The Loss of Some Detail

by Mandi Martin

  The statement broke James’s trance. He strode past, his elbow connecting sharply with the doctor’s own but the sharp intact of breath came from himself, pain throbbing through the joint.

  “Imaginary pain? Curious,” Morbridge rolled his head to watch his departure with the same fixed smile that seemed stapled to his lined face. “I must add that to my list.”

  “Your imaginary list gets longer then,” James retorted, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of his own feet in the corridor. “Perhaps you ought to start one for yourself? It would be tangible at least.”

  Slowly Morbridge came forward, reaching him with ease and delving into the others pocket and a small vial was pulled out and swayed before him. A rich voice not belonging to the demented doctor swept about them.

  “The dose needs reducing.”

  James stared at him before retreating, breaking into a fierce run.

  Unblinking eyes watched him leave, frozen until the last visage of his shadow had vanished and the footfalls faded.

  His voice flat and lifeless as he spoke.

  “Just trust us and be silent.”

  Unlike James’s his words did not echo, just as though they had never been spoken at all. His body seemed to stiffen, frozen in place.

  “…crazy, leave him there! Not worth our time, we’re done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘You’re on record, warden!’

  Nathaniel’s words continued to ruminate through James’s head and try as he might he knew he would not be able to even approach normality if he didn’t investigate.

  The records of patients, past and present, were locked away in a spacious area beyond the staff rooms. Dust coated cases and cabinet held copious papers that never saw the light of day, wasting away like the person they had been kept for had done.

  No light entered except from through the slit in the door and the air was colder, mustier and felt as if one was walking through cobwebs.

  James hated that sensation, feeling as though sticky traps were clinging to his skin. It was impossible not to brush as oneself, trying to rid it of what wasn’t there.

  Thankfully there were no invisible spiders to go with them, only the real ones that occasionally scuttled from their hiding places and over to another, paying no mind to the humans that disturbed them.

  His eyes took some time to adjust to the gloom as he scanned the filthy shelves for the barely visible letters, hoping that they were just tired and not disorganised. If they were out of order then any search would be impossible, he hadn’t got days to trawl through them all.

  His finger became almost black as he ran it over the dusty spines as he moved through them, the grime inches thick on the older files.

  D, E, F…G

  Swallowing hard James fought back the urge to turn back and walk away, leaving his curiosity unsatisfied. A part of him felt doing so would be safer than perhaps discovering something he would not be able to forget.

  His hand reached out to pull each file out and view the name, slowing as he got closer to what he wanted.

  His heart jolted and his blood ran cold as slipped out what seemed to be the thousandth file.

  Grey, A…

  And next to it was another; Grey, J.

  He shoved them back with vehemence, a clammy sweat coating his palms. He didn’t wish to see anymore.

  Silas was idly tracing circles on a scrap of paper with a blunt pencil. Round and round until he wore the thin material down to break through to the desk beneath. Digging deeper into the wood and dulling the pencil even more, a lugubrious expression on his face.

  At the sound of the keys jangling in the lock his eyes lifted, watching the door with disinterested intensity.

  “Can’t keep away, can you?” Silas said quietly as he sat back, a glimmer of humour appearing in his rather glazed eyes. “If you wish to swap I would gladly do so!”

  James chuckled, a forced and choked sound, trailing off with a long sigh.

  “I would rather not, thank you,” he moved and sat heavily on the disorderly bed, massaging his forehead. “Truly Silas I fear the burden of this place will bring me down as well. Nothing here seems to be of sound mind, there is nothing I can rely on, not even myself at present.”

  Silas rocked on his chair, back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum in an ever-ticking clock. He hummed to himself as he considered how best to respond, a knowledge unspoken glimmered in his luminous eyes.

  “Death, in all his cowled glory, is the only thing one can truly rely on,” he said philosophically, “but one should not seek him, unless he is due then he remains hidden.”

  James groaned, shifting to rest his head on the damp, dappled wall.

  “I don’t seek him. But I often think I feel him in this place, or his many aides,” he looked over, condensation flattening his fringe from his eyes. “I’m a logical man, Silas, I have reluctantly accepted that perhaps things are not as straightforward as I would like and maybe there is more than meets the eye but what I sense is beyond me and I stress when I can’t see any answers!”

  “Seek the key,” Silas said simply, leaning over to pluck something from underneath his desk. Holding open his hand to show a makeshift mould made of soap, the centre sparkling as though a key was truly forming in the fatty bar. “It is there.”

  “Perhaps but I…”

  James’s words trailed off as he heard the soft footsteps outside and the rustle of a starched fabric as the unseen form walked.

  His eyes were wide as he looked over, hissing under his breath.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “Indeed. Perhaps. Maybe?” Silas chuckled and slipped lower in his chair, his hands toying with the soap as they rested on his stomach. “One hears so many discordant sounds in the workaday world!”

  He laughed in an oddly musical fashion, tossing the mould into the corner where it was swallowed by the shadows that permanently resided there, untouched by the sun.

  “Just be assured it is not likely to be such a frightful occurrence like the drummer of Cortachy!”

  “Heaven forbid,” James muttered without really registering the words, and should he have it was doubtful that the implications would have been understood. “Just don’t think you are accompanying me, it would be more than my life is worth.”

  “Wouldn’t even consider it, my dear friend!” Silas tossed his hair back which fell in silver wave about his slender person. “I remain here as always and say nothing of what passes betwixt us!”

  James cast an incredulous gaze towards him before pausing at the door, the sounds so clear it was almost as though it was wide open and not sealed like the prison it pretended not to be. And yet the corridor, at first glance, seemed deserted.

  The air seemed hazy, flickering like static, coupled by a soft hiss that joined the other odd sounds.

  He paused as Marianne’s voice filled his ears, dulling the noises and taking his mind from the strangeness of the atmosphere.

  ‘Lights so soft, they dance like stars,

  Are we closer to the other side?

  Can I wish this world away,

  And escape the shadows from which I hide?’

  The words echoed mournfully about him as he edged down the gauzy passage, every step feeling slow and heavy.

  ‘Like walking in a dream,’ he mused to himself as he felt for the unusually comforting cold of the wall, ‘but I cannot wake from this.’

  A blurred white form rushed past him, rustling as it went, the soft click of flat heels echoing in its wake.

  James narrowed his eyes, trying to bring the figure into focus before it swung around the corner but the edges were too indistinct, impossible to glean anymore detail. Only that it was a humanoid form, one he felt was female.

  ‘James?’

  The voice came from all directions, flowing about him like a gentle river, clinging to him like droplets of rain.

  “Keep moving,” he ordered himself in a hushed, panicked voice, wring
ing his hands nervously as he pushed himself on. “This has to be solved.”

  His heart almost burst from his chest as the doors of the rooms flew open with a crescendo of bangs, one after the other. The sound taking some time to stop echoing both in the passage and in his ears. He felt cold, as though ice had taken the place of the blood in his veins, slowly freezing him.

  Swallowing hard he looked into one of the gaping rooms, expecting the chained individual to be wrenching at the bounds to escape their physical agony if not the emotional.

  But it was empty. They were all empty.

  Cold stone met his eyes, the mists forming human forms, wandering to and fro, passing through walls to somewhere invisible to his sight.

  A flash of blue caused him to turn, feeling the air move as it moved by leaving a scent of clinical perfume.

  When it past another figure, crystal clear, stood there. Her clothes had changed, no longer the short dress but garbed in a longer black one, floating under her knees, the hem wispy and unfocused. The only part of her that was and made him sense she was not of this world.

  She was looking towards him, through him, towards Silas’s room, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, the trails of those that had fallen evident on the rouged cheeks, stark against the creamy skin.

  ‘I keep my faith? What more can I do? Demons never win, or they cannot be allowed to.’

  She seemed to pause as though listening to someone responding, even though nothing stirred behind him, everything seemed to still. White noise hissing in his ears like the waves against a rocky shore.

  Shifting uncomfortably, she wrung her slender hands, the movement making her flicker.

  ‘…surround with happy memories? A hard ask, death seemed the only viable option, a full proof solution for peace and away from the shadows.’

  A long sigh emanated from her, a soft wind beginning to blow and slowly, like the fragile clouds, wisps of her flowed away with it.

  Her hand drifted to her side, something falling softly to the floor as she faded, landing with a rustle.

  Summoning the courage lying flat in his stomach James moved toward the fallen object, seeing as he drew closer that it was a balled-up paper.

  He fingered it gingerly, feeling the sharp edges to ascertain its corporeality, he’d been tricked all too often by lack of substance to risk anymore.

  He unfolded it heedlessly, not caring should the flimsy material tear, it was already crumpled and frayed.

  When the faded edge of the childish drawing appeared, he clenched his fist, crushing it even more before hurling it into the shadows, swearing wickedly under his breath.

  The breath was pulled from his lungs as a rush of air whipped past him, pulling the balled-up paper from its resting place and sending it bouncing down the stairs, disappearing into the darkness. James let out a sigh of frustration and followed after it, the haziness feeling thinner now the figures had dissipated and although the air still felt peculiar it no longer felt as though he was traipsing through quick sand.

  Despite the subconscious bickering between sense and the unease of his nerves James made his way carefully down the bleak stairway. No sound vibrated upward toward him, no subtle shuffle of a human moving from his uncomfortable position.

  The stairwell seemed longer, twisting further down into the unseen, winding and wild. When he thought about it, he hadn’t even known the stairs were this close to where he had been. But a building was stagnant, he knew better than to think it moved.

  All he could think of at that moment was retrieving the picture lest the wrong hands find it and cast even more doubt upon him. Knowing he was of sound mind was little consolation, since he knew no one else besides Marianne and Silas would back him.

  And who would take the word of those locked away as genuine? He even questioned himself for allowing them to become more than simple faces in a room, just part of a monotonous job.

  ‘One I don’t even remember being without,’ James mused as he made his way down yet another flight of stone steps ‘a pure flight of fancy since life has not revolved about this damned place.’

  He didn’t remember reaching the basement. Not until his foot landed on flat stone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The air seemed closer than ever as James reached the base of the ever-winding stairs that had felt like they had twisted and turned to the span the abyss. Common sense told him that it couldn’t have been any longer than before, that it was just his tired imagination making everything more difficult.

  “How in God’s name did it fall this far?” he asked aloud, his voice echoing in the emptiness as his eyes became used to the richer gloom. “No breeze should have been able to send it much beyond the first few stairs. And if it had then it should be resting here.”

  There was no one else down here. None of the others came this way unless they had no other choice, they avoided it like the plague, so there was not even an iota of a chance that someone had picked up the crumpled picture.

  Despite the trepidation churning in his guts he continued forward, the silence unbearable, even his footsteps seemed to be swallowed by the shadows.

  The secure doors swung on their hinges, swaying in an unfelt draught, dust drifting lethargically from settled sheets on the handles and floor as though no one had trod there for some time.

  It tickled his nostrils as he moved further, wafting it from his vision, his eyes focused on the rooms to his sides unable to blink. Only one was of interest and his chest tightened the near he got to the swinging door.

  He expected to hear the soft and sinister sounds of the chains as the male shifted, the low growling laughter as he sensed the presence and that tormenting voice.

  But only silence reigned.

  A small crackle sounded like breaking glass in the quiet and he watched in amazement as the crumpled ball rolled from the corner and into the dreaded room, unfurling as it went as though it was beckoning him to follow.

  James darted forward in an attempt to seize it before it passed over the threshold but it slipped away from his outstretched fingers, rolling into the corner where chain hung limply, the thick jacket of dust signifying they had been without an occupant for many months.

  No sign of Nathaniel remained.

  James’s body moved in slow motion as he leant forward to pick up the errant paper, surveying the empty area, the sense of foreboding so strong that he felt it would crush him. His hand closed on the paper, allowing it to slowly open.

  Sickness washed over him as the image revealed itself. That once happy picture was now a bloodbath.

  The figures were all there again but no longer a smiling family. The adults lay prone on the floor, scribbled red pooled beneath them, their mouths twisted into grimaces, eyes drawn in grey, glassy and lost to the world.

  The female girl stood near, her dress torn and bloody gashes etched into her thighs, lips open in a silent scream, her hands spiked and clutching her face.

  The boy. The boy sat wide eyed, his expression vacant as he looked at the carnage before him, a knife, the hilt identical to the one that lay in James’s draw, lay haphazardly nearby. His wrist was malformed, twisted and broken.

  James’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to his own left wrist, his eyes widening at the sight of white scar tissue, heaving and pulsating as though gasping for breath.

  The picture fluttered to the floor as his fingers lost their grip, nausea heaving in his stomach as the paper convulsed, the red ink pooling from the image, a slow ooze swallowing it as the ghastly scarlet shroud covered the floor.

  A cacophony of voices rang through his ears, men, women, and children, their words echoing and merging together into a violent symphony.

  ‘This isn’t the right way…’

  ‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!’

  ‘Don’t leave me, James!’

  James clamped his hands over his ears, closing his eyes tightly but the sound seemed present in his head, a roll of thunder broke through
the haunted images and screaming voices in his head, the howl of wind audible as it wailed above.

  The massive metal doors swung back, wrenched by an unseen force, and crashed against the wall that held them, sending a spray of chipped stone to the ground. The cloud billowed over, forcing into his lungs as he breathed, causing him to give in to a painful cough that wracked his body. Phlegm and blood intermingled in his throat as his body tried to force out the dirt that attempted to choke him.

  “Damn it!” He spat a congealed lump onto the floor where it slid down into a crack leaving a trail of salvia behind.

  Wiping the residue away with his sleeve James turned and headed the way he had come, searching for the stairs to lead him from the tenth circle.

  The corridor seemed to stretch out, like the spiral of the inferno it twisted and distorted, blurred and cleared.

  His feet stumbled on the heaving concrete, bulging and sinking as though the earth beneath was stirring. His body twisted as he collided with the wall and fell painfully to his knees, the fabric of his trousers tearing as it chafed on the stone. Blood trickled from the minor scrape, staining the fabric.

  The warmth, followed by the sticky coolness as the fluid thickened, brought him back to his senses and with effort he pulled himself to his feet.

  Voices followed like lost souls. Whispering, pleading and cursing. Voices he knew, voices he thought he knew.

  “Stop this!” His own tone rang loud to break through the rabble. “I will not be a pawn in your game!”

  He retreated doggedly, determined to locate the stairs that eluded him. It seemed like he was walking for miles through identical scenery, running on a repetitive reel. Each time he rounded a corner, hoping to see the dusty steps he was disappointed, seeing only the sterile surroundings begin again.

  He froze as a dark form glided towards him, the outline of the doctor drew closer, so close he could see the sweat beads pool on the frowning forehead, glittering almost as much as the long needle held in his hand.