Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "It's not that uncommon," I say. "Most people die with their eyes open. I don't know why, but maybe they just don't want to willingly enter the darkness. So they just stare and stare until the light goes out." I shrug, and then I realize that Nurse Winter seems to be lost in thought, ignoring what I'm saying. "I'm sorry," I say, "I hope I didn't upset you."

  "No," she says, clearly flustered. "It's just... the thought of that poor soul."

  "I know," I reply. "The body was kind of looking up, as well, like it was looking toward the upstairs part of the hospital." I look down at the floor. "It must have been pretty much under this office, in fact, if you think about it." I look over at the door. "This is on the south side of the building, right? So about twenty meters from that corner would bring us almost straight under... Well, almost straight under your desk. That means the -"

  "Would you like to meet some of the other staff members?" Nurse Winter asks suddenly, interrupting me.

  "Yes," I say, "thank you, that would be very helpful." I smile a little awkwardly. "Perhaps..." I pause. "I mean, perhaps some time you might want to grab a coffee with me, to discuss matters further. If not coffee, then maybe something stronger?"

  "That's a very kind offer," she replies, clearly not interested, "but I'm afraid my duties at Lakehurst take up all of my time. It has been many years since I left the grounds, and I don't have time for a social life."

  "Understood," I say. "Totally understood." Damn it, that was a bust. Now I just feel like an idiot.

  "If you'll follow me," she says, getting to her feet and heading over to the door. It's hard not to notice how her uniform hugs her figure; she looks to be in her thirties, and she's one of the hottest women I've ever seen. I stand up, wincing a little thanks to the pain in my aching knees.

  "What I'm planning to do," I say, "is talk to everyone I need to talk to today, and then head off this evening, and hopefully I won't have to get in your way too much. My colleagues have gone on ahead with the evidence. To be honest, cases like this are rarely solved. Some poor soul ended up dying in your basement, probably a long time ago, and I don't really see where we're going to start investigating the case."

  "Still," she says, leading me out into the corridor, "you must do your best."

  "So are you in charge around here?" I ask as we walk towards the main ward.

  "Temporarily, yes," she says. "I'm afraid we've been rather struck by bad luck lately. First we lost Dr. Campbell in a horrific accident involving one of the patients, and then his successor, Dr. Lava, didn't last very long at all before he... well, he succumbed to some personal demons."

  "Went nuts, huh?" I ask as we get to the nurse's station at the entrance to the ward. "You should've just had him admitted as a patient. I mean, if he was here already."

  "Nurse Perry!" Nurse Winter calls out, ignoring my joke. A youngish, attractive, but meek-looking nurse comes over, looking deathly pale and a little frightened. "Nurse Perry, this is Detective Scott Thomson, he's here to ask a few questions about the unfortunate discovery in the basement."

  "Of course," Nurse Perry says quietly, barely making eye contact with me.

  "He'd like to speak to some members of staff," Nurse Winter continues, "just to get an idea of what, if anything, was seen. Would you mind taking a few minutes to answer his questions?"

  "Certainly," Nurse Perry says.

  "It's not just the staff," I say. "I'd also like to speak to some of the patients."

  "Oh," Nurse Winter says, looking genuinely shocked, "I'm afraid that's out of the question entirely. The patients can't possibly be subjected to any kind of interrogation, and I can absolutely guarantee that none of them will be of any use. Even in the unlikely event that one of them had seen anything, the chances of him or her being able to remember events and relate them to the current situation, are... a million to one."

  "I don't doubt it," I say. "Still, I'd like to be thorough. Perhaps we can pick out a few of the more lucid inmates and I'll see if I can get anything out of them." I look across the room as a semi-catatonic young man lurches past. I'm pretty sure that you could decapitate someone right in front of that guy, and he'd barely even blink, but some of the other patients might be more responsive and sensitive.

  "Very well," Nurse Winter says. "Nurse Perry will assist you and offer any help that you might need."

  "That's great," I say. "Just great. Don't worry, I'll be quick. I don't want to cause a fuss."

  "If you'll excuse me," Nurse Winter adds, "I must go and attend to some other matters, but I'll be around all day in case you need me. And you must let me know if you get any more information on the poor man's name, or how he died."

  "I'm sorry?" I say, a little confused.

  "The man we found in the basement," she says. "You must let me know the second you have any information about him."

  I smile. "I think there's been a little misunderstanding," I say. "The body isn't male. We can't tell much about it, but we can tell one thing for sure. It's a female."

  Nurse Winter stares at me, her face looking blank for a moment. "Are you sure?" she asks.

  "Positive," I reply. "I'm sorry, I just... I thought you knew."

  "No," she says. "I just... assumed. I don't know why." She forces a fake smile to her lips. "Please, do keep me informed and let me know the moment you discover anything, won't you?"

  "Absolutely," I say.

  She turns and walks away, clearly lost in thought.

  "Would you like to meet some of the patients?" Nurse Perry asks.

  "Yes," I say. "Yes, I would."

  "This way," she says.

  I follow her through to the main part of the ward, but as we go I can't help glancing back at Nurse Winter as she walks along the corridor and heads into her office. There's definitely something a little strange about her, and her reactions aren't quite what I'd expect of someone in her situation. I've been in this business long enough to know that people never react normally; in fact, there's no such thing as normal, especially when you're dealing with unusual circumstances. Still, Nurse Winter's responses to me didn't quite hit the right kind of rhythm. I still have a gut feeling that the body found in the basement was just some crazy person who wandered down there to die, and I don't think for a moment that there was any foul play. Nevertheless, Nurse Winter seems like the kind of person who's hiding a big secret. Maybe it's not related to this case and it's none of my business, but I'd sure like to know that secret.

  "You got any gut feelings about all of this?" I ask.

  "Me?" Nurse Perry says, apparently shocked to be even asked such a thing. "No," she says quickly, "not at all."

  "Well, let me know if you think of anything," I say, as we step into the ward's main recreation room. There are a dozen or so patients sitting around in here, looking like they're in various stages of dementia. Some of them appear to be pretty normal, but some of them look as if they're completely insane. I guess I'll be ignoring the nut-jobs and focusing on the ones who seem like they've got their shit together. Obviously I can't rely on anything that any of them might say, at least not officially, but unofficially there's no reason why some of them might not accidentally reveal a few juicy details about the kind of thing that goes on at Lakehurst. If there's one thing that my conversation with Nurse Winter has shown me, it's that there definitely seems to be more to this place than I'd initially assumed.

  Nurse Winter

  1999

  "I have some serious concerns," I say, looking down at the research paper. Trying not to sound nervous, I pause to gather my thoughts. "The proposals being put forward here are beyond anything I've ever heard suggested before, and I believe there's a very strong chance of complications." I take a deep breath before looking up at Dr. Campbell. "Very serious complications."

  There's silence in the conference room. This is the first time I've been invited to one of the weekly administrative meetings, and I'm already starting to get the feeling I won't be asked back. The other four staff-members in
the room have all waved the research paper through, agreeing that Lakehurst should play host to the experiments detailed within its pages. I'm the only one who has raised any objections. I assumed that I was invited to attend this meeting precisely because my input was valued, but I guess that was naive. They just wanted me here to nod and agree to whatever was proposed, and they assumed I'd be too scared to speak up about any concerns I might have. They were wrong.

  "I think what Nurse Winter is saying," Dr. Campbell suggests finally, "is that we must be absolutely certain that the proper precautions are taken at all times." He fixes me with a careful stare, as if he's trying to use force of will to get me to agree. "I'm sure that everyone in this room feels the same way," he adds, playing a very delicate and diplomatic role to perfection.

  "Is that what you were saying?" asks Dr. Inoue, sitting next to me. He doesn't seem to be buying Dr. Campbell's interpretation of my remarks.

  "I..." I start to say. "I'm not sure," I continue, starting to feel as if I'm a little out of my depth. I flick through the pages of the research paper, hoping to find something I can use to support my case. "I suppose it's a question of... do the dangers make us re-double our precautions, or do they make us decide not to advance with this work at all?" I look over at Dr. Inoue, who stares back at me with a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. "It's a valid question," I add.

  "We carry out hundreds of procedures every year," says Dr. Sospiri, sitting across the table from me. "We're always careful. We have safeguards in place to minimize the danger to our patients."

  I sigh, realizing that they're not listening to me. "You're talking about removing the brain," I say.

  "We all know that," says Dr. Sospiri, sounding impatient and exasperated. "We've all read the proposal."

  "Removing the brain," I continue, "is not standard medical procedure in any situation. Removal of the brain from the body is generally and correctly considered to be fatal."

  "But what if that's actually incorrect?" Dr. Sospiri asks. "What if it's a difficult procedure, but one that we can master? Are you entirely against risks being taken, Nurse Winter?"

  I shake my head, trying to find a way to get my point across. "Would you like to volunteer to be the first to undergo the procedure, Dr. Sospiri?" I ask eventually.

  "Don't be fatuous," he snaps back.

  "It's a serious point," I reply. "This procedure is almost certainly going to be fatal for the first people who -"

  "That's enough!" Dr. Campbell says firmly. "Both of you, calm down. This is supposed to be a logical analysis of a scientific process, and there's no room for emotion or irrationality."

  "I'm not the one you need to remind," Dr. Sospiri says, smiling.

  "Who will be the first patient to undergo the procedure?" I ask. "If we give it the go-ahead, I mean."

  Dr. Campbell opens a folder on the desk in front of him. "Julia Lavelli," he says, carefully keeping his gaze focused on the print-outs in the folder and making sure to avoid eye contact with me.

  I stare at him. "Julia Lavelli?" I ask. Julia is one of our longest-standing patients. She was first admitted to Lakehurst back in the 1980s, when she was a teenager. She's now in her thirties, and she shows no sign of improvement whatsoever. If anything, she's got worse and worse over the years, to the point where she's now considered to be a danger to the others. We monitor her around the clock, and there's near-constant discussion of her case. I've become quite attached to Julia in the nine months since I arrived at Lakehurst, finding her to be fairly amenable, even friendly from time to time. The thought of her being strapped down so that her brain is removed while she's still alive... I feel a chill run through my bones.

  "She's the perfect specimen," Dr. Campbell continues. "I think everybody in this room would agree that we've reached the end of the road with her, as far as conventional treatment is concerned. We have nothing left to try. She's resisted every approach we've tried, and frankly I think this procedure is our only hope of improving her situation."

  "She'll die," I say.

  "Not necessary," Dr. Campbell replies. "As Dr. Sospiri has already noted, we have safety guidelines in place."

  "You want to cut open her head while she's still alive," I say, "and remove her brain, and... change it... and then put it back in and sew her up, and you seriously expect her to survive all of that?"

  "Yes," Dr. Campbell says. "There are six people in this room, Nurse Winter, and five of them are going to vote in favor of this procedure taking place. The decision is made. We would still value your input, however, since it's highly likely that your skills will be required during the post-operative phase." He turns to Dr. Sospiri. "You might not be aware of this," he says, "but since her arrival at Lakehurst, Nurse Winter has demonstrated herself to be without doubt the most capable and valuable member of our nursing staff. I would urge everyone here to take her strong principles and ethical views not as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of her passion, her commitment to our patients, and her comprehensive medical knowledge."

  Dr. Sospiri sighs. "She's a nurse," he says, somewhat dismissively.

  "She's a good nurse," Dr. Campbell replies. "She's an asset to Lakehurst." He closes his folder. "I think our business is concluded for today. I take it I don't need to conduct a formal vote, and we're all agreed that the procedure will take place?" He pauses, waiting to see if anyone will contradict him. "Excellent," he says. "I'll draw up a written proposal to guide us through the next few days, and we'll pencil the procedure in for Friday."

  The others get up and prepare to leave the room. I look over at Dr. Campbell and see that he's staring back at me, and we wait for everyone else to go. Once we're alone, Dr. Campbell smiles. "Are you okay?" he asks.

  "I'm fine," I say. "I just... I thought that perhaps my concerns would be taken a little more seriously. That's all."

  "Believe it or not," he replies, "your concerns were taken onboard and they will have an impact. I need you to supervise the pre-operative and post-operative care for Julia Lavelli, so that she has the best possible chance of surviving the procedure."

  "Do you really think this can work?" I ask. "Do you really think Julia Lavelli can survive having her brain removed?" I wait for an answer, but I can see by the look on his face that he's not convinced. "Let me put it another way," I continue. "Do you really think that this procedure, whether it succeeds or fails, will contribute to our understanding of the human brain? Do you really think all of this is necessary?"

  "I do," Dr. Campbell replies eventually. "Yes, I do. I've read the research paper and -"

  "He's here, isn't he?" I say.

  "Who?" he says.

  "Dr. Rudolf Langheim." I hold up my copy of the research paper. "The man whose work inspired this." I take a deep breath. "I know someone arrived at Lakehurst late last night. He's staying in the northern wing, isolated from everyone else. It's him, isn't it?"

  Dr. Campbell stands up. "This is not strictly relevant."

  "Will he be attending the procedure?" I ask.

  "No," Dr. Campbell replies. "We're done here."

  "Why wouldn't he attend the procedure?" I say, feeling that I should keep pressing. "Why would he come all this way and then not walk the final couple of hundred meters to the operating theater?" I pause. "Unless he's scared of being seen. There are rumors that he -"

  "We're done here," Dr. Campbell says again, walking to the door.

  "With respect," I say, standing up and following him, "I think we -"

  "I wonder what Andrew would say," Dr. Campbell says suddenly. He pauses to watch his words sink in. "I mean, if he were here. I wonder what he'd say about all of this."

  I take a deep breath. It's been almost a week since Andrew died, and although I managed to fake a resignation letter in which he claimed he was leaving without notice, I'm fairly sure that Dr. Campbell suspects foul play. He hasn't come out and said anything, but he keeps making subtle digs that leave me sweating. "I don't know what Andrew would say," I reply, choo
sing my words carefully. "Perhaps if he comes back some time, we can ask him."

  "Perhaps," Dr. Campbell replies. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you could do your job, Nurse Winter. There are an awful lot of people who are depending on your ability to look after the patient." He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the doorway. It's clear that I need to find somewhere else to hide Andrew's body, before Dr. Campbell starts poking around in the basement and discovers the truth about everything.

  Detective Thompson

  Today

  "If you can just tell me your name," I say, sitting with one of the patients at a table over by the large bay windows. A youngish girl with a drained, forlorn-looking face, she seems incapable of looking directly at me, preferring to stare at the floor. Nurse Perry seemed keen for me to not talk to this particular girl, which is one of the reasons I decided to pull her aside. I sent Nurse Perry away, so that the girl and I might be able to talk honestly and openly, but so far that plan doesn't really seem to be working out. The girl is withdrawn, staring down at her feet most of the time, while Nurse Perry is hovering by the door, doing a very bad job of hiding the fact that she's watching us.

  "Anne," the girl says suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  "Anne," I say, making a note. "What's your second name, Anne?"

  She pauses. "Radford."

  "Anne Radford," I say. As I make another note, I realize I've heard the name before. Anne Radford. Annie Radford. The girl who shot her brother. One of the biggest cases for years, a media circus that led to death threats and demonstrations. There are people out there, bloggers and journalists, who are desperately searching for Annie Radford. She's infamous across the country. "Hi, Annie," I say.

  She looks over at me. Her eyes look sore and reddened, underlined by dark shadows.

  "I've heard of you," I say. "I followed your case. Everyone was talking about it."