole could drive a person truly mad. Bizarre as this was, it felt much better than being on his own.
----
Seated at Donovan's bedside, Von Ratched arched an eyebrow. Wasn't this interesting. He'd suspected her uncontrolled telepathy would try to find an anchor, but he hadn't expected her to succeed. Duncan must be even more stable than he'd thought, if he could handle that. It made him all the more promising. It was somewhat unfortunate he was the one Donovan had latched onto, considering Von Ratched's plans for the man, but that could be worked with. It wasn't as though they didn't have plenty of time.
Chapter Five
Ratiri didn't know when he'd properly fallen asleep, but he woke feeling much less horrible than he might have expected.
He was alone in his room, and the height of the sun on the wall opposite his window told him it was probably mid-afternoon. Had he really lost the better part of a whole day?
After a few blinks and a groan, he managed to sit up. He was as alone in his head as he was in the room; Lorna, if she had ever really been there, was gone now.
He rose to use the bathroom, and managed a shower in spite of his fuzzy head. Dilaudid was a great fast-acting painkiller, but the few times he'd had it he'd always been left with a bit of a hangover. It took three brushes of his teeth to get what felt like glue out of his mouth, and he gulped water until he could hold no more.
To his surprise, the door to the hallway was unlocked. Unfortunately, just outside it stood an orderly, in a stance that even he recognized as military parade rest. "Doctor wants to see you," she said, by way of greeting. "Follow me."
He sighed, but did, rubbing a hand over his face. Not even remotely prepared to face Von Ratched so soon, he dreaded what the man might want with him. It was almost certainly going to involve a lot of needles.
Or so he thought, until he was led not to an exam room, but to the doctor's personal office. He'd only been in here once before, but it was worse this time around. This time, he knew he was walking into a trap.
The light was dim in here, the shades half-drawn against the glare of the afternoon sun. The man himself sat at his desk, and there was an entirely new air of curiosity about him. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him, and Ratiri did so with incredible wariness.
"Nurse Grieggs told me you had something of an incident yesterday. I believe I know the cause, though not why it should have happened to you precisely. For that, I will need a look in your mind."
Oh, hell. This was worse than any amount of needles. "Why?" he asked, wondering how far he would make it if he tried to run.
"Donovan," Von Ratched said, blunt. "She found your mind yesterday, and I want to know why it was you."
Wonderful. That actually had been real. "And reading me will tell you that?"
"And possibly more. Be still, Duncan, and this will not hurt."
Amazingly, at first it seemed he was true to his word. Ratiri felt no intrusive presence at all in his mind -- though that was also rather chilling. If he couldn't sense it, he'd never know when it was happening.
No, Duncan, you will not. However, I do not make a habit of harming my patients without reason.
Strangely, Ratiri halfway believ
ed him, which made the pain that lanced a moment later all the more jarring. It wasn't a patch on what he'd felt yesterday, but it still hurt like hell, as though the Migraine Fairy had just passed by and stabbed him in the brain. Black sparkles swam behind his eyes, and Von Ratched actually blinked.
"Fascinating," he said, eying Ratiri like an especially interesting bacterium in a petri dish. "She's tried to put a block on you. And she couldn't possibly have known what she was doing."
The pain vanished as rapidly as it had come, leaving him vaguely nauseated. "What?"
"Donovan tried to build a shield around your mind. She has no idea how to do so, or even that she can. It must have been pure instinct. This bears…testing." He stood, and on instinct Ratiri did, too. He might be every bit as tall as Von Ratched, but something about the man daunted him into feeling very small. "Come with me, Duncan. I will have Nurse Grieggs take your vitals, and then we will begin."
Every instinct told Ratiri to bolt, but where would he go? What would he do? He still felt too weak to put up anything like a real fight. In the end he had little choice, so go he did, wondering if he was shortly going to wish he was dead.
----
This was beyond intriguing. This was something Von Ratched had never seen before, and for now it would take precedence over most of his other work. He'd never bothered abiding by schedules if something in particular struck his fancy, and these two had most definitely caught his attention.
He led Duncan to an exam room and there abandoned him to Grieggs, plotting all the way to F wing. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but subduing Donovan was going to take some thought. She had to be awake and at least semi coherent, but she couldn't be allowed to destroy everything around her. And he couldn't be as thorough in this test as he would like, not so soon after the previous day's disaster. This would have to be extremely basic and minimally invasive, but it had to be done. If his suspicions were correct, these two could prove to be one of the most amazing things he'd ever found.
Donovan was awake in her holding cell, though hardly what one might call lucid. Her eyes were definitely glazed, but she was not nearly so pale. A white square of gauze was neatly taped over each of her temples, but her wild hair made her look more like a cavewoman than a patient. That would have to be dealt with later.
She tensed when he entered the room, but she was still too drugged to offer much fight. Drugged, but as sane as she'd ever been -- a cursory telepathic assessment told him she was understandably traumatized, but hardly a vegetable. Had she been, there was no way she could have put a block on Duncan, however primitive it might be.
"Good afternoon, Donovan," he said. "I need to move you now. Fight me on this and I will make you wish you'd never been born." He had no patience for her recalcitrance just now, and fortunately for her she seemed too groggy to offer much.
Room four would work for her. He could break the two-way mirror that separated it from room three, and save her the bother; aside from that, there was nothing important she could wreck. In her current state tying her down might even work, at least for a little while.
Unfortunately, the damn woman was thinking in Irish again as he strapped her to the table. He really did need to break her of that, but there was time enough to work on that problem later. He unscrewed the bulb from the overhead lamp, and broke the mirror apart in a much tidier fashion that she ever would have managed. She watched him, wary and unnerved, and he checked her temples before he went to fetch Duncan. They would both heal cleanly enough.
"…the fuck'd you do to me?" she slurred.
"Nothing you would want to remember," he said, quite truthfully. "Try not to destroy anything in my absence."
Her responding curse was so unintelligible he couldn't tell what language she used. Satisfied she wasn't going anywhere any time soon, he went for Duncan.
"Vitals look good, Doctor," Grieggs said. She was obviously curious, but she'd never dream of asking -- it was one of the things he liked about her. Unlike some of the staff, she knew better than to be nosy.
"I am going to warn you, Duncan, that it will be in your own best interest to cooperate," he said, as he led Duncan to F wing. "This will not be pleasant, but it will be much worse if you fight me."
To his credit, Duncan said nothing. He was on the verge of fleeing with every step he took, but he never quite dared -- not until they reached room three, and he spotted Donovan.
"What did you do--" he started, but Von Ratched slammed him down onto the table, knocking the wind from him before he could finish the sentence.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, securing the nylon straps across Duncan's torso. The man tried to fight him, but battling a telekinetic hold was quite pointless. At least he didn't start cursing like Donovan.
Von Ratched stepped back to the foot of the table, surveying them both. The dividing wall was high enough that they couldn't see one another while lying prone: the small amount of isolation this gave them would work to his advantage. He wanted them to be able to hear each other, though. If Donovan really had wound up as bizarrely, unconsciously protective as he suspected, hearing Duncan would likely intensify her own response.
"The two of you have given me a great deal of food for thought," he said. "Donovan, I would not have thought you capable of just what you've done, and I suspect you are entirely unaware of it. This will harm neither of you, although I am quite sure it will hurt."
He turned back to Duncan, delving into the man's thoughts until he reached the edge of Donovan's would-be barrier. Fortunately Duncan's mind was tidy by nature, since the same could not be said of Donovan. Now that he was looking for it, he could feel traces of her thoughts along the edge of the thing, a mental tang quite alien to Duncan. Every mind Von Ratched had ever read had its own unique feel, and he wondered now how Duncan couldn't be aware of it himself. It stood out like a web of light, green as Donovan's eyes, and when he pushed against that web it was surprisingly strong.
Of course Duncan screamed, but what was surprising was that Donovan did, too. Had her telepathy really anchored itself to him so firmly? She must be stronger than Von Ratched had thought, to have done so much unconsciously. Strange, that she could keep him out of Duncan's mind more effectively than her own.
He pushed harder, ignoring both their cries and wishing idly that he could use earplugs for this sort of test. The block was stretching like a spider web, but still it didn't snap -- just what had she done here? He'd never seen anything like it.
Finally the thing broke, and when it did, so did Donovan's restraints. That was already irritating him -- was she going to do that every time he left her conscious?
She staggered drunkenly to her feet, and he decided he hadn't needed to worry about dousing her inner fire: her eyes burned with a rage that seemed downright unstable. He watched dispassionately as she tried to cross the barrier between the two rooms -- she was so small it was chest-high on her, and there was something vaguely adorable in her vehemence.
At least, he thought it was adorable until her mind clawed at his -- it was wild, untrained, instinctive, and to his very great surprise, it actually hurt a little. Oh, she had potential, all right; it was a pity such potential came wrapped up in a creature like Lorna Donovan. She would never, he thought, use it properly.
"And just what do you think you are going to do, should you make it across that wall?" he asked, mildly fascinated that she was still struggling. She was a stubborn one, he'd give her that. "Do you honestly think you can hurt me?"
"Did it once," she snarled, and she even sounded a little like an animal.
"That you did." He utterly ignored Duncan, who was struggling hard himself, and went to face Donovan, picking her up by her armpits as though she were a child. "So angry, yet so protective. I think I was right about you." She would attack him to protect a near-total stranger, far more fiercely than she defended herself. And it wasn't truly altruism, either; she did it because she didn't believe Duncan capable of taking care of
himself. There was a touch of arrogance in her, a twisted pride, and he wanted to know where it came from. Once he was finished here, he would have to do some more digging in her mind.
"Fuck you," she managed.
"Ah," he said. "English, this time. I see we are making progress. A pity you insist on making everything else so difficult." He put her down before she could kick him, pinning both her arms with one of his and dragging her back to the still-thrashing Duncan. "Since I cannot trust you to hold still without impetus, if you do not stop fighting me, I will pull his eyes out."
He had no intention of actually doing so, but it seemed Donovan believed him, for she froze -- for the moment, anyway. She would certainly start fighting again, after what he meant to do next.
With his free hand he grabbed Duncan's index finger and snapped it back, hard, the fragile bone breaking with a sound like a snapped pencil. Donovan's answering howl of shared pain intrigued him, but between the two of them the screaming was all but deafening. He touched her forehead and she went limp, leaving him only Duncan to contend with.
"You two do make a fascinating set. Sleep, Duncan. I will deal with you later."
Blessed silence fell. He put Donovan back in her own cell and attended to Duncan's finger, setting and splinting it, and dosed him with enough painkillers to keep it from waking him up any time soon. Once he'd been put in a holding cell to sleep it off, Von Ratched could see to Donovan. He would take care of it all himself; even Grieggs didn't need to be seeing this. Irritating though it was, some prices had to be paid to maintain the level of privacy he preferred.