The Medea Complex

by Rachel Florence Roberts

  “What is that?”

  “Chloral. I don't normally like to prescribe it but...you need to start getting some rest. It's a sedative and a hypnotic, and will help you sleep. Mr Stanbury, I don't mean to intrude, but I must admit that I'm worried about you.” I'm also concerned as to what he may be liable to do when his wife is released, but I don't tell him this.

  He takes the bottle from me, eyeing it suspiciously.

  “There is one thing though, Mr Stanbury.”

  “”What?”

  “It is incredibly dangerous to take these with alcohol. You must stop our drinking at once.”

  He laughs, and puts the bottle of chloral in his pocket.

  “Doctor, drinking is the only think keeping me from joining my wife in the mad-house right now.”

  “I assure you Mr Stanbury, alcohol is not a coping mechanism. Are you aware of how many alcoholics I have in my asylum? Too many to count. Nay, alcohol is not stopping you from going mad, but it will drive you mad. You must listen to me.” I reach out to him and he flinches, withdrawing from me. Tears dance in his eyes.

  “I-”

  We are interrupted by the butler returning with the whiskey. Mr Stanbury pours a large measure.

  “Stanbury,” I say gently, dropping the prefix on purpose. “My advice to you would be to take one tomorrow evening: not tonight, as if you take them on top of alcohol the side effects, as I mentioned already, can be quite unpleasant. Take them tomorrow on a clear head, and get a couple of good night’s rest. I'm sure that afterward, you will be feeling more like yourself.” I pick up my bag, and walk to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. Sometimes, simple human warmth can do wonders for a lost person. Within seconds, his shoulders start to shake underneath my fingers, and I give the man his dignity by pretending not to notice.

  At last I give him a firm squeeze and wish him goodbye and leave quickly to the muffled sounds of his sobs echoing in the empty room behind me.

  He is a man whose tastes and temperament keep him apart from the rest of the world, and I don’t know how best to help him.

  I don’t see the woman dressed in an apron, watching me as I leave the building.

  Theatric Somnambulist

  Anne

  March 11th, 1885

  Royal Bethlem Hospital

  “Anne, Dr Savage would like to see you today. Would you see him and listen to what he has to say?”

  “No.” I pull the blanket back over my head, and tell Agnus to go away. I don't care if he wants to see me. I don't want to see him. Nobody can make me. He is a rude, awful man.

  My petulance is incensed further when the covers are whipped from my body.

  “Agnus! Give those back to me!”

  “No. You're coming with me. Don't you want to get better?”

  No. I don't. I am quite comfortable underneath the blankets.

  “I don't know what you're talking about, “I say, burying my face into the mattress. The smell of my own faeces still lingers from the episode with the chamber pot some weeks before, and I privately regret having done that. I wish I'd waited until I was outside in the corridor.

  “Anne. I am not leaving you until you agree. I'll sit on that bed with you all day if needed. I'll even sleep next to you. Actually,” a hand rests atop of my shoulder. “How would you like Ruth to share this room with you? Because I just remembered something. I have prior engagements tonight after my day shift, so I may just have to cancel the night shift. Bad luck. But I'm certain Ruth would be kind enough to step in for me, if I asked her to.” The sound of her clapping her hands together in delight makes me wince.

  I sit up quickly.

  “You wouldn't.”

  “I would. I absolutely would.”

  “Why are you smiling? Do you think this is funny?”

  She takes a step back, cocking her head to one side and crossing her arms.

  “I do, a little. Because we both know that you won't refuse when faced with the possibility of Ruth. Right?”

  I shake my head in despair.

  “Now, come on!”

  We leave the room quickly, Agnus wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. Thoughtful of her, as the building is cool and silent at this hour of the morning; even the birds are still sleeping inside their ornamental cages. There are no other jailers to be seen. Light filters out underneath the edges of doors here and there, and I fall to my hands and knees in an attempt to peek underneath one of them. Agnus gently kicks me in the derriere.

  “Anne....” Warningly.

  “Well...”I say, thinking, still peering. “Are there clocks in these rooms?”

  “No, Anne.”

  “Well, can you get me one?”

  “I'll think about it, after you have seen Dr Savage and listened to what he has to say.”

  I groan audibly, and stand up. I can't believe I’m being coerced into meeting with the fish-eyed fiend, and yet I realize that behind my reasoning lies a strange affinity for this woman. It is almost as if I know her from somewhere. I feel the need to impress her, and I actually want her to like me.

  “Did I ever meet you somewhere before, Agnus?”

  She stops, one hand fluttering to her throat.

  “Anne, I-”

  “Aha, there you are! Good morning to you both, and what a fantastic morning this is!”A towering figure appears in front of us, and I shriek, falling to my knees in prayer and throwing the blanket over my head.

  “A shadow! A ghost! Agnus, save me, save us!”

  “Anne, it is not a ghost, “she says, coming to a halt and pulling the cover off me. She shuffles into a delicate curtsey whilst holding the brown fabric aloft. “It's the good doctor. Look, it just appears spooky because it is early in the morning, and the light from the room is shining from behind him. See?”She lifts up her lamp, illuminating the fish-eyed beard man.

  “Oh. It's you. Well, you still look like you've been dug up.”My attention is diverted when another man appears beside him, a strange sort of red and black star upon his jacket.

  “This is the one?”

  “Yes, this is Lady Stanbury.”I glare at them both. “Well, you may call her Anne. Anne, this is Dr Daniel Hake Tuke, a good friend and colleague of mine.”

  I leap to my feet and run to Agnus, hiding behind her.

  “They won't hurt you, Anne. Dr Tuke is a physician, specializing in psychic analysis.”

  What?

  I peer around her skirt.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he is going to attempt to hypnotize you, Anne.”

  I shriek again, louder. “Are you going to possess me? Is that it?”

  Dr Tuke moves towards me, opening his mouth to say something, but I don't give him time to speak.

  “No! Don’t take one step closer. You are going to take over my mind, summon the powers of darkness, you're going to make me hand over all of my money to you, you're a fiend, a big, fat, ugly, fiend!”

  “That's certainly the first time anyone has ever ascribed me as being overweight, Savage,” says the man, holding his stomach and laughing. “Though I believe I've been called a fiend before. Quite unnecessarily, of course. I'm anything but! Anne, I am a firm believer and follower of Jesus, I am a good, god-fearing man.”

  I frown.

  “I don't believe you. So what are you then, one of those awful magicians who entice innocent people to make perfect spectacles of themselves upon the stage?”

  The doctor starts laughing now too, the both of them holding onto one another, sharing some sort of private joke on my behalf.

  I don’t feel stupid.

  I'm angry.

  “No, Anne. I am also not a theatric somnambulist. I am simply a man, and a doctor of medicine. The application of hypnosis in this case is rather different from that at the theatre, trust me.”

  I crawl out from behind Agnus and stand, crossing my arms.

  “Fine. You two idiots do what you want, have your fun. Just don't make me snort like a pig. A
nd I'm not converting to any weird religion, either.”I don’t believe in hypnotism, so I have absolutely no fear of it. However, they might still want the ransom, and the doctor is looking at my fingers...

  “And don't think about cutting off my fingers without my knowing, either. I told you before; I shall cut off your fingers and toes before you lay a single digit upon any of mine. I count them nightly, and I've still got all twenty of them.”

  “I've been threatened with worse, Anne, but I assure you and give you my word as a gentleman: you have nothing to fear.”

  Gentleman.

  Pah.

  We move into an office that I assume belongs to the 'good doctor', and I am eased over and down into a deep, beautifully soft, cushioned chair. A sigh of pleasure escapes me. How I would love to curl up and sleep on this, as opposed to that awful, faeces-ridden mattress.

  'Dr Tuke' drags a chair over, and sits in front of me, roughly one foot away. Rummaging through his pocket, he pulls out a watch, and I laugh out loud.

  “You find something amusing, Anne?”

  “Yes, I do. I've been asking and looking for one of these for months. Can I have it?”I reach out for the watch, but he pulls away from me.

  “Should have used a different object,” mutters the fish eyed fiend from behind his desk. I stifle the urge to throw myself upon him and beat his head in.

  “We'll see. Later. For now, though, I just want you to maintain your gaze upon it.”He holds it up about eighteen inches away from my face, level with my eyes. “Can you see the watch?”

  “Yes, of course I can. I'm not blind, though I should think I if I were I would kill myself.”

  “She also said she would kill herself if she was deaf.”Agnus interjects, standing behind the doctor, smiling at me.

  Dr Tuke swivels in his chair briefly. “Quite. Thank you for that enlightening snippet of information, madam.”Agnus blushes a deep shade of red as he turns his attention back to me. “Now, please, carefully follow the second hand moving, wait until it has swept its way around an entire circle of one minute. Can you do that?”

  I watch closely. It is five and thirty exactly. The hands are a beautiful, ornate and tarnished gold, the face a rather unsettling and curious blue.

  “Has it moved all the way around?”

  “Yes, “I say, blinking, still staring at the blue. “What is the point of this?”

  “Grab hold of the watch for me, please.”

  “If I do, can I keep it?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean forward, intent on snatching it out of his hands, but surprisingly, my fingers brush nothing but air.

  “Anne, you are now unable to speak.”

  What did you do? The words form inside my head, but fail to issue forth from my mouth. What have they done to me? Briefly, a torrent of fear shudders through me, yet it is quickly replaced by a feeling of sleepiness; haziness. The clock-face is blue, the hands are gold. Blue, gold, blue gold. The colours start to whirl and join.

  “Anne, I want you to place your right hand palm down on top of the watch.”

  My arm moves of its own accord, my hand doing as it has been bid.

  “Now, you are unable to take your hand from the watch. You shall follow wherever it may lead, even if you do not wish to do so.”He stands up, his own hand underneath the watch, mine above it; our hands two sides of a perfect shell, the watch an oyster protecting itself, and in this curious position he starts to walk across the room. And just like that, I have to follow him, for I am quite unable to resist. Suddenly, he pulls away from me, and I am left standing with my arm outstretched. He pockets the watch, and pulls out a pencil.

  “Anne, this pencil is red hot.”

  And he puts it onto my arm.

  A burning, horribly intense pain overwhelms me, and I snatch my arm away, horrified. What are these monsters doing to me? The bloody damnable fiends...

  “Did that burn you? You may answer the question.”

  “Yes!”I am pleased that I can speak again and intent on giving him a piece of my mind, open my mouth to tell him so. But nothing comes out, only words bouncing around inside of my head.

  “Good. Very good.”

  Good? I'll give him good, the bloody coffin dodger; I'll tie him to a chair and stick a red hot poker right up his-

  I am astounded to find that my arm is back in an outstretched position.

  “This time, Anne, you are quite unable to move your arm. Here is the pencil, and again, it is red hot.”

  He places it inside of my palm.

  Oh, dear lord, the pain, the pain. I'm silently screaming, and everything is red, red, and red.

  “Did that burn you? You may speak.”

  “Yes.”My voice.

  “Where?”

  “Here.”I point to my palm.

  “Good, very good.”He nods to Fish-Eye, who starts scribbling something inside of a notebook as Dr Tuke takes hold of my palm, and starts rubbing it. “It is cured, Anne, no more pain.”

  By god, he is right.

  The pain is gone.

  “Now for the next part. Close your eyes.”

  My eyes follow the command, even though I try very hard not to allow them to do so.

  “Close your mouth.”

  My mouth closes.

  “Can you open your eyes?”

  No. I want to say no, but I can’t, because I can’t open my mouth either.

  “This is good indeed, Dr Tuke. Why, you really are astounding.” A man’s voice intrudes upon the darkness behind my eyelids, but I think he is stuck underground somehow as his voice is muffled, strange. I feel like I am hearing from deep underwater.

  “Oh, it’s not me, my friend, as opposed to good old modern science. Anne, hold your breath.”

  I can't breathe. I'm stuck underwater and now I’m going to drown, just like the fallen woman I am. I deserve it, I know, but I don't want to die, not here, not like this...

  My lungs are bursting, lights flash inside of my closed eyelids.

  “Anne, you are dead.”

  My body falls backwards of its own accord, and I am lying on the floor, in pain, my eyes closed, my mouth closed, my lungs closed. No breath escapes my lips.

  Then, there is nothing...but nothing.

  I am dead.

  Only Way I Knew How

  Dr Savage

  March 11th, 1886

  Royal Bethlem Hospital

  “I see Geoffrey has not found himself yet,” Tuke muses, gesturing to a long haired man whom is crouched by the side of a rose bush, digging a hole with his bare hands. “He might be a good candidate for my work, Savage.”Seeing us, Geoffrey waves enthusiastically for a moment before resuming a compulsion of some twenty years hence.

  “He's already been hypnotised on numerous occasions; unsuccessfully, I might add, by Mr Smith.”

  “Mr Smith from the Royal Psychical Society, I presume?”

  “The one and only,” I say, glancing around the garden with some frustration. “I wonder if we should ask him for a third opinion regarding Lady Stanbury's most odd revelation.” Under a deep somnambulistic state, Lady Stanbury told us about the night of the murder, and her disclosure was most disturbing. “Is it possible she was telling the truth?”

  Tuke tuts.

  “No, Stanbury. She seemed an excellent fit for hypnosis; suffering from amnesia, but once again, the experiment failed. Do you honestly think a woman of such means and breeding would be capable of such an atrocity? You and I both know that a deep hypnotic state is capable; indeed, likely in some subjects, of producing hallucinations. Some people are incapable of being hypnotised at all, yourself being one of them. Therefore, I wouldn't hold any particular credence to it. After all, she had all of the physical symptoms of puerperal mania, did she not?”

  “She did, “I say, yet feeling strangely unsure of my assertion.

  “Well there you go, my friend. When you hear hooves, don’t go looking for zebras. If I was you, I'd order a good bout of hydrotherapy
for her, and be done with it.”Tuke dismisses me, and gestures to Geoffrey. “Geoffrey, young man, how is you on this fine and pleasant morning?”

  “Sir, I think I've finally found meself. I’m under that there bush, right over there. Can you 'ell me dig meself up?”

  Tuke looks to me and smiles. The man is filthy, his face and fingernails blackened with soil and all manners of dirt.

  “I'm an old man, Geoffrey. I shan't be doing any digging at all. If I did, I fully expect it would be my own grave I should fall into once I was finished!”

  Geoffrey frowns.

  “Do ye suppose I’m dead then, Sir? Could that me my very own body buried under there?”He looks around him. “P'raps I should leave meself there then, like. I don’t fancy see'in me own body if it’s dead.”

  “How about going inside and having a nice pot of tea instead?”

  Geoffrey licks his lips, a white circle appearing around them as he does so.

  “I'll do that Sir, what a good idea! Have a good day, gentlemen.”He walks away from us, making an odd sort of snorting sound.

  Tuke is a good doctor, despite being out of practice with patients for over twenty years. His health is failing, and I don't like to admit to myself that I shan't be seeing my friend for very much longer. I suspect that Lady Stanbury will be the last case he consults upon.

  “Get that sad look off your face, Savage. I know what you're thinking; I've known you for long enough. You can't fool an older and wiser man than yourself. I'm rather looking forward to meeting my saviour, and I've lived a good, decent life. In his good grace has he allowed me to live this long, and I thank him every day for it. The retreat will live on in my absence, and provide decades of assistance to those that need it. I have completed my legacy. Now, what suppose we go and finish our notes on the young Lady, and then retire ourselves?”

  “Coffee for me, but it sounds like a marvellous idea, my friend,” I say, putting my arm around his shoulders, shuddering when I feel his arthritic shoulder creak under my hand, Lady Stanbury's final words echoing inside my mind.

  "Remember, Savage: even the insane are made in the image of God. We might not understand his plan, but he has one. Geoffrey will find himself in heaven."