by Mandi Martin
“I have to get back,” James muttered tiredly as he gently removed his tense arm from about her, his muscles aching from holding his position so long.
Marianne’s eyes opened and she nodded once, the smile still on her lips, the knowing expression still present.
“I just hope no one noticed my absence, I will have to forge my checks but nothing ever seems to occur on my rounds, if the fates are in my favour then that luck will hold.”
He clasped her hand as he stood, holding the delicate fingers as though they were made of porcelain, meeting her gaze and feeling his pulse in his throat.
“I will get back to you, I just wish I could set you free from here,” he whispered mournfully “you do not belong in this makeshift prison.”
‘The only prison is fear and to free yourself and perhaps others you must overcome that darkness and doubt.’
James reached to stroke the wan cheek, leaning over gracelessly to press a chaste kiss to the cool forehead, his hand caressing her thinning hair.
“Thank you,” he spoke so softly it was a wonder her breath did not drown his words “I can but try but fear is a powerful enemy. But if tales have told us anything it is that most foes can be defeated.”
A slim arm embraced him with skeletal grace as she rocked against him, clinging to the safety and warmth he emanated, feeling the beat of his pulse, reminding her that life was not all despair and pain.
James’s arms moved about her shoulders, holding her rather awkwardly. He could not recall being close to a female before, not in a way that made his heart palpitate in such a manner. In the back of his mind he seemed to sense a sororal fondness but no more.
“I have to go,” he repeated although he made no move to release her. It was Marianne who reluctantly pulled away, pressing his hand to her lips in a farewell gesture.
Swallowing the mass of emotions that formed a lump in his throat James stepped away, keeping his eyes upon her until he reached the door and had to turn away.
Chapter Nineteen
James reached his room without encountering anyone. The entire building seemed silent, even the wind outside gave no sound as it swept through the trees.
A sense of foreboding engulfed his senses as he approached the door, the once welcome sight now causing him to want to turn and flee.
That was not his nature though, to run from trouble. And even if it was, he could not do that forever, facing things was far more beneficial.
He gave a sigh of exasperation and wrenched the door open, waiting in the coldness of the corridor would do no good and he simply ran the risk of becoming ill. Working was taxing enough without the feeling of one’s lungs being wrenched from the body or their head throbbing.
At first glance nothing seemed out of place. The bedclothes were creased on the bed with his spare clothes just as he’d left it and the drawers had not been touched.
A chill breeze wisped through the window and brought goose bumps to his skin. Or perhaps that was just his anxiety manifesting more clearly.
Shaking his head at his foolishness he wandered inside, closing the door to keep the access cold out, leaning against the frame as he continued his scrutiny of the familiar room that seemed so alien at that moment. His suspicions that something was amiss were still high even though his eyes failed to spot anything.
Feeling for the jar he forced his gaze away as he pulled it from his pocket. He wrinkled his nose and tossed it over onto the mattress, immediately following when a rustle sounded instead of a soft thud.
With a frown he moved over, whipping the blanket from the bed and sending the container flying into the corner with a clatter. Amazingly it didn’t shatter.
On the bed was a folded piece of paper, the former rips and creases still clear on its surface.
James felt a combined sense of anger, irritation and anxiety as he approached robotically, his feet moving forward on their own accord. He already knew what it would be before he even opened it, in many ways that was a blessing and limited the shock.
He opened it with a single flick of his wrist, faced once again with the childish drawing. And once again it was altered.
The adult figures had almost faded from view; the faintest of outlines remained as though someone attempted to erase them and left only the indent from the pencil. The children’s faces had fallen, looking almost sad or afraid, their eyes bigger.
He gazed at it for some minutes, shaking his head slowly. How many more times did he need to attempt to dispose of it? It was beginning to feel as though it was cursed and unable to be destroyed.
Opening his hand he let it float to the floor, pushing it under the bed to collect dust and hopefully be forgotten. If he couldn’t rid himself of it then the best he could do was eradicate it from his sight and hopefully his memory.
Leaning down he picked up the discarded blanket and shook it open, humming the same tune Marianne had gifted to him as he folded it back onto the bed, smoothing the creases carefully even if they would reappear as soon as he sat down.
He didn’t remember lying down or falling asleep. Yet when the banging on the door jolted him back to reality he was on the bed and looking at the ceiling.
The bang came again, sounding more impatient as the person banged their fist against the rickety frame.
‘Can you get that? I’m busy.’
“Alright, alright!” James grumbled as he rolled over, his eyes feeling as if burning embers smouldered behind them. “Give me a minute!”
He frowned as he sat up before dismissing the feminine voice, simply the residue of an already forgotten dream.
Reaching for the handle the door was practically pulled open for him, revealing the impatient figure of his fellow worker, tapping his foot testily.
“Doctor wants to see you,” he said in a surly tone, turning to leave as soon as the words left him, “so move it, he’s in a bad mood as always.”
James shook his head, apparently it was going to be one of those days when he was forced to proceed with a permanent headache and one that was likely to be worse by the time his shift was due.
Morbridge’s office was small but sumptuously decorated.
A bookcase full of expensive tomes lined the left side, weighted with knowledge and facts, their gilt gold titles catching the light of fireplace opposite, a beautiful oil painting hanging above it.
All his furniture was dark, polished mahogany or other wealthy woods, his seats lined with deep violet velvet. All luxuries that befitted his status or what he believed was his status.
Despite the opulence it was devoid of any personal effects that would give any insight to the man behind the career. It was purely a space of business and a showroom of grossly gained prestige. And despite his bluster and bravado he would never dare show what trinkets he did possess, taken from the dead and dying and even those who still lived. To him they were as good as corpses anyway.
James perched uncomfortably on the harder seat by the desk, knitting his fingers together nervously while Morbridge continued with documenting his latest doings in no particular hurry.
It felt like an age before the man finally laid down the pen and lifted his dark eyes slowly, the gas light above making them glow in a sinister fashion.
For a few seconds the doctor gazed at him studiously, each tick of the clock feeling like an hour. James shifted, looking the very image of a wayward schoolboy in the masters’ presence.
“Are you like Judas, Grey?” he asked in a low, baleful voice. “Feigning loyalty when you heart holds fast to betrayal?”
“I don’t know, or care to know, what that means,” James replied readily, “but I never took you for a religious man, Sir.”
Morbridge wrinkled his nose, the contempt shining brightly from his demeanour. The sudden nerve had taken him aback and that alone lowered the other in his eyes.
“I’m not. However, I work with those who are and you pick up names and phrases the longer you allow those delusions to rot their brains. Imbecilic
as I find such things it is all they have to hold to.”
“That aside,” James sat back, attempting to portray a calm and composed figure even though the feeling of unease was visceral, “what exactly did you want to see me about that was so urgent?”
With a sigh Morbridge leaned on his desk, pressing his hands together, his eyes never leaving the man before him, taking in every movement and blink of his eyes.
“I will keep things short since you don’t seem entirely awake,” he said curtly. “Last night a few things went missing, small in quantity they all add up and I am not about to postulate a theory on the supernatural.” He fixed his stony gaze upon the smaller male as if trying to crush him with the weight of that alone. “Where were you last night?”
“Doing my normal mundane duties,” James responded stiltedly, immediately thinking of the vial in his possession. “I don’t know where else you’d expect me to be. And if you want to know if I saw or recall anything then no, I don’t.”
He couldn’t reveal where he had been, a secret it had to stay.
Morbridge sat back again with a stiff smile, one that made even the strongest baulk.
“You don’t recall much, do you? I have heard rumours of your forgetfulness for a while now.”
“We all have those days, Sir, I don’t see anything unusual or concerning about it.”
“In the case of a normal person then it would be a trifling matter,” Morbridge said as he tapped a blunt nail on the arm of the chair “but you, you have shown to be less than normal.”
James’s eyes darkened as he met the man’s stare, his lips tightening. He didn’t respond, not willing to rise to the bait like a fish to a worm.
“You know I am partial to the abnormalities in the human species,” Morbridge continued. “I can’t help but wonder of your eyes are key to the flaws in your mind that you’re beginning to show. Had you been an inmate you would have been a prime specimen for research, in fact you still could be.”
Automatically James adjusted the lopsided fringe, an act that only increased the unpleasant smirk the doctor sported.
“My eyes are my own and have nothing to do with you!” he stated forcibly. “I may not be fond of them but I do value the sight they give.”
At least when they served their true purpose of seeing what was actually real.
“Yes, well if you ever change your mind I trust you’ll let me know?”
“I assure you that will be unlikely, Sir.”
Morbridge smiled coldly, lowering his voice to a direful hiss.
“You might not have to grant permission,” his eyes shone with ghoulish intent. “Continue on this path, my friend, and you may find your status here alters dramatically.”
James gave a sniff of disregard but inside his breast his heart palpitated fearfully. He had hoped any difference in his behaviour or mood had not been apparent, he rarely conferred with the others and nor they with him.
“Word has reached my keen ears that delusions have begun to affect you, a sad risk of working amongst those who suffer them.”
James gave no response, only a slight shrug of his shoulders. The young warder did not want to add more smoke to the fire, albeit a dead one, any words would most likely be twisted to give credence to the rumours.
“You have nothing to add? Well, nothing comes from nothing, Grey,” Morbridge crowed, a smug smile tilting his lips, “but I cannot force your words as yet.”
He held his gaze for some moments before giving an abrupt gesture of his hand.
“And nothing comes from idle speculation either, Sir,” James retorted, standing abruptly, the chair rocking precariously as he did. “I bid you good day but beware Doctor, even the strongest of minds are not a fortress.”
“Perhaps not. But some are far better armed than others,” Morbridge responded placidly, flicking his hand as though swatting a fly. “Now go, however we shall certainly meet again.”
James left, not staying to even comment. Regardless of his tiredness that would almost certainly hinder his duties later he headed outside to the courtyard.
He stood in the coolness of the doorway and listened to the mighty roar of the tides beyond, sounding as though Leviathan himself stirred below and made the island tremble.
The air was clammy as it mingled with the spray and droplets blowing from the leaning trees, clinging to his skin.
He scraped his heel on the ground, tracing a pattern on the cobbles, worn from the rain and sleet and the tread of the many feet that had walked them.
The wind died down for a brief moment, giving an almost blissful silence until another sound, far more alien, penetrated it.
A soft and sorrowful sob drifting from the direction of the lonely well, a sound that chilled his heart and core.
Regardless of his nerves James’s curiosity pushed him forward, his feet seeming to gain weight with every step until he reached the low brim, his fingers curling around the damp lips as he peered into the dark maws.
Nothing. Not a ripple.
He blinked. Bemused but relieved having not been certain how he would have reacted to seeing a face staring back from the blackness below.
‘Come home again. I know you can hear!’
A bead of sweat trickled from his brow, circling down his cheek. He took a deep breath.
“Ridiculous!” he muttered crossly to himself, his pace quickening as he headed back towards the drier, although not warmer, building. “You’re letting your imagination run away again, damned doctors.”
‘James…’
He ignored it. It was not Marianne and it whilst it sounded oddly familiar it was purely a tired fancy and sleep, if it would come to him, would drive such things away.
‘Ja…’
The voice died as the door swung shut.
Chapter Twenty
As soon as James saw his door was ajar he knew something was wrong. No one entered his room except him, giving it a wide berth. None ever came this way unless they had to, there was no need.
Pushing the door he detected a subtle, acrid scent, similar to the phenol he often smelt seeping from the medical rooms to try and disguise the sickly odour of blood.
Peering around the door everything looked tidy. His bed smoothed over and a blanket folded on the end that he had never laid eyes on before. To him that made it even more curious, why should anyone want to pass by and adjust things?
Moving across he flicked it back but nothing lay under the alien fabric, just the bedding with the few creases that were unable to be smoothed out by whoever’s hand had touched it. James ran his fingers over the cover lightly as if searching for unseen clues but finding none.
Giving a sigh he shook his head, leaning on the mattress with his fists.
“Maybe this is simple paranoia,” he mused aloud, looking about the room. “I…”
He paused when he caught sight of the bedside cabinet, the middle drawer open a mere crack when it had been shut fast when he had left.
Reaching over he wrenched it open, the hinges resisting the abrupt pull. He quite expected to see the drawing laying there and part of him was intrigued to see how it had altered, if it had.
There it lay, cradled by emptiness, but that was not what drew his eyes. What pulled his gaze was the dust-free outline of where his knife was once sat.
He felt himself pale, felt the blood drain from his veins and the cold settle as he reached out to press his fingertips to the cool wood to check that he was not just imagining its absence. He almost wished he was but the feel of the rough wood indicated otherwise.
“How…” He trailed away, why bother asking a meaningless question that could not be answered?
He ran his hand through his hair, gripping the blond locks as if he was about to pull them out by the roots, the subtle pain indicating he was still awake and, odd and it was, enabled him to think more clearly.
“It can’t be far,” he muttered breathily, needing to break the cold silence even if it was just with the sound
of his own voice. “Simply misplaced. Yes, that must be it! I moved it. Knowing my luck I’ll find it when I tread or sit on the damn thing.”
There weren’t many places in here it could be, retracing his steps outside of the room was of no use, he’d never taken the item from here. The results of wandering with a blade would be devastating if one of the more violent patients seized it.
A thorough search was to no avail. He checked every crack and crevice, even moving the bed to sift the gathered dust that settled immediately after displacement.
Not was the bedding itself spared, stripped and searched before being redressed in a haphazard manner.
With a grunt of frustration he sat down heavily, the legs of the bed screeching as it was forced back to its original place.
The soft pad of footfalls piqued his attention and he looked over to the door, soft voices mingled with them, intermittent and dissonant like the crackling of a fire it was hard to make out what they said.
The gentler lilt indicated a female but that was all he was able to discern with the door muffling the noises.
Giving a sigh James pulled himself to his feet and opened the door. Immediately the noises ceased and nothing was out of place.
Just dust dancing in the sparse light.
He bit his lip in irritation at his active imagination. Phantasm it might be, it was still irksome and made him feel as though his own mind slipped away.
As he turned back to try and get some sleep he noticed a movement from the corner of his eyes, a soft white hue moving in stark contrast to the black of the shadows.
James squinted and inched forward in an attempt to see the blurred figure better, at least he assumed it was a figure, could just be yet another fanciful illusion but the more he looked he knew this could be no case of simple pareidolia.
As his sight adjusted he could make out the form of the woman. The white of the dress was dulled by a cream hued jacket that tapered off just above her thigh. Her eyes looked up, glittering as though they were wet with unspent tears, but while she looked at him it felt she didn’t see him. Not the real person who stood before her.