Bedlam

by Derek Landy

  She hadn’t sneaked through any windows, but this was the next best thing.

  She went exploring.

  After ten minutes of exploring, she’d come to the conclusion that exploring was stupid and she hated it, and that this level of the asylum held nothing of interest for her. The only way to the level above, she reckoned, was probably through a heavy wooden door with an army of gargoyles etched into it – a heavy wooden door that wouldn’t open for her. It didn’t even have a lock that she could pick. Stupid door.

  The handle rattled and Valkyrie jumped behind a weird old statue of a weird old man. The door opened and a Brother emerged, holding a narrow metal rod. On the other end of that metal rod was a collar, secured round the neck of a shuffling patient.

  He had someone on an actual leash.

  The Brother led the patient onwards, and the door opened again and a woman came through, dressed in drab grey scrubs and reading through notes. Valkyrie sneaked out from behind the statue, got a hand to the door before it closed. She checked to make sure no one was coming, then sneaked in, found some stairs leading up and crept onwards.

  She watched from behind cover as Brothers transferred patients from room to room. Not all of the patients were on leashes, but some of them struggled so much they required two Brothers to escort them.

  Valkyrie found more stairs. She was almost to the top when another man in grey scrubs appeared. He frowned when he saw her there, frozen as she was on the steps.

  Valkyrie put on a smile and continued up. “Hello there,” she said. “You are …?”

  “Doctor Derleth,” he said hesitantly as she reached him and shook his hand.

  “Ah, Doctor Derleth! There you are! I got myself a little lost, if I’m being honest with you. I’m sure I’m not where I’m supposed to be, and I’m probably where I’m not meant to be.”

  She laughed, started to walk, pulling him alongside her before she released his hand. “Now then,” she continued, “hopefully, you can help me. Brother Boo told me I could pick up some K-49. He wasn’t overly thrilled about the prospect, said something about that’s not how we do things in Greymire, but I persuaded him that I couldn’t leave without it, and what can I tell you? I can be very persuasive when I want to be!” She laughed again.

  Derleth smiled politely. “Um … of course. And how much do you require?”

  “Just enough for one.”

  “One patient,” the doctor murmured. “A single vial of K-49 should suffice, I presume?”

  “Hey,” Valkyrie said, “you’re the expert, am I right? I barely know what I’m doing, but don’t tell anyone else that!” She laughed. “If a single vial will be enough for one person, then yes, a single vial will definitely suit my needs.”

  “Well then,” Derleth said, “our store is this way.” He took the lead and she walked alongside. “What, um, what do you do, exactly?”

  “Me? I do a little bit of everything, quite frankly, but, if I’m being honest with you, I’d say my true talent lies in administration.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is,” Valkyrie said. “I can administrate pretty much anything. Show me a spreadsheet and watch me go, as my mother used to say. As long as I don’t have to do it here. I don’t want to insult you or anything … but all that screaming …”

  She made a face and he chuckled.

  “I understand,” he said. “It can get to you at first. After a few months, however, I have to say you barely notice it. And if you leave, for whatever reason? It sounds demented, but you miss it when it’s gone.”

  He chuckled and she chuckled and they both chuckled.

  “One thing I was wondering, though,” Valkyrie said, because she couldn’t help herself, “is what is the point of having an asylum if its aim isn’t to help people?”

  Derleth made a sound, halfway between a laugh and a grunt. “Ah, yes, you’ve heard Brother Boo’s edict of contain, not cure … That isn’t strictly true, of course. The Order of the Void, well, they are who they are, but we doctors do try to help those we feel could benefit from our attention – but they are few and decidedly far between. Mostly, as Brother Boo likes to say, we contain.”

  They turned down another corridor. This place was just one damn corridor after another.

  “How many are you trying to help?” Valkyrie asked.

  The doctor looked pained. “At this moment? Unfortunately, there are no inmates interesting enough.”

  Valkyrie was struggling to find excuses to pretend to laugh. “So why are there even doctors here if you’re not out to help anyone?”

  “Oh, because who could turn down such an opportunity to conduct this level of research?”

  “To what end?”

  “For the advancement of psychology, psychiatry … for magic itself.”

  “What does magic have to do with madness?”

  More stairs. Up they went.

  “Well, our power is constrained by our minds, is it not?” Derleth said. “The limits we impose on ourselves are far more effective than anything imposed from without. This is where we explore possibilities. There are rooms, there are entire floors that are designed to open up a patient’s very psyche, to give form to whim and to fancy and, through these forms, decode the essence of what makes us who we are.”

  It was quieter up here. Almost still.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Valkyrie said.

  “No?” Derleth replied, peering at her. “But you seem like such a bright girl.”

  Valkyrie didn’t like the way he said that. “I mean, I think I understand,” she clarified, “but I’m probably wrong. Because it sounds like you’re saying there are rooms you can walk into in this place where your thoughts become real.”

  “Yes,” said the doctor, “that is exactly what I’m saying.”

  “But these people seem disturbed and … fragile. Wouldn’t that do them more harm than good?”

  Derleth smiled again. “We have limited interest in doing them ‘good’, my dear.”

  “And this is legal? What you’re doing here? Because, to be honest with you, it sounds a lot like you’re torturing these people.”

  “Is that what it sounds like?” Derleth said, frowning. “That is interesting. As for whether our work is legal, I’m afraid such questions don’t enter into this conversation. The asylum is beyond the laws of any nation or Sanctuary.”

  They stopped at a blue door.

  “You’ll find what you’re looking for through here,” said the doctor.

  “You’re not coming with me?” Valkyrie asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said, smiling. “We have a new patient with us today. It’s time I began the examination.”

  She didn’t like his smile. It was a smile just for her, and she didn’t trust it. They shook hands and Derleth walked away, and Valkyrie hesitated a moment before opening the door and walking through. She stepped into a large room, empty white walls, white floor, white ceiling, with another blue door opposite. The air smelled funny in here. She crossed the room and went through.

  Another white room, a little smaller this time. Another blue door. That same smell. She walked through.

  White room. Blue door. She walked through.

  The rooms got smaller and smaller the further she went. Valkyrie tried turning back, but they were locking behind her, so she kept going. She could always blast her way out, if it came to that. If this was all some kind of trap.

  It wasn’t normal, that was for sure. Door after door, room after room with nothing in them. Not normal. Not right. The closer the white walls drew, the more her shoulders brushed against them, the tighter the knot in her chest became. She stopped for a minute, closed her eyes and pictured herself on the beach back in Haggard. The beach and the sand and the sea and all that sky. All the lovely, empty space.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and passed into the next room. She ignored how narrow it was – no bigger than a broom closet. But there was a way out. The
re was always a way out. That calmed her.

  On she went, two more blue doors. They weren’t even opening fully now – just enough to squeeze through. She pushed open the next one. She turned sideways. Her left leg went first and she shifted her hips after it, got jammed a little, but managed. She sucked in a breath, scraped her ribcage between the door and the frame. She brought her hands up to flatten herself as much as she could. For a moment, she was stuck and panic flashed, but it was just her coat bunching up. Once she’d yanked it down, she could turn her head and then she was through, jammed into the corner of this tiny space.

  She manoeuvred herself round as she struggled to close the door. It shut and locked and she reached for the next one and it didn’t open. She tried again. Didn’t even budge.

  Her throat went tight.

  She knocked. This had to be the last door. It had to be. If the room beyond it was any smaller than the one she was in, then the door wouldn’t even open. It had to be the last door and, as such, there was probably someone on the other side who was coming forward to turn that handle even now.

  She knocked again. “Hello?” she called.

  It wasn’t a call, though. It was a cry. It was panic, edged with hysteria.

  “Could you open up, please? Hello? Open the door, please. Please open the door.”

  The door didn’t open.

  Valkyrie’s skin prickled. She was suddenly so very warm. She pulled her coat off her shoulders, banging her elbows as she did so. It got stuck, trapping her arms behind her. Sweating now. Whimpering slightly, she twisted and tore one hand free, then the other, and threw the coat on the ground.

  It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine.

  She gripped the door handle and let her magic flow into it. It didn’t explode, like she’d hoped. It didn’t even spark. It certainly didn’t open.

  She slid away from it a little and let the lightning fly. The door absorbed it. No damage. Nothing.

  “Open the door!” she screamed. “Open this goddamn door!”

  She slammed her forearm into it, kicked it, beat her fists against it, screamed again, screamed for Skulduggery. All the while, this little voice in her head telling her to stay calm, to not panic. This isn’t permanent. There’s a way out. There has to be. There always is.

  Door in front won’t open. Door behind won’t open. Valkyrie looked up. The ceiling, twice the height of her. Could she punch through it? Fly through it? Raised her T-shirt to wipe her face, then focused. Magic crackled. She jumped. Landed. Didn’t fly.

  Covered face with hands. Breathing shallow. Quick. Magic wouldn’t work if she panicked. Always the way. She couldn’t panic. Mustn’t panic. Made herself be calm. Forced it.

  Magic crackled and burst out of her.

  It hit the door in front and the door behind and hit the floor and ceiling and it crackled and did nothing and it hit the walls and did nothing.

  She pulled it in, cut it off, closed her eyes, lips pressed together, making rhythmic murmurs that hummed against her teeth while she tapped her forehead against the door. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Fists clenched. Tapping. Tap-tap. Hurting now. Too fast, too hard. Stopped herself. Blinking. Eyes stinging with sweat.

  In all this white, a piece of dark.

  It caught her eye. The wall to her right. It was singed – just slightly.

  Hope surged. Magic surged. Tendrils of energy hit the wall and burned. Broke through to the darkness on the other side.

  Turning as much as she could, she kicked, stomped, bashed the opening bigger.

  Fresh air. She felt fresh air.

  Put a leg through, ducked, slid sideways into the dark. Cooler here. Still tight. Still too tight. But cooler.

  Her eyes adjusted. The darkness got lighter up ahead. Black turned to grey.

  Started moving sideways. Walls got closer. Squeezing now, her breath held. The walls dragged at her clothes. Just a bit more. Little bit more.

  Hips stuck. Chest stuck. Head stuck.

  Whimpering. Trying. Reaching for the grey.

  The grey went out. Fresh air stopped. Trap. It was a trap. It was a trap and now she was stuck.

  Tried moving back, back the way she’d come. No use. Couldn’t even turn her head.

  The walls. The walls were wooden. She could feel that now. A moment ago, they’d been smooth. Now they were rough and wooden. She did all she could to wonder about that, to occupy her mind with that. Wooden. Her hands, fluttering like moths, felt the wood. Felt the splinters. Felt the sharp tips of nails.

  Valkyrie heard something behind her, in the dark. Twisted her neck as much as she could, jammed her skull between the wooden boards in front and behind.

  “Help me,” she whispered.

  She reached out and hit a wall. A wall to the left of her. A wall, of that same rough wood, that hadn’t been there a moment ago. With her other hand, she reached into the blackness, and touched that same rough wood to the right of her.

  “Help me,” she said again.

  It sounded different, her voice. Closer. She stopped trying to turn her head. She couldn’t see anything anyway. There was nothing to see. Only darkness.

  Valkyrie could hear her own breathing now. It was loud.

  She was in a box.

  Suddenly there was light streaming through the cracks in the wood, and the box tilted and she cried out as it fell backwards. It hit the floor. Painfully.

  “Let me out!” she shouted. “Let me out!”

  Figures moved, their shadows dancing. People meant enemies. She was used to enemies. She could deal with enemies.

  Magic flared, filled the box with sizzling, spitting energy, but didn’t do any good. Didn’t break through.

  “We’re going to try to help you,” said a voice. The doctor.

  “Let me out,” Valkyrie ordered from inside the box, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

  “No,” said Dr Derleth from outside the box. “That’s not how we’ll help you. But, while your body may be trapped, the air you’re breathing will allow your mind to loosen in all the ways we need it to. You’re an interesting case, Detective Cain. Yes, yes, I know who you are. You’ve tasted godhood and yet you choose to wallow in human guilt. We’d like to examine that.”

  “I don’t want to be examined.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.”

  More figures moved. The box was lifted off the ground. Carried.

  “This is pointless,” Valkyrie said. “You think Skulduggery Pleasant is going to let this happen? You think he isn’t demanding to know where I am right this second?”

  “I don’t care about the skeleton,” said Derleth.

  “You should,” said Valkyrie.

  “I care about you, Detective Cain. I care about getting to the bottom of you. Of what makes you who you are. Aren’t you interested in that?”

  “I know who I am.”

  Derleth laughed. “Oh, I’m afraid you don’t, dear girl. None of us do. Not until we’ve passed through the crucible. Not until we’ve succumbed to our greatest fears.”

  They were going down now, down some stairs. The light changed from the steady wash of a bulb to the flickering of flames.

  “Listen to me,” Valkyrie said. “Listen very carefully. This is important. This is very important and you should listen, because this is your last chance. Let me out. Put the box down and let me out and I won’t hurt you. This is your last chance.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs. The footsteps became muted. They were walking on earth. Derleth said something that Valkyrie didn’t hear.

  “What?” Valkyrie said.

  “I said it isn’t a box,” Derleth told her.

  “Well, whatever it is,” Valkyrie said, as they came to a stop.

  “It’s a coffin,” said Derleth, and the figures lowered Valkyrie into a deep and dark hole.

  Valkyrie screamed.

  They were filling in the hole. Covering it with dirt.

  Valkyrie screamed.

  She lay i
n the dark.

  Some of the dirt had slipped through the cracks in the coffin, fallen on to her cheek. Her chin. Her neck. She didn’t turn her head, didn’t shake it off. She felt the dirt on her skin until she couldn’t feel it any more. It became a part of her. Or she became a part of it.

  Her body was still, and cold, and heavy. Like a corpse. Like a corpse, she lay there with her eyes open, staring at a blackness so black she couldn’t tell the difference when she blinked. Like a corpse, she’d be here forever, lying in a coffin in the dirt. This was where death would catch up to her. She’d slipped away once, but not again.

  Death didn’t forget.

  She screamed again.

  It came on like a passing train, and she screamed and kicked and banged and cried and begged, and then the train moved on and her stillness returned.

  Time didn’t pass. It didn’t stay still, either. In the box, time didn’t exist. Only Valkyrie existed, a ghost inhabiting the house of bone and meat that she’d been born into. She was her own haunted house. The thought might have made her smile if her mouth still moved.

  She wasn’t panicking any more. The panic had left her. Meat didn’t panic. Meat was meat. Panic was for the living.

  She remembered living, but only dimly. She remembered her life, but only faintly.

  All those struggles. All that fighting and running. All that talking and thinking. She knocked on China’s door. Walked up a hill with Skulduggery. Ran across a field with a man chasing her. Fell to her knees with her guts torn out. Slipped in the snow. Crawled away from a Hollow Man. Laughed with her parents. Sang to her sister. Died.

  The air.

  They’d done something to the air, Derleth had said so. They wanted to loosen her mind. What did that mean?

  She felt her mind squirming. Is that what Derleth had meant? Is this what they wanted?

  It squirmed and squirmed and wriggled in her skull. The folds of her brain turned in on themselves. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness so instead she saw her brain, glistening and wet and moving like many snakes.