Archanum Manor

by Michael Pierce

  Mr. Gordon caught him when he looked like he was about to pass out, but Logan vehemently shoved him away and screamed incoherently, rocketing back to life.

  Logan’s eyes grew wide, pupils dilated, and his hands shot up like he was fighting off imaginary enemies. He whirled around, backing into Matilda and jumped from her like he’d been burned.

  “GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM ME!” Logan screamed, straining his voice with every word. “GET THEM OFF ME!”

  “What did you give him?” I asked grabbing Alexandria’s lab coat as she put some distance between her and Logan’s increasingly erratic behavior.

  She pulled me into her body and wrapped an arm around my neck. I elbowed her in the ribs, but she didn’t loosen her hold.

  Mr. Gordon tackled Logan, struggling to restrain him.

  Matilda raised a hand and the light on the retractable arm in the center of the room lunged for Alexandria like a python, the bright eye whacking her on the back of the head. Her chin collided with the top of my head.

  While she suffered from a momentary distraction, I broke free from her headlock.

  Desiree whimpered in the background.

  The retractable arm reached for Alexandria again, wrapped itself around her neck, and pulled her up toward the ceiling.

  “GET OFF OF ME!” Logan screamed, his body bucking like a wild animal in Mr. Gordon’s arms.

  All the medical instruments from a metal cart by Desiree lifted off the tray and soared through the air toward Matilda. Scalpels, scissors, clamps, syringes—all honing in on Matilda like a sharp swarm of bees.

  While Matilda dodged and redirected the incoming projectiles, Alexandria slowly dropped toward the floor, struggling to get her feet back on solid ground.

  After a few seconds, Matilda was upright and focused again—now back in full control of the light on the retractable arm. Alexandria was lifted higher, her fingers clawing into the metal noose around her neck.

  Matilda materialized a pistol in each hand and unmercifully emptied both clips into Alexandria’s dangling body—or into at least where Alexandria’s body had been a second earlier.

  Before a single bullet reached her, Alexandria swung her body forward and planted both feet on the ceiling. From there she ripped the light’s retractable arm from its mount and freed herself from its dying grip.

  The first of the bullets hit where Alexandria had been, and as Matilda adjusted her aim, Alexandria sprinted across the ceiling, pounced to the center of the wall, and landed in a three-point crouch back on the floor.

  Matilda lost her grip on the gun in her left hand, which found its way to Alexandria. Both women were back to a stalemate, each gun pointed at the other’s head.

  “Come on, Matilda,” Alexandria said. “You and I are better than this, which is why we shouldn’t be enemies. We should be working together again—like the good ol’ days. Are we just going to keep killing each other for eternity?”

  “I’ll take it one kill at a time,” Matilda said. “Eternity’s a long time. What did you give him?” Matilda gestured by bobbing her head to the side, not wanting to take her eyes off Alexandria.

  “Logan? Just a hallucinogen of my own design,” she said. “He’s being attacked by a legion of daediems. I don’t remember what your experience was like when Kafka sent you to the other side, but mine wasn’t too pleasant. They were like a murder of crows trying to peck me to shreds.”

  “How long do we need to listen to his screaming?”

  “I can put him back in his room and we can get back to killing each other like civilized people.”

  “How long until it’s out of his system?” Matilda was growing impatient.

  “Two to three hours,” Alexandria answered.

  Matilda glanced over at Logan writhing in pain and terror atop Mr. Gordon. Suddenly, Logan went limp and quiet, his eyes rolling back in his head. Mr. Gordon pushed Logan’s dead weight off of himself, careful not to let his head slam against the tile floor.

  Four orderlies in black scrubs rushed into the room while Mr. Gordon was still getting to his feet.

  One grabbed Logan by the arms and began dragging him toward the door. Mr. Gordon caught the orderly by the wrist, which caused him to collapse under Logan, both of them seemingly in the same state of sound sleep.

  Two orderlies charged at me, but I had my gun out with the barrel oscillating between the both of them before they were within arm’s reach and they stopped their advance with squeaky skids of rubber soles against tile.

  The fourth orderly went for Desiree. She stood and gave herself up instantly, no fight in her whatsoever.

  I peered past my two orderlies as Desiree was escorted out of the room.

  “Stop!” I yelled, now moving the barrel of my gun between three orderlies.

  Mr. Gordon promptly blocked the door. This allowed me to focus on my two immediate orderlies again.

  “Back up,” I ordered.

  The two orderlies looked at each other like they were devising a plan of attack. When I realized they weren’t going to back down without drastic action, I fired, aimed at the one on the left—but before the bullet ripped through his gut, it froze in midair, inches away from his body.

  I hadn’t stopped the bullet—then my gun fell to pieces as it instantaneously disassembled itself in my hand. The bullet fell to the ground with the separated individual parts of what once was my gun.

  The orderly put his hands on his stomach and breathed out a long sigh of relief, faltering backwards a few steps as he tried to steady his balance.

  I looked up to Alexandria just in time to see the anchored chair ripped from its mounts and fly straight at her back. She kept facing Matilda, knowing something was coming and I saw her fade, intending to let whatever was approaching sail through her and crash into Matilda. The chair entered the space where her translucent body stood, but instead of continuing through, stopped in midair.

  Alexandria dropped her body fully back into the current plane only to find most of the space already occupied—morphing into one of the tortured souls I witnessed during our short tour through Doria.

  Alexandria screamed as she became aware that she was fused with the large leather chair, which fell to the ground once it was no longer being held up by Matilda’s energy, forcing Alexandria’s helpless body down with it.

  Everyone still conscious in the room stopped at the sight and sound of a Lorne in need. An orderly still held Desiree’s arm. Mr. Gordon still barricaded the door with his body. The two orderlies who’d confronted me gazed in horror upon their leader transformed into a living chair.

  Alexandria’s body faced the ceiling like an overturned turtle with a leather and metal shell, her limbs splayed out lifelessly behind her. Her cries died down as she gained some sense of composure and dignity. She took a pained breath before speaking.

  “You’re no better,” she said hoarsely, blood escaping with the words from her lips.

  “I am today,” Matilda said, walking up to her incapacitated sister. “And when you come back, all that you’ve built will be gone—none of this will still be standing.”

  “That’s okay.” She coughed up more blood. “It’s only time. I’ve got plenty. I can’t say the same for you once Kafka’s done with you and the rest of his black sheep. But if you are still here when I get back...” Her voice trailed off.

  Matilda stood over her. Alexandria lifted her head as much as her fused skin to the chair would allow.

  “Get this over with, sister, so I can hurry up and jump back into the game.” Alexandria spat, more blood than phlegm.

  Matilda lifted one of her guns and shot Alexandria between the eyes.

  Desiree screamed and turned away, shielding her eyes. The orderly standing beside her let go of her arm.

  For me, this was one more horrific scene in a long broken stream of horrific scenes. One more dead body to add to the pile. I wanted to be the one to do it, but the result remained the same. The figurehead of the Lorne family hospita
ls was gone—for a little while—and only time would tell what she’d build upon her return.

  “I suggest you all leave this hospital,” Matilda said, speaking to the orderlies without turning to face them. Her eyes were still glued to Alexandria. “I don’t know how long my generosity will last.”

  The three conscious orderlies in black scrubs headed for the door and Mr. Gordon helped up the one he’d put to sleep.

  “Desiree, wait,” I said grabbing her attention before she could leave with the orderlies.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I—I need more medication. This can’t be real…my dreams are invading my life again…”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that and I’m sorry you don’t currently understand, but we’ll make it right,” I promised. “Matilda, you can help her, right?”

  Desiree turned to run out of the room with Matilda’s advance, but Mr. Gordon caught her by the arm.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  “Calm down,” Matilda said in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Desiree tensed up, but didn’t try to make another run for it. She retracted when Matilda reached for her head with both hands, but Matilda moved slowly to lessen her anxiety. With a hand at each temple, Matilda closed her eyes, quietly exploring Desiree’s mind.

  After a long moment, Matilda let go and said, “Any change?”

  Desiree shook her head.

  “Do you know who any of us are?”

  Desiree continued to shake her head.

  “She has to be in there,” I said impatiently.

  “I’m trying,” Matilda responded and placed her hands up to Desiree’s head again. “Clear your mind and allow the lost memories to return. Alexandria didn’t take them from you. She locked them away. If you can help me find the room, then I can unlock the door. Show me the way.”

  Matilda bowed her head with her eyes once again closed, but Desiree’s eyes darted around the room, coming back to meet mine on several occasions—but she certainly wasn’t looking at me the way she used to.

  After a long uncomfortable silence, Matilda released Desiree again and stepped away from her.

  Desiree’s beautiful emerald eyes looked the same, vacant of any remembrance of who we were. “There’s no change, is there?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  When she shook her head this time, she looked almost as sad as I felt, like she wanted to remember me.

  “Well at least she’s safe,” Mr. Gordon said. “Her mother will be so relieved.”

  “This is just another one of my delusions,” Desiree whispered to herself. “This isn’t real. Dr. Lorne is all right.”

  “We’re not going to hurt you.” Mr. Gordon took a breath before continuing. “Before you lost your memory, you were one of us. Dr. Lorne is the one who’s hurt a lot of people.”

  “No,” she said and closed her eyes. “She helped people. I’m okay. It’s all in my head.”

  “Matilda, if we take her to the camp, can you try again? Or do you think Nicholae can help?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” Matilda said. “The other thing that would help would be to find her daediem.”

  I thought back to my regained memories—which flowed back to me after I fused with Nero, my daediem (or mirror).

  “I’m not going with you—any of you,” Desiree said. “Dr. Lorne said I can go home. She called my mother. She’s on her way.”

  “No, Desiree,” I said. “Dr. Lorne is dead. Your mother is not coming. She has no idea you are here. You need to come with us.”

  Desiree dropped to the floor and hugged her knees. She buried her face in her knees, trying to shield herself from her present reality.

  A number of orderlies and nurses ran past the door.

  “It’s time to go,” Matilda said to Mr. Gordon and then turned to me. “You get to carry her.” She bent down and touched Desiree’s wrist, and she instantly lost consciousness, falling into a peaceful slumber like Logan had a few minutes earlier.

  I ran to her side as she tipped sideways, caught and cradled her head before it hit the cold tile floor.

  Without her eyeing me suspiciously, she now looked like the Desiree I’d fallen in love with, and the girl who loved me back. I brushed some hair out of her face and kissed her warm cheek.

  “I won’t give up on you,” I whispered in her ear. I gave her one more kiss before scooping her up in my arms. “Are we going to look for her mirror?”

  “We can’t leave all these prisoners here,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “I suppose not,” Matilda said, seemingly resentful of Mr. Gordon’s altruistic statement.

  More hospital personnel ran past the door franticly discussing protocol.

  Under Matilda’s instruction, Mr. Gordon and I worked together to prop Desiree and Logan against the wall, leaning in toward each other like two passed out friends after a long night of drinking.

  “They’ll be safe here while we clear out the rest of the hospital,” Matilda said, ushering us out of the room.

  “What if someone—” I began, but she’d anticipated my question.

  “No one’s going to come in,” she said, closing the door behind us. When she released her hand from the doorknob, the whole door vanished, leaving behind one continuous wall. The only marker that a door had once been there was the wall plaque for the room: OP RM 12.

  The three patients Mr. Gordon and Logan had saved from the first operating room were lying on the hallway floor.

  Mr. Gordon bent down and felt for a pulse on each sedated patient. “They’re fine,” he said.

  The hallway was quiet after a couple of nurses turned a far corner, giving the space an eerily haunted feeling.

  “What first?” I asked.

  “Start opening doors and letting people out,” Matilda replied. She approached the first door with a small rectangular viewing window and opened it like it was unlocked and easily coaxed two twin middle-aged women into the hallway. Matilda instructed the woman with the metal contraption secured to her leg to lift her pant leg. She bent down and pulled the contraption through the woman’s leg—gauze, flesh, and bone—and discarded the lockdown device on the hallway floor. The woman’s leg was left merely wrapped in a white bandage with four red halos. “Wait here if you want help leaving.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, attempting to give her rescuer a hug, but Matilda backed away. So the woman reverted to the open arms of her mirror.

  As quickly as she’d freed the occupants of that room, Matilda was off to the next. Mr. Gordon started down the hallway in the opposite direction.

  I went to the next free door and tried the knob, but it was locked. I tried opening it despite the lock, but it wouldn’t open. I went back to what I knew and forgot about trying to open the door, and instead entered the room through the door.

  Inside was a man with graying hair who looked to be about fifty sitting at a wooden desk with the legs bolted into the floor. He was writing feverishly onto the yellow notepad. His mirror, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, stood up at my unexpected entrance.

  “Who’re you?” the mirror asked.

  “I’m Oliver,” I said.

  The man at the desk put down his pencil and looked over, less stunned by my arrival.

  “What ungodly torture are you here to inflict?” the man asked somberly. “There reaches a point when the pain doesn’t hurt anymore. There’s nothing more you or they can do to me.”

  “I’m not here to do anything to you,” I said. “I’m here to get you out.”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” he sighed. “I’ve been here for a long time. The promise of freedom.” He shook his head trying to escape some internal nightmare creeping up into the forefront of his consciousness. “This is just another one of their games. I won’t play. I—can’t...”

  “Do I look like I’m one of them?” I asked. “I’m here to get you out and I’m doi
ng just that. Give me your hand and we can leave together.”

  The man at the desk went back to writing, but his mirror rushed over and pulled at his shoulders.

  “Get up, Oliver!” he said. “We can’t let this opportunity pass.”

  I flinched at the sound of my own name, but the mirror wasn’t talking to me—he was talking to the older man seated at the desk.

  The older Oliver didn’t budge.

  “I won’t come back,” I said. “This is your one chance. Are you gonna take it or sit there wallowing in your own learned helplessness?”

  The man looked up.

  “I was in here once, locked away like you for no reasonable reason. I understand how this place messes with your head. But I am not a new sadistic treatment. I am not a figment of your imagination or a ghost from your past. I am the salvation you’ve been secretly asking for, even after your belief in such a concept was sucked out of you through the needles in your leg. I know I’m asking a lot, but will you dare to believe again and come with me?”

  He considered everything I said, and finally ripped the page he’d been scribbling on from the yellow pad, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the toilet.

  “I hope to God I’m not dreaming,” he said.

  “Just hold on to that—hope,” I said.

  Older Oliver, his mirror, and I joined hands so I could help them through the door. In the hallway we found newly freed patients lining both walls. Matilda and Mr. Gordon were already out of sight, already working on connecting hallways. A train of patients turned the far corner ahead of me to join everyone standing around in this area.

  I told Older Oliver and his mirror to wait here with the others while I tried to help more people. He asked about the metal apparatus on his leg and I told him not to worry, one of my friends would get the damn thing off him.

  I ran down a few hallways, following the exodus of dazed patients. All of the doctors, nurses, and orderlies were gone now. None of them had stayed to help in any capacity, so I assumed they regretted none of what they’d done—or maybe they were so ashamed that they couldn’t face those they’d wronged.