by R D Shah
‘Not at all,’ Decker looked offended. ‘It’s none of my business why you’re here. Now let’s get you properly introduced to Eckard, shall we.’
With that, the Addams family doppelgänger continued along the corridor with Harker following close on his heels.
‘There’s a lot of grey.’ Harker remarked, as he surveyed the bland corridor in front of him, anxious to prevent Nurse Decker from continuing to divulge any further details of what lay behind these walls. ‘Don’t the inmates here find it depressing?’
His comment drew a restrained laugh from the orderly. ‘I doubt half of them even know where they are, and as for the other half … bright colours only stimulate them, and not in a good way.’
‘How do you manage to control such dangerous patients?’ Harker persisted.
‘Regrettably there is only a minor chance of rehabilitation when dealing with warped minds such as these, so regular drug therapy is key and, of course, the whole of Blackwater is automated in its security.’
‘Automated, how?’
‘The system is still controlled by supervisors but it means we can secure a prisoner inside his cell in temporary restraints, and exit before the system releases him, which cuts down on potentially violent contact between the most dangerous and the staff.’
Decker’s answer fuelled Harker’s growing realization of how dangerous these patients actually were. ‘You must have some tales to tell during your time at Blackwater. How long have you worked here … you never said?’
Reaching the last door on the left, Decker stopped, eyeing Harker sarcastically. ‘No. I didn’t, did I?’
Harker let out a defeated sigh, much to Decker’s amusement. ‘Touché, Mr Decker. Touché.’
Satisfied he was now back on a par with his guest, Decker gave a courteous nod and lightly tapped on the door in front of them. ‘I’ve had him specially secured for your visit but not sedated, so no sudden moves.’ Decker shook a finger warningly. ‘That makes him extremely edgy as does bright light, so only one of the main lights has been left on.’ The troubled expression appearing on Harker’s face was not lost on Decker. ‘There’s really no need for you to be concerned. Like I said, he’s fully restrained.’ The orderly slipped his key into the door and then paused to remove a silver metal clipboard, with pen attached, from a hook on the wall before placing it in Harker’s hands. ‘I almost forgot, you’ll need to sign this before entering.’
Harker scanned the printout, catching words like ‘physical endangerment’ and ‘liability’.
‘It means you can’t sue us for any injuries received whilst you’re at the asylum.’
‘You’re not filling me with much confidence.’ Harker replied before signing the form.
‘I know,’ Decker said apologetically, and promptly whisking the clipboard from Harker’s hands, ‘but during his last assessment hearing, the good Doctor here managed to gnaw off his solicitor’s finger when the poor fellow got too close, so now we prefer to cover ourselves against any future such incidents.’
The tall orderly leaned towards the observation hatch and peered inside. ‘If you need me press the red panic button next to the door and I will be with you in seconds.’
As Nurse Decker continued to scan the inside of the cell, Harker began to reason what factor was making him feel more on edge: that he was about to enter the cell of a maniac or the fact that the patient was considered so dangerous there was a red panic button next to the door.
Obviously satisfied that everything was in order, Decker popped the lock, swung open the door and waved his guest inside. ‘Enjoy.’
Harker edged his way tentatively into the darkened fifteen-by-ten-foot cell, with all the caution of a mouse surveying a mousetrap. A solitary uncomfortable-looking metal encased toilet sat directly below a small Perspex box window as the rain outside lashed against it in waves. To Harker’s left had been placed a grey plastic chair, no doubt in an effort to match the overall decor, and a thick, painted black line ran down the middle of the room across the brown vinyl flooring tiles with the words ‘DO NOT CROSS’ just beside it. These words alone were enough to induce from Harker an involuntary gulp but the door clanking firmly shut behind him caused him to skittishly jump a step towards the chair.
As Nurse Decker had mentioned, the narrow strip light, protected by the same grey metal mesh enclosing the lighting in the corridor outside, illuminated only half the room, resulting in the chair facing a wall of murky darkness that the cell’s occupant was surely inhabiting. As Harker strained to see beyond the gloom, he could just begin to make out the outline of a man perched on what must be a bed, with only the end of one foot peeking out into the light, its sole covered in hard calluses.
Harker gently slid into the visitor’s seat provided, which creaked ever so slightly under his weight, and squinted into the shadows ahead. ‘Doctor Eckard, may I speak with you?’ A few uncomfortable seconds passed as that wall of darkness seemed to merely absorb his words before a reply was forthcoming.
‘That depends entirely on who you are,’ came the response. The voice was calm, controlled and well-spoken, with an inherent air of confidence that one might expect from a child prodigy or perhaps a narcissist.
‘I’m a professor at Cambridge University.’
‘A professor, indeed? Come to observe me, have you?’ There was real curiosity evident in the man’s tone. ‘Well I haven’t got any time for you. I’m far too busy.’
The pronouncement was deadly serious, and Harker treated it so. ‘Might I ask doing what?’ he replied, briefly surveying the static surroundings of the cell.
‘No, you might not,’ came the speedy response, ‘but nonetheless it’s nice of you to ask. So what brings you’re here, Mr Professor at Cambridge University, if that is your real name?’
‘Of course, my apologies. My name’s Harker – Alex Harker.’
The reply caused the shadowy figure to sit up more attentively. ‘Harker, Harker, Harker? That name sounds familiar. Have we met? I pride myself on never forgetting a face, or a name.’
‘No, we’ve not met before, Doctor Eckard… Not face to face, anyway.’
In an instant, the cell’s occupant lurched towards him, and into the light, as far as the man’s arm restraints would allow, thrusting his face forward and prompting Harker to jolt backwards into his seat.
Such an instinctive retreat could have been interpreted as due to the Doctor’s face coming within a foot of his own, or maybe just the shock of having someone suddenly thrusting their face forwards without warning but that wasn’t the reason. That wasn’t the reason at all. Eckard’s features were a roadmap of self-harm and physical abuse, the likes of which Harker had never seen. Scores of healed cuts and tears scoured the man’s skin, some fresher than others but all truly horrific in their own right. On both cheeks there were deep indentations where fingernails had ripped through flesh and then healed into thick bluish rake marks not just once but repeatedly, and across Eckard’s forehead ran a zigzag of lesions inflicted with such ferocity that the scars had buckled the skin like a plough tearing through hard soil. More disturbing still was the black triangular eye patch that concealed his right eye, held securely in place by a narrow strip of dark-coloured nylon that ran around the Doctor’s bald head, which was equally disfigured. Eckard’s arms were splayed outwards due to his wrists being secured by metal restraints, each attached to thick plastic rings on either side of the bed frame which had individual electronic locks that could be opened and closed remotely. This was no doubt part of the safety mechanism that Decker had spoken of earlier.
‘Are you sure we’ve not met before?’
‘No,’ Harker said calmly, while trying to overlook the Doctor’s dreadful facial injuries, ‘I’m pretty sure that I would remember.’
His remark elicited a wide smile from Eckard. ‘Of course you would,’ he replied before rhythmically grinding his teeth together a few times, ‘I’ve got one of those faces that people tend not to forget.’
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Seeing as Doctor Eckard was responding well to the honesty of the questions raised so far, Harker decided to gesture towards the scars adorning the patients face. ‘That’s quite a collection of scars you have, Doctor.’
‘Thank you,’ Eckard smiled. ‘It’s a work in progress.’ He paused briefly to roll his head in a clockwise motion, allowing Harker to get a full view of every facial scar, before resuming his penetrating stare. ‘Of course some are family mementos … mementos from a long time ago.’
This remark was potentially distracting to Harker and he immediately pushed the conversation forward, not wanting to get caught up in reminiscing about Eckard’s previous crimes. ‘Well, thank you for seeing me at such short notice. I appreciate it.’
‘Anything for a professor.’ With one eyebrow now raised, the grisly-looking Doctor leaned in closer to examine his visitor’s face, ‘especially one with such lovely eyes.’
This last comment sent a shiver down Harker’s spine, as he now recalled the orderly’s account of how Eckard had served up a boiled eyeball for the policeman shortly before his arrest. ‘Thank you. I inherited them from my mother.’
The remark drew a further smile from the restrained patient. ‘Really … well, I hope she doesn’t miss them.’
Harker forced a brief laugh which received a stony glance from Doctor Eckard. ‘I don’t know why you laughed there. It wasn’t funny.’
‘Then why say it?’ Harker replied calmly.
‘Just see if you would laugh. You’re not a professor of psychology, are you?’
Doctor Eckard gave a look of mistrust, then slowly swivelled his neck until it emitted a loud satisfying crack, before turning to face Harker once again. ‘Ah, that feels good. I get so stiff in these restraints – you know it’s tantamount to torture. I don’t suppose you could loosen them, could you?’
Harker almost laughed out loud at the idea, but it was raised with such sincerity that he resisted. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible Doctor.’
‘Very well… It’s probably for the best.’ Eckard nodded empathetically. ‘So… what brings you to the nuthouse, then?’
‘The nuthouse!’ Harker gawped, genuinely surprised by this casual use of such a disparaging remark.
‘Professor Harker, in the cell to my left is a convicted murderer who spends every waking hour masturbating furiously, so much so that they now have to restrain him most days for fear that – and I kid you not – he will tear his own penis off. On my right, is a serial rapist who when free, was not solely content with sexually abusing young college boys and so engaged in ‘making love’, as he puts it, to as many farm animals as he could get his wandering hands upon, much to the distress of many a farmer… and undoubtedly the animals in question.’ Doctor Eckard craned forward and flicked his head towards the cell next door. ‘He went by the name of The Night Jockey?’
‘That’s him?’ Harker spluttered, remembering the unpleasant bestiality story from some years earlier, which had filled the tabloids.
‘That’s him all right,’ the Doctor replied dryly. ‘So when I refer to this place as a nuthouse, believe me when I tell you that it is the nuttiest.’
Eckard took a moment to slouch back into his restraints, but still keeping his head in the lit portion of the cell. ‘So, now we’ve done away with the embarrassments of my current residence, how about explaining to me what you, Professor Alex Harker at Cambridge University, is doing in it?’
The tone of Eckard’s voice had changed during these last few words, sounding more impatient and Harker sought immediately to get to the point. ‘Doctor Eckard I’m here concerning your research on the three Secrets of Fatima.’ This mention of the Secrets brought about not an ounce of change in the Doctor’s demeanour. ‘I’m not sure how up-to-date you are on current events, but recently the Secrets have become of great concern to many within the church. In fact, it was a friend within that fold that asked me to speak with you. I’ve been led to believe that you are the only one to have viewed all three, and I was hoping you would be willing to discuss them.’
Eckard’s eye rippled with excitement or recognition or maybe even realisation. It was difficult to tell which but, regardless, one thing was certain. The Doctor was interested.
‘Harker,’ he murmured, his lips barely moving, ‘Alex Harker.’ Eckard’s eyes closed for a moment, as if lost in thought, and then he was back, his eyes now full of scathing mistrust. ‘Who sent you?’
‘As I already said, a friend within in the church.’
The Doctor slowly shook his head, his single eye trained squarely on his guest. ‘No … who really sent you?’
He growled the question with such menace that Harker felt his cheeks begin to heat up in the beginnings of a flush. Did this lunatic know something about the Templars or the Magi? That had to be near impossible unless Nurse Decker had lied about the Doctor never receiving visitors.
‘I’m not sure what it is you’re getting at, Doctor Eckard, but I can assure you that I’m here as a favour to a friend … A Vatican friend, if that helps.’
Doctor Eckard held his accusing stare for a few moments longer before finally slumping against the edge of his bed, though with his face still visible and displaying a sly grin. ‘Now, now, Professor, you’re not being entirely honest with me are you. This visit of yours may be on behalf of a friend, but there’s only one reason you yourself would be enquiring about the three secrets.’ Eckard ran his tongue across cracked lips, allowing its tip to investigate each individual crevice as a roguish smile took form. ‘He’s back isn’t he? For a second visit?’
Over the next few seconds Harker sat still, his expression emotionless as he debated how much to disclose to this shackled patient whose widening manic grin would have given the Cheshire cat a run for its money. He wasn’t sure if telling Eckard of the Christ child’s existence would make any difference in the grand scheme of things, but he was certain of one thing: if the Doctor did know anything relevant, then there would have to be some give and take. Besides, the man was locked away in an insane asylum, so who in the world would ever take this lunatic seriously. ‘Yes, he is.’
The reply had Eckard immediately bouncing up and down on his bed, as best as his restraints would allow, his excitement palpable. ‘I knew it,’ the Doctor almost screamed, staring into the empty corner of the room. ‘You thought I was crazy, didn’t you? You thought I dreamt it, but I knew. I knew it was real … so stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Actually you can stick it up your arse, for all I care.’ Eckard snapped back to attention and then laughed out loud. ‘He never believed me, never had faith. And faith is the key you know.’
Harker was just about to ask who he was talking to, when Eckard noticed the confusion in his guest’s eyes and he shook his head from side to side dismissively. ‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s been on my case for years, but this vindication is its own reward.’ The Doctor released a deep, triumphant sigh and stared at Harker keenly. ‘You don’t have any idea why you’re really here, do you, Mr Alex Harker, professor at Cambridge University’ – the madman paused and raised and lowered his eyebrows comically – ‘and the owner of such a lovely pair of eyes?’
Somewhat taken back by the man’s outburst, Harker simply offered a shake of the head. ‘No … but I’m hoping you could help me with that Doctor.’
This courteous mention of Eckard’s erstwhile title appeared to soothe the patient and he sat up somewhat proudly, if not regally. ‘Then allow me to reward your honesty,’ he began, before expelling a cough to clear his throat, thereby adding to his now professional manner. ‘The three Secrets provided a map of events to come. Some things are set in stone and some things are not … The three secrets, they are both.’
‘I’m sorry Doctor,’ Harker replied, clearly confused, ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean?’
‘The three Secrets tell of a prophecy – a prophecy deemed so powerful by the church that it was carefully hidden away. But they are also a road map
to that prophecy … a series of events that will take place, culminating in the fulfilment of the prophecy itself. Yet the prediction is not set in stone, it has no destiny – it can be avoided.
‘How?’
‘By discovering the nature of the fourth Secret.’
‘There’s a fourth Secret?’ Harker blurted out.
‘Yes. Few people know that but …’
‘But what?’ Harker blurted out and struggling not to spoil Eckard’s enthusiasm on the subject.
‘The three Secrets tell that the Christ child reborn will once again save us all, and so must be protected at all costs from those who wish to bring about the great change predicted…’ Eckard had barely finished speaking before a deep frown appeared across his ravaged forehead. ‘The child is safe, isn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Harker’s reply was immediate since he had already made a conscious decision not to hold anything back because the man in front of him might be crazy but he was not an idiot. ‘He was abducted some months ago but there’s a search in progress even as we speak.’
At the news Doctor Eckard began to shrivel in his seat. ‘Listen to me carefully, Professor. The people that have taken him have no wish to stop this prophecy from becoming reality. They wish only for it to be fulfilled, and the death of that child can ensure it. The fate of the child can either cause or prevent these events. You must act quickly, as time is of the utmost importance.’
The suggestion was beguiling to Harker, and he jumped in without hesitation. ‘Doctor, does the word Magi mean anything to you?’
‘Magi!’ Eckard spat. ‘Never heard of them, and whoever they are, those are not the ones seeking to kill the child.’
The man’s reply only compounded Harker’s confusion. ‘Can you tell me how you know who the real perpetrators are, considering you’ve been held in this asylum for over thirty years?’
‘How do I know?’ Eckard glared as if insulted by the question. ‘Because those bastards put me here.’ The Doctor shook his head in frustration. ‘But you don’t have time for this, now just follow the Secrets and you will find the child, thus avert the prophecy and save us all …’ Eckard trailed off and sat looking upwards, muttering to himself as if weighing up an argument in his head, going back and forth between its pros and cons.
