by Amy Cross
"Don't worry," my uncle continues, reaching over and taking my hand in his. "The situation is not permanent. Collings is useful to me, but there will come a time when that is no longer the case. Give it a month or two, and perhaps Devil's Briar will no longer need his services. After all, I'm quite sure that there is now someone in this town whose medical training is far superior to his own. Either that, or it will be time for us to move on again." He smiles. "Don't worry. You're by far the greatest weapon I have."
I nod. My uncle is right: for all his pompous claims of being a superior man of medicine, Dr. Collings displays some distinctly archaic ideas. Without really paying attention to what he tells me, I have already noted several points upon which he is just plain wrong. It's hard to escape the conclusion that some of his patients must be suffering due to his incompetence. How dearly I would love to sweep the man aside and serve as this town's doctor, but I doubt anyone would accept a woman's help in such a capacity.
"The man is an ass," my uncle says, "and you are fully entitled to defend yourself if he becomes aggressive. Don't be in any doubt that I shall defend you to the hilt if necessary. I'm quite sure you can look after yourself, Victoria. You've dealt with far worse than our dear old Dr. Collings."
"And what of Mr. Caster?" I ask. "I fear for his safety. The doctor is very secretive whenever I ask how the treatment is going."
My uncle pauses for a moment, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable. "I'm quite sure that Mr. Caster is being adequately cared for," he says finally. "Although I have great sympathy for my predecessor's fate, he is hardly my focus. You know I must work fast, Victoria. I do not have time enough in the day to add yet more concerns to my schedule."
"I know," I reply, looking down at my food. I still can't shake the feeling that poor Mr. Caster is being horribly mistreated by Dr. Collings. I have no evidence of this, of course, but I sense that the doctor has an extremely strong malevolent streak, and I worry that he will be taking out his anger on his latest patient. I'm minded to try to locate the room where Mr. Caster is being held, and see if I can determine whether he is being cared for adequately. Still, I must be careful not to arouse the doctor's suspicions, and I'm quite sure that my uncle would take a dim view of such activities.
"Would it really be so awful to acquiesce to some of the doctor's demands?" my uncle asks.
"Such as?" I reply, knowing full well what he means but determined to make him say the words.
He sighs. "If the old man wishes to have a little pleasure of the flesh, couldn't you see your way to -"
"No," I say firmly. "Those days are over."
"But if it would satisfy him -"
"No!" I say again, annoyed that my uncle would even raise the possibility. He knows how much I have suffered at the hands of other men; how can he possibly suggest that I might allow the same thing to happen again? I'm about to reprimand him for his insensitivity, when the proprietor of the hotel enters the room and approaches our table. I compose myself, determined to ensure that there is no hint of an argument. I will not open my legs merely to advance my uncle's business interests.
"Is everything okay?" asks Mr. Porter, standing stiffly next to our table.
"Perfect, thank you," my uncle says.
"Absolutely," I add, making sure to put on my most innocent voice.
"Let me know if you want dessert," Mr. Porter says as he gathers up our plates.
"We'll be sure to consider the matter," my uncle replies. There's an unfortunate silence as we wait for Mr. Porter to leave the room. "You must stay strong," my uncle reiterates once we're alone again. "I've achieved so much since we arrived in Devil's Briar. It would be tragic if all this work were to be for nothing. Please, Victoria, just remain firm in the face of the doctor's stupidity. I promise you, within a few weeks you'll have ample opportunity to make him suffer."
"I don't want to make him suffer," I say quietly. "I just want him to leave me alone. And I want to know what has become of Mr. Caster."
"Caster was an old fool," my uncle replies, standing up. "The man deserves none of your sympathy, Victoria, so please don't waste another moment on him. Did you see the state of the office after he was turfed out? He was living like a pig. God only knows what got into that man's mind over the past few days, but he had degenerated to the point where he was barely human. If anyone can help him, it's Dr. Collings. Other than that, we must let God decide what to do with Caster's soul. Personally, I suspect he would be better off dead."
"Don't say that," I reply.
"Why do you care?" my uncle asks. "Caster's just a fat old idiot."
I take a deep breath. With every inch of my body, I want to remonstrate with my uncle and defend Mr. Caster, but I know that such a course of action would be fruitless. To my uncle, Mayor Caster is just a bumbling fool who had to be removed from his position. I, however, got to know the man rather well during the day I worked for him, and I'm certain that he deserves better than to become the victim of one of the doctor's experiments. It seems as if poor Mr. Caster has been abandoned by everyone, yet I still think fondly of him. Wherever he is, I pray that God is watching over him.
"I shall retire for the night," my uncle continues. "I would suggest that you do the same. After all, you have a long morning ahead of you. I'm sure Dr. Collings will appreciate it if you are rested and attentive."
"Yes," I say, standing up and following my uncle to the door. "I shall go to my room."
Although I walk upstairs and go to my room, just as my uncle wishes, I have no intention of sleeping just yet. Instead, I wait a few minutes before slipping back out and leaving the hotel. Night has fallen across Devil's Briar and I feel rather vulnerable, since it's not common for a virtuous young lady to be out alone at such an hour. Nevertheless, I recognize that this is my only chance. Hurrying through the shadows, I hasten to the building that I know Dr. Collings uses as his operating theater. It takes just a moment for me to slip through the gate, after which I find myself in a small yard. There are various little buildings dotted about, illuminated only by the moonlight. Nearby, there's a large doghouse with a sign warning intruders to beware of its occupant; however, it would seem that there is no dog, since I am entirely unmolested as I make my way to the door that leads into the operating theater. Glancing about one final time, to check that no-one has seen me make my way here, I step inside.
The room is dark, and it takes me a moment to adjust my eyes. Finally, I start to make out an operating table and some work-benches, but of Albert Caster there is sadly no sign. I walk around the room, hoping to find some kind of clue, but there is nothing. Although the operating theater is filthy, and certainly no place for medical procedures to take place, I see no indication that there has been any kind of activity in here recently. Perhaps I was foolish to imagine that Dr. Collings was some kind of cruel torturer. Still, it's rather strange that there is no sign of Mr. Caster, since I was absolutely certain that I would find him here. Where does Dr. Collings keep his patients?
Turning and hurrying out of the building, I'm about to leave the yard when I spot something hidden in the shadows, just inside the doghouse. At first, I assume that it must be some kind of guard dog, but as I stare I realize that the face is entirely human. I pause, and it takes a few seconds before I recognize the fact staring back at me. My heart almost breaks as I finally see that poor, dear Albert Caster has been left to shiver and starve in a small wooden hut built for a common animal. As he blinks passively at me, I realize that he has barely anything left of his mind, and I start to wonder what Dr. Collings must have been doing to him.
"It's me," I say, stepping closer.
He stares at me, but in his eyes there's the madness of an animal.
"Come out," I continue, crouching near the entrance to the doghouse. "Albert, it's me. I won't hurt you."
He stays where he is, his eyes fixed on me. It's as if something has happened to him, and now he distrusts me. In the space of a week, he has gone from being Mayor of Devil's
Briar to being some kind of animal, cowering in a little wooden hut.
"Albert," I say, "I want you to come out immediately, do you understand? I won't hurt you, but you have to come out."
After a moment, he starts to edge toward me. As he emerges from the doghouse, I see that he's naked and covered in mud, and the smell is quite atrocious. He crawls to me on his hands and knees, but the look of fear won't leave his eyes. Finally, I reach out and place my hand on the side of his filth-encrusted face. In the moonlight, he looks more like an animal than a man. I have no idea what, exactly, Dr. Collings has been doing to him, but I'm quite certain of one thing. It cannot continue.
Chapter Six
Today
Sitting in the hotel saloon, I stare out the window at the town square. Night is coming, and the whole town is getting darker. I've already searched the hotel from top to bottom and concluded that Paula definitely isn't in here, which means that she's out there somewhere. She must have made a little base for herself in one of the other buildings, and I don't see that I'll gain much by trying to root her out. Devil's Briar is so big, she could easily stay one step ahead of me, and I'd just be playing into her stupid game. The best option is to stay put and make sure that she's the one who has to make the next move; that way, I should have a much better chance of catching her in the act.
To aid my cause, I have taken certain precautions. Every entrance to the hotel has been firmly boarded up, with the exception of the main doors at the front. Similarly, I've blockaded all the windows and rigged little traps so that I'll be able to tell if she tries to get inside. If she's coming in, it'll have to be via the front door, and that's how I'm going to catch her. Sure, she might wait a while, and she might assume that I'll make a mistake. She's wrong, though. I'm going to sit here until she shows her hand, and then I'm going to teach her who's really in charge here.
The most annoying thing about her game is that she's delaying my work. I should have been exploring the town today, and she should have been in Boston arranging for back-up to come and join me. Instead, I've been preoccupied by her stupidity, and the trip to Boston has been delayed. I'm becoming increasingly pissed off at the way she insists on trying to trick me into believing in ghosts. Why can't she just accept that we have different opinions? At least this whole fuss has distracted me from focusing on the hallucinations I keep experiencing. Until today, I only ever saw one image at a time, but this evening I spotted two in the same street, as if they're becoming more common. I know that it's all in my mind, but the overall experience is still deeply unsettling.
Wandering over to the bar, I pour myself another shot of whiskey from the old bottle we found the other day. I head back over to the table, but I stop as soon as I look down and see that something has been scratched into the wood. A cold chill passes through my body as I realize that someone has delicately carved the number 9 into the top of the table. I swear that wasn't there a moment ago, but at the same time I'm certain that Paula couldn't have got into the room and done it without being seen. I glance around, hoping to find some kind of answer. A lesser man would start to worry that a ghost might be to blame, but I'm not so foolish: I know that there's a rational explanation, and I just have to apply myself to working it out.
Finally, with a smile, I understand everything. Unable to stop laughing, I sit and the table and drink the whiskey, before glancing out the window and seeing a couple of dark shapes in the dusk. It looks like they're a little closer to the hotel than before, which is strange; to date, they've tended to stay quite far back, but perhaps my mind is bringing them closer in an attempt to make me crack. Ultimately, though, they're just more hallucinations. The human brain is so powerful...
I realize, now, that Paula isn't here at all. She did go back to Boston, and I truly am quite alone in Devil's Briar. It's clear that I must have been sabotaging myself; I must have been experiencing bouts of amnesia, preventing me from remembering certain actions. For example, I clearly sat here and scratched the number 9 into the table, then walked over to the bar and completely forgot about what I'd done. This must be my brain's latest attempt to persuade me that the town is haunted. It's quite remarkable how far my mind is willing to go in order to trick me. Instead of falling for such things, however, I merely sit and marvel at the human mind's capacity for invention and mischief. It's as if there's a part of me that desperately wants to believe in ghosts. The human desire to see evidence of the supernatural is extremely strong, even in someone such as myself who has a far more rational mind.
I smile as I think about how I must have moved the hands of the dead girl in the coffin, and about how I must have scratched the sign outside the doctor's house. Hell, I guess I might even have been responsible for those footprints around the base of the cross. I blamed Paula for everything, but in reality it was my subconscious mind trying to trick me. I look down at my fingernails and see that they've grown longer than usual. Perhaps I've been deliberately not cutting them since we arrived in Devil's Briar, so that I'd be able to use them to scratch little messages to myself. One half of my brain is trying to scare the other half. It's really a quite fascinating phenomenon, but it's one that I need to stop if I'm to avoid madness.
I have to stay sane.
Hurrying upstairs, I go to my backpack and pull out a pair of scissors. Carefully, I trim my fingernails so that I'll no longer be able to use them to trick myself. Once I'm done, I head back downstairs and return to my seat at the window, but something is still bothering me. I look down at my fingernails and realize that the best way to prevent myself from playing any more tricks is to just get rid of the nails completely. Using my teeth, I start chewing at the nail on my left thumb; it's not an easy job, and after a while it starts to hurt as blood flows into my mouth, but after nearly ten minutes I finally feel the thumb nail-plate lift away. I pull it off completely and spit it onto the table, before looking at the bloody, fleshy nail bed. The pain is dull and consistent, and certainly bearable. Determined to get the job done, I start on the fingers of my left hand, and after half an hour I have all the nails removed and laid out on the table before me.
I hold my hand up to the window. In the moonlight, I can just about make out the sore, red flesh where my fingernails used to be. The pain is not as bad as I'd expected, and I'm pretty sure I can finish the job, so I start on the other hand. The work goes fine until I reach the thumb, at which point I find that the nail is stubborn and refuses to lift away. I dig and dig with my teeth, finally grinding into the nail bed and gouging out some flesh, but the nail seems somehow wedged in place. By the time I finally manage to get the nail to lift away, I'm sitting in total darkness and even the light of the moon has been dimmed by clouds. I set the last nail on the table and sit back, relieved at having finally finished the job. My fingertips are stinging, and I know I've lost some blood, but I feel a lot more relaxed. There'll be no more scratching, no more stupid numbers carved into the tops of the tables. It's quite astonishing to experience, firsthand, the extent to which the human brain can fool itself, and I count myself lucky that I'm too intelligent to fall for such things.
I must admit, I feel bad for blaming Paula for everything. It was natural to assume that she was the one behind the unusual events, but now I see that my subconscious mind was playing tricks on me. Paula's not so bad, really, and I must make sure that I patch up our relationship when I get back to Boston. I've been promising to take her on holiday for years, and I guess I should finally deliver. Sighing, I figure it's probably time to go and get some sleep so that I'm refreshed and ready to get back to work in the morning.
As I'm about to stand up, I glance at the window and freeze. Standing right outside, just inches from the glass, is the little girl. This is the first time I've been so close to her, and she's staring in at me with those dead, yellowed eyes. I know that she's not a ghost, and that she's actually just part of my imagination, but it's still very disconcerting to come face to face with her at such close quarters. I have to admit, a chi
ll runs through my body as we start at each other for a moment, but finally I turn and walk away, heading upstairs. Now that I've removed my fingernails, I feel as if I've managed to take a stand against my brain's stupid games. I've got a feeling that, when I wake up in the morning, the hallucinations will be gone and I can finally get on with my work.
Chapter Seven
1925
"Can you hear me?" I ask, looking into Albert Caster's eyes. It's hard to keep my composure when faced with such a terrible sight, but I must stay strong for his sake. Albert needs my help, and I shall not let him down. "Say something," I continue. "Say anything. Just let me know that you can hear me."
His eyes dart about, as if he's desperate to avoid looking straight at me. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his soul, he feels ashamed of how far he has fallen. Whereas he was once a proud, gregarious man, he now appears to have degenerated to the level of a savage. Stark naked and covered in a mixture of mud and his own filth, he has the general air of a pig, and so far I have been unable to draw out any sign of his former humanity. Is it possible that Dr. Collings has done such unspeakable things to the poor man that he is now broken for all time?
"You must come with me," I say, reaching down and taking his faeces-covered hand in mine. "I shall clean you up, and we shall see what can be done to help you."
He grunts and tries to shuffle back into the doghouse, but I keep hold of his hand and finally he is persuaded to wait a moment.
"I promise you'll be okay," I continue, hoping to get through to him. "I shan't let anyone hurt you ever again. It might take some time, but eventually you'll be back to your old self, ready to resume your old life. Do you understand?" I look into his eyes, but there is no sign of recognition. "Of course you understand," I say, forcing myself to smile. "I know you're in there somewhere, Albert Caster, and I shall have you out again. Come."
