He followed the corridor around to the left, passing more rooms as he walked. Sometimes, even though the doors were open, he saw patients inside who had apparently decided not to leave the safety of their four walls for now. One such man—Malcolm—sat on his bed, rocking back and forth and scratching at the skin on his arm that looked red-raw.
Malcolm had been here for months, longer than Adrian, and hadn’t shown any signs of improvement during his time here. If anything, his state of mind seemed to be declining, and there was talk that he may soon be transferred to Ward A.
Adrian carried on to a large metallic double door at the end of the hallway. It contained wide vision panels in the top half, the glass within crisscrossed with wire. One door leaf was open, and Adrian could hear the buzz of voices within, somewhat drowning out the usual background noise of pained moans and cries.
This was the Communal Area.
The large space had maybe thirty people inside, but was so big that it still did not seem full. The ceiling was much higher than that of the corridor, arched and supported on old timber beams. The windows on the far wall were tall and thin, six in total, lending the space some natural light. All were covered with rusted iron bars, reminding everyone inside that there was no way out.
Not that anyone would try, given the number of orderlies present.
Most of them—all dressed in their plain white uniforms—stood watching from their positions against the walls, but some walked between the patients, making sure nobody stepped out of line.
And Adrian had seen first-hand what happened when any of the patients acted up. While none of the orderlies were as bad as Jones, even the less sadistic were still swift and brutal in their methods of maintaining order.
Looking around the gathering of lost souls, many of whom milled aimlessly around the basic tables and chairs that were dotted about the room, Adrian spotted the group he had chosen to interact with most during his stay here.
He made his way over to them, careful not to bump into the subdued, zombie-like patients that stood in his way. They were obviously heavily medicated, to the point of being completely placid, and Adrian wondered if all of them were taking the same medicine that was administered to him.
Watching these patients aimlessly roaming the space caused Adrian to wonder if this was what he had to look forward to.
Was this the ‘cure’ that the director had promised him?
After all, you couldn’t feel pain and torment if you couldn’t feel anything at all.
Which actually sounded appealing.
He reached the table where his four friends, if that was the correct term, were seated. In truth, this was merely a group that had formed through nothing but circumstance—all seemed relatively compos mentis when compared to most of the people here. It was perhaps this fact, more than any other, that drew them to each other.
Other than Adrian, the newest member, the group consisted of Seymour, Jack, Trevor, and Sean. It was Trevor—a sleek man with short, mousy hair—who spotted Adrian first. He raised a hand and waved in greeting—a meek gesture that was quickly withdrawn, fearing the gaze of others. Trevor, it seemed, was his usual self today: a timid shadow of a person.
But he could be different. There was another side to him that Adrian had seen only once before.
Another personality altogether.
Mother.
Adrian took a seat next to Sean, given it was the only space available. Sean was a stick-thin, haggard man who had a severe opium addiction, and he was struggling with being cut off from his one true love in this world.
The man's teeth—the ones that were left—were a mixture of black and yellow, caused not by the opium, but by his complete disregard for any kind of personal hygiene. A result of many years of neglect. His condition and reliance on the drug was so bad that when he tried to eat, he often regurgitated any food back up, along with streams of green bile. To Sean, it was not food that gave him sustenance, but the opium, and without it his life in here was hell.
Then there was Jack, a giant of a man—even taller than Jones—who was also the most gentle soul Adrian had ever met. He had no hair at all on his head, not even eyebrows or facial hair, and had a thick browbone that protruded out over his eyes like a small canopy. He had kind eyes that often seemed lost—like a puppy—and of everyone here, Jack was the one Adrian felt most sorry for.
In addition, Jack seemed to be mute and had never uttered a word in all of Adrian’s time here.
As Adrian sat down, he was greeted by the last member of the group, Seymour, and he knew the welcome would not be a pleasant one.
‘Good morning,’ the large man said. Seymour was not tall, but round, and his clothing struggled to contain a stomach that pressed against the thin cotton beneath. He had messy brown hair that was beginning to grey, and his gelatinous chin wobbled as he spoke.
‘Good morning,’ Adrian replied, waiting for the inevitable additional comment.
Seymour didn’t disappoint.
‘You look terrible, old boy,’ Seymour said, with a chuckle. ‘Even for someone as ugly as you.’
It was typical of the fat man, always quick to tease and put others down.
He was also quick to anger.
‘Anyone hear the noises coming from Malcolm's room last night?’ Trevor asked, quickly changing the subject.
Malcolm Peters was the man Adrian had seen on his journey to the common area, but he hadn’t heard the screams in question. Of course, he had been unconscious all night, lost in his terrible dreams following the dose of medication.
‘I did,’ Seymour answered. ‘Fucking horrible sounds. I reckon he was in pain.’
‘Anyone seen him today?’ Sean asked, scratching irritably at a red patch of skin on his arm.
No one verbalised an answer, but all shook their heads.
‘Heard they’d upped his medication,’ Seymour added. ‘Guess that means it won’t be long until he disappears as well. Just like the others.’
‘You mean it won’t be long until he’s better and released, just like the others?’ Trevor asked.
Seymour laughed. A big, full-on belly laugh. ‘Don’t be so stupid, boy,’ he said. ‘People don’t get better here. And they’re never released.’
‘Of course they are,’ Trevor shot back, but his voice was small and weak, as it normally was in his more placid state. ‘The treatments here work.’
Seymour shook his head with a smug look of superiority. Adrian didn’t like Seymour, but he did tend to agree with him on this point. A small part of him did indeed cling to the hope that this miracle medicine Director Templeton was developing would work, but he was well aware that it was all experimental. The chances of people leaving here, actually cured of their mental conditions, were slim at best. He had come to that conclusion a while ago.
And he’d also made peace with it.
After what he had done, he didn’t deserve to be cured of his guilt.
He deserved to be right here amongst the misery.
‘Trev,’ Seymour said, ‘come on, think about it. In all your time here, can you remember a single person being released?’
‘Yes,’ Trevor said, with a little more conviction. ‘Angus Frey and Edward Simmons. And Alfie, only last week. They’ve all been released and are all cured.’
‘All have disappeared,’ Seymour said, ‘but not all cured. And certainly not released. I can’t believe you thought…’ but then Seymour trailed off, alerted by someone behind Adrian. Seymour’s eyes dropped and his shoulders slumped. Adrian turned to see one of the orderlies—Duckworth, the one from his cell earlier—walking up to the table.
‘All getting a little excitable over here, wouldn’t you say?’ Duckworth asked. He had a mop of red hair and pale skin, but was well-set. No one answered him or even made eye contact. Adrian could see that Duckworth had his cosh—a lead club wrapped in leather—already in hand, and he was patting it repeatedly into the palm of his other hand. Everyone remained silent, hoping th
e orderly would be happy that he’d proven his point and just walk away. Thankfully, luck was on their side.
‘Keep it down,’ the orderly said and moved on, much to everyone’s relief.
Adrian looked over to see Jack hunched over in his seat, his head bowed, and he rocked back and forth. Adrian laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
‘It’s okay, big man,’ he said. ‘He’s gone now.’
Jack smiled, and his rocking slowed.
Adrian was then about to change the topic to something a little less excitable, but wasn’t given that chance.
‘There he is,’ Seymour whispered. Adrian turned and saw Malcolm entering the large room through the double doors.
He looked like hell.
Worse than normal.
Already a tall, gangly man, Malcolm’s skin was now ashen, almost grey, and he had dark purple bags beneath his eyes, one of which always hung lower than the other—seemingly a genetic defect.
And he looked even thinner than usual, too, which was saying something for him. His cotton clothing hung loosely off him as if several sizes too large. He also seemed unsteady on his feet as he swayed over to an empty seat and plopped down into it.
‘Does that look like a man who is getting better?’ Seymour asked, but no one answered.
Adrian felt his gut lurch, and a sudden, queasy feeling washed over him. Last night he had started the same treatment Malcolm was on, and this could well be a glimpse of what he had to look forward to.
Still, that might not be a bad thing.
He thought back to his dream last night.
Not the nightmarish landscape, but what came before.
Activity at the entrance of the room drew their attention as dinner was wheeled inside. Large silver troughs contained the bland, runny slop that they would soon gulp down.
Orderlies began heaping the gruel onto paper plates.
‘All right,’ one of them shouted, raising his voice above the general noise of the room. ‘Anyone who wants to eat, make your way over to the food here in a civilised manner. And make sure you queue—we aren’t fucking animals. If any of you step out of line, you’ll not eat for a week.’ He raised his cosh high in the air. ‘In fact, I’ll make sure to crack your jaw so hard that you won’t be eating for a month. Understand?’
No one needed to reply, and the man didn’t wait around for an answer. The patients in the room gradually got to their feet and started to filter over to their awaiting meals.
‘Adrian?’ Trevor asked as the group stood up. ‘How was it?’
‘How was what?’ Adrian asked.
‘The medicine. Did you… did you dream?’
Adrian nodded. ‘Yes, Trevor, I did.’
‘Same happened to me,’ Trevor said. He’d started his treatment a couple of weeks ago and had received multiple doses so far. ‘They get worse, but the director told me it’s one of the ways they know it’s working. He says it’s a sign that it’s helping my mind.’
Adrian didn’t know exactly what this medicine was, or what it did, but he wasn’t as optimistic as Trevor. However, he didn’t have the heart to crush the shy man’s hopes. ‘That’s good, Trev,’ he said, and the man smiled in response.
‘Yeah,’ Trevor said, still smiling. ‘It is.’
But his voice faltered, and it was clear that he hadn’t entirely convinced himself.
Chapter 4
Dr. Thomas Reid was not happy.
He walked alongside Director Isaac Templeton as they made their way back towards the Administration Ward. They passed from Ward B, through the secured door, and then into the Main Hall, which also served as a reception area to the facility. It was a wide-open space with a cluster of desks towards the back where a smattering of administration staff worked, writing up reports and filing paperwork. The front section of the hall had an unmanned reception counter that had not been used for many a year and had gathered piles of clutter that threatened to spill off to the floor. Dr. Reid knew that Arlington Asylum was not open to the public, and hadn’t been for a long time, but the layout of this reception area suggested it once was.
The two distinct areas were demarcated by timber partitions on either side of the room that extended a few feet inwards, leaving a wide opening between. The main walls of the hall were lined with a similar style of oak panelling that ran up to a moulded rail set about five feet from the floor. Above that, the walls were finished in flaking plaster. The ceiling above was arched, giving the area a grandiose feel. In its heyday, it would have been quite impressive.
Both men walked from one side of the Main Hall towards the door to the Administration Ward on the opposite side, weaving between desks as they went.
‘You know,’ Dr. Reid began, deciding to air his concerns, ‘I still don’t know very much about this medication that’s being administered.’
‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ Director Templeton replied.
‘Well, as the head physician here, don’t you think it is something I should be made aware of?’
‘You have your role here,’ Templeton replied, dismissively. ‘This is something that doesn’t concern you.’
‘Well, it should concern me,’ Reid answered, raising his voice slightly. Being kept at a distance had been annoying at first, but now it was becoming infuriating. ‘Again, you appointed me as Head Physician. It is my job to know what is going on with my patients.’
Director Templeton stopped and turned to face Reid. As he did, Reid could feel the eyes of the surrounding staff look up from their work and settle on the pair. ‘Correction,’ Templeton said. ‘These are my patients, Dr. Reid. Every single one of them. They belong to me. And you are here under my employ, so you do as ordered. Do you understand?’
Reid clenched his teeth, and his first instinct was to retaliate. After all, what did this man—a God-damn priest—know about healing the mentally ill? Reid was the only qualified person working in the asylum, as far as he could tell, and the only person with any real authority to determine what was best for these patients. He was the one who should be running the show.
But he let his teeth unclench because he wasn’t running the show, was he? There was a reason he was working here, relegated to this private hell-hole of an asylum. He needed to get his career back on track, and this was the only place that gave him the opportunity to do so. He had to be careful not to ruin this chance, at least until he had rebuilt his reputation sufficiently to move on.
But he needed results, some breakthrough that would put him at the forefront in his field again. It was fair to say that whatever organisation Templeton represented cared little for the patients in their care, so he could certainly indulge in more radial methods and treatments here. Indeed, many of the patients were held against their will, without showing any symptoms of mental issues beyond the stress of being held prisoner.
‘I do understand that,’ Reid conceded and turned to walk on, hoping Templeton would follow along away from the ears of the staff. Fortunately, Templeton did just that, so Reid continued. ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, or ungrateful, it’s just that I don’t think I can do my best work if things are kept from me.’
They arrived at the door to the Administration Ward, which was smaller than the others and contained a few spare offices, some small padded cells used to isolate patients, a library, a room that had been converted into a Chapel, and separate offices for Reid and Templeton.
Templeton did not answer the question at first, but instead pulled free his ring of keys and selected one that would open the door before them. Once through, and the door locked behind them, Templeton turned to Reid and gave his reply.
‘You are afforded plenty of patients on which to carry out your studies and claw back what little reputation you can, but this facility has a greater purpose, one that I am fulfilling. One that will, believe it or not, change the world. And until I know I can trust you completely, I will simply leave you to tinker with your outdated and misguided methods.’
; ‘If you really believe that,’ Reid asked, ‘then why bring me on board in the first place? Why do you even want me here?’
‘From time to time, we will need the expertise of someone like yourself. But, more than that, when you realise what it is we are doing here, I am hopeful you will see the potential we have and commit yourself to the cause.’
‘Then tell me what the cause is,’ Reid said. ‘How can I commit to something I am not aware of?’
Templeton just smiled. ‘In time,’ he said, infuriating Reid even further. ‘Prove yourself first, then all will be made clear.’
‘And how exactly am I supposed to prove myself?’
‘Continue your work for now,’ Templeton answered. ‘And when the time comes, do not disappoint.’
Dr. Reid raised his eyebrows in surprise. Director Templeton was much older than he was; shorter, too, and supposedly a man of God, but Reid was almost certain the old man had just issued him a veiled threat. Templeton then patted him on the shoulder and walked off towards his office, leaving Reid dumfounded.
Chapter 5
Adrian looked down at the beaten and bloodied man; his pitiful face had already begun to swell and bruise. He spat blood, some of it coating Adrian’s shoes.
‘Say it,’ Adrian seethed, fists still clenched. ‘Say it to me now.’
The man crawled forward, like a dog, and grabbed at Adrian’s ankle.
This man was his father. Someone who, over the years, had beaten and abused both Adrian and Adrian’s mother. He’d worn them down to hollow shells of the people they once were.
Snuffing out the people they could have been.
But Adrian was bigger now, an adult in his own right, and he’d finally had enough. So, in the dark and dingy home, one that his father had stripped of warmth over the years, Adrian erupted. After being called a ‘worthless mistake’ yet again, he snapped and assaulted the old drunken monster, smashing his fists into his father’s face.
The suddenness and ferocity of Adrian’s attack overwhelmed his father, who made a futile attempt to fight back. Adrian’s mother screamed at him to stop, telling him not to go too far, but when the man fell Adrian unleashed a flurry of kicks to his father’s head and watched as the cartilage of the man’s nose crumpled and splintered.
The Extreme Horror Collection Page 22
