The Loss of Some Detail

by Mandi Martin

  ‘I hope you hear, I try so hard,’ the lips moved but the words were not in tandem and reminded him of a bad ventriloquist. ‘All I can do is try, try and hope. I keep telling myself “one day”, and one day has to come eventually.’

  She shrugged her slim shoulders, the dress rippling around her legs like a thick mist, fading in and out from his vision.

  Her words seemed to jumble as her form flickered statically, a holographic trick that was failing in power.

  ‘One day, someday,’ she continued, her voice becoming a quieter sigh as she began to fade from view, the white the last thing to vanish. ‘One day.’

  James’s gaze remained fixed on where she had been, chills cooling the blood in his veins as he tried to make sense of the words, to connect them with reality. However hard he tried it seemed impossible and with a toss of his head he strode back into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Sleep would not come easily, the strange chemical smell still hanging in the air and the room feeling more uncomfortable with the knowledge that someone else may have been in there, touching his things and smoothing the bed where he lay.

  When sleep finally came it was heavy and would give little sense of rest when he awoke.

  A rustle of paper stirred him, followed by a loud, single bang on the door. A groan left him as he rolled over, knocking the flattened pillow to the floor as he struggled to sit up. Before he could respond a voice boomed just as loudly.

  “Will you move your damned backside? You’ve got extra work since one of the others has gone off sick! No doubt caught some damn disease from these retarded creatures.”

  “At least they have decency,” James muttered under his breath. “Most are more human than those who work here.”

  Clearing his throat he lifted his voice to call out although he barely seemed loud enough to be heard over the soft rustle of his nightshirt pooling at his feet.

  “He’s probably gotten a chill; I don’t know about your rooms but if they are as cold as this one I’m surprised it isn’t pneumonia.”

  Whoever was outside paced impatiently, cursing under his breath before his footsteps began to walk away.

  “Left your list on the door, just hurry up, otherwise you’ll have the doctor on your case!”

  James bit back a caustic retort and dressed himself with aching muscles, the product of an uncomfortable and heavy sleep.

  He tore the paper from where it had been impaled on the handle, barely glancing at it. His own list alone was enough and took much of the evening to complete. Depending on the circumstances of the patients even an extra three or four could take up a lot of time.

  Instinctively his step slowed as he approached where the figure from the night before had stood, the air feeling oddly colder there than anywhere else. He reached out as if extending his arm to clasp an invisible hand but met nothing, not that he expected to.

  Moving through the cold patch he looked down at the list, cringing when he saw not only had he five extra checks to perform but Nathaniel’s name was listed in bolder pen.

  “I should have known,” he muttered sullenly. “Who else would have done it?”

  No one that was who and despite his loathing of the man someone had to check he hadn’t injured himself in some manner.

  The awful thought that they wouldn’t be that fortunate floated through his mind, Nathaniel wouldn’t be as gracious to give them that reprieve.

  It was hard to stifle the feeling of growing anxiety as he made his way down the stairway, whiteness flashing in his peripheral vision as the light reflected from the metal. That seldom happened and outside was dark; it made little sense as the moon was never that bright due to the closeness of the trees.

  His hand tightened on the railing, attempting to ignore the flashes that seemed to contain images, faces that were left etched in his eyes when he blinked. Blank faces with distorted features, only their being clear, gaping black holes in an otherwise flat portrait.

  Pausing on the last step he rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of both the images and the headache they were beginning to cause.

  As his vision cleared his looked back at the list, Nathaniel’s name more prominent than the rest which appeared smeared and unreadable beside his.

  The words seemed to shift and dance on the paper, the black of the ink seeping away to leave red stains in its wake, coppery hues that resembled dried blood. It looked so real that James could almost feel the paper become saturated with sticky fluid before drying; he threw it from him in disgust.

  It floated lethargically down to the floor and landed pristine, not a sign of gore or even a smudge of ink.

  James left it there, marking it with a shoeprint as his foot crushed it, grinding the edge with the dull heel as he strode away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  James met no one on his walk to the basement areas where the worst of their afflicted were stowed away from sight even if not from mind.

  The air was still and the as quiet as a tomb as he made his way down the dark stairwell. He gripped the cold banister, unaccustomed to the steps.

  All the cells were empty; their doors wide like the maws of a beast awaiting naïve prey. All James could hope that he wasn’t blindly walking into hidden claws. He heard the faint clink of iron chains as he neared the room, any gentle shift would rattle them, alerting whoever passed to his movement. Or lack of it.

  The latter being preferable to the former.

  Flicking back the hatch James peered through, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the room within.

  Nathaniel sat motionless, his head hanging down as though asleep, suspended only by the tethers that bound him. With the blindfold over his eyes it was impossible to tell.

  The man seemed to be fond of feigning slumber when he was awake and highly alert. Only the rise and fall of his chest gave any indication to his state.

  James unlocked the door with shaking hands, fingers finding it hard to grip the keys they held. As the door creaked open Nathaniel’s head jerked up, clattering the chains that held him. James jolted, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

  He took a bolstering breath, a bead of nervous sweat trickling down his brow and dropping onto the floor. Nathaniel’s shifted, looking towards where the droplet had fallen, a soft chuckle vibrating from his throat.

  “Oh I so adore the glorious scent of fear penetrating the air,” he said with a low aroused groan, “almost as much as the scent of blood and death,” he rocked slowly, gyrating the chains. “When your fear begins to smart it’s like penknife to your heart and when that heart begins to bleed you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead indeed!”

  James stared at him in silence, his lungs feeling as though they lacked the ability to draw breath let alone the air to reply.

  He could feel Nathaniel watching in his blinded way, smelling the nerves that permeated from every pore in his body.

  “No knife, literal or metaphorical, has pierced me yet,” he said curtly as he moved across to check the cleanliness of the room. “And nor will it.”

  “Will it not? Your family left you; your friends let you bleed so sleep tight with a knife for that’s all you need?” Nathaniel shifted himself and a flash of silver reflected from the chains as a knife dropped from his person. “Missing something? Among other things.”

  James felt his heart still and his blood cool in his veins as he looked at the familiar blade that lay on the stone.

  “How did you…?” He stuttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment to bring himself under some control. “You cannot move!”

  “Do not underestimate what I can or cannot do,” Nathaniel sneered maliciously “all you see could just be a strange illusion.”

  James edged forward; moving to take back the blade lest anyone else find it and more suspicion was put upon his shoulders. There was no such thing of innocent until proven guilty, it was quite the opposite and should this be found there would be no way to prove his innocence.


  As he bent down Nathaniel gave a roll of his lower body, pushing the blade beneath him and out of reach.

  “Try it,” Nathaniel hissed between clenched teeth. “They don’t believe anything you say, you’re already proving yourself as one of us! You’re in the records, warden!”

  “I am nothing like you!”

  Anger radiated off James in waves and his hand connected with Nathaniel’s cheek with a resounding crack, a scarlet imprint staining the white skin.

  Instead of seeming shocked, sounding pained, the man laughed, a low rumbling sound like the thunder that rocked the island.

  “You think you are safe? You should not judge by what you first see.”

  “Little else I can do with you Nathaniel,” James ejected bitterly, nursing his hand, the knuckles painful from the blow.

  “Perhaps not.”

  The despisal in James’s eyes was hard enough to be seen even through the blindfold and judging from the malevolent grin it seemed it was.

  The air in the room seemed to grow heavy as he stood there, his feet seeming to have lost the ability to move. When he forced them on it was as though he was walking through quicksand, the thought he could sink deeper spurring him leave.

  Nathaniel had become still, frozen in place but as James moved past his hand flew out, clamping down on his wrist with an iron grip, his fingers cold and unbreakable.

  “Sight can be deceiving.”

  James’s heart palpitated in a blend of anticipation and dread as all he could do was watch as Nathaniel stood, the chains falling limply to the floor in a violent crash of steel. His free hand tore the tattered blindfold from flint grey eyes that blinked in disconcertion as the slight increase of light.

  When James’s eyes locked with his, the reason for his condition was clear, his gaze so intense it froze his soul.

  There was no humanity in them.

  A low rumbling chuckle bubbled out from Nathaniel’s throat, the sound of a rabid animal. James felt icy tendrils wrap themselves about his heart, his throat constricted, making it hard even to gulp back the bile that rose upwards, the sound of the inner mechanisms working in his throat distinct in the silence.

  “You…”

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll cut it from ear to ear!” Nathaniel snarled, shifting his head to where the knife lay in the corner, eyes as bright as the blade itself. “And who will they blame?”

  James’s eyes burned with anger and suppressed tears of both rage and panic as the hand closed over his throat, pressing hard against his jugular and cutting off any words that tried to pass his lips.

  He felt his pulse throb harder under the calloused fingertips, frantic and desperate like the fluttering of an ensnared bird.

  The air seemed frigid as several moments passed by but Nathaniel’s steely gaze suddenly dropped and his grip slackened.

  “No. I don’t kill children.”

  He sank back down. Had it not been for the restraints piled on the floor it appeared as though he had never moved at all.

  “I am not a child,” James whispered after sucking in as much air as he could into his deprived lungs.

  Nathaniel looked vacantly at him but made no response.

  Inching forward James leant down to retrieve the knife, his hand glossy with sweat and shaking as he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket, the hilt protruding from the top.

  He expected the overt show of dread to provoke amusement in the savage beast that sat unchained but if he had noticed he made no sign as if he was frozen in place.

  James watched him for a moment like a doe in the sights of a predator, an attack inevitable but powerless to move.

  When nothing happened, the man remained as still as stone, he slowly back away towards the door, the silence ominous.

  He waved his hand fleetingly before the unblinking eyes, the gaze as still as the rest of him.

  His feet echoed softly as he backed from the door, letting it swing shut with an almighty crash.

  And then there was white.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  James found himself back in his room, looking through the bars of the window and into the gloom.

  Outside the dappled sunlight shone through the canopies of leaves, forming an intricate mosaic patterns upon the grey stone and moist earth.

  Above the soft rustling he could hear the roar of the sea beyond, the shrill cackle of a bird screaming overhead.

  Misty vapour drifted amongst the trees like ghosts in a graveyard, wrapping damp tendrils about everything they touched.

  Images of weeping wraiths were called to mind as James watched them inch towards the heavens, spirits unable to escape.

  “An angel abashed…seeing how awful human ‘goodness’ really is…”

  He doubted the others would be too unhappy if he wasted himself into nothing but his thoughts moved to Marianne and that alone made life worth preserving. And his pride would not allow him to abandon himself to the earth, not matter how much this capricious and often brutal administration and life wore at him.

  The knife was safely stowed back in his drawer but a strange coppery stain tainted the point of its blade as if the red now scrawled on that cursed drawing had stained the silver.

  Are you sure that is yours?

  No. Now he thought of it he couldn’t be sure, no one could be sure of anything here.

  Time had passed and yet time had stood still. Whilst the sea moved and heaved the island seemed trapped in a loop. At least James felt it was.

  However much he tried to recall the days that had gone by or how long he had indeed been there it was impossible.

  He stood for what seemed like hours as he listened to the harsh discordant mixture of sounds that rolled in from outside. It was only when his stomach decided to join in that he moved, even if he didn’t exactly feel like it, he couldn’t cope with the annoying grumbling.

  He put up with enough of that from others.

  A rush of cold ran through him as a blast of air came from behind, he looked over his shoulder to watch a crease in his bedcovers straighten as though someone was pulling to tuck a person in. Except the room was empty.

  He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, sending stinging pain through the sensitive orbs but he could not deny what they had seen, or the chill that had not come from the flimsy window.

  He continued to watch in frozen disbelief as the drawer opened, invisible papers rustled and the scratch of unseen items moved on top of the cabinet. Patterns appeared in the light sheen of dust that covered the surface as they were adjusted by equally unseen hands.

  Mustering his courage James shakily edged towards the disturbance, sitting down on his bed lest his legs lose the ability to function. His eyes remained on the cabinet as the drawer slid shut with a soft click.

  A bead of sweat trickled from his forehead and down his cheek, leaving a shimmering trail in its wake. His hand met nothing when he reached out to brush the air about the piece, not that he expected to find any resistance.

  There was just cold air and a soft sound of starched fabric as it moved on a body.

  “There is something wrong with this place,” James whispered aloud, his voice echoing in the emptiness, tracing a circle over the newly polished surface.

  “And what might that be?”

  James jolted at the sudden voice from the doorway, turning to watch the dark form of Morbridge sidle in, unconcerned about invading his privacy, moving toward him like a tiger eying its prey. A smirk was fixed on the thin lips as he spoke in his guttural baritone.

  “I must say your behaviour is more than suggesting you belong here in a different capacity,” he commented frankly. “Your face has not got the look of insanity but I am well versed enough to know that is not always the case. However, I want to believe that your eyes are the cause.” He glided forward. “I am always keen to sharpen my surgical triumphs; the dead offer a good look but the mind must be approached differently, you must carve that whilst it is still functionin
g.”

  His gaze was met with a defiant scowl as James stood up. He folded his arms, approaching staunchly to face the doctor directly, trying to hide the disgust that the lack of humanity caused.

  “There is nothing wrong with my mind, Sir,” he answered coldly, his voice as dark as the shadows that fell about them “I would actually question your own!”

  Morbridge gave a snort, rolling his eyes. Unimpressed and unoffended.

  James took a step closer and met the malicious eyes, his own visible one as cold as the ice which froze the boughs beyond the windowsill.

  “And if you feel that way then kill me,” he stated in the hiss of an angered serpent. “Wipe me from this hell and me into one anew, wandering aimlessly until my soul finds sanctuary.”

  Morbridge grinned, his teeth bright in the dark and appearing as sharp as the scalpels he used in his work.

  “Far too easy. Living you are the prime example of mental decay, alas Nathaniel failed to pique you, his mind overloaded,” he opened his hands in a gesture of dismissive defeat. “He is a strange one though. He does like a certain type and I suppose you did not fit his bill, maybe as well? The man didn’t hold back when showing his skills.”

  James balled his fist, the urge to strike the man before him overwhelming, he steeled himself, moving his hand to toy with his cuff and resist the temptation.

  “Well, if that is the case, Sir, that you are the face of normality,” he practically spat the words “then I would rather be insane! It is your own insanity that fools you into believing that others are so afflicted!”

  “The mind is a master of illusion,” Morbridge said emphatically “or delusions, since that is what my poor children suffer.”

  “Suffer the children, and not for a righteous purpose,” James snorted, his words caustic and cutting, he wanted to leave, tired of the immovable ideas of the other but the man’s intent gaze forbade any move forth.

  “A man who is mad seldom knows he is mad.”