Both men walked from one side of the Main Hall towards the door to the Administration Ward on the opposite side, weaving between desks as they went.
‘You know,’ Dr. Reid began, deciding to air his concerns, ‘I still don’t know very much about this medication that’s being administered.’
‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ Director Templeton replied.
‘Well, as the head physician here, don’t you think it is something I should be made aware of?’
‘You have your role here,’ Templeton replied, dismissively. ‘This is something that doesn’t concern you.’
‘Well, it should concern me,’ Reid answered, raising his voice slightly. Being kept at a distance had been annoying at first, but now it was becoming infuriating. ‘Again, you appointed me as Head Physician. It is my job to know what is going on with my patients.’
Director Templeton stopped and turned to face Reid. As he did, Reid could feel the eyes of the surrounding staff look up from their work and settle on the pair. ‘Correction,’ Templeton said. ‘These are my patients, Dr. Reid. Every single one of them. They belong to me. And you are here under my employ, so you do as ordered. Do you understand?’
Reid clenched his teeth, and his first instinct was to retaliate. After all, what did this man—a God-damn priest—know about healing the mentally ill? Reid was the only qualified person working in the asylum, as far as he could tell, and the only person with any real authority to determine what was best for these patients. He was the one who should be running the show.
But he let his teeth unclench because he wasn’t running the show, was he? There was a reason he was working here, relegated to this private hell-hole of an asylum. He needed to get his career back on track, and this was the only place that gave him the opportunity to do so. He had to be careful not to ruin this chance, at least until he had rebuilt his reputation sufficiently to move on.
But he needed results, some breakthrough that would put him at the forefront in his field again. It was fair to say that whatever organisation Templeton represented cared little for the patients in their care, so he could certainly indulge in more radial methods and treatments here. Indeed, many of the patients were held against their will, without showing any symptoms of mental issues beyond the stress of being held prisoner.
‘I do understand that,’ Reid conceded and turned to walk on, hoping Templeton would follow along away from the ears of the staff. Fortunately, Templeton did just that, so Reid continued. ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, or ungrateful, it’s just that I don’t think I can do my best work if things are kept from me.’
They arrived at the door to the Administration Ward, which was smaller than the others and contained a few spare offices, some small padded cells used to isolate patients, a library, a room that had been converted into a Chapel, and separate offices for Reid and Templeton.
Templeton did not answer the question at first, but instead pulled free his ring of keys and selected one that would open the door before them. Once through, and the door locked behind them, Templeton turned to Reid and gave his reply.
‘You are afforded plenty of patients on which to carry out your studies and claw back what little reputation you can, but this facility has a greater purpose, one that I am fulfilling. One that will, believe it or not, change the world. And until I know I can trust you completely, I will simply leave you to tinker with your outdated and misguided methods.’
‘If you really believe that,’ Reid asked, ‘then why bring me on board in the first place? Why do you even want me here?’
‘From time to time, we will need the expertise of someone like yourself. But, more than that, when you realise what it is we are doing here, I am hopeful you will see the potential we have and commit yourself to the cause.’
‘Then tell me what the cause is,’ Reid said. ‘How can I commit to something I am not aware of?’
Templeton just smiled. ‘In time,’ he said, infuriating Reid even further. ‘Prove yourself first, then all will be made clear.’
‘And how exactly am I supposed to prove myself?’
‘Continue your work for now,’ Templeton answered. ‘And when the time comes, do not disappoint.’
Dr. Reid raised his eyebrows in surprise. Director Templeton was much older than he was; shorter, too, and supposedly a man of God, but Reid was almost certain the old man had just issued him a veiled threat. Templeton then patted him on the shoulder and walked off towards his office, leaving Reid dumfounded.
5
Adrian looked down at the beaten and bloodied man; his pitiful face had already begun to swell and bruise. He spat blood, some of it coating Adrian’s shoes.
‘Say it,’ Adrian seethed, fists still clenched. ‘Say it to me now.’
The man crawled forward, like a dog, and grabbed at Adrian’s ankle.
This man was his father. Someone who, over the years, had beaten and abused both Adrian and Adrian’s mother. He’d worn them down to hollow shells of the people they once were.
Snuffing out the people they could have been.
But Adrian was bigger now, an adult in his own right, and he’d finally had enough. So, in the dark and dingy home, one that his father had stripped of warmth over the years, Adrian erupted. After being called a ‘worthless mistake’ yet again, he snapped and assaulted the old drunken monster, smashing his fists into his father’s face.
The suddenness and ferocity of Adrian’s attack overwhelmed his father, who made a futile attempt to fight back. Adrian’s mother screamed at him to stop, telling him not to go too far, but when the man fell Adrian unleashed a flurry of kicks to his father’s head and watched as the cartilage of the man’s nose crumpled and splintered.
Expelling all of his pent-up rage felt good—exhilarating, even. So, he kept going, indulging in the violence, and taking a kind of sadistic glee in the power he felt making the man suffer who had caused him such anguish.
‘Say it to me now!’ Adrian screamed again. ‘I dare you!’
He wanted his father to beg for forgiveness and plead for his life. Instead, the old bastard simply looked up at him with his one good eye and spluttered out his reply.
‘Worthless fucking mistake,’ he said, managing a pained smile.
Despite Adrian’s mother’s protests, Adrian allowed himself to fully embrace the anger that fuelled him. He grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed with all he was worth. His father fought back—a pathetic and weak attempt—but soon his face went from being beet-red to a shade of blue, and his eyes bulged from the sockets. With a wheeze, his life was finally choked away.
‘Good,’ a voice said as the walls around Adrian started to change. They peeled and flaked away to reveal a world outside that was not his own. A nightmarish place. He heard his mother’s terrified cries as something took her—a twisted, monstrous being—and crushed her skull.
Adrian screamed.
Adrian was pulled from unconsciousness and back into reality.
It took him a moment to realise why.
The asylum was never exactly a quiet place—the cries and moans of residents around the facility were a constant background noise that took him days to get used to after he had first arrived. But the noises that woke him now were different.
Something was happening.
Adrian lifted his head from the hard pillow and stared over to the closed door of his room, as if doing so could help visualise just what was going on in the hallways beyond. But it didn’t help, because while he could understand and make sense of some noises he heard—panicked yelling and angry shouts—there was another, terrifying sound that made no sense to him at all.
It seemed… inhuman.
Guttural groans and roars that were unfamiliar to him. The sounds were getting closer now and were punctuated by a howl of someone in tremendous pain. That was followed by some kind of gurgling and spluttering.
The chaos of what was happening in the corridor moved closer and was soon outside of his room
. Something clashed against the sturdy metal door hard enough to make it rattle in its frame. More pained cries, and then the viewing hatch was knocked open.
Mouth agape, Adrian gazed out into the darkness, not daring to move. The noises outside plateaued, and he could hear somebody struggling desperately, gasping and groaning. Whoever this man was, his pained pleas were soon overwhelmed by a monstrous growl.
Adrian was terrified, but he was also desperate to know what was going on. Surely the thick door between them would keep him safe from harm? He got to his feet and, ever-so-slowly, made his way over to the now-open hatch. He heard a horrible crunch from beyond and yet another cry of agony, then a prolonged ripping sound as the cries heightened before blurring into a wet gurgle.
Adrian reached the hatch and carefully peered out. Before he had the chance to take anything in, a blood-covered face slammed into the opening, causing him to yell and jump back in shock.
Adrian looked at the terrified face in repulsion. This man was one of the asylum's orderlies, but it was hard to be sure as to which one because his jaw was missing completely; it had been ripped off, leaving jagged wounds and exposed red flesh and tendons beneath. His tongue lolled down through the door’s hatch and into Adrian’s room. It writhed and twitched, almost with a life of its own.
Adrian made eye contact with the orderly, but immediately regretted doing so. The eyes seemed to plead for help, but the only sounds the man could make were incomprehensible moans. As quickly as it had appeared, the face was yanked away, and Adrian heard more growls. Then a pained, high-pitched cry.
He was scared, but couldn’t help himself; Adrian slowly moved forward and peered out to see the dark corridor beyond. He could make out a tall, spindly figure in the darkness, holding what appeared to be the orderly’s head in its long, claw-like hands as the detached body was dropped carelessly to the floor. Whatever this thing was, it was almost seven feet tall and its skin was pulled tight over oddly shaped bones that protruded beneath.
Adrian drew in a sharp gasp of breath as fear gripped him further, and as he did it appeared the demonic thing outside heard him. While still holding the severed head, it turned, allowing Adrian to see its face: melted and warped, the features like that of some horrific painting. One eye hung considerable lower than the other, almost in line with the corner of its unnaturally wide mouth, which opened like that of a snake, revealing rows of long, serrated teeth. The edges of its thin lips turned up into a smile as it raised the detached head up and pushed it into its open maw.
The demon made a sound reminiscent of a chuckle as the jaws clamped down over the cranium and started to exert force. It didn’t take long for the head to crunch and compress, eventually popping completely, causing a shower of gore and grey brain-matter to burst free.
Another sound came from the tall, gangly thing outside of Adrian’s room. It was a kind of huffing, snorting noise. The thing’s shoulders bobbed up and down and its smile increased as it began to chew.
Adrian realised that it was laughing.
Then Adrian heard approaching voices, and he turned to look farther back down the dark corridor. In the distance, he could see bodies littering the floor—other orderlies who had met a similar fate as their friend. The approaching group seemed to be coming from that direction, but had not arrived in full view as yet. The chewing, demonic thing outside evidently heard the same voices and running footsteps, too, as it turned in the same direction. It began to backpedal, but before running off into the darkness completely, it cast Adrian one last look.
It may have just been Adrian’s imagination after seeing something so horrific, but he was sure he recognised a familiarity in that melted, twisted face.
Malcolm?
Adrian heard the monster’s thumping footsteps move down the corridor as it fled. A group of orderlies finally emerged, sprinting after the thing, armed with knives, coshes, and sticks.
And one of them had a different kind of weapon altogether.
In his hands, he gripped a thin pipe that was fitted with handles and a nozzle at the end. A rubber tube ran from the back of the shaped metal pipe and connected to a small tank that was strapped to the man’s back. From the end of the nozzle, Adrian saw a small, blue flame.
Could that weapon really be what he thought it was?
If so, why the hell did an asylum need to be equipped with something like that?
‘Get it,’ an orderly yelled as they sprinted in a huddled group down the narrow hallway. One orderly bringing up the rear saw Adrian’s open hatch and locked eyes with him through it. The man quickly slammed the cover shut, cutting off Adrian’s view of what was happening.
Adrian then heard the voices and clattering footsteps disappear as they moved further away.
It seemed the chase was on.
Adrian stood before his door in silent disbelief.
What had he just seen? And could that thing have really been Malcolm?
Unable to make sense of it, he eventually made his way back over to his bed and dropped down onto it. He lay back and pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling himself shaking with fear and adrenaline.
He listened, trying to make out any sounds in the distance that would give him a clue as to what was going on, and he could hear wild cries, screams, and roars. Whatever was happening, Adrian knew there was violence involved.
And amongst all of that, the patients in the facility seemed particularly agitated tonight, and their mad bellows were also clearly audible.
Adrian had no idea of the hour, but he knew he would not sleep again that night.
6
It was late, but Reid could not sleep. He was seated in his office, a rather small, cramped room which housed his chair and writing desk in the centre, spare chair near the door, and tall bookcases lining the walls. Each case was crammed full of files and medical journals, while his desk itself was a sea of loose papers, parchment, and notes. As precise and meticulous as he believed he was, his office was in stark contrast to that—organised chaos was how he liked to describe it, with more emphasis on the chaos than the organised.
He was trying to focus on the job at hand—of writing up a report on a patient. Reid had a treatment in mind for the man, and it was the same treatment that had derailed his career and landed him in this God-forsaken place. Though it was not the report that was keeping him awake.
The altercation with Director Templeton was playing on his mind, specifically the things the man had said to him.
Prove yourself. Do not disappoint.
All vague riddles and threats, with nothing of substance behind them. What the hell was expected of him here?
He tried to concentrate on the words he was scribbling in his ledger as his eyes had started to ache with tiredness, but he knew it was pointless trying to rest them, as his mind was just too active. To help, he had switched off the light in his office and was now writing by the gentle, flickering glow of his table-mounted lantern. He’d owned the lamp for many years, even brought it with him when he’d started at Arlington Asylum, and found that the soft hue it gave off was much more forgiving on his eyes than the sharp illumination from the electric lights fitted throughout the facility. It also usually helped his mind to settle.
But not tonight.
He was not the kind of man to take kindly to threats—obscure or not.
Ignore the old fool, Reid said to himself. Concentrate on your work, then you can leave this place behind forever.
He tried doing just that and went back to a report which outlined the treatment he was planning to try on one of his patients—a young man, only seventeen, who had been picked up after living on the streets. He suffered from fits of violence, and with no warning he would erupt and lash out at anyone around him. Afterwards, when the episodes subsided, he always showed great regret for his actions, and Reid felt that he was the perfect candidate to try the procedure on again—the one that had almost ruined him last time.
It was less of a risk now.
/> If he failed, no one would care. He could simply try again. Not like last time, with Elton Breyer.
The procedure that was supposed to push him into fame and renown had not gone as expected.
Elton had been tied down to Reid’s table, fully awake and cognisant. Reid knew exactly what he had to do, and how much pressure to exert, but knowing something and actually carrying it out were two different things. Reid remembered taking hold of the instrument—which was long and thin, with a sharp end and made of lightweight aluminium—and bringing it down to the inside corner of Elton’s left eye. The young man’s blue irises had looked up to him as he did, wide with fear at the approaching pick. Reid felt the instrument slip in beside the wet eyeball and could see the fleshy orb push slightly to the side, making room for the new object that had invaded its space.
Reid had then brought up a mallet and started to gently hammer the pick into Elton’s head. It had slipped inside easily, moving down farther and farther until Reid had felt resistance.
He had reached the brain.
With a steady hand, he had hammered the pick again and penetrated the rubbery matter. Elton had let out a moan, and his body had begun to convulse. Reid had kept hitting the instrument, pushing it down farther, and Elton’s convulsions had become more severe. Finally, Reid had stopped, keeping the pick in place at what he thought was the correct depth. Then he had gently moved it from side to side, hoping to successfully sever the connections to the prefrontal cortex and frontal lobes of the brain.
This procedure, known as a transorbital lobotomy, should have put an end to Elton’s violent episodes and made him much more docile. While not conceived or developed by Reid himself, it was still considered an untested and unpractised procedure, and therefore looked down upon by the stuffy old medical elite—especially here in England. However, it was much easier and simpler to perform than a conventional lobotomy, saving time and money, and Reid had ambitions of taking this idea and pushing it to become common practice in his home country—and collecting all the plaudits that were owed to him as he did.
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