by C. J. Sutton
“It’s pretty obvious you’re being framed, ain’t it?”
The laugh was all Magnus needed to hear to know that Lee had entered the pub, his back turned to the door as he spoke to Carter openly. But as the guard looked over his new comrade’s shoulder, all became apparent.
“Ask yourself, doc. Who would want you out of the picture?”
Lee’s high heels clunked on the floorboards, a slow pace with no destination. Her perfume wafted over, the cinnamon hints a sharp fork to the nose. No effect on Carter.
“You, considering you want to keep your job.”
Smiles were reciprocated.
“At first, I did. But I’m tired of that old joint up there. You’ve come in, and now I see that I’ve made enough money to live without the need to steal from the suckers who employed me for so long. I see those bastards every day, familiarity breeds boredom…so much boredom, but with you it’s all a little more fun, ain’t it,” said Carter, clinking his glass against Magnus’ and knocking it over, smashing on the ground. Everyone perked up like meerkats to a snake. The bartender, stumpy and bald, waddled over and cleared the shards before anyone stepped near the glistening threat.
“I’ll leave you to it. My shift starts now considering I pulled a sickie earlier,” said Carter, gone in seconds. Magnus thought it would be a wise move to talk to Lee, but she too had vanished without a trace. Time for a walk.
There would be no sound from behind, for no man drove the taxi. The crisp air acted as a remedy to the mind, an elixir to jumpstart the thought process. Killing the man needed motive, and the clearest motive was to frame Magnus, the doctor of the Asylum, to remove him from the town. The inmates received information from someone, complicating everything, and it was reasonable to assume that this person also had a master key. To Magnus, Simmonds wouldn’t be able to stick to the task had he free roam of Dortmund; Annie slithered patiently. Astrid perhaps knew more than she let on, but from their conversation Magnus ruled her out. She felt no pleasure from older men. Jasper…no shackles, but monitored more than any other inmate; if he was to escape, there’d be more than just a dead taxi driver to deal with.
An abandoned house across the street caught Magnus’ eye, a reminder of his sister’s room before that fateful night his siblings left him. The scene replayed as he glanced through dirt-smeared windows – his sister crying for a hit and pleading for help, a help Magnus couldn’t provide. And his brother, who had told him months prior that their sister was a lost cause, that they should end her before the sickness becomes her only self and leaves a horrific memory.
Magnus pushed the wooden grey door, and it creaked open slowly. Unsure if it was the alcohol, the tiredness or the constant state of worry, Magnus slipped into a time long ago in vivid detail as he moved over to what had been the lounge room of their childhood house. He saw his mother holding the remote for the TV aloft as three young children tried to pry it from her vice-like grasp. But there was no anger, only smiles as siblings clawed for the desired teat. With no father to come home and share their life, it was all too much when Magnus’ sister started falling in with the wrong men, and Magnus’ brother became entrenched in gangs and crime. Even with Magnus on her side, she couldn’t survive…and even with Magnus, his sister was still killed by their own blood.
In this hopeless house, in this hopeless town nestled within a hopeless countryside, not all was hopeless up on the hill at Dortmund Asylum. His task remained, and the dead taxi driver was a sign of a rattled cage…a cage that generally hadn’t been rattled.
With the knife pressed against his back, with the master key sewn into a pocket-within-a-pocket, Magnus felt ownership and status find home once again, in his heart, his soul; for he had not lost yet.
Train Wreck
Progress may be a tear, or a smile. It may be a stray rock to the head, Magnus.
“Good morning doc, you’re in early today.”
Donnie ‘Digits’ Wright guessed correctly; when the sun hit his eyelids, Magnus had risen with a feeling of hope. Such hope began to disintegrate when the police offered to drive him to work on such a sunny day in a generally bleak arena, but to refuse them would cause greater issue. They poked, they prodded, but Magnus reached the Asylum unscathed…without any blackouts.
“I was looking forward to our chat today, Donnie. I’m sorry I haven’t been back to see you earlier, but more goes on in this town than you’d care to think.”
Donnie nodded, content, sprawled out on the hard ground with his hands resting behind his bed – a certain ‘Andy Dufresne from Shawshank Redemption’ look about him. No giant sewer of shit here. No posters of women masking an escape route.
“That’s quite alright, doctor, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been thinking about the last time you were here, and I’m concerned I’ve left out some necessary details.”
The gruesome office kill count after an immaculate life didn’t need a rehash, but as Donnie’s eyes darted to the door and back to Magnus, he could’ve sworn the man was stalling for something, or hurrying.
“I have your details, Donnie, no minor addition of an extra keyboard swing or boss taunt will help us at this point. Donnie, I believe if you have the sickness you’re capable of a full cure. You regret your actions, they’ve happened once in all your years and presenting to me in a calm, rational and genuinely focused state suggests that jail time rather than an Asylum stay is what really is necessary for your complete recovery.”
Donnie rose, as if doing a sit-up routine with a solitary rep, and glared at Magnus, whose hair was neatly parted and clothes were freshly washed, ironed and applied; shoes were even free of caked mud-shit.
“You mean if you prove me sane…I go to jail?”
“It’s better than your fate here, trust me, Donnie; mingle with other men, yard time, proper meals—”
“So you’re not really here to save us, you’re here to prove us sane enough to be placed in prison?”
“My job details aren’t for you to know; we focus on helping you, and the best help you can have should you be sane, is to be in jail.”
“But—”
Magnus lowered, the ray of light now hitting the wall behind him, sparking out like a kaleidoscope and changing the scenery of the room.
“You killed an office full of people, Mr. Wright. If you’re sane, that’s enough counts of murder to put you away for life. If you’re insane, it’s enough to leave you in a place like this forever, before they decide on a worse outcome. Now, I’m a Doctor of Psychology, so I know when someone is putting on a show for a classification. The last time we spoke, that was no show.”
The stare-off lasted twenty seconds, each waiting for a strike, but these two men weren’t instigators; they were the reaction to the chaos, even if that chaos was moulded as a seat in front of a computer screen for years and years on end.
“If you present to me in a true manner, I can make an assessment. I believe you regret everything, and have complete control over your conscious state.”
Donnie’s mind was ticking, but not with digits. A process played before his mind, words to be connected into sentences with the touch of his fingers.
“Mr. Wright, please don’t stress about jail.”
But he was, the thought of being subjected to the extra freedom allowed in a facility more damning than the alone time in this one.
“Jail is…violent. People go in as one thing,” he said, his hand on the left, moving to the right, “and come out another. If someone has one bout of violence, they’re sent to a place bubbling with it. I want to rid of any violence left within me, doc. I don’t want it to manifest, wait and then evolve when rubbing shoulders with those who would happily shoot another man for a spare dollar.”
Magnus accepted silence in the room, lights bouncing to and fro to illuminate the setting and reveal the truth.
“An issue with mental facilities in the past has been that many sane people plead insane, and use a range of tricks to end up away from jail w
here many privileges remain. There are no privileges here. If you don’t get passed as sane by me…well let’s just say there are worse places than jail. If you’re holding out for a better option, your time is up. You had a bad day, and they deemed you insane. In my eyes, your emotions suggest jail time, not…well, enough about choice. Did you have a girlfriend Donnie? A wife, perhaps? Partner? Love interest?”
“I…” he said, as though punched in the gut. “I had a girlfriend, we broke up about four months before the incident.”
Magnus wanted to fist pump, but left his cool, hard exterior on for the inmate to see. The case for Donnie ‘Digits’ Wright was simple; man in a stressful job who broke up with the girl he loved, snapped.
“The girlfriend situation, how did it end?’
This wasn’t a topic he wanted to talk about, his exposed feet shaking against the ground, fingers twitching in angst, thoughts wandering around the woman and their end.
“We were catching the same train home for so long…both with our earphones in. One day,” he said, reliving the moment, this part bringing a smile to his often blank face, “as I got on the train, the only seat left was directly facing her—”
“Her name,” said Magnus, wanting to make the story impact Donnie further.
“Joanne,” he responded, eyes ablaze with passion. “I had nowhere else to look, crammed in like tuna, shoulders pressed on either side; to not look would have been even more obvious. I let my eyes hit hers, and realised she faced the same dilemma.”
“What did Joanna look like? And please, use her name for me.”
“Joanne…not Joanna…dark hair, shoulder length. Hazel eyes, too much life. Thin, but healthy, really vibrant…such kindness, doc.”
Donnie raised off the floor, placing his face into a beam of light, and it gave him something he’d lacked since entering Dortmund Asylum years ago.
“She motioned for me to pull out the earplugs. I hesitated. What was happening? I could feel the burn, much like the sensation that occurs when I dip into the sun. Why would this fair woman want to talk to the boring accountant? I couldn’t even turn to check if someone behind me was the target. She did the motion four times. I removed the plugs and heard her voice for the first time. ‘You dropped your keys,’ she said with a smile, playful. If I’d dropped my iPod and the music ceased, I still wouldn’t have noticed. And then each day we sat next to each other, spoke, grew fond. It became an escape, a way to feel alive despite the day job stalking my nine-five.”
Magnus had cast the line; Donnie was basking in the happiness from his life, something that had delayed an aggressive reaction to his boredom. Now it was time to reel in the fish.
“And how did it end?” he said, cutting through the cheer with a sword. Donnie darkened, no tears, just an inner hate of himself, clear for all to see.
“She said I was a shell, nothing left, no feeling. I hated my job, so I hated myself, and she couldn’t love someone with so much resentment. The next day she wasn’t on my train—”
“Her name, you’re not using her name.”
“Joanne,” he said, louder, but he didn’t get angry. He didn’t attack Magnus like a salivating dog or a Matthew Chaos or a Brutus Willows. “My only respite from a dull world didn’t just leave as a girlfriend…she was here one minute, gone the next. And all I knew was to continue working…continue my life. If you think I killed because of her, you’re wrong. It’s not Joanne. It’s me. And if I’m being honest with you, I think the snap was my way of proving I wasn’t a shell. I’m sorry so many people had to die for me to make a point to myself.”
River Ducks
A mind cannot separate the subjective and objective when dealing with its own state of consciousness, Magnus.
Magnus rediscovered gems he thought were lost within Dortmund; satisfaction, reassured of his skill as a psychologist. The hallway didn’t appear never-ending, or midnight black, or capable of clenching its walls like a muscle. The horrors were at bay, as Magnus realised this foul place didn’t need to be to his torment. The case with Donnie became a lead that could impact the other cases remaining in the facility. His reasoning was if he solved one mystery, it was enough to set a path. But if truth be told, saving one would be enough to classify this job as a mission passed.
“Doc,” came a voice from behind; Carter, panting, back into the pleasures of the role he so treasured before the arrival of Magnus Paul.
“Feeling better?” said Magnus, allowing the man to put an arm on his shoulder as they walked towards the common room. Assisting the elderly.
“Oh yes, the liquid medication I’ve been taking has really done wonders.”
The pair entered the room smiling, but the other three guards weren’t reciprocating. Shirley, seated in a far corner, had her arms wrapped around her knees, which pressed against her breasts and pushed them up to her double-chin. Eyes glared. Walter and Brian were standing at the sink, their conversation halted by the intrusion.
“Where have you two been?” asked Walter, annoyed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the hand placed on Magnus’ shoulder, like a child seeing their mother affectionate with a new man.
“Mr. Wright,” said Magnus, simultaneously with Carter who said “Lonie.”
Shirley, despite no TV or radio or magazine, didn’t bother to contribute, preoccupied with her thoughts.
“Hear about the dead cabbie then, got you all spooked?” said Carter, addressing what must have been the elephant in the room, because Shirley was now all ears and Brian took a step forward, ready to assume his role as barrier once more. But even the sizeable guard looked confused, unsure of where to stand, who to mind, where the threat would arise. Carter, unfazed, went to the coffee machine and prepared his drink, alcohol-free. The light above flickered.
“How did the inmates know about it?” pressed Walter, eyeing Magnus, “Astrid, Donnie, Greyson; each knew the same detail. They didn’t tell me this, but each had that same reaction. Eyes that prove this isn’t new information. Eyes that prove they knew before I did.”
“Are you…blaming me?” shot Magnus, already dealing with enough heat from the police and the stares from Dortmund inhabitants. Shirley’s fists became red gloves with white buttons.
“It just strikes me as off, Mag. I’m not blaming you, but you’ve been under a shitload of stress lately, and these bastards can be tricky. If you’ve said anything, I just need to know. And if you know anything more…tell the cops, because I don’t want a murderer running out of this town.”
Carter chuckled as he poured three teaspoons of sugar into his black coffee.
“Just tell them the damn truth, Monsieur Paul.”
The satisfied mood found within a cell exploded, threatening to spill over the sides and cover the room in magma.
“I saw the doc here at the pub a few hours earlier. I was drinking off my sickness, truth be told, and he came up confessing the whole murder. Didn’t think it was the time or place, and I thought I’d be the last person to hear it, but God’s honest truth it’s what the doctor said. Got the cabbie to drive him to the outskirts, wanted a closer look at the ducks, clubbed him over the head so the prick wouldn’t follow him anymore. I mean, I get it. No privacy in a town like this? Fuck that, especially from the one man also from the big city. And the prostitute thing…that’s rough, toying with you like that.”
The room became exempted from time. Every member held their breath, waiting for an allowance to continue living. Magnus moved towards Carter, and in stepped Brian, bracing for contact. His curly hair, coiled, was ready to spring.
“That’s a lie…” said Magnus through clenched teeth. “I went to the pub and saw this man drunk off his arse. I mean…ducks? C’mon.”
“I was that drunk but now I’m completely fit for work? You’re a crack up, doc. They don’t make ’em like you anymore.”
“Shut up. You said yourself that someone was framing me, and now you’re bullshitting and saying that I did it? Fuck you, you old prick.”
Carter walked up to Shirley and grabbed her by the arm.
“Can I stay with you tonight, darling? The doc will target me next. I need to be around people I trust.”
His tone was part mocking, but it worked. Shirley shrugged her shoulders and sloshed spit in her mouth. The touch of Carter, accepted, had Walter concerned…and Magnus frozen.
“Shirley, you can’t believe that old nut, right?”
Carter acted insulted, unable to speak, before sipping from his coffee which was too hot, spilling some on Shirley’s hand.
She roared.
Enough to wake the neighbours.
In a place like this, the neighbours, they don’t sit idly by.
Nine voices screamed back in unison, as though an answer to an unasked question.
Magnus, with Brian preoccupied, walked over to Carter and pinned him against the wall, the mug falling away and creating further noise. The light flickered once, twice, and then off completely. With darkness as a veil, the doctor squeezed Carter’s throat. There was no fight back, no struggle, just a limp neck allowing fingers to dig in deeper, to squash old skin. The light jolted back on, causing Magnus to lessen his grip.
“Step away from Carter,” said Walter, Brian now too far away to be of use should Magnus choose to inflict damage. The knife sat waiting, if needed. Shirley’s war-torn face reminded Magnus of his sister, and he stepped away from Carter, bumping into Brian’s chest. Shirley’s time in the Asylum was a needle to the arm.
“Some doctor, strangling the guards, killing off cabbies,” continued Carter, shaking his head in disgust, “and carrying a knife into this place puts all our lives at risk.”
Walter’s head snapped to Magnus, a shade of hatred not yet seen, but it retreated like the light above.
“Let’s walk,” said Walter, his nose twitching above his moustache, sweat covering his forehead. Patches had formed under his armpits, but every uniform in the room matched this damp new look.
