Sin

by Shaun Allan

  "Yes, Sin. I knew who you were. I could have danced when you came into my office and asked for my help. And the fun I had with you. Who knew one man could offer so much?"

  I went to speak, to ask how he could possibly know me before we even met, but he raised a hand and I automatically obeyed the signal. He still commanded that much from me in that he was above me and I was to fawn at his feet. Or at least that was the initial reaction, before I gave myself a mental slap in the face for behaving in such a way. My pause was long enough for him to continue, so I let him. I'd have to make sure I had my chance to ask my own questions.

  "It took time, you know. We didn't get it figured out straight away. And there were a few mistakes, especially when we moved to people. So much more complicated."

  He saw my frown and leant forward on the desk, facing me directly.

  "Don't worry," he said. "We were careful. I pay certain members of my staff very well, and choose them carefully for the way I can use them and for what I can use against them." He pushed himself away and resumed his pacing. It was almost hypnotic, back and forth in front of the desk. I was becoming entranced, concentrating on his words. "You were my prize. For all my years of hard work, battling with those who didn't understand my techniques or agree with my views. I knew, one day, I'd be able to prove them wrong. Of course," he said with a wink that made me want to poke his open eye out, "they didn't know about our little arrangement."

  He began tapping the side of his head as he walked, as if he were Morse coding the thoughts into his head, or his finger was a woodpecker drilling down to all the gooey stuff inside.

  "Once you came to me, whether by fate, coincidence or your sister..."

  "My sister!?" I couldn't help the exclamation. How did he know Joy? Why was her name on his computer? Did he know where she was now?

  He waved his hand to shush me. "Yes, yes. Your sister. Don't get too excited. I don't think she really brought you here. It was probably a coincidence, or some form of divine intervention in repayment for my years of dedication. God knows I deserve it. Either way, once I had you here, you helped me with a few experiments to find out what we could do with you, and then we were away! It was so simple in the end. And apart from the two who discovered what we were doing, and the one who was just because I felt like it, there were very few deaths. Good job, really," he laughed. "It was getting hard to find stray cats."

  So. There had been more cats that I'd killed for him. And people too, it seemed. Should I have felt nauseous? Should I have wanted to vomit? Cry out? Perhaps. But I didn't. I felt nothing but hate. My sense of shock and outrage was fading rapidly. I was only angry now. I was only waiting. The pouncee was becoming the pouncer. The kickee, the kicker.

  He ranted on. He must have been enjoying the sound of his own voice, a sound that was starting to grate on me like fingernails on a blackboard or a knife across a ceramic plate.

  "It didn't take long for me to figure out the right buttons to push to point you in the right direction. You're a fast learner, boy. I don't know why you couldn't work it out for yourself, but no matter. We did it together, which was nice. A true bonding experience, don't you think?"

  No.

  He stopped again and looked at me, an eyebrow raised. "I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you. You've done this so often, with such... finesse... I can't believe you don't remember a thing. I ought to go into business with my cocktail. I could imagine a big market out there for a drug that left you suggestible but unaware."

  Again, the pacing and the head tapping.

  "It started off, you know, with a few patients who came in with fairly minor, treatable illnesses. Some depression, a little paranoia - the real kind not your phony version. If you messed up and they started bleeding from their nose or dribbling out of their ears whilst staring at their groin, so what? Obviously they were worse than they thought. If you cured them, you could then make them dribble from their nose or bleed from their ears, and we'd keep them here, with the money rolling in, until they either died or were no longer needed. And, as you no doubt do remember, Sin, not many leave."

  He stopped his tapping and both hands went into his pockets.

  "Unfortunately, the intake was too low. Not enough crazies in the world to keep us going. I wanted to expand. I wanted to become a haven for those whom the world called Lunatic. And if there were no lunatics, then I'd just make them. Or rather, we would. You and me, Sin. What a team. We've extended the Institute three times just since you've been here, you know that? Three times. And the funding and sponsorship has gone through the roof. Do you realise, I have so much money, I don't know what to do with it? Do you realise, I'm practically a celebrity? Even the Prime Minister has called me for advice. Me! And it's all thanks to you. I actually thought that, if I were to meet him, I could make him a patient too. Then we would be firmly on the map. Forget the Priory and all those other clinics for the fashionably addicted. We would be the place to be, and I would be known all over the world." He pointed at me. "And you, my dear boy, would be standing right behind me, unseen of course, helping make it all happen."

  His face was alight with excitement and the thrill of what he was telling me. I shouldn't have been surprised that a lunatic was in charge of the asylum, but I had to admit I was. This was all about fame and money. His grand scheme, his murders and manipulations were all down to celebrity. How sad. How... anticlimactic.

  "Money?" I asked. "This was down to money?"

  "Sin," he said with what sounded like a cackle. If he'd have been green he would have been the evil brother of the Wicked Witch of the East. "How can you make this so simplistic? How can you make it sound so inane? Money? Is that what you think?" I nodded. I didn't think it was that at all. It was greed, but not just financial. "Well," he continued, "perhaps at first. And reputation. I was getting nowhere. My dream of being renowned was simply that, a dream. I wanted more. I wanted prominence. Notoriety even. But then you came along. Your sister helped. She made people like me, listen to me, but it wasn't enough. You took it further. Made it possible. It's all thanks to you."

  My sister again. He was throwing her into his discourse as if she were a piece of flotsam to be tossed overboard, ignorant of how this would, and did, make me feel. I didn't even know Joy played any part in this, and now I was discovering she had taken my place before I knew such a place existed. He wasn't slowing enough for me to ask, and besides, he was in mid flow. As much as I needed to know my sister's involvement, I still needed him to carry on. Which he did.

  "You, my boy, made people need me. When people didn't come to me, I went out to find them. I'd never been in a public house in my life, but needs must, and the clientele was perfect. The right mix of the desperate and the despised. The supermarket. The back streets of Riby Square, where the prostitutes would try to force themselves on me night after night. Oh, Sin. The things I had to endure! I still feel unclean. A needle in the neck, or a drug in the drink, and then you would do what you did so well. And there'd be one more patient to tend to. We're on the verge of being the biggest mental home in the country. If we keep this up, it will be the world. Eventually, Sin, with your help, it literally will be the world! I've only used you on a maximum of five people at a time. More would be too noticable. But who knows what you can do? Who knows the real extent of your power? The right push from me, and you could even turn the whole planet into one big asylum! Think of it, Sin. Think of it. The whole world one big slobbering mess, with only me to help them all. Well, apart, I suppose, from a select few. I'd need some support from staff, I suppose. But you'd keep them in line for me, of course. But best to stay small for now. Build things up slowly, eh? There's plenty of time for the rest."

  Stunned. How else can I describe how I felt? He wanted to make everyone in the world mad. He wanted to be psychiatrist to billions. I didn't know what to say. All of the despots in all of the Bond films paled into insignificance next to Dr. Connors. His was a vision of gargantuan proportions. The thing was, I didn
't know what I could do. What if he was right? What if I could cause everyone on Earth to suddenly become a variation of my friend Bender Benny? It sounded preposterous, but so did teleportation and causing a bus to drive into a post office.

  I just didn't know.

  But what about Joy?

  "What about Joy?" I had to ask. I had to know. "What did you do to her?"

  "I didn't, Sin." He wasn't laughing. He wasn't smiling. He was no longer pacing or tapping. He was standing, facing me. "You did."

  "Me?" I was hoarse. My throat probably constricted, my eyes probably wide, I didn't know. I wasn't me anymore. I felt apart from myself, as if I couldn't bear to be a part of what he was going to tell me.

  "Yes, Sin. Don't you remember? I can't have two of you here. That's far too dangerous, even for me. You were more use than she. Your sister had served her purpose."

  "So you killed her?"

  He smiled then. "No, Sin. You did."

  I jumped up from my seat, pushing it backwards against the wall, moving to climb over the desk to grab him, but he was faster. His hand was on Caroline's throat, a syringe in his other, needle to her neck.

  "I wouldn't."

  I stopped. My heart was beating in my head. I could hear it in my ears.

  He was looking at me, a Cheshire cat smile.

  "Saying that," he said, and his thumb moved to push the plunger in.

  My hand went up, my mouth uttering... something. Caroline was no longer sprawled in the chair asleep. She was gone. The syringe fell to the seat and rolled onto the floor. Connors gasped, then smiled again. He stood up.

  "Where is she?"

  I shook my head. I couldn't speak. I knew, but I wasn't going to tell him, and I didn't trust myself as to what I might say. Caroline was fine. She was miles away, in bed. My bed at my parents house. She was safe. She'd wake up in the morning and remember none of what had happened. Jersey, Connors, the institute would be a half remembered nightmare. The fact that she didn't know who's house she was in, nor how she had got there, nor the past few months of her life wouldn't matter. Her eyes would open and she would just be.

  Connors bent and picked up the syringe off the floor. It was still full. He looked at me and shook his own head.

  "Oh, Sin," he said sadly. "We could do so much."

  He was faster than me, I knew. I'd seen. But as he leapt for the table at me, my eyes flicked to the paperweight. It was empty. In my clenched fist, I felt something familiar. Something comfortable. Round. Metal. Warm. His eyes followed mine and widened as he saw the same vacant space in the crystal cube. When he looked back at me the two pence coin was already curving through the air. I caught in the same instant his hand grabbed my throat and his needle touched my neck.

  Re-using a hypodermic. Didn't he know the risks?

  "I wouldn't," he whispered.

  But it was already too late.

  Because I had.

  Because I could.

  Thanks to him.

  * * * *

  Epilogue

  "I didn't want to be picking up the pieces, Sin. I wanted to make sure there were no pieces to pick up."

  She stood in Dr. Connors' office in front of his computer, she stared at it for a long moment. Her name, in capitals was still on the screen.

  JOY.

  She clicked off the monitor and walked around the desk, although she could quite easily have walked through it. She liked to at least pretend to be normal.

  She looked down at the floor, then bent down to where the two pence coin had rolled and come to rest.

  Sin's sister straightened and held out her hand. A tear fell as her thumb slid under the coin and flicked.

  Flip.

  And...

  Catch.

  ###

  About the Author:

  A writer of many prize winning short stories and poems, Shaun Allan has written for more years than he would perhaps care to remember. Having once run an online poetry and prose magazine, he has appeared on Sky television to debate, against a major literary agent, the pros and cons of internet publishing as opposed to the more traditional method. Many of his personal experiences and memories are woven into Sin’s point of view and sense of humour although he can’t, at this point, teleport.

  Read other works by Shaun at Smashwords.com:

  http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/singularity

  Sin has a blog, detailing his experiences and thoughts whilst in the mental asylum and the people and patients he meets there, at http://singularityspoint.blogspot.com

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