by Amy Cross
***
“Mary? Mary, I got your little message. Don't you think it's time we talked?”
Stopping at the next intersection of the corridor, Kirsten looked both ways. She usually only ventured into the abandoned part of the hospital building late at night, but this time she was willing to make an exception. Cold morning light was streaming through broken windows and through patches of thin tarpaulin, and as she made her way along the next corridor she realized that even the light of day wasn't enough to dispel the general sense of unease in the air all around her. Reaching another turn, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“I have to admit,” she continued, “I'm impressed that you came all the way down to my office with your paintbrush and your tin of red paint. I didn't think you were brave enough. I assumed you'd just skulk around here all the time, sniping at me from the shadows, but obviously you want to get your point across in a more dramatic fashion. Maybe you're getting desperate. Maybe you know that I'm onto you, Mary.”
She waited, and after a moment she heard a faint bump in one of the rooms nearby.
“I know you're there,” she added, making her way toward the half-open door next to the old staff room. Stopping, she reached out and gently pushed the door open to reveal a bare room, its floor covered in dirt and debris. “I know you can hear me, Mary. Come on, do you really want to keep communicating through third parties? Why don't we do this face to face?”
She waited again.
“Mary -”
Suddenly a crumpled, disheveled figure stepped into view, staring at her with wild eyes.
“Hello Mary,” Kirsten said with a smile. “Thank you so much for showing yourself.”
“You can't see me,” Mary snapped.
“Oh, I can,” Kirsten replied. “I can hear you, too. To be honest, I think I can even smell you. Have you considered taking a bath?”
“No,” Mary continued, stepping toward her. “You can't see me!”
Kirsten sighed. “Not this again. Mary, I can see you. Everyone can see you. I'm sorry, but you're not invisible, you never were. That was all in your imagination.”
“Liar!”
“I don't have time for this. The message you left on my office wall -”
“It's all true!” Mary hissed. “Every word of it! I know what you did!”
“No, you really don't.”
“I know Annie Radford survived Lakehurst.”
Kirsten stared at her for a moment. “And what makes you think that?”
“Because she was here after,” Mary continued, “but then you already know, don't you? You know she was here, and that's why you're here, because you're after her and you want to know where she went next.” She paused. “Except she's dead. She died here about two years ago.”
“I see.”
“And you killed her!”
Kirsten shook her head.
“Liar!” Mary hissed again, stepping closer before thinking better of it and stepping back again. “You were here, and Annie Radford was here, and I was here.”
“I wasn't here, Mary. I arrived about nine months ago, if you recall. According to your own time-line of events -”
“Her blood is on your hands!”
“Her blood?” Kirsten held her hands up, and after a moment she scraped a small piece of dried blood from one of her fingernails. “That's not Annie's blood, you silly goose. That's someone else's. I haven't seen Annie since -”
“You killed her,” Mary hissed, “and now you're looking for her grave!”
“Wrong.”
“It's all true,” Mary replied, pushing past her and heading out into the corridor. “You'll never find the paper that says where she's buried. I know, I took it and -”
Before she could finish, Kirsten grabbed her by the collar and swung her around, before slamming her face first into the opposite wall.
“I wonder,” she said firmly, watching as Mary slumped to the ground, “is it really possible to knock some sense into someone, or is that just a saying?” Reaching down, she grabbed the woman's collar again and pulled her head back, before crunching her knee into her cheek and then letting her fall back. “I've got a feeling,” she added, “that it's just a saying.”
Coughing and spluttering, with blood flowing from her broken nose, Mary tried to get to her feet.
“I'm not looking for details of Annie Radford's grave,” Kirsten continued, grabbing Mary again and pulling her back, before taking a hunting knife from her pocket and pressing the blade against the old woman's neck, “and I didn't come up here today to talk, or to negotiate. Why would I look for Annie's grave, when I know for a fact that she's not dead? Yes, she passed through Middleford Cross at one point, under a different name, but no, she didn't die here, even if that's what she wants me to think. Maybe it's what she wants us both to think.”
“It's all true!” Mary gasped.
“Careful,” Kirsten sneered, pressing the blade more firmly against Mary's throat. “You might hurt yourself if you struggle.”
“Annie's dead! She died here!”
“I'm not looking for details of her grave,” Kirsten replied, “because there is no grave. I'm not looking for her death certificate, because there isn't one. I'm looking for the paperwork relating to her transfer out of this place.” She leaned closer to Mary's ear. “Where is she now, old woman? We want the same thing, you and I. If we actually worked together, we could both be out of this miserable place by now.”
“She's dead -”
“Don't lie to me!”
“She's dead, I swear!”
Kirsten allowed herself a brief, irritated smile. “Have you ever experienced true pain, Mary? Are you even capable of that? I know who and what you really are, I know you've caused pain to others, but have you ever felt it yourself? Something tells me that you're too much of a coward to go that far. In which case, how can you really claim to know what pain is or how it works?” She paused. “You don't have the documents I'm looking for. I have no doubt you've been looking for them, but you haven't come up with anything. You're bluffing.”
“You don't know that!” Mary spluttered.
“I absolutely do,” Kirsten told her. “I'm just trying to work out why you're still lying to me. This act, all this pretense... I know what you are, Mary. I know your full name, I know where you come from, I know you're just trying to find Annie. You've been at Middleford Cross since before I arrived, you must have thought you'd got what you wanted. How did Annie slip away from you? Did you have her and then lose her? I promise you, I won't make the same mistake. When I get hold of Annie Radford, I'll get what I want from her.”
Mary gasped, but the blade was starting to press harder harder against her throat.
“As for your little stunt earlier,” Kirsten continued, “I promise you, if your intention was to stop me or to scare me, you failed miserably. If your intention was to cause me minor irritation, then congratulations, you did a bang-up job.”
“You'll never find her!” Mary hissed.
“People who doubt me,” Kirsten said firmly, “have a habit of dying.”
“I know you! I know what you are!”
“Ditto.”
“I know you're a monster!” Mary shouted.
“Good. Then my next move won't come as a surprise.”
Tilting the blade, she prepared to slice it across Mary's throat. For a few seconds, holding the old woman tight, she hesitated, her eyes filled with pure anger. Finally, she released the pressure a little, allowing Mary to breathe properly again.
“You have no idea,” Kirsten said darkly, “how close I just came to ending your miserable existence.”
“Why didn't you?” Mary asked.
“Because for all your faults, it helps me to know that you're here, to know that you're looking for the same thing I'm looking for. I'm also amused by your continued refusal to admit the truth. I know the truth about you, Mary Langheim. You might pretend to be a simpering old fool in front of other
people, but you can drop that act with me. I even knew your husband. Does that surprise you? I met him, I worked with him. He was an even bigger fool than you.”
For a moment, a hint of pure hatred flashed across Mary's face. “If you -”
Without giving her a chance to finish, Kirsten slammed the old woman's head into the wall again, this time knocking her clean out and letting her slump to the floor.
“Such a pity,” she muttered, taking a step back. “We really could help one another if we pooled our resources, but then we have very different reasons for being here, don't we? Trust me, though, you will not get to Annie Radford before me.” She paused, before leaning down and whispering in Mary's ear. “I will find her, and I will get what I want. I've been working on this for too long to let anyone stop me now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Five years ago
“Doctor Carmichael,” the supervisor replied, “I'm not saying that this isn't a valid research proposal, I'm simply saying that there's no way I could ever get it past the board of trustees.”
“But the control of pain receptors -”
“I know, but think about it from the point of view of the university,” the supervisor continued. “There are ethical and legal considerations here, factors that no board is ever going to accept.” He looked back down at the proposal document and flicked through the pages for a moment. “If the first stage of your research was successful, you'd have to move on to a phase of live experimentation.”
“Of course. That's the whole point.”
“And you don't see that this would be a problem?”
“It's an opportunity.”
“Let me give you some constructive advice. There is no university in the country, no university in the civilized world, that is ever going to grant funding for a project that will involve deliberately causing pain to live human subjects purely so that their neurological states can be studied and then treated. Especially when you acknowledge in your proposal that the pain might in some cases be enough to drive the subjects to insanity.”
“But the potential improvements in treatment -”
“Would be immense.” The supervisor paused, before sliding the document back across the desk. “You're right. The problem is the system. You know how it is, people get very sensitive when it comes to tests conducted on live subjects. If we went through with your proposal, we'd end up with students campaigning on the lawn, holding up placards calling us Nazis and all sorts of other names. Human experimentation on this scale is simply beyond consideration.”
“But -”
“I'm sorry, but I don't think you'll ever find anyone who's willing to let you perform this work. I'm sure that's frustrating, but it's the truth. You need to move on and find another project.”
Carmichael paused for a moment, fully aware that nothing he said would make a difference.
“Please,” Sabrina's voice whispered into his ear. “It still hurts.”
***
“You need to move on and find another project,” Carmichael muttered sarcastically a few hours later, sitting alone in the corner of a bar at the edge of town. “Something less ethically difficult.”
He stared at the proposal document for a moment, before tearing it in half and then taking another sip of whiskey.
“None of these people understand,” he continued, leaning back in his chair. He usually didn't start drinking heavily these days until early evening, but this time he needed a little boost at lunchtime. Over the previous few weeks, he'd presented his proposal to five university supervisors and they'd all turned him away. He felt certain that his ideas were sound, and that he'd be able to make real progress if he was just able to carry out the experiments, but doors had been slammed shut everywhere he'd tried. No-one had the stomach to authorize the kind of work he wanted to carry out. He was already planning to approach several pharmaceutical companies, but he figured they'd be just as gutless.
On the other side of the room, the jukebox finished playing Led Zeppelin. A woman in a tight black dress was dropping coins into the slot, and a moment later the Beatles' Eight Days a Week started up.
“It still hurts,” Sabrina whispered.
Closing his eyes, Carmichael tried to block her voice out.
“Why does it still hurt?” she whimpered, sounding closer this time. “Shouldn't it stop hurting now I'm dead?”
“Leave me alone,” he whispered.
“Please...”
“I can't help you,” he continued, with his eyes still shut. “Maybe someone else out there can, but not me. I can't even get a basic research project off the ground.”
“Maybe you can,” another voice said suddenly.
He heard a chair being dragged across the floor, and when he opened his eyes he saw to his surprise that the woman from the jukebox had come over and was taking a seat on the other side of the table. She smiled at him as she set two fresh glasses of whiskey between them. There was ice in both glasses, just the way he liked it.
“I...” He paused, before looking around to check that there was no sign of Sabrina.
“Doctor Jonathan Carmichael, I believe,” the woman continued, smiling as she reached over and shook his hand. “I've heard a great deal about your work. I've read all your papers.”
“I'm sorry,” he replied, “I... Who are you?”
“I'm your guardian angel.”
He frowned.
“Okay, maybe not.” She took a sip of whiskey. “Poor choice of words. I'm no guardian and I'm definitely not an angel. Still, I think I might be able to help you.”
“I...” He paused. “And how do you think you might be able to do that?”
“Your research proposal is sound,” she continued. “Sorry, I know it hasn't been published but I read it when you submitted it to that oaf Cullenden a few weeks ago. I've been waiting for someone to make a breakthrough in the field of pain relief, and I share your frustration that legal and ethical considerations are holding back your work in this fascinating field. In fact, I truly believe -”
“Wait,” he replied, interrupting her, “I'm sorry, but... Who are you? How did you know I was here?”
“My name is Kirsten,” she told him. “Kirsten Winter. I'm a supervisor at a hospital just across the state border, and I think I can help you. I think we can help each other.”
“Do you have a research division?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Then I'm not sure how -”
“I'm here to offer you a job,” she continued. “I need a doctor for the ward I supervise, and in return I offer not only a competitive salary but also the opportunity to carry out all the research and experimentation that you deem necessary.”
“I really don't -”
“Away from prying eyes.”
“But -”
“With patients who...” She smiled. “How can I phrase this politely? With patients who, in the grand scheme of things, don't really matter a great deal.” She stared at him for a moment, and her smile began to broaden as she saw that she'd caught his interest. “There are things you can do at my hospital, Doctor Carmichael, that you can do at no other.”
“That... sounds interesting.”
“Senator Brandon Huntingdon can't interfere,” she added. “I've been following your career over the past few weeks, and I'm aware that he has been seeking to blacklist you from all the hospitals in the country. Fortunately for both of us, his influence doesn't extend to Middleford Cross, so I'm free to hire who I like.” She picked up the torn fragments of his research proposal. “I've already read this, of course, and I think your ideas are fascinating. They might even be groundbreaking. If you can truly find a way to turn the brain's pain receptors on and off like a switch, the implications would be staggering.”
“That's what I've been trying to explain to people,” he replied.
“You don't need to explain it to me. I already know.”
He stared at her for a moment, feeling a little uneasy
as she smiled back at him.
“You're a hospital administrator?” he asked finally.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“You don't...” He paused. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a little too...”
“Young?”
“Well -”
“Hot?”
He couldn't help but smile.
“I admit,” she continued, “that I've climbed the ladder rather quickly, but one tends to do that when there are flames at the bottom.” She leaned forward, ostensibly to pick up her whiskey glass but also, not entirely by accident, flashing him a view of her cleavage. “There are considerable side benefits to the job I'm offering you. Middleford Cross is a very relaxed facility, at least under my leadership, and I can assure you that so long as you cover your basic duties, no-one will interfere with the rest of your work. Trust me, I'm very motivated to see that you get to where you're going. I won't interfere with your projects, although I would most certainly like to become intimately acquainted with your ideas.”
He stared at her for a moment.
“Any questions?” she asked finally.
“You've been...” He paused. “You've been, what, stalking me?”
“Following your case.”
“Watching me.”
“Observing.”
“And now you want to offer me a job?”
“I'm nice like that.”
“Because you think my research project has potential?”
“Isn't that a good enough reason?” She paused. “I have to admit, I thought you'd be a little more grateful.”
Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pack of cigarettes.
“Or maybe,” Kirsten continued, “you don't have the stomach for this. Maybe it's one thing to propose a project that involves dealing with people in extreme pain, but maybe when you're given the chance to go ahead with it, you don't have the balls. Maybe you're just too good of a man.”