The Night of the Mosquito

by Max China

  Wolfe stepped into his line of sight and grinned. ‘That was some fall you took, big man. You should’ve worn a seatbelt.’ He dusted off his newly acquired uniform. ‘One good thing about you and me, we’re about the same size.’

  The effort of drawing breath contorted Chisolm’s features. ‘You won’t get far,’ he gasped, ‘before they catch you, Wolfe.’

  He stared up at the cliff face. ‘Is that right? Maybe. But I’m going further than you.’ He knelt by the stricken man, grabbed his head and ran his tongue along his chin, savouring the taste. ‘You know something?’ Wolfe licked his lips. ‘You’re sweeter than you look.’

  For the first time, Chisolm seemed to comprehend the nightmare he faced. Wide-eyed fear and apprehension spurring him, he rocked violently against his bonds in a futile effort to break free.

  Wolfe stood and unzipped his fly. His cock sprang out. Hard. Proud. Expectant.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Chisolm croaked, pain no longer of primary concern. ‘I’m a married man, got kids. You don’t want to do that. I know you don’t.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about me. You see this?’ he said, his hand wrapped around the thick stalk. ‘This is what it does to me, and it won’t go away until it’s satisfied.’

  ‘C’mon, Wolfe, you’d best be going.’ Chisolm stared at the ground, afraid to meet the other man’s gaze.

  ‘You have no idea how this makes me feel,’ Wolfe whispered, moving closer.

  ‘The police will be here any minute,’ Chisolm wheezed. ‘The transponder will bring them.’

  ‘Right now, do you think I care?’ he said, stroking himself.

  ‘I’d sooner you killed me than do that.’

  Wolfe laughed, then growled, ‘You think I want to drill you? What kind of a man do you think I am, huh?’ He shook his head in disapproval, straddled the other man’s lap, twisted his head to one side, and whispered, ‘Shush.’ Relishing Chisolm’s desperate screams, he mumbled, ‘Sing for me, baby,’ and bit into the flesh of his victim’s neck.

  At the water’s edge, fully clothed, Wolfe eased himself into the river. It was colder than he’d expected; a shiver of delight ran through him. He rinsed his face and hands, scrubbing the clothes he wore, fully expecting a helicopter to appear overhead, or the sound of dogs and men at any moment. He didn’t care about losing his chance of escape. There were limits to how much a man of his size could disguise himself. Whatever happened, freedom would be short-lived. Might as well make the most of it.

  Clambering out, he crossed the rocky shoreline, unsure which direction to take. In the distance he heard bells tolling. He turned and loped off along the valley, making for the sound.

  Chapter 9

  Copse Hall. 8:48 a.m.

  Executive director Fleur Tadier had rushed into the ladies’ washroom and spent the last ten minutes on her knees, dry-retching until finally, she’d purged herself of the breakfast she’d eaten. She hadn’t paid much attention when the lights went out, but ten seconds later when the extract fan whirred to a halt, it registered with her that something was wrong. It could be something to do with the glitch in the computer system.

  In the relative gloom of the cubicle, she pressed the flush button and then unlocked the door. She glanced up at the sun pipe. At least someone had thought to put one of those in. The daylight transference into the room wasn’t great, but enough for her to admonish her reflection in the mirror. Two weeks into the job and you’re pregnant, eh? Fleur forced a smile. It came back grimmer than she’d intended. She ran the tap, and cupping cold water into her hands, splashed some onto her face and then pulled a length of paper towelling from the dispenser. Drying herself, she checked her watch. Best get going. The IT contractors will be turning up at Reception asking for me any moment now.

  The door swung open. An inmate dressed in a blue treatment gown stepped inside, brandishing a long, flat-headed screwdriver. It was bloodstained. His eyes darted from hers to the implement and back again. He put it out of sight behind his back. His tone unconvincing, he said, ‘Don’t worry, miss, we won’t hurt you.’

  Stay calm. Fleur moved her hand discreetly and activated her personal attack alarm. Although trained to a high degree, she’d never found herself in such a perilous situation before. ‘What’s your name?’ she said.

  ‘My name is Fisher.’

  ‘Go and wait outside, Fisher. You shouldn’t be in here.’ Fleur fought to keep a rising sense of panic from her voice. ‘Where’s your escort?’

  A gleeful look spread over his face. ‘They’re dead.’

  A rush of bile caught in her throat. She choked it down. Help will be here any second.

  Fisher thrust the tip of the screwdriver to within an inch of her left eye. ‘Get your fucking clothes off.’ He drooled in expectation. ‘Go on. What the fuck you waiting for? DO IT.’

  Her hands trembling, Fleur began to undress.

  Chapter 10

  Copse Hall. 9:07 a.m.

  Rubenstein sharpened a pencil over a sheet of paper on his desk, testing the point for sharpness several times before he was satisfied with it. ‘It shouldn’t take long to get everything switched back on,’ he said, tipping the shavings into the wastepaper bin beside his chair.

  ‘It might be an appropriate time to discuss some of the things I wrote on the list I gave you.’

  ‘That you are to be his primary carer? Without question.’

  ‘And his medication?’

  Rubenstein laid the pencil down on the blotter in front of him. ‘You know, Kotlas, a big part of our funding comes from drug companies. It’s an important part of our development to test new products—’

  ‘Not on Wolfe. Not unless I test them first.’

  ‘That’s admirable, Kotlas, but impractical. I need you fully functional and fit to carry out your duties.’

  ‘Have you ever tried any of the drugs we dispense as a matter of course?’

  ‘No.’ Rubenstein frowned. ‘Have you?’

  ‘In the interest of further understanding, yes, I have.’

  Rubenstein nodded. ‘We’re about proof and experimentation, but our immediate aim, Kotlas, is not to cure these patients.’ The creases on his forehead deepened. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? Our aim is to discover what factors created them. If we can isolate and trace the triggers far enough back, it’s possible we can take pre-emptive steps, in the earliest stages of development.’

  ‘You do mean mental development?’ Rubinstein’s fixed expression told him otherwise. ‘Surely not in the womb?’

  ‘Why not? That’s where it all begins.’

  ‘Termination will be next.’

  ‘In the case of Wolfe and the others we have here, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  Rubenstein sighed. ‘On what grounds? Traditionalism? You know how technology has come along, Kotlas? What we could only dream of doing just a few years ago, is now a reality. We have smart drugs which we can use to target individual areas of the brain. We can modify how cells behave.’

  ‘I understand all that, Rubenstein. However, in your enthusiasm, you forget something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’re human.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Rubenstein said, as if the thought had never left his mind. ‘And we err. Let’s agree to differ for a moment. Also on your list was that you wanted to pursue an avenue of investigation you’d already started. I assume you refer to the Ripper thing.’

  ‘I do indeed,’ Kotlas said. ‘You spoke of preventative steps being taken early to avoid the propensity for violence or whatever, to iron it out?’

  Rubenstein raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s this, an about turn?’

  ‘Not at all. I’d like to trace Wolfe’s lineage, in the light of what I found out.’

  ‘Wait. What possible benefit can that have for this establishment?’

  ‘Imagine, since others have tried and failed, if we were to discover the true identity of Jack the Ripper.’
>
  Rubenstein sat forwards. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d imagine the drugs companies would fall over themselves for a share of the publicity.’

  ‘We’re a secret establishment. We couldn’t go public. As far as the world outside is concerned, these premises are part of the Ministry of Defence.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Kotlas shook his head. ‘God, can you imagine how the neighbours would react if they learned the truth about this place?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Kotlas.’

  ‘Let me continue my experiment with Wolfe. He has lucid dreams. I’ve been working to find out what it is his mind is churning up. If we give him drugs, we might lose not only a key insight into how his mind works, but also the chance to tap into his memories.’

  ‘Have you made any progress with that side of it?’

  ‘I’ve discovered that his father forced his mother to take psychotropic drugs while she was pregnant.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘So you see, potentially, it isn’t just about DNA,’ the younger man said. ‘But the taste for blood—’

  Rubenstein raised a hand. ‘Hold on. The assumption the Ripper ate body parts isn’t proven.’

  ‘I know that. Let me just ask you this. Did you ever come across a Dr Ryan?’

  ‘In my age group, there are few who aren’t aware of him. But you, how did you get to hear about him?’

  Kotlas ignored the question and continued. ‘Wasn’t he discredited?’

  ‘Not officially,’ Rubenstein said. ‘Interesting you should bring him up. His early studies in chemical imbalance and the effects on children were quite an eye-opener, but I have to say, I always considered him on the fringe.’

  ‘Because he believed in the supernatural order of things?’

  ‘Frankly, yes.’

  ‘And yet he got results. You only have to look at what he did achieve. He understood the link between these imbalances and adolescent suicide, perhaps better than anyone.’

  ‘We’ve gone off topic, somewhat,’ Rubenstein said, shifting in his chair. He craned his neck to look out of the window.

  ‘Not really,’ Kotlas said. ‘We were talking about genetic makeup and a taste for blood. What if something in the blood addresses the imbalance, and makes Wolfe feel better?’

  Rubenstein raised his eyebrows, considering the point. ‘Could be. Or maybe he’s just plain evil.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Wolfe should have been here by now.’

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder if the power problem isn’t just confined to here,’ Kotlas said.

  ‘Yes, I think you may be right,’ Rubenstein said. He stood, walked to the window, and stared down into the courtyard. ‘People are running around in the rain. I don’t like it. Not one bit.’

  The door handle rattled up and down. Startled, they exchanged apprehensive looks.

  A sharp rap on the door followed.

  ‘Whoever you are in there,’ a muffled voice cried, ‘you’re to come out immediately. The building’s on fire.’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Kotlas whispered.

  ‘There’s no need to whisper. No one outside can hear us. See who it is,’ Rubenstein said. ‘But don’t open the door.’

  Chapter 11

  Copse Hall. 9:19 a.m.

  Kotlas pressed an ear to the door. The sounds reminiscent of being submerged underwater, he slowly rotated the control knob for the Venetian blind set between two skins of glass. The blades parted, revealing a man’s face pressed up against the vision panel. ‘There you are,’ he shouted, his voice muted. ‘If you don’t want to die, you’d better come with me right away.’

  ‘What do you mean, die?’ Kotlas yelled.

  The man turned away to face away from him.

  ‘Don’t open the door,’ Rubenstein shouted. Getting up from his desk, he crossed the room to peer through the glazed slot. ‘I can’t see his face. There’s something going on I don’t like.’

  Kotlas listened intently. ‘I can’t hear what he’s saying.’ His hand hovered over the locking snib. ‘Block the door with your foot, Rubenstein, if you’re concerned. There are only a few inmates in here and how many staff? You didn’t say. I don’t believe anyone could get out and still be on the loose.’

  ‘I think we should sit tight.’

  ‘What are you afraid of? Exactly who else is locked up behind these walls?’

  ‘We needn’t concern ourselves with that at this moment.’

  ‘Really? I’m not so sure. We need to find out what’s happening. This problem with communications and power failure is widespread, not just local.’ He gestured at the window. ‘I haven’t seen a single aircraft. Before the cut, I noticed one every few minutes.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Rubenstein said, and then moved, taking position just to the right of his colleague, foot cocked, ready, hands flat, pressing against the door. ‘Okay, do it.’

  Kotlas quietly unlocked the snib, and opened the door a crack. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  The other man wheeled around. ‘Dennis. That’s my name. It’s all right; I’m a cleaner here.’

  ‘No uniform?’ Kotlas ran his eyes over the boiler suit he wore.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ Dennis said. ‘Here, only the guards wear uniforms.’

  Kotlas glanced at Rubenstein for confirmation. The older man nodded. ‘Where’s everyone else?’ Kotlas asked.

  ‘Someone’s escaped,’ Dennis said.

  ‘We heard. So where is everyone else?’

  Dennis shrugged, smiling uneasily. ‘Downstairs.’

  Reading the other man’s thin face, Kotlas concluded he was of a simple disposition. ‘You say there’s a fire?’

  ‘There is,’ Dennis nodded. ‘Someone escaped and started it.’

  ‘Shut the door,’ Rubenstein whispered, leaning, directing his weight through his hands.

  Kotlas joined him in pushing. Stuck. He looked down. The cleaner had his foot against it.

  ‘Come out and look.’ He gestured, crooking a finger. ‘Come on. You can’t see it from in there.’

  ‘I can’t smell anything. Can’t hear any urgent shouts. Who’s dealing with it?’

  Dennis’ blank expression turned to one of wicked glee. ‘I am. I’m getting you out before it spreads to your office.’

  Kotlas shouldered the door. ‘Dennis, you have to move your foot. We can’t come out unless the door’s fully shut, and then opened again. It’s the way the mechanism works.’

  ‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you. Well, let me tell you something. If I don’t get you two downstairs, people are going to start dying. We already have that Frenchwoman naked, tied up like a starfish on the table-tennis table. She’s embarrassed, but so far, she’s okay. We’ve got everyone except you. So come on, boys, come on down. Join the party.’

  ‘Your foot?’

  Dennis grabbed the door, his shoulder slamming once, twice against it, forcing it open another few inches.

  ‘Shut it!’ Rubenstein cried, twisting around, his back buttressed against it using his legs for maximum leverage.

  Dennis’ foot denied closure. If he felt any pain, he gave no sign. The fingers of his other hand, white-knuckled, tightened around the frame. His face, a bony masked wedge, pushed into the gap, forcing it wider.

  ‘He’s too strong. I can’t hold him off,’ Kotlas wailed.

  Determined, the man twisted his head, scraping both sides until his face poked clear into the room.

  ‘Christ. It’s Bales.’ Rubenstein snatched a Bic from his shirt pocket and leapt into position, levelling the biro at the inmate’s eye. ‘Out! Or I swear I’ll blind you.’

  Bales crashed forward, knocking Kotlas aside.

  Rubenstein jabbed with the pen and missed. He stepped back, alarmed at the ease with which the patient had forced his way through.

  Hands flailing, Bales grabbed at Rubenstein as he pitched forward into the room, followed by the substantial form of a uniformed guard wielding
a baton. He clubbed the back of the inmate’s head.

  ‘Edwards!’ Rubenstein’s tongue flicked the dry corners of his mouth. ‘Are we glad to see you. How did he get out?’

  ‘They’re all out.’ The guard squatted by the prone body and checked his neck for a pulse. ‘They’re busy playing games downstairs with the hostages they’ve taken. In the confusion between shifts swapping over – night leaving, day arriving – and the power cut, not sure exactly how. Fisher got out and threatened to kill a female hostage. She’s still alive, but for how much longer?’

  ‘Fleur Tadier?’

  He nodded, gazing at the dark pool of blood spreading from the smashed skull. ‘Well, this one’s dead. One less horror to deal with.’

  ‘How many hostages?’ Kotlas asked.

  ‘We’re the only ones free, apart from Barker. I left him holed up in the Control Room.’

  ‘Thank God we’ll have reinforcements arriving in a while,’ Rubenstein said.

  Edwards frowned. ‘How so?’

  ‘A ten-guard detail went out to collect another guest. They’ll be back any time now.’

  ‘Ten guards? No wonder we were short,’ Edwards said. ‘Did you say guest?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Not guests?’

  ‘No. Singular is what I meant.’

  ‘As if this lot isn’t bad enough,’ he said, fixing Rubenstein with a glare. ‘Who the fuck is it we’ve got coming here now?’

  ‘My name’s Kotlas,’ the young psychiatrist said, holding out a hand. The guard swiped it with his fingertips, avoiding prolonged contact. ‘What’s the plan, Edwards?’ Kotlas said.

  The guard met his gaze. ‘To stay alive.’ He jerked a thumb at Bales. ‘They might miss him, but somehow I doubt it. One of my colleagues had a soft spot for Fleur; he caved in when he saw what that vicious bastard Fisher was doing to her, what he said he’d go on to do. He promised to let her go, as long as the rest of them were released. Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there.’