The Loss of Some Detail

by Mandi Martin

  Those whose job it was been to plan the layout of the building had overlooked the staff, apparently not thinking that they would remain there.

  All things considered it was rather curious or rather stupid and because of this the bedroom space was scarce.

  Due to the inhospitable location of the asylum and the reluctance of the boatmen to journey there it was only feasible to leave on the weekends and rather than dare the fickle tides a majority, most, if not all, of the staff remained on the premises, leaving only on special occasions. Meanwhile they utilised the upper areas as a makeshift dormitory and if the weather held fair they would take the rare day to venture to the mainland.

  That is if they had anyone who wished to associate with them, the profession held a stigma that eventually those who guarded the insane would turn themselves.

  James had no close family to speak of and had no reason to leave at all so requested to utilise the room as his own, at least it would be a private area for him alone.

  Surprisingly the request had been granted.

  Although when one considered his less than popular persona then it perhaps was not surprising at all.

  But it was his.

  And had space enough for the iron-frame bed and a small chest of drawers, not ideal for hanging his uniform up but if he folded it neatly then he could avoid too many creases. Pressing was not an option and sending it to the mainland, if they even did, was a hassle.

  Flinging the heavy navy jacket onto the bed James closed the door with a sigh, his keys singing a discordant song as they clashed together.

  He thought over the events of that day and how. Wait…what had happened that day?

  James frowned, a sensation similar to a cramp gripping his stomach as he realised, he had no idea and a combination of panic and confusion embraced him.

  Except for Silas he had no recollection at all. Much like the countless days before that.

  ‘Tiredness…’ James thought as he felt his head throb, aches rolling through his skull ‘tiredness…’

  He laid back on his bed, the lumps in the mattress oddly comforting, and stared at the yellowing ceiling and the crack that had started in the corner and had spread over the years. At least that was something he could remember.

  It was a tiresome job and a lonely one, any talking between staff was kept to a few barely audible words, any louder and it would be resonated throughout the building and cause certain patients to react badly as well as annoy others on shift.

  For the sake of placidness, it was worth keeping words brusque and brief.

  James had another hour before he needed to do another check; with the inmates locked away he often spent the waiting time in the sanctity of his room.

  In most institutes it would be against the rules, breaking it would be career suicide but out here rules seemed not to matter. Even if their handbook stated differently.

  Had he not been on the nightly shift James had his doubts that he would have slept, the sounds seemed amplified in the dark, more despairing, more haunting.

  Yet it was a benefit on this shift, when he was up here anyway, with the silence reigning he could sit peacefully but still hear if anything was going wrong.

  He leant over to the nightstand to pull open the top drawer, rummaging under the socks and undergarments randomly thrown in.

  Underneath there was a polished silver blade with an intricately carved handle, a forbidden item in any job but James knew he wasn’t the only one to possess such things.

  He wasn’t sure why he had it, even where he had obtained it from, perhaps it had been a gift?

  Whatever the reason it was there and it would feel strange if he was ever to look and find it missing. And concerning.

  Fingering the handle he smiled to himself, the knowledge it was there gave both a sense of comfort and fear, an odd combination.

  Placing his watch on the side James closed the drawer and lay back, he’d earned some relaxation if one could call it that.

  But he did not dare close his eyes, sleep was hard to come by but he knew well that if he allowed them the luxury of closure they would remain shut and that was something he couldn’t risk.

  The sound of the soft ticking was almost soothing and for a while James forgot his confusion, allowing himself to relax and lose himself it those hypnotic notes to float in an aimless dream whilst still awake.

  As happened every time as soon as he felt the least bit settled it was time again to get up…the minutes went by so slowly when he was tense.

  Sitting up he pulled his jacket back on, fastening the bronze buttons neatly as he hoped the checks would be as smooth as they had been earlier.

  As he ventured down the spiralling stairway James checked the ropes fastened across the precipice, it was a measure taken to prevent unfortunate ‘accidents’ if one of the patients managed to somehow get out.

  Truthfully caging would have been a better option but the cost was high and keeping the inmate was too high a price in some people’s eyes.

  James could not actually see much point in the preventative measure, the upper floor was no longer used to house patients and the ropes would cause more damage than the plummet to the stone slabs below.

  Pulling the crumpled list from his pocket he glanced at the names and the cell numbers, the ink was now smudged but still readable even though he should know all this by now, shouldn’t he?

  Probably. But he didn’t and that was why it seemed strange.

  The inmates all seemed placid as he once again echoed down the corridor, most sat on their beds, rocking like pendulums against the chill in the stagnant air.

  Occasionally one would look up with empty, hopeless eyes before dropping them back to the floor to watch what no one else could see.

  James felt a stab of sympathy as he watched them, marking the papers as he did so.

  He stopped outside another iron door and flicked the hatch across; as he did so he heard the approaching sound of heavy boots on the concrete.

  “Doctor…”

  James nodded politely towards the grizzled man garbed in dirty white clothing, his chin speckled with stubble as if he had not shaved for several days.

  His eyes were sharp and strained with, dark circles surrounded them yet they gave no discernible emotion.

  “I would prefer it is you address me in the proper manner, Grey.” The man’s clipped voice was almost a hiss and James would not have been surprised to see a forked tongue slip from the dry lips. “So you will acknowledge me as Dr Morbridge or Sir…or not at all. I get enough lip from that effeminate creature you see to without staff adding more.”

  “Yes…Sir…”

  It sounded better than speaking as if to a schoolmaster; James already felt like a chastised schoolboy and had no wish to feel even more like one.

  Morbridge raised a cynical eyebrow.

  “Better. Somewhat. Just get on with your job. However, I will let you know that I took patient twenty-three a while ago. He needed extra treatment.”

  Patient twenty-three.

  James looked down at his paper. A man named T. Willis. He supposed it one less to worry about but the doctors tone made it hard not to.

  He waited until Morbridge’s footfalls faded before he continued himself, finding the doctor far more unnerving than the surroundings themselves. Unless they merely aggrandised his presence.

  There was little to note as James continued his checks, the second and third never found much to do but as the night wore on often his job became more taxing.

  Especially if some decided to become incontinent, an act that would certainly get the craved attention even if not the good sort.

  His checks were swift, his last being the inmate he had conversed with earlier and a strange apprehension fell over him as he paused by the door.

  Silas was lying on his bed tossing and catching a balled-up piece of paper repeatedly in consistent speed.

  Even his blinks seemed to be timed to a perfect rhythm.

&
nbsp; It was almost hypnotic to watch. Fascinating even, but it felt like watching a cobra sway and James did not want to be there for the strike, no matter how genial Silas seemed.

  Backing away he carefully closed the hatch; if the other heard he gave no sign, never ceasing the constant toss and catch behind the iron.

  Chapter Three

  Apart from the normal hassles such as patients refusing to remain in their beds or purposefully soiling themselves instead of using the pot provided there was nothing unusual about James’s shift.

  But he wasn’t disappointed when the clock finally read six and he was able to finish for the day, he needed sleep.

  The morning sky was red through the trees as if the rising sun was weeping bloody tears, staining even the clouds.

  The chinks of glowing light slipping through the boughs cast an eerie aura over the outside world, making the dew resemble rubies upon the fusion of green leaves.

  Returning to his makeshift room James dropped face down onto his bed as he did there was a soft crackle from beneath the covers as if he had crushed a dead leaf.

  Not bothering to even sit up James fumbled under the thin cover; his fingers clutched the creased surface of an envelope.

  The white had yellowed as if it had lain there for some time and upon it was his name…nothing more, no address, no postage.

  James let the letter drop onto the floor, he could read it later…his head felt full and ached from tiredness, whatever words were scripted within they would make no sense in his current state.

  He drifted in and out of consciousness; one could not call it sleep, his mind too active and aware of the sounds and senses about him.

  This continued until the late afternoon when his eyes would finally refuse to remain shut, the day to day noises didn’t help.

  The sounds echoed, banshee-like screams and clanging of the doors, a symphony of discordant music.

  Sitting up James looked down at himself, his uniform was creased and his fingers still had the blackened stains from the lead of the pencil.

  He felt too tired to have slept properly, having gone long past the stage where his mind could settle.

  Getting up grudgingly he pulled out his spare uniform. He couldn’t turn up like this, not even if his shift hadn’t started.

  The last thing he needed was more stress added to his collection.

  It felt as if no time had passed at all, at least to his body, but the hands of the watch said differently and that was not to be disregarded as wrong.

  Outside a few birds chirped amongst the greenery, their tunes muffled by the crush of leaves. It seemed they could sing even in Hell.

  He cast another glance at the unopened letter, it would wait. Right now he, or at least his body, needed nutrition, if the food supplied even provided any.

  Admittedly that which was served to the staff was far superior to that which the patients suffered. Some kind-hearted folk on the mainland would send donations of food and clothing but often the best was pilfered.

  As were the items sent for those who lucky enough to have family members who still cared about them.

  The dining area was large, and much like the rest of the building was devoid of any decoration or iota of colour to make it more bearable.

  It was merely a vast stony room with two wooden table stretching long ways with matching, equally uncomfortable benches.

  The barred windows allowed for little natural light enabling the shadows to reign and stretch their dark fingers over and above the filthy floors.

  It did at least conceal a majority of what one was eating, not that it mattered when the repugnant concoction hit the palate.

  James gave a polite but insincere greeting as he walked in, receiving a muttered reply from the handful of others there.

  Their faces were so generic. Had he need to describe someone it would have been like describing a thousand of the same, but he knew them. He assumed he did anyway.

  The nearest looked up as James moved passed him to his seat.

  “Thought you’d moved to day shifts, Grey.”

  He spoke as if speaking through his nose or addressing an insect in a pile of manure.

  “Obviously not,” James replied in the same derisory tone. “I am unlikely to be turning out for extra work had I have been.”

  “The way you’ve been forgettin’ things of late it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Lack of proper sleep,” James retorted, taking a chunk of bread from the plate on the table. “I find it rather awkward to get any.”

  His comment brought no sympathy or relation but nor did it bring any criticism since all present agreed that sleep was patchy at best.

  The room became quiet again; the only sounds the standard noise of cutlery scraping and mugs being placed down.

  “Can someone else check Nathaniel later?”

  A white-haired attendant spoke up after a while, his face lined and sagging before his time.

  “I twisted my knee seeing to one of those imbeciles and those damned stairs are hard enough at the best of times.”

  No one volunteered, their attention seeking anything other than the subject broached.

  “I’ll do it,” James’s voice seemed like thunder in a silent sky, “since most of you believe I don’t pull my weight I may as well prove it.”

  The older attendant gave a snort of amusement; James hadn’t dealt with Atrocity before.

  When the man had been brought in no one knew his name and due to the gravity of brutality he had shown he had gained many appellations and none were overly complementary.

  Even now they were not sure if Nathaniel was indeed what he had been christened but it was the only one he had ever given himself and it had stuck.

  “No argument from me lad,” he said simply “but don’t take it easy on him like you do with the rest of them, I guarantee he won’t with you.”

  The worst affected patients were kept in the lower areas dubbed the tenth circle of Hell by some of the more learned staff.

  There was no fire or fury but simply dank and darkness, the stench of mould lingering on cold walls where the fungus inhabited the cracks.

  James, although educated, simply called it the basement.

  The theory behind the design was simple; if one did happen to be astute enough to escape their cell then they would still have to navigate up the stairs and through the corridors to attempt to find as exit.

  The chances of not encountering anyone along the way were almost impossible.

  When one considered the location there was little need for the extra security except to make life more uncomfortable for those whose ‘unsoundness of mind’ had saved them a journey to the gallows.

  There were only two down there so far, Nathaniel and another man who seemed to be completely placid, lost in a world of his own where no one else could find him.

  Nathaniel however was in a different class.

  In looks the paper had described him as ‘one you would expect to see in the evenings as backstreet pimp’.

  A bestial man he was powerfully built with dark blond locks and cruel eyes that saw past the skin and into the soul beneath. The feeling was so unnerving that the attendants had ordered him to be blindfolded even when alone in the room.

  Strange patterns adorned his arms and back. Clearly done by another’s hand and now covered in a thin black shirt, concealing the immoral markings from decent sight.

  But it was his voice, a deep, throaty growl that chilled those who ventured in. The man seemed to know far more than he should.

  Many a time a gag had been threatened but no one could get near enough, he had bitten a finger off someone in custody before and the images of the marks left upon the flesh of his victims were enough to keep from attempting it.

  The corridor downstairs was far darker and the shadows seemed to dull even the echo of the feet that walked there.

  James tried not to let it perturb him too much even though his mind kept surfacing quotes and passag
es of books. All relating to the dangers in the dark and what happens when one’s voice doesn’t echo.

  The keys jangled as he shuffled through them; in the dark of the cell, empty save for a thin mattress, the other listened, deprived of much of his sight his other senses had been heightened.

  A wolfish grin appeared; his teeth icy white in the gloom, and a soft chuckle emerged, unheard by the one outside.

  As James entered, the shackled man stirred, his nostrils flaring to catch the scent of the one he lacked sight of.

  “Fe fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. His sister raped, his parent’s dead, oh how he whimpered while they bled!”

  James hesitated in the doorway at the sound of the mocking, sultry voice, which verged on laughter, that reaction did not go unnoticed.

  “Scared, James?”

  “No.” He winced at the weak edge in his voice and cleared his throat. “No.”

  Better.

  “I am just amazed at your inaccuracy if that little rhyme was meant for me,” he said.

  Nathaniel sniggered, an unpleasant sound like mucus gathered in the sinus’s, tilting his head in expectation of an explanation.

  “My parents are alive and well, I have no sister and I’m Welsh, half Welsh anyway. So you failed on each verse.”

  He couldn’t quite recall Wales. In fact he couldn’t recall anything but here.

  “Poor me,” Nathaniel snorted “or poor you…?”

  James ignored him; everything seemed as fine as it could be. He hadn’t gnawed his hand off or made any other unpleasant mess.

  And supper had passed and the agonies of force feeding had long been accomplished.

  Like with Silas he was bemused at how the other knew his name but this time he did not question it, he would get no sensible answer.

  “James, James, James…” Nathaniel shook his head, “you see less than I do, my time is running and yours is near through.”

  Turning abruptly James walked out and slammed the door, leaving the man laughing behind him, the sound turning into a malicious growl the further he went.