Isle of Noise

by Rachel Tonks Hill

  “You’re early,” my receptionist called from the door, her gentle, happy voice breaking my train of thought.

  “Thought I would get a head start on a new case,” I called back turning to the single file on my desk.

  It turned out my girl was connected. A rich daddy who found her a rich, but not too friendly husband. Not that it said that in the file but I’d had dealings with men like him and his kind before; made his money bullying and digging up dirt to hurt his rivals. His money was tied up in stocks and trades and the only fluid cash was her daddy’s money. He had made sure to keep his money secure; he bought up a ton of gold and kept it safe. Last week daddy had a stroke, struck out while watching a play. He was in a coma lying in some fancy hospital bed and if he didn’t wake up a million in gold would be lost to the world and she would be stuck living with her husband, unable to get free. They needed our help and they were willing to pay.

  Finally I closed the paperwork in the file and cursed this woman. She would be expecting me and reluctantly I knew I would have to go. The percentage alone of this one was enough for the institute to force me.

  Damn her.

  I hadn’t always been in this life–someone had noticed my talents. I had the ability to read people, not just gestures and expressions, everything about the way they moved, talked or just stood. Three years back I caught some suit in a compromising position. He was trying to bundle a woman into a car. I was just a uniformed policeman making my rounds when I came to the hotel. There was a car left running, lights on with two doors left open. The indicator was flipping out and the machine's large tires turned and the marks on the road showed the car had definitely stopped in a hurry. I followed the alley round the back to see the two of them.

  He was a big one, maybe six foot three or four, in his twenties, his slicked back hair messed up with effort as he tried to pull the girl to her car.

  “Yeah, you have one second to explain what you are doing,” I called.

  He froze and for a second I saw him sneer.

  “She’s my wife, she’s drunk,” he called.

  “No,” I simply said.

  “What do you mean ‘No'?” he demanded.

  “I mean you're lying. You met this woman tonight, she ran from you, you knocked her out and now you’re dragging her back to your car,” I said firmly.

  The man watched me for a moment.

  “I am Doctor Granger. This woman is a patient.”

  “Go on,” I prompted, my hand resting on my truncheon.

  “I was trying to move her quietly to our facility but she became panicked. I tried to calm her but she climbed out the car and ran.”

  I relaxed my grip and nodded.

  “That, I believe,” I called, relaxing my hand.

  I moved carefully over and gently helped them to the car.

  “How did she get knocked out?” I asked as we lay her down.

  “I managed to get an injection into her before she got out the car.”

  I turned her arm and winced at the tear in her flesh.

  “Well, we should get her to this facility,” I said with a sigh.

  The good doctor stopped and watched me from across the front seats.

  “We?” he asked surprised.

  “I believe you but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to just wave you off into the night.”

  For a moment he thought.

  “Are you married to your job?” he asked.

  “If you’re considering bribing then I might just be,” I warned.

  He smiled before settling into the car and I got in.

  “Nothing so… pedestrian. No sir, a job,” he said with a smile.

  They were impressed I guess. I suspected they thought I read his mind or hers but it was easy to see his soft hands, the claw marks to his neck. The clothes that didn’t fit her, the flat clipped nails without polish, and more importantly, the patient wristband from the local asylum.

  By the time I left the institute that night I had a new job. I was working to help people tell the truth when they couldn’t. It wasn’t all good. The business was dark and secretive but just because a man works for some cultish organisation doesn’t make him bad. Does it?

  “Gin,” she called as she stopped behind me.

  “What does a boy got to do to get a girl to buy him a drink?”

  I didn’t bother turning round, she knew I was going to be there and I had come to see her.

  “Stick around and maybe,” she said softly.

  The barman handed her a gin and she drank a sip, the ice ringing on the glass side right next to me. I could almost smell the gin.

  “How long you keeping me waiting?” I muttered, swirling the whiskey in the tumbler.

  “Four songs.”

  She walked away and I kept hunched over the bar. Rizzo’s was the type of place a guy could drink without being hassled. It was all dim lights and smoke, the mirrors bouncing light back into the room from the tiny windows; it was unwanted. No one who drank in this place wanted to see those bloodshot empty eyes staring back and judging as they rose the glass to their lips again, no. No one wanted to see that.

  The piano started up on the stage behind me and I tore myself away from those judgemental eyes to watch.

  If I thought she was hypnotic in my office I was nearly struck blind and dumb here and now.

  She wore a white dress, something rare away from special occasions, her black hair styled up with diamonds glistening in it. Her dress flowed to the floor but hugged every inch of her body, her ice cold eyes framed perfectly in eye-shadow. They fell onto me and I felt lightning scream through my body, re-awakening long dead whiskey soaked nerves.

  “I’m feeling might lonesome…. Haven’t slept a wink…” She started to sing and I leant back on the bar.

  It was a casual move but it was all I could do not to fall flat on my ass. In the light she seemed supernatural, an angel that made you beg to be turned to stone just so you didn’t have to look away from its fearsome beauty. I wanted to weep but I wanted more to destroy all in the name of her as she stood above me. But on the outside I simply leant on the bar and lit a cigarette.

  “You’re good. But I guess it’s a moot point since your husband owns the place,” I called.

  She was changing from behind a wooden partition as I leafed through the items in her dressing room.

  “Yes, he owns it. But he doesn’t own me,” she said stepping out.

  She chose a less… attention grabbing dress. It was simpler, more lady-like and more importantly didn’t make me want to claw my eyes out or promise my very soul to her as she came to sit with me.

  “And my guess is soon he won’t even be your husband?”

  She raised an eyebrow and tried to keep my stare but finally looked away.

  “I won’t say he’s bad to me because he isn’t. But he ain’t good for me either.”

  She was a hard read. I guessed years in this life had built iron clad walls round her.

  “Say we get you the money? Then what?”

  She looked in the mirror and idly moved a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

  “America maybe. I was told they are building vast cities. Someone could get lost in that country and never find themselves again. A million in gold I could start a whole new life. A better one.” She seemed to be telling the truth.

  “Well, after we take our cut it might be slightly less…” I pointed out but she simply shrugged and the conversation went dead for a moment. I cleared my throat and leant back on the sofa “Any other family?”

  “None. My mother died from complications, Dad never remarried again, just me and him for a long time.”

  “And you understand this could kill him?” I said softly.

  She stopped for a long time before she turned those eyes back on me.

  “My father had been gone for a week, the doctors said he wouldn’t make it past the night…”

  She was cut short as her door opened and in walked her husband.
I had seen hundreds like him. Big, grey faced, hard-eyed bullies who pushed people about. He swaggered in and his eyes stopped on me and he looked me up and down for a few seconds.

  Suddenly I felt uncomfortable with my rumpled suit and dirty collar but I steeled myself and kept my shoulders square and held his gaze.

  “What is this?”

  His tone was friendly but the words, that was a different story.

  “This is an insurance guy. Here about my father staying in another facility.” She smiled and walked over landing a kiss on his cheek. It was a good lie – betray the oaf right under his nose.

  “And how is having him moved gonna help? The old guy’s a vegetable. I keep telling her, be kinder to put a pillow over his face and throw him in the ground.”

  “But with our facility there is a chance he may recover,” I tried.

  “Why are you talking to me?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re talking about killing the man,” I said firmly.

  The man pushed his wife gently away and walked to stand in my personal space.

  “And you’re accusing me of murder, huh?”

  It was a way of getting me on the back-foot. Push me into panicking.

  “Only if the man doesn’t survive,” I simply said.

  This caught him and he grit his teeth.

  “Do what you want. But don’t expect anything from us. And if you accuse me then you ain’t gonna get passed the first word.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind next time I see you,” I sniffed.

  I stood, keeping eye contact as I pushed past him and stood in front of her.

  “Well Mrs….?” I asked.

  She smiled. It was a warm friendly expression I hadn’t seen her use yet.

  “Just call me Silvia,” she said softly.

  “All of this is in order. We will have him moved tomorrow and treatment will begin.”

  She nodded and the two of us turned to the door. She opened it, resting her hand on the door. I walked through and stopped to get just one last look of her dark beauty.

  “You still owe me that drink,” I said softly.

  She didn’t reply, just blinked slowly and closed the door before hushed angry voices began in the room.

  From the outside the building, as a factory, even smelt like wet saw dust but on the inside it was white and sterile. It was cleaner than most hospitals. Nurses, orderlies, doctors and scientists walked silently along the featureless walls. A van drove down along the side of the building and in through thick, heavy doors. I greeted them inside the garage and opened the back door of the van; the old man was quiet, silenced, all but labouring breathing. He had grey, almost white hair, his skin was sallow, thin but soft, there was no stubble and his hair and nails were short meaning he was looked after.

  “Latest pay check?” the drivers called.

  I simply nodded and delicately took the old man’s hand. There was a moment I thought he would turn to dust in my hand but he felt solid enough.

  “Hopefully,” I sighed. “Only if I succeed. Stroke could have scrambled his brain badly.”

  The voice’s owner was stood beside me now. It was the orderly I worked with. He would move the old man from bed to the machine.

  “How can you be sure it isn’t?” he asked.

  “There’s only one way William. Only one way,” I said with a smile.

  He smiled back and he and the driver started to move the old man on his stretcher.

  The machine worked on Gas, great canisters strapped to the wall with tubes that snaked down to masks. The old man was put in with one tube inserted down his throat for feeding and the mask placed over his face. I always watched this as I stripped to my shirt and removed my tie. It was always a worry going into a new mind, focusing control, but with someone potentially with a mind this messed up it was nerve-wracking.

  “All ready for you,” the nurse said softly, taking my things.

  Silently I lay on the bed. Everything in the institute was silent. People spoke softly, they walked softly, doors were closed softly the only noise coming from the crazies that called and shouted from their cells. When anyone else made noise or you saw someone running you knew something wasn’t right. The sweet faced nurse peered down at me and smiled.

  “So when you going to fall in love with me?” I asked with a grin.

  “When you stop being a drunk and a cad.” She laughed.

  “Then it was never meant to be,” I sighed.

  She laughed at least. As the mask was lowered I gently slid the tubes up my nose and to the back of my throat. It was uncomfortable and scratched but I was used to it. I clipped them onto the septum and the gas started to move down the tubes. I simply closed my eyes and took in deep breaths through my nose, making sure to keep calm as I fought the familiar feeling of panic and the world slowly went blank.

  Long meadow grass swayed round my legs. A sun baked lawn, long and well cared for led to a large, stone and red brick mansion. Insects buzzed and made their way about as two young people chatted quietly. I stood over them and leant on a nearby tree. I couldn’t help but take in the memory. The sun shone warm and inviting and felt good after so long in the cold London winter.

  “Why not,” I thought. “I got time.”

  He was dark and brooding a thick head of black hair and a waxed, neatly trimmed moustache as he sat smiling at the woman across the blanket.

  She was pale and innocent as he was dark, her almost silver blonde hair tucked under a sun hat, her pale blue eyes shining happily.

  “I think you should go pick us some apples,” he said.

  “You’re not my husband yet John,” she laughed. “How about you give me a please?”

  He gave a dramatic smile and took her hand, softly lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles before letting it gently drop. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked her up and down again.

  “Please, can you pick us some apples?”

  She stood and headed to the trees, her thin fabric dress shifting in the wind. Her hair was picked up in the wind, sending pale gold tendrils through the air. She was more natural than most women of the time, seeming to have no reason to tie up her hair or drape herself with jewellery. There was only one reason a woman would be allowed to be alone with a man in that day. She was a war widow.

  “I have replayed this moment in my mind a thousand times and I don’t remember you,” John said.

  He looked up at me and suddenly I was being pushed out of the old man’s mind. I fought back but damn he was strong. His mind was still quiet intact, it was fading slowly but it was still strong. If they had been aware of him he probably would have been turned into an agent. Like me. He was damn stronger, much stronger than I was but I was able to fight him, dig my heels in. What could he have done when he was awake and well?

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  “You had a stroke. We need to settle your affairs.”

  Rage hit me and the world went black.

  I sat up, the mask fighting against me but I ripped at the tubes and threw them to the side. I thought he would be sat up ready to fight, but no. He was just where he was put.

  “What’s it like in there?” William asked.

  He looked into my eyes and casually handed me a bed pan as my stomach forced last night’s whiskey and this morning’s coffee out through my nose and mouth. After years of doing this, I made sure I didn’t eat too much before work. It was a waste of time and food.

  “The stroke took out his motor-functional skills. Oh, his mind is fully intact.”

  They went about disconnecting him and tucking him.

  “How long was I under?” I asked, wiping my mouth.

  “Most of the morning…. Mrs Bennett is waiting for information.” William chatted as he moved the man to the bed and off to one of the wards.

  Rooms of people, some lying still and silent. Always silent. Some incensed or just too damn crazy to talk. I didn’t work with them. They screamed
and winced against the process, twisting against the restraint till they were raw, plus you could go just as mad as them working those cases. I know someone who was trying to cure shell shock; a poor man was just sitting there not moving or talking. He spent three sessions in that man’s mind and ended up sitting right next to him…. The worst I heard was a man who had killed a bunch of people and they couldn’t find his mother’s body and in arresting him he had jumped out of a third floor and ended up in hospital. The man that went into his mind ended up going on a killing spree and did the same damn thing – got cornered and jumped out of a fifth floor… he didn’t survive. These are all stories of course, rumours people tell new recruits, but it’s not worth the risk.

  She was standing in the room smoking. She was wearing a bright red dress, her black seamed tights punctuated with black heels. I took my time running my eyes up her legs and to her eyes.

  She was watching me, electricity shot through me but at the same time I could see the young couple in her. I walked confidently into the room even if I didn’t feel confident

  “Please. No smoking in the institute,” I said.

  She silently handed me the cigarette. I couldn’t help but take a lungful before stepping on the rest of it, mainly to mask the smell of vomit that was making me very self-conscious.

  “Have you had time to see?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’ve just come from the treatment. He’s not totally gone but it seems his mind is strong. This should be easy.”

  She nodded and looked me over. I was starting to feel naked in just my shirt and trousers, even my shoes were untied from just being slipped on.