The 4th Secret

by R D Shah

  ‘Prophecy!’ Harker sputtered, his own frustration now boiling over. ‘What is this prophecy people keep talking about?’ His question stopped the Doctor’s muttering instantly, and the man’s head swivelled around to face Harker again.

  ‘The prophecy is change.’

  ‘Change to what?’

  ‘To everything … To belief, To the planet, To life itself … Simply put, Professor, the end of the world.’

  ‘End of the world! Oh, for God’s sake.’ Harker literally howled his disbelief. And even if Eckard had not been restrained, he still would have reacted exactly the same way. ‘Is that what this is all about? Some Armageddon prophecy? That’s ridiculous.’ Harker’s outburst seemed only to calm Eckard, who raised a single eyebrow in surprise as Harker continued. ‘I’m trying to save the life of a child … I’m sorry Doctor but this meeting has been a waste of your time and mine.’ Harker had begun to stand up, with his eyes already on the door, when Eckard called out.

  ‘Please Alex, allow me to finish.’

  The Doctor’s request was voiced with such feeling that Harker paused and then sat back down with a gentle sigh. ‘I apologise, Doctor, of course, please go on.’

  Eckard nodded thankfully. ‘You’re not a believer, are you, Alex?’

  ‘In prophecies? No, I am not.’

  Eckard gave an empathetic nod of the head. ‘That’s fine, but understand this: the ones who have this child do believe and they will kill him despite what you may judge to be the truth.’

  The calm logic of this remark had a strangely soothing effect on Harker, and for a fleeting moment he wondered why, aside from the obvious, this man was still kept locked up. ‘So how do I find him?’

  Eckard’s single eyelid began to flutter and his expression becoming more distant as his gaze honed in on Harker’s face. ‘You really do have the most exquisite eyes, Professor,’ he said hungrily, once more licking his lips. ‘I would so like to partake of them.’

  It was clear the Doctor’s attention was now beginning to fade. ‘I’ll make you a promise,’ Harker offered. ‘Finish what you were going to say and you have my word: if I ever decide to get rid of them, you’ll be the first person I think of. Deal?’

  The strange proposal lit up Eckard’s face and his blemished and discoloured fingers twitched in anticipation at the thought. ‘I would like that very much. Very much indeed… You have a deal, Professor, but be warned that the Secrets, and especially the fourth, will challenge everything you think you know. It will dissolve everything around you and then put it all back together before your very eyes and, in doing so, change your perception of the world around you until your last dying breath. Remember that it does not matter if you believe in the power of prophecy or not, because it believes in you and that is all that is required. The very reading of these Secrets is enough to bring about the stepping stones that will lead to either destruction or salvation, but never forget the same path must be travelled to reach either conclusion.’ Eckard paused momentarily and his stare became glassy-eyed. ‘Be extremely wary, Professor, because the simple fact that you’re sitting here in front of me right now signifies that the ball is already rolling, and with it comes dark storm clouds.’

  The Doctor’s seemingly irrational and nonsensical answer induced a sickly feeling deep in the pit of Harker’s stomach, and he shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Were these words just the ramblings of a madman or was there something more to it? Something real. ‘Dark clouds?’ he queried.

  Doctor Eckard gazed up to the cell’s small window as a flash of lightning crackled outside in the distance, illuminating the forbidding moors that lay just beyond the asylum’s white security walls. ‘The darkest.’

  Harker was still trying to decipher the meaning of Eckard’s cryptic response when the Blackwater patient decided to return his full attention back to his guest, his eyes now glinting with energy and zest. ‘Go see the Dame and ask for Eizel. He’ll set you on your way. Tell him … tell him… I forget now,’ the Doctor shook his head violently from side to side, dispersing saliva from his torn lips to the floor. ‘…Yes, I remember now. Tell him the darkest part off the night always comes before the dawn but … but … Damn, it’s been so long since…’

  Harker watched in bemusement as the Doctor continued shaking his head back and forth in an attempt to remember the instruction he deemed so important, until he stopped suddenly and began to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  ‘Of course, I’m being an idiot. Eckard, you fool.’ The Doctor cursed and leant over to his right arm and began to slowly nudge back his sleeve with the butt of his chin, revealing a series of deep cuts and a scrawl of lettering scarred upon his forearm. It took a minute or so for him to edge the arm sleeve back as much as needed, and with no attempt to help by Harker, who was more than content to stay on his side of the black line and wait patiently.

  ‘Here it is.’ Eckard rejoiced. ‘I wrote it down so I would never forget. The drug therapy they keep me on has never been conducive to a clarity of memory. Yes, I remember now. The darkest part of the night always comes before the dawn, but in …’

  Eckard was only halfway through his sentence when overhead the light began to flicker, and a series of clinks echoed along the corridor outside.

  ‘Oh, my God, they’re coming,’ Eckard suddenly gasped and he began to struggle violently against his restraints, the veins in his hands bulging as he attempted to break free. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.’ The Doctor stared up at the ceiling, tears now streaming from the corner of his functioning eye. ‘Do you hear me …? Can you hear me …? I’m sorry.’

  Harker shrunk back into his chair as Eckard thrust a tear-stained face towards him, spittle dribbling down his chin and frothy bubbles emerging at each side of his mouth. ‘You must leave now. They’re coming … They’re coming.’

  The light overhead suddenly cut out, plunging the cell into darkness. Harker instinctively froze, clasping the arms of his chair as he fought against the feeling of sheer dread now creeping into his chest. Apart from the furious sound of heavy rainfall outside, the only noise he could hear was the shallow but rapid breathing of Doctor Eckard from somewhere on the other side of the room.

  In desperation, Harker tried to assess this situation logically and thus keep his fear from winning outright. It had to be just a power cut, so he just had to stay calm and not let his emotions get the better of him, which can be a sufficient challenge during a power cut at night in the safety of one’s own home. But whilst locked in a room with a criminally insane patient who has a thing about your eyeballs? Well that’s another thing entirely.

  Before Harker could make any decision on his next course of action, a deep metallic clink sounded in the direction of the cell’s entrance, followed by the familiar creak of a metal door opening. There was now a total silence, before eventually the rasping voice of Eckard sounded out of the darkness directly in front of him.

  ‘Too late … They’re here.’

  Chapter 5

  In the distance a deep and sorrowful moan echoed down the corridor as Harker fought to loosen his frozen muscles, his whole body still firmly rooted to the plastic chair he clung to with tensed palms. To his left he could hear Eckard whimpering uncontrollably and was about to call out to him when a lightning bolt flashed outside the window, offering Harker a brief peek of the room’s interior. The Doctor was out of sight and evidently cowering on his bed which was still in the shadows but Harker managed to steal a glimpse of the cell door, which was now wide open. He experienced his first sliver of relief since the overhead lighting first cut out. It had to be a simple power cut and the staff would unquestionably be attempting to rectify the problem, so he expected to see torch beams approaching at any moment. That’s what he was telling himself anyway, but in truth the eerie comments that Eckard had voiced, just moments before the blackout occurred, only served to engender an enveloping sense of paranoia which was seeding his mind with numerous unpleas
ant possibilities – Who were they?

  Feeling a cold sweat forming across his brow, Harker wiped it away anxiously with his sleeve and now realised that his muscles were not quite as frozen as he had first thought. He stood up cautiously and was already feeling his way along the wall towards the cell’s entrance, when a faint torchlight flickered into life and slowly slid along the murky corridor outside, then settled on the open doorway just as he reached it.

  ‘Decker!’ Harker uttered quietly, relieved that the orderly had been true to his word in coming to his aid so quickly. Without needing further encouragement, he stepped out of Eckard’s cell and diligently made his way along the empty corridor towards the inviting beam of light glimmering through the Perspex viewing window of C wing’s main security door. Thankfully all the other residents were still securely locked in their rooms, and that knowledge helped to calm his nerves. An encounter now with some of the UK’s most dangerous patients was something he could do without, and just the very thought encouraged him to pick up his pace. He had reached the viewing window within seconds and the torchlight shining through it was, to Harker’s mind, like a beacon of sanctuary. Squinting against the glare, Harker raised his face to the observation window and tapped his hand against the Perspex. ‘Decker, is that you?’ He hissed before glancing back down the gloomy corridor just to reassure himself that he was still alone. ‘I’m ready to leave.’

  The torch remained motionless but continued to shine directly into Harker’s face.

  ‘Decker, can you hear me?’ Harker was now raising his voice.

  The torch slowly jerked up and down.

  ‘Then, can you let me out … please.’

  The torch began to move again, but this time swaying slowly from left to right.

  A dark sense of dread began to fill Harker’s body and he pulled back slightly from the viewing window. ‘You’re not Decker, are you?’

  The torch once more moved from left to right but firmer and faster this time.

  This disturbing response chilled Harker to the core and he anxiously watched as the torch turned round on itself and illuminated its owner’s face and, for the first time since arriving at Blackwater, he was actually glad to be on the patient’s side of the security door. There in front of him, and gazing back with an emotionally hollow stare, was one of the most sinister-looking men he had ever seen. Under the hood of his black robe, the man’s face looked almost childlike and the skin had a plastic texture to it. His lips were shiny and taut and above them glared a pair of unblinking pale-blue eyes.

  It took a few more seconds for Harker’s own eyes to adjust, and he gradually realised that the figure was wearing a mask. But it was a creepy, unnatural-looking mask that would take pride of place in the collection of any horror enthusiast.

  ‘Who are you?’ Harker croaked, struggling to vocalise his thoughts as an adrenalin spike shot through him, tensing his jaw muscles.

  The other said nothing, instead simply raising his free hand and pressing a piece of paper to the window. The note was written with red marker in a childish scribble.

  You should not be here. A penance must be paid.

  As Harker digested these words, he found himself so preoccupied with studying the note that the muffled clinking sounds behind him barely registered. The hooded figure then raised an arm and extended a thick finger towards him, pointing over Harker’s shoulder towards the darkness of the corridor behind. Harker spun around and peered into the gloom, as a number of unnerving sounds began emanating from the pitch blackness. It included the grinding of teeth, some heavy panting and the scuffing of socks on a tiled floor.

  Instinctively Harker pushed his back flat against the security door, just as the lights overhead flicked back on, flooding the entire corridor with a brightness that Harker would have welcomed just a few minutes earlier, but now seemed nothing more than a torturous punishment. The sight that greeted him came straight out of his worst nightmares. For all of the cell doors were lying open and the occupants were already shuffling out into the corridor, with palms upheld to shield their eyes from the brightness of the lights overhead. All, that is, except one whose focus was firmly locked upon Harker himself. The man was only around five foot five inches high but his broad shoulders and thick forearms were tensing menacingly, and his dark black eyes, although penetrating, seemed dull and void of any intelligence, as if their possessor’s mind worked on instinct alone. The sight was daunting enough, but it was the familiarity of this figure that really made an impact. Harker recognised that face from the news reports of some years earlier. The papers had dubbed him ‘the Night Caller’ and, if his memory served him correctly, the man had killed close to twenty people by bludgeoning them to death in their own beds, after committing a horrendous sexual attack on each victim, whether male or female. Harker particularly remembered one chilling report that described how the murderer enjoyed watching his victim’s life slip away with those very same eyes that were now fixed upon him so resolutely.

  Harker immediately broke eye contact, not wanting to invite any more interest, but at the same time he kept the killer constantly within his peripheral vision. He quickly scanned the corridor for any way out and within seconds had arrived back at his initial impression: there was none.

  With his panicked heartbeat thumping in his ears, Harker glanced feverishly at the patients in their white fabric two-piece pyjamas, as the majority of them began honing in on the only person not dressed in similar attire… himself.

  Up ahead, the Night Caller was taking his first steps forward, and Harker was already considering dashing into the nearest empty cell, with a mind to holding the door shut … when a loud knocking sound echoed along the corridor. At the far end of the wing he could see a woman’s face pressed against the viewing window of the security doors, her eyes wide in alarm, and gesturing her hands backwards, motioning Harker towards to her. Seeing that she had finally gained his attention, the woman then continued banging the door, attracting interest from the patients.

  The distraction worked and within moments the attention of all those in the corridor was now fixed on the source of the racket with the single exception of one patient who seemed far more interested in pulling his pants down to his ankles and waggling his genitals from side to side.

  Harker was now running, the plastic soles of his shoes providing excellent grip on the tiled floor and he thanked God he wasn’t wearing his usual leather-soled brogues. He took off with such a ferocity that the Night Caller was only just turning back to face him when Harker shoulder-barged the man with the full weight of his body, sending the multiple killer flying back into his cell with a harsh thud.

  The next few minutes were a blur of grabbing hands and rough shoving as Harker made a furious dash for the far door. At one point he was close to being herded into a nearby cell by two of the larger patients, but he managed to keep up his momentum and slid between them, ducking the grasp of one and accidently tripping the other, so as to send him face-first to the floor with a bone-cracking thump. By the time he reached the security door, he was throwing wild punches and kicking anything that got in his way but, as ever more pairs of hands grasped roughly for his neck and shoulders, he began to slow. There comes a moment when a person is so physically overwhelmed by others that a drastic change can occur within them. At this moment one of two things will happen. The first response is to give in to the onslaught, allowing their own fear to devour them, and they weaken to become limp and accepting of what they now perceive as the inevitable. With the second, though, something clicks, a survival mechanism perhaps, when fear and terror transform into blind rage and every ounce of power and force the victim possesses gushes to the surface and is unleashed into every fibre of one’s being, regardless of how futile that endeavour might be, as if acting on auto-pilot. As Harker slowed to a near halt, with more hands grappling, pinching and clawing at his body, and the sheer weight of it all becoming unbearable, it was the latter reaction which now consumed him as he yelled
in anger at the top of his voice. He slammed his head backwards again and again, feeling noses crumple under each blow and he slammed his elbow into the nearest attacker. The loosening of strangleholds around his neck, coupled with the yelps of pain from those on the receiving end, only boosted his resolve and, with elbows thrusting back and forth, he began kicking out at any unguarded shins he could reach. The hand grips began to loosen even more but the weight pressing on his back, as other new patients piled in from behind, was becoming too much and his knees had begun to crumple just as the security door was flung open. A hand lunged out to grab him firmly by his hair, then tugged him sharply forward and, with his knees acting as a fulcrum, he lurched straight ahead and scrambled through the opening, leaving the crowd behind him to topple to the floor. Harker was still clambering to his feet as the security door was slammed shut, catching a number of unwary fingers clawing at the door frame, which were quickly retracted amid cries of pain from the other side.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Harker spluttered before turning to see a young woman with long silky black hair, and wearing a white lab coat, still ensuring that the security door was properly secured.

  ‘Doctor Stanton actually.’ The woman corrected him while she blew a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘Are you OK?’

  Harker offered her a thankful nod and then sucked in a much needed breath of air. ‘What the hell is going on around here, Doctor?’

  ‘I’m still trying to figure that out.’ She replied grimly and then flinched as numerous fists began pounding on the observation window, leaving blurry smudges of spit and grease. ‘More importantly who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?’

  ‘My name is Alex Harker,’ Harker answered staunchly, and tried to regain some composure before offering his hand, ‘and I had an appointment here with Marcus Eckard.’