by C. J. Sutton
Brian hesitated, unsure if to follow, but soon the two men were out of the social room, walking down the corridor in what felt like a release from a microwave rather than a hall of horrors. Here, Magnus was comforted…but the sense evaporated as Walter spoke.
“Leave this place, right now. I don’t mean Dortmund Asylum; I mean Dortmund, and I mean now.”
“You surely can’t believe that senile old–”
“Stop with the derogatory.”
“Fine,” said Magnus, holding up a hand in apology. “You can’t believe Carter, can you? I didn’t kill that taxi driver, or whatever he was, I swear it.”
“And the knife in the back of your pants?”
“Look, I was sick of feeling helpless, it calmed my mind and my nerve, but I don’t need it anymore. Before I came up here today, I remembered my purpose. My last meeting with Donnie…it was beneficial for the patient and for the cause. I’m back, Walt. I lost my way briefly, but call it acclimatisation. I’m fucking back, I promise you.”
Their feet pattered against the hard floor, echoing in the abyss.
“I know what this place can do, Mag. I know why you carry the knife. When I first saw Jasper, I wanted a gun. And he sensed this. One day, he tells me to remove a brick from the side of the wall…and there it is, a handgun, asking me to pick it up.”
Magnus stopped, turning to Walter, noticing the fear of a day long ago.
“What did you do with it?” asked Magnus, at ease that he wasn’t the only man tempted.
“I picked it up, and it would have been so easy to pull the trigger; the gun was fully loaded. But I took it out of the room, out of the Asylum and out of Dortmund. I tossed the gun into the river that your taxi driver died in, and never saw it again.”
Magnus felt regret and weakness, not able to even contemplate confiscating the master key Jasper had revealed to him. Perhaps it was a test by the lead inmate; one that Magnus failed, and Walter passed.
They stopped outside a cell door.
“You can’t bring your siblings back,” said Walter, reaching for the doorknob, “and these people, they aren’t them. The nine of Dortmund Asylum aren’t worth your life, your sanity. If you think you’re the first doctor to find trouble in these parts, you’re mistaken.”
Whispers from within found a passage through the steel door…and the mention of siblings unable to be saved triggered Magnus; for Walter didn’t know them, Walter didn’t know his mission, Walter didn’t know his past.
“Move aside,” said Magnus, pushing the guard away and entering the room, unaware of who lingered within.
Blink
There will always be insanity, Magnus. Maybe we are the most insane of all, because we should know better.
“I can do one more,” were the last words Magnus said to Walter before pivoting to realise what land he had entered without caution. The stench, the pounding fists against brick, the loud cursing…
“Fuck do you want white boy, know what I’m saying?”
Magnus forced the door shut, missing Walter’s foot by a centimetre, and balled his fists.
“I said, what the fuck do you want?”
Magnus withdrew the knife from his pants, staring at the blade as though unaware as to how it got there.
“Do you regret your actions, Mr. Chaos?”
He addressed the inmate but spoke to the blade.
“Fuck no,” he said, too fast, boxing the cell in hope it would smash apart, but all that broke was the skin on his knuckles, if there was any left.
“And given the chance, would you kill the white boy that put you here?”
“Fuck yes, know what I’m saying?”
“Well,” said Magnus, pacing, twirling the blade in his fingertips, aware the punches were slowing and the attention was on the weapon. The sun no longer reigned above, but in such a cell it didn’t matter, “I do know what you’re saying, and you’re right; Jasper is the reason you find yourself locked in a cell. Now, if you want my help for revenge, I need you to help me.”
Matthew Chaos, his dark skin a camouflage with no light to project his being, smirked, walking over to his doctor in an opposite style to their first meeting. So much had happened, so much had changed.
“I don’t need no white boy’s help, know what I’m saying? You white boys stick together, you get no help from the niggers. Every drop of my black blood on the walls of this prison is for the white men, for the white women, for the white children and the white bastards who call themselves authority. There is no white in me; I drink no milk, I eat no vanilla, I shit no bread. I would rather rot my black ass in this damn cell than do a deal with a white cheese-grating fuck, know what I’m saying?”
“Too bad,” said Magnus, unmoved. “I can put you in a room, one on one with Jasper James, without anyone to interfere. No shackles, no cameras, no records. I have this,” he continued, flashing the master key, “and this,” he said, tossing the knife from palm to palm, “you know about the dead cabbie, and my time with a prostitute, and probably my life story, correct?”
Chaos nodded, interest perked but still acting careless for a cause of his own.
“You don’t need to say a word, you don’t need to look at me, I just need you to blink when I say who tells you everything that occurs in Dortmund. No names. I’m going to say inmate, guard and other, in that order. Blink when I say the classification of the person giving you information.”
Matthew Chaos was wrestling with the idea, wincing, a battle raging within his mind, arguing whether to break a moral code for a white man, to have revenge against the white man who caused his ultimate downfall. The timeline didn’t match; Jasper had been in Dortmund Asylum for almost a decade, meaning Chaos was barely a teenager when he found himself caught. The key to connecting the jagged shards of this Asylum, was to figure out the answer to this puzzle. For if the tales being spun by the inmates were constant lies, or altered to cause them to remain here forever, then Magnus knew there was a puppeteer intent on keeping these inmates in this building until their necks snapped. Had all he read on Jasper been false?
“Ready?”
No response, so Magnus began.
“Inmate,” he said, counting to three, seeing no change in the facial expression of the man before him.
“Gua—”
Before he could finish, Walter Perch knocked on the door forcefully, startling them both. And as Magnus went to repeat the classification, the guard entered, shaded.
“Carter has to feed him, out, now.”
“Five more minutes, we’re making progress here.”
But the doctor was caught; the knife remained in his hand, but the key was small enough to rest within his clenched fist.
“The knife,” said Walter cautiously, and unprofessionally due to the audience before them. He held out his hand, aware of the vulnerability, hoping the doctor would act like a doctor before a patient. And in that moment Magnus knew any progress possible with Matthew Chaos was destroyed, for he was being spoken to like an inmate, and to surrender the knife meant to surrender his qualifications. Magnus would gladly have passed across the weapon to the guard…with nobody to witness his submission.
“Is mine,” said Magnus, completing the sentence and placing the knife back in its home. Chaos spat a wad of bloody spit towards Walter, providing Magnus with the chance to hide the master key as the lead guard dodged deftly, a move well mastered in the tight space. Rather than be escorted away from the inmate, Magnus left on his own accord and began marching down the corridor towards the exit, disrupting his general ritual of having a coffee in the social room with pen and paper in hand. Footsteps of a quicker speed, snow down a hill, eliminated the sound of heavy breathing coming from The Reaper’s cell.
“Here,” said Magnus, handing over the contraband, “the reason I put it away was to save face. Don’t ever belittle me in front of a patient again. If you are the General here, use your brain. I didn’t kill the taxi driver. I didn’t confess shit to Carter. And I
sure as shit won’t be intimidated by anyone wearing a uniform.”
“Take a day or so off, at least. Let the heat settle.”
“No,” laughed Magnus. “When there’s heat, it’s because you’re rubbing two things together that can cause a spark. I’m on to something that no doctor or guard has been able to find in all the years this hell has been operating. Not even you. So take the knife and toss it in the lake. I’m not going anywhere until my job is complete; that includes finding the fucker who tells those bastards everything they know. And if it’s you, or Brian, or Carter, or Shirley, I won’t be going to the cops; that will form part of my report to say these people are sane.”
Suck
Much can be made from the study of stars, Magnus. Staring at a bulb of light, analysing its position and strength…waiting for it to explode.
As Magnus evacuated the building, an onrush of brisk night air tendrils scraped against his body, a cleansing no beer or woman could provide. With stiff legs and a bruised mind, a walk down the hill of Dortmund appealed…but the police car cruised upward with lights on to ruin the natural sight, ready to deliver the doctor to his doorstep. Magnus wondered if it was for his safety, or for the safety of the town. The white and blue commodore pulled up horizontal to his position, blocking the road down.
“Evening officers, what brings you up here on such a fine night?”
“Get in.”
Magnus knew no argument would see him free of their presence, so he entered the back of the car and closed the door hard enough for the open window to shake in threat.
“What have I told you about bringing a car up here?” he said, more comfortable in prodding the police than cowering beneath their watchful gaze. The moon, half hidden behind cloud, peered at the three men accusingly.
“We’re authority, we have guns, we’re trained; we’re fine.”
“I’m sure,” he poked, “one of the inmates knows how to operate a wide array of firearms. He killed half a club. Another can crush your skull with his bare hands. And there’s this seductress who would be in your car screaming down the hill shooting your handguns out the window like Yosemite Sam while you stand at the top with your dick in your hands. If taking this place and the people within for granted is representative of your training, I applaud whoever taught such smarts.”
He was getting at them, more than usual. Good Cop, wearing sunglasses at night like a song well known, pretended to focus on the winding gravel road, rocks kicking up and smashing against the car surface, a metal band urging attention. Bad Cop, chewing a toothpick and revealing missing teeth, had been reeled in.
“You think a few nutcases can outsmart and outmuscle the police?” he said, “when it was us who carted their asses up there? If they are just so powerful, why didn’t they steal our guns or cars when we dropped them off?”
“They were shackled,” said Magnus, focused on Dortmund, no light illuminating the streets, no sign of life. A ghost town overlooked by devils.
“Unlike you, I don’t believe in mental illness as an excuse to kill someone. You see, if we find out that you killed your taxi driver, you’ll likely plead insanity because of your knowledge of the system and your time with criminals. But—”
Magnus slammed an open hand hard against the cop’s headrest, making the car jolt as the cop lost his toothpick.
“If you think being up there is better than jail, you’re completely fucked. If this town ever truly needs protection, I sincerely hope there’s better than the pair of you. Because if you’re all that stands between the town and utter anarchy, we’re all dead.”
The tension in the car blurred the scenes outside, as they slowly pulled up to the hotel that lingered still, nothing signifying its operating existence. Neither cop spoke, nor did they unlock the door. All men waited, too proud to request anything of the other. Finally, Magnus checked the handle to see if he could leave; it hadn’t been locked at any point in the drive.
“What are you waiting for? I’m not sucking your dick. You’ll have to go see your friend for that.”
Despite the quip, Magnus was reminded of Lee and knew he’d have to talk to her; for she held more information than she let on, and these police, among others, had questioned her about the night they spent together, the night the driver was killed outside Dortmund. Magnus suspected she was avoiding him, afraid, unsure if he was capable of death, or capable of such secrecy. And despite her profession, Magnus didn’t want Lee to think of him as a monster that dwells in the dungeons of decay. As he walked the stairs, rising toward his room, the thought of Lee’s potential fear towards a doctor meant to cure the sick kept him going upwards, away from his room and towards hers. There was no taxi driver urging him forward, and no need for a release. Magnus wanted to converse with a woman he was deeply attracted to, and to extract any information she held that could clear his name before the cops found an excuse to shoot him down, or run him over in the street through suspicion of a repeat offense.
Magnus knocked three times, nothing. The faint sounds of soft pop crept through the bottom of the door, soothing tunes the only presence. Trying the knob, the door was locked…but the doctor needed to see her, now. The thought of going to his lonely room and dwelling on all that had happened, all that is and all that will come to pass was too much to bear.
He knocked again, louder, the rapping hurting his knuckles. Magnus glanced at his hand; the skin over one knuckle had cracked, blood dripping to the carpet. As he looked downward, he remembered the master key sitting patiently in his pocket…and he wondered…
Click.
The master key unlocked the door.
Magnus pushed forward, cautious; habit.
Anger rose.
Lee, busy on her knees, had a customer.
Having not heard the intrusion, she moved her head back and forth as an older man sat on the bed, eyes closed in delight, receiving the services of the prostitute. The sucking noise…blocked out the soft music. It absorbed into Magnus and removed the thoughts of Jasper and the taxi driver and Carter and Walter and Donnie; an eraser that evaporated to leave only this scene before him, and he couldn’t look away.
“Faster,” said the man, placing a hand on Lee’s head and pushing her deeper. Magnus wished he had his knife.
Lee choked, gasped for air.
Magnus rushed forward to save her…but tripped on carpet, and fell face first onto velvet ground.
Lee stopped her action, mouth still agape as she stared at the intruder.
“What the fuck? Don’t you lock the door? What’s this weird looking fuck doing in here? Get out. Can’t a man get his dick sucked in peace?”
The man, 50s, receding above but with a beard that made up for the retreat, had blue jeans around his ankles and a blue shirt unbuttoned to reveal coarse hair peeking into the room. On the floor Magnus saw a gun…and inches to the right, a badge; cop.
“Wait a minute…you’re the man they’re talking about…the killer.”
Three parties stared at the gun…and the cop leaped for it. But with his feet sacrificed for pleasure within pants, he couldn’t make the distance. Lee did not hesitate, and soon held the metallic weaponry in both hands like a pilgrim worshipping a god.
“Give me the gun,” said the cop, hand raised, inching forward, power slipping. Lee, lost, her eyes so innocent despite her role, pleaded with Magnus; I’m sorry, but this is my job, don’t hold it against me. Magnus found his tongue first.
“So, wait a minute. Cops hound me for coming to you, but cops also come to you. Cops hound me for being a killer…so one would assume…”
“You sayin’ we did it?”
“You…them…I don’t know. I don’t care. I was with Lee that night. Tell him.”
As she re-opened her mouth to speak, the cop ripped the gun free and pointed it at Magnus, finger shaking against the trigger. Her blonde hair stuck against the effort left on her doll-like face, a reminder of the deed she performed, ocean salt into a growing wound. Magnus kn
ew; they both feared him, cop and woman, waiting for the big city outsider to make a telling move.
“You know what?” said the cop, a sly smile growing on his hair-etched face. “You like this girl, don’t you? You like a slut. Well, I’m a paying customer…so I’m going to get my full service. And seeing as though you broke in here, you’ll be watching the conclusion.”
Magnus turned to run, but heard the click of the safety being released on the gun. He stared at Lee, still attracted to her beauty, aware of a life that could never exist. All hope of pulling her away from prostitution, saving her from the bind, evaporated. For it was never about the information; he realised it was always about Lee – the attraction, the night they spent together that made him feel decent again. But seeing the cop receiving the same goods ruined the pipedream. For Magnus detached himself from Lee, from care, from saving this glamourous girl in a dull setting. She was no Disney princess. Here was a tradeswoman, and her trade was making men explode.
“Go on,” said Magnus, as though shooing a fly away from a meal once wanted, “finish off this prick so I can go to bed. I have work in the morning.”
“But Mag—”
Magnus shrugged his shoulders.
“I came here for round two, but you have a client. My mistake. Now, he’s a paying customer. Do your duty, so I can rest to do mine.”
Tears rolled down her blotchy cheeks, eyes of glass ready to be broken into pieces, hope diminishing, her saviour no longer intrigued.
“Hurry up,” he said, growing impatient. But as she turned, the cop went limp. Still holding the gun in one hand, he pulled up his jeans, buttoned his shirt and reapplied his badge.
“Talk about a downer. I’ll take my money back thanks.”
Lee handed him a wad of notes, and pushed her breasts back inside her bra. Up until that moment, Magnus hadn’t noticed they were out.
“I’ve got my eye on you,” said the cop as he left the room, leaving the door open. Magnus went to follow.
