Jeremy left the room at a quicker pace than he had entered, eager to put as much distance between himself and the dying man as he could. Are they going to do that to me? What do they do to the patients here? Are they all crazy, are any of them? What if they are all trapped … like me. Jeremy’s head exploded with thoughts and notions, each one more unappealing that the last.
“Who’s out there?” a voice shouted. Jeremy jumped and his heart skipped more beats than could be healthy. His body froze and he held his breath, paused in that off-balance moment between one step ending and the next beginning. “I can hear you out there.”
Jeremy breathed a sigh of mild relief. It was Karen. She had burst into a fit of laughter within her room, as if the prospect of an unexpected visitor was the most amusing concept she could imagine.
Jeremy didn’t give her an answer, but moved back towards his room. He was shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, which made his head spin. He was even looking forward to getting back within the safe confines of his room, or cell as he was now coming to view it. He could sit down and process things.
“I know you are out there,” Karen called, having recovered her composure. “Come pay Karen a visit. I’ll send you back on your way with a smile on your face running from ear to ear,” she added, laughter once again creeping into her words. She followed up by pounding on her door, switching between howls of laughter, groans of pleasure and shrieks that sounded as if some great agony were being inflicted upon her.
Jeremy felt sorry for the girl. He would also have been lying to himself had he denied the fact that he was tempted to take her up on her repeated offers. Altering his direction, he crossed the floor, his shoes eliciting a squeak from the floor as he pivoted, and headed towards her room.
“That’s right, baby,” Karen called as she once again pounded against the door.
Jeremy paused, apprehensive; Karen was making a lot of noise. It was to be expected that an orderly would come to force her silence. Jeremy suddenly remembered the choked sounds of the forced fellatio he had heard the day before coming from the hallway, and also the look of Karen’s bloodied lips as she smiled at him.
Jeremy shook his head and opened the latch in the door. He had expected Karen to be there, her face inches from his. She was nowhere to be seen. Jeremy leaned closer, peering through the open hatch. His eyes widened and a shudder went down his spine as his eyes surveyed the room.
The walls had been smeared with blood; handprints and crazed scribbled graffiti: Juicy Fuckhole. Take me, CUNT! There was more, a lot more, but these were the first few statements Jeremy noticed. The theme seemed to be consistent. The window in the room was also smeared with something. Its surface was opaque, distorting everything that stood on the other side. Intrigued and horrified in equal measures, Jeremy pressed his head harder against the door, trying to see as much as he could. He was still searching for Karen.
Karen’s room while identical in decoration and amenities differed in one key way. All of the other rooms Jeremy had looked in were deep, the long walls running away from the door. Karen’s room was rotated ninety degrees. It was shallow but wide, and seemed to be a little larger too.
As Jeremy’s eyes probed deeper he saw that along with the words, stick figures had also been smeared onto the walls. Male characters with large penises extending from their bodies. The female figures, which were arranged in an array of gratifying positions, all had long hair and large breasts. Jeremy also noticed that hearts had been drawn over the stick women’s crotches.
There were more male figures than female, grouped together. All of the female images had faces drawn onto their circular heads. None of them were smiling. The males however, had nothing. Their circular heads were void of all characterization.
Karen needed help. Jeremy understood that. He felt sorry for her. If she had been brought there by family, or admitted herself he did not know, but he believed whatever the case, the intentions had been good. It was just an unfortunate choice of location. The Westshire County Treatment Centre was not the right place for her to get the help she needed.
Without warning, Karen appeared. Rising up from beneath the open hatch. She had been crouched against the door. Her hair was frayed and tangled, her blackened eye had taken on the yellow and purple colouration of healing. She smiled at him. “Hi there, newbie.”
Jeremy jumped back a step, and managed to catch the startled cry that tried to escape his lungs.
“Oh, don’t be shy, baby. Come on inside. I’ll fuck you good. I’m so wet right now, you gonna need a wetsuit by the time we are done. Karen began to laugh and smeared her hand over her face. Her fingers were slick with her bodily juices.
Jeremy took a step back from the door. He was nervous. Afraid that Karen would draw attention to them. He was pushing his luck and he knew it. Karen fell silent and stared at Jeremy through the hatch. She stuck her tongue out at him, and after slowly running it over her lips she began to lick her fingers clean; stopping only to blow Jeremy a kiss.
“Do you like my drawings?” she asked, her demeanour suddenly changing. “I painted them myself.” She smiled and gave a groaned exclamation of satisfaction. “I painted them myself,” she repeated, her grin widened.
Jeremy didn’t know what to say, yet rather than leave, he stood in a stupefied silence.
“It’s all me.” She moaned, her voice once again fuelled by a sexual fire. Karen looked from Jeremy to her illustrations and back again. “They are my blood … my monthly blood. It comes to me and so I paint. We can still fuck then though, sweet thing. I won’t let it stop me. No, no. Karen fucks good all year round.” Once again, she burst into cackled laughter and slid down to the floor.
“Karen, wait.” Jeremy jumped forwards. He had lost a lot of time standing by her door, but he refused to go back to his room without at least attempting to learn something about the people that were holding him.
“Oh, he speaks, does he?” Karen replied in a whispered hiss. Slowly Karen appeared by the hatch once more. “Tell me, cutie pie, what can I do to make you happy?” She smiled at Jeremy, and not for the first time, he saw the real beauty that was hidden beneath the surface.
“I just want to talk,” Jeremy blurted out, taking a tentative step towards the door.
“Oh, baby, you can use your mouth for so much more than that.” Karen flicked her tongue towards Jeremy, groaning in feigned pleasure.
“What do you know about this place? What really happens here?” Jeremy ignored her repeated come-ons. He had no idea what sort of answer he would receive, but he paused, wanting to hear nonetheless.
“Ooh.” Karen giggled like a tipsy teenager on the receiving end of some older man’s attention. “Here is where the magic happens, baby. But shhhhhh, youngster.” She paused, her eyes wide. She looked from side to side, around her room, as if afraid. “We don’t talk about those things. What goes on down there, deep down there …” She groaned the emphasis on depth as her hands fondled her chest. “Ooh, you need to see it to be able to believe it.” She giggled again, biting her lower lip. “When you are ready, they will come for you. Be patient now, baby.”
“Who?” Jeremy stepped forward, his interest piqued. He felt a cold chill embrace him and he shuddered. “You are talking about Doctor Marshall, right?”
“Him too, but the ones he works for. They are waiting for you. They tell him and he come for you. Then you will see it all. But they only come when you are ready.” Her voice dropped to a whisper when she spoke about the people that would come. Jeremy felt the chill begin to abate, leaving behind it a residue that stank of fear.
“How do you know all of this, Karen?” Jeremy was close enough to her door that he reached out and touched it with both hands, flat against the surface.
“I’ve seen it once. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I was with a friend, and he was fucking me good and when he bent me over the tables I saw it all. I didn’t tell, but I’ve seen them. I know they will come for me, and I will be ready
for them. I’ll take them all … but … wait.” Karen’s words froze in her throat. She went pale, as if an artery hidden from Jeremy’s view had burst, draining her body of blood in an instant. “Go back now, baby. They are coming. Run now, sugar.” She pushed herself away from the door and began to run around her room. Jeremy could hear her song even as he dove back into his room and closed the door.
Jeremy jumped onto the bed, crawling under the woollen blanket. He lay back and closed his eyes just in time, as a heartbeat later the hatch in his room door opened.
Jeremy could feel the weight of the stare that fell upon him. He lay still, afraid to move in case it gave away that his sleep was feigned. His lungs burned, and it was then he realized that he had been holding his breath in in anticipation of being wrenched from his bed and hauled away. He took a breath and gave the best impression he could muster of a sleep grunt, stretching his legs slightly, hoping it wasn’t too bold of a move.
In total it was only a few seconds, thirty at most, but to Jeremy it felt as if he were held under the scrutinising gaze of his captor for hours. Finally, the hatch closed and footsteps were heard moving away from the door, squeaking on the linoleum floor.
Further down the corridor Jeremy heard the movement induced squeak stop. A door opened and voices rang out.
“Come here, bitch.”
Jeremy had not spent enough time with or observing the orderlies to be able to identify them from voice, but he imagined the largest of the group he had seen, given the angry nature of the voice.
Karen offered her protestations, which made Jeremy’s heart race, for in all the days he had known her she had never been shy at inviting people into her chambers. Her voice fell silent as the sound of heavy blows being landed echoed through the corridor. They abated, as a final thumping sound told Jeremy that Karen had fallen to the floor. She began to sob, the weak cries of the helpless, rather than the maddening cries of someone living beyond reality.
“Get to ya feet, whore!” the orderly roared, throwing what Jeremy presumed to be a kick at Karen. “Fine, ‘av it your way. I’ll drag ya down the fuckin’ stairs, bitch.”
“No … no, please,” Karen begged, her words trailing to screams. Jeremy heard the sounds of a scuffle. A heavy thud ended Karen´s cries.
Jeremy closed his eyes, trying hard to create as much mental static as he could to avoid listening to the sound of Karen’s body bouncing from the steps as she was dragged away. He failed. The sound of her skull hitting each new step cut through everything else, and echoed around his head like the Wilhelm scream.
Chapter 8
Sleep evaded Jeremy that night. He lay in bed, afraid to move. Crying silently, his tears soaking his pillow until he had nothing left to shed. It was an age before he heard footsteps. A door opened and Karen, he presumed, was deposited in her room. It took a little while before they left. Jeremy found comfort in it, telling himself that they had placed her in bed rather than merely throwing her over the threshold to fend for herself. However, his brain conjured up another image. He saw all of the things they could be doing to her unconscious form. He shuddered, and felt dirty for having thought it.
When morning came, Jeremy was filled with a surging wave of relief when he saw Anja enter his room carrying the breakfast tray. His eyes immediately fell to the tray. He saw a glass of orange juice and a glass of water. He knew which he would be drinking. His head had grown fuzzy during the night, either through the long lasting impact of the drugs they had administered, or through withdrawal. He didn’t like either option and so chose not to think about them.
“What are they putting in my food?” Jeremy asked as Anja put the tray on the table. Her head was down and she refused to look in Jeremy’s direction, let alone meet his gaze. “Anja, please. I … I think they killed my friend. They won’t let me out of this place. I need to know.” Jeremy jumped from the bed. “I’m scared. I know what I saw out there, in the dunes, and I know that there is something strange going on here too. Maybe they are not related, but I have to know the truth.” He reached out and held Anja by the shoulders. His words were stern, but the tremble buried within his grip gave a more truthful impression.
“Not now. Tonight we will talk. I promise you that.” Anja whispered in response. She could still not bring herself to look Jeremy in the eyes. “Drink the water, get rid of the rest. Just make sure you play dumb. They cannot find out that you are onto them,” she added, finally raising her head so she could look Jeremy square on. He needed to understand how serious she was.
Jeremy gasped. Anja’s left eye was closed, the skin around it swollen and angry. The skin coloured a rainbow of pain; from the red, sore centre to the already purple outer edges. Her nose also appeared swollen. He could even make out the distinct shape of knuckles around the edge of the contusion. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
“What ...” Jeremy began, his voice a little too loud. Anja flinched, pulled herself free from his grasp and headed towards the door.
“Tonight. I promise.” She turned to the door, leaving Jeremy alone in the room. He was lost in a state of confusion that threatened to become shock. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She gave a tired smile, and her unblemished eye glinted. She closed the door behind her, making sure it was pulled shut, sealing Jeremy inside.
It was several hours before anybody came to Jeremy’s room. When the door opened, it was no surprise that it was Dr Marshall standing in the doorway. What did catch Jeremy unawares was the non-appearance of the doctor’s assistants. The orderlies were gone and had been replaced by two uniformed police officers. They stood either side of the doctor, their thick meaty arms folded over their chests. They were both beastly examples of the male physique. Once the initial shock of their presence had subsided, Jeremy’s drug-free mind deduced rather rapidly that they were either not real officers, or had been chosen for reasons relating to intimidation rather than their caring personalities.
“Jeremy,” Dr Marshall began, his voice the definition of the caring, professional practitioner, “these two police officers here would like to talk to you.” The doctor smiled and Jeremy saw the evil glint sparkle in his eyes.
Jeremy rose from the bed and walked towards the door. Anja’s words of warning sang out in his head when it was almost too late. He caught his movements and slowed himself down. Just sell it. That was what she had said. Jeremy had no idea about how he was supposed to move, or how the drugs had impacted his motor skills while he had been under their influence. Realizing he had no choice, Jeremy allowed his head to sink, his chin drawing closer to his chest. He moved with slow, shuffling steps, towards the door.
The officers moved from their position beside the doctor, and assumed the same stance beside Jeremy. Together they walked towards the elevator. Jeremy saw that Karen´s door was open, but there was no sign of her. Stranger still was that the room was spotless. The menstrual blood illustrations had all disappeared, and the stale odour of self-pleasure no longer wafted into the corridor.
Karen’s presence was also noticeably lacking in the elevator, and the common room area. Jeremy knew he had to keep his movements to a minimum, but he saw enough to cause a nasty feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach.
They moved past the interview room, which Jeremy allowed his feet to take him towards. He paused to feign confusion as hands fell on his shoulders and firmly guided him to a different room. The room was larger than the one he was used to, and while the decoration was similarly sparse, the table they would all sit behind was considerably larger. The room had two occupants before they arrived. Both of whom rose when they entered. One of the two had been crying.
Jeremy looked up and saw his parents. He saw the red rings around his mother’s eyes and the way she stood not by her husband’s side, but some distance away from him, segregated and alone. It hurt Jeremy to look at them, not because he felt their pain, but because he didn’t feel anything. He knew his body was drug free, and yet he still felt no
thing at seeing his parents. They had abandoned him, left him to rot. He was convinced that his parents knew what sort of place they had brought him to. He remembered the first night he arrived. His father had said that he and Detective McIlroy were old friends, and he remembered the caught name the doctor used upon their arrival. His father knew all along where he was taking his son.
Jeremy raised his head and stared at his father. He studied his face, wanting to see if there was anything in his gaze that told him he was wrong. He saw nothing.
The two officers shoved him towards the table, and while he was seated between his parents, neither of them made a move to offer him an embrace. His father barely looked at him, while his mother was too busy stifling her own sobs to be of any constructive use in the upcoming exchange.
“Am I leaving?” Jeremy asked, speaking slowly, but careful not to do so with too big of an exaggeration. “Are you coming to take me home?” he asked, hopeful. He knew the answer, but regardless of the play he was putting on, he wanted to hear them say it. He wanted to hear them reject him.
Nobody had a chance to answer however, for in one swift movement Jeremy found himself being launched into the table top. He was held immobile by a strong hand, while his arms were pulled behind his back. Something cold slipped around his wrists. When the pressure was removed, he sat back up, his hands successfully handcuffed behind his back.
“What are you doing?” Jeremy asked, his voice a mixture of surprise and anger. His cheek felt warm from where he had been thrown down.
Evil Beneath Us Page 8
