Trevor, meanwhile, just laughed manically as he went to work.
It didn’t take long for other orderlies to arrive and intervene, violently pulling the attacking inmate from their co-worker. Trevor hit the floor, and they descended on him with a flurry of kicks, punches, and savage whacks from their coshes. Trevor continued to fight back, but was overwhelmed. He screamed profanities and insults until, eventually, he was beaten unconscious, lying in a pool of his own blood. Two orderlies grabbed Trevor and dragged his limp body away, as others helped their still-screaming colleague, who now had a chunk missing from his face, the teeth beneath visible through the ruined, bloodied flesh.
The other orderlies went to work on the inmates who had gathered, unleashing random attacks to push back the crowd. Whatever trepidation these men had been feeling earlier was now gone, washed away by this chance to unleash their frustrations.
Adrian took an elbow to the face during the melee, and it was powerful enough to snap his jaw shut and send him sprawling.
When he looked up, a brawl had broken out.
Well, maybe brawl was the wrong word. It was a one-sided beating, dished out by the men in white uniforms who overpowered anyone daring to stand against them.
Adrian got to his feet and stepped back, feeling himself bump into someone. He turned around to see Seymour.
‘Watch where you’re going, boy,’ Seymour said. Adrian sensed an opportunity, hoping his actions would just get lost in the chaos.
Without thinking, he lashed out and swung his right fist, connecting with Seymour's jaw, which gave a satisfying crack. Seymour’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and he took a few steps back.
That should have been enough. Adrian had paid Seymour back for the things he’d said earlier, for the way he’d made Adrian feel, but that one punch felt good.
Too good.
So, it was not the last. He swung again, lefts and rights, battering the staggering man about the head.
‘You fucker,’ Adrian said through gritted teeth. Seymour wailed like a pig.
‘Stop,’ he begged in a pathetic, high-pitched voice. ‘Please.’
His begging only made things sweeter for Adrian, and he pushed Seymour to the ground. The fat man flailed on his back like a stuck pig.
Adrian dropped down on top of the other man and began striking him again as Seymour tried to cover his face. Each blow was further release of the pent-up rage and misery that had been building inside.
It was a purging.
And it felt exquisite.
The idea that this was wrong, and that Adrian was descending into the kind of behaviour that had defined his father, soon registered in his mind. Upon realising what he was doing, and who he was becoming, Adrian stopped. Just as he did, he felt himself pulled away and thrown to the hard, tiled floor. He looked up to see three orderlies surround him and instinctively prepared himself for a beating.
He was not disappointed.
Like Trevor before him, Adrian was kicked, punched, and struck with the brutal coshes. Pain bloomed in his ribs and the side of his head as the blows continued.
Adrian did not fight back—knowing that path would only lead to more pain.
The chaos continued until, eventually, all the patients in the room were subdued, and they huddled together in fear of more retribution.
Adrian was hoisted up, barely conscious, and dragged from the room. Just as he reached the door, the two orderlies that were carrying him stopped. Adrian lifted his head, painful though it was, and saw someone blocking the way.
Jones.
‘I’ll take him,’ Jones said, curling his top lip. ‘The rest of you restore some fucking order in here.’
‘Yes, sir,’ one orderly said.
Jones leant in closer to Adrian. ‘Take it you’ve been causing a bit of trouble, have you? Gonna make sure you learn never to do that again.’ He then crouched down farther and, in one swift, powerful motion, hoisted Adrian up on to his shoulder with such ease it made Adrian feel like a child.
He then left the room, Adrian slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat.
‘You’re in for a world of trouble, now,’ Jones said, with no small amount of glee in his voice.
11
Adrian was carried from Ward B, through the Main Hall, and into a place he had heard of but was unfamiliar with—all the while draped over the shoulder of the large orderly. His view was obstructed by the form of Jones as Adrian hung upside down, dangling behind the man’s back. Adrian had to turn his head to the side to see anything of the passing scenery.
He knew he was heading to isolation. Like so many other areas of the building, the walls here were tiled up to head height, this time a dull-white, before bare plaster took over up to the high, arched ceilings. The floor added a little more flavour to the decor with interlocking, diamond-shaped, cream and burgundy tiles. Adrian’s head was already spinning from the beating he’d taken, and the pattern of the floor only served to increase his nausea, so he closed his eyes until Jones stopped walking.
They had reached their destination.
Jones opened a blank door with a closed viewing hatch and tossed Adrian inside like a sack of discarded meat. Thankfully, the floor was soft, and as he fell into it, Adrian realised it was padded, as were the walls. A single bright bulb overhead illuminated the area with a sharp light that spilled down the white padding to the walls that were streaked with yellow and dark brown stains. Adrian also noted that the room had a foul, sour smell to it.
Jones entered and pulled the door closed, sealing them both inside.
‘Your friend is next door,’ he said, nodding his head to the left-hand wall of the room. ‘The one that thinks he’s a woman. He ain’t awake yet, but when he comes to, I’ll take pleasure in giving him a good going over. But, until then…’
Jones then took a heavy step forward and grabbed Adrian by the throat, heaving him to his feet. Adrian again braced himself for whatever pain was about to come and, even though Jones was only one man, the power and ferocity of his first punch was a shock. As the punch crashed against his cheek, Adrian felt a split form in his gum as a tooth dislodged. A sharp pain spread through his jawbone, and Adrian let out a cry as his vision spun.
Another punch, this one to his gut, winded Adrian, and he bent double and coughed as he struggled to regain his breath. Jones released his hold on Adrian's throat and allowed him to drop to his knees.
‘Now, I need you to remember the pain you are feeling,’ Jones said in his deep, gravelly voice. ‘See, I can’t have people acting up in here. We need to maintain order so that the masses fall in line. And do you know the best way to maintain order?’
Adrian let out another cry as Jones stepped down atop his left hand, which was splayed flat on the floor. The bone of Adrian’s knuckle was pinned in an agonising position beneath the heavy boot of the orderly.
‘By making sure people like you know what the punishment is for stepping out of line. I want you to tell your friends about what is happening to you here today. I want you to tell them every detail. Then, maybe, little outbreaks like the one we had today will not happen.’
Jones reached down and pulled Adrian to his feet, bringing them both face to face. Adrian swayed unsteady in the man’s grip.
‘But if not, then I’m still happy. And I’ll let you in on a little secret as to why…’
He pulled Adrian in close, and Adrian felt Jones’ breath on his ear as the orderly whispered to him.
‘Because I really, really enjoy doing this.’
Two large hands suddenly gripped the sides of Adrian’s head as Jones unleashed a savage headbutt to the bridge of Adrian’s nose.
He heard an audible crack and agony erupted all over his face.
‘Stop,’ Adrian pleaded, feeling blood flow from his nostrils and over his lips. The pain continued to grow and throb. ‘Please.’
Jones just laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think that is going to happen, inmate. We just started, and I’m just get
ting warmed up. Feel free to fight back if you think it will help.’
Jones then threw Adrian to the floor and swung a hard kick into his ribs. Arian screamed out again before the sole of Jones’ boot found its way down onto Adrian’s throat, pushing down and cutting off his air.
Yet again, Adrian was beaten down and belittled.
When Seymour had done it earlier, Adrian had managed to get some measure of revenge. But here, with Jones, that just wasn’t going to happen. He was forced to take whatever was coming to him.
Just like he did as a child whenever his father came home—sometimes drunk, sometimes sober.
Always violent.
Adrian hated it—the feeling of helplessness, of not being able to stand up for himself and fight back. Of being forced to accept what was thrust upon him.
‘I…’ Adrian wheezed, ‘want to speak with—’
But then Jones pressed his foot down harder, cutting Adrian off.
‘Speak to who?’ Jones asked with a sneer. ‘Sorry, I can’t make out what you’re saying. Make yourself clear, inmate. Enunciate.’
He laughed at himself and kept the pressure up. Adrian’s throat felt like it was about to collapse beneath the weight, and the sides and ridges of the boot sole scratched and scraped at his skin.
‘Director,’ Adrian forced out. ‘Speak… with… Director… Templeton.’
Jones laughed again. ‘Afraid you don’t get to make orders like that. You don’t get to decide when the director will listen to you. Understand?’
Adrian then croaked out one more word, hoping it would be enough.
‘Monster.’
The weight eased ever so slightly as Jones’ expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed.
‘What did you say?’
‘Monster,’ Adrian choked out, finding it a little easier to speak now that Jones’ foot had lifted a little. ‘Last night.’
The foot removed itself completely, and Jones squatted down over him.
‘And what do you think you know?’
Adrian took deep, painful breaths between his words as he replied. ‘In the corridor. A monster.’
‘Monster?’ Jones sneered. ‘I think your faculties are slipping, inmate. Fortunately, you are in the best place for that.’
Adrian shook his head. ‘No. I know what happened. And I want to talk to the director.’
Jones also shook his head. ‘Ain’t going to happen,’ he said. ‘No reason for it. You’ve nothing of any importance to say.’
Adrian narrowed his eyes and lifted his head, trying to sound as serious and assertive as he could, given his position on the floor. ‘I saw it,’ he said. ‘I saw that monster, and I saw what it did to those men. And… I know who it was before it changed. Now get the director, otherwise, I tell everyone in here what I saw. Think you can keep order if the patients believe vicious creatures are roaming the halls?’
Jones bent down and grabbed hold of Adrian’s throat. ‘You pathetic fuck,’ he said with a snarl and genuine anger in his voice. ‘You don’t issue the orders here.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘Then you have a choice to make. Keep me in here for good. Kill me. Or get the director. If not, I go back and shout about what I know.’
Jones punched Adrian again, driving his massive fist down into Adrian’s chest, almost cracking the chest bone. But, while Adrian rolled around in agony, Jones left the room.
It seemed Adrian would get his audience with Director Templeton after all.
Not that that he had any idea what he was going to say.
12
Reid sat in his office, pretending to work on reports in solitude, but instead paying close attention to the corridor outside. The wooden door to his room had a pane of glass across the top half, allowing a clear view into the hallway. If he stood close to the door, he would be able to see Templeton’s office farther down the hall. But right now, he knew that Templeton was in his office, so he had to wait for his opportunity to act.
Reid heard footsteps outside again and saw the large brute Jones come storming past his door.
The man looked angry, more so than usual. Reid got to his feet and approached one of his bookcases, angling himself so that he could see through the pane of glass in the door. From this position, he watched as Jones walked up to Templeton’s office and banged on the door. Templeton appeared, and the two spoke. Jones seemed to be agitated, gesturing animatedly with his hands. However, they were too far away for Reid to hear anything of what was said.
Not that it mattered.
Reid just wanted Templeton out of his office for a while. He had studied the director’s movements that morning, trying to find any pattern to his behaviour that would leave his office abandoned for a period of time. If no opportunity presented itself today, that meant waiting until the following morning when the director spent time in the Chapel.
The man had left his office a few times over the course of the day, but locked it each time, so Reid was also trying to formulate a way to get his key.
Or a spare.
But one way or another, he was going to get inside of that office, and he would find the answers that Templeton was so reluctant to give.
Reid continued to watch as Templeton finally stepped from his office and pulled the door closed behind him, then followed Jones back down the hallway.
However, Reid noted that Templeton did not lock the door behind him. Reid buried his head in a book, making a show of studying the words within as the two men passed his office. As Reid glanced up, Templeton gave him an unreadable look as he went by, and Reid found himself nodding in acknowledgement. It seemed the natural thing to do.
Soon, both Jones and Templeton turned a corner up ahead and were out of sight. Reid had no idea how much time he had to work with, but he knew it wouldn’t be long.
He knew he had to act quickly.
Reid jogged from his room, not bothering to lock his door, either, and ran down the empty corridor to Templeton’s office. He quickly glanced around, to make absolutely sure no one was present, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Director Templeton’s office was much different than his own. For one, it was larger, which did not surprise Reid too much. But the other significant difference was just how tidy and ordered everything was.
His sleek oak desk had on it only an open ledger and a selection of pens, all lined up neatly. A stained oak chair with leather padding was tucked under the desk, and the books in the cases around the room were all organised in alphabetical order, rather than jammed into any spare space as most of the paraphernalia on Reid’s shelves were. Oak dominated the room—not only the desk and chair, but also the full-height wood panelling on the walls. Even the bookcases were built from good, sturdy timber.
The office also smelled of incense, reminding Reid of the Chapel, and he saw a single, wall-mounted candle on the far side of the room, beside a tall window that was positioned centrally. Outside, Reid could see the grounds run up to a high stone wall that closed the facility off from the outside world. A thick rug lay beneath the desk and chair, plush red, leaving the rest of the wooden floorboards beyond it exposed.
But Reid did not have time to dwell on the details—he was here for a reason.
He ran around to the other side of the desk, to the ledger that was practically begging to be read.
It was filled with reports on the facility’s day-to-day activities. Quickly flicking through the pages, Reid searched for something of note—anything out of the ordinary, or some reference to the mysterious substance Templeton was administering to the patients of the asylum. However, other than a few brief notes about how much of it was to be administered, he could see nothing that gave him anything to go on. Perhaps if he had time to study the ledger in more detail, he could find more.
But time was short.
Reid next looked at the desk drawers, but found them locked, much to his frustration. However, surely that meant there was something inside worth seeing?
<
br /> He continued looking and realised that many of the books that lined the shelves were not medical but, strangely, tomes on the occult and strange practices. Not the sort of thing one would expect to find in the office of a religious man who ran a mental facility.
Then again, it was not the sort of place one would expect to find an actual monster, either.
As Reid took a step toward the bookshelves, he felt a floorboard beneath the thick rug sink a little under his weight. It might have been nothing but a loose board, or it could be something more.
He quickly pulled the carpet back and saw that one of the boards beneath was a slightly different colour than the others. And, where the others were nailed down, this one was loose. Digging his fingers around the edges of the cold wood, Reid soon managed to tilt the board up, revealing a small, dark hole beneath.
And there, sitting in the hole, was a small, shiny key.
Secrets upon secrets.
Reid grabbed the key, already having an idea as to what it opened. He put it into the lock on the desk drawers and, as expected, it released.
With no small measure of excitement and nervous energy, Reid dug through the drawers. He found many folders, and in one Reid saw records of written correspondence between Director Templeton and someone named Kane Ainsworth. There was also, in the shallow top drawer, a thick black pocketbook. Reid flicked through it, noticing the dates and neat handwriting within, and realised it was a diary.
The private diary of Director Templeton.
He knew he had something to go on here and weighed up his next move. Did he stay here and look through as much as he could? That came with the very real risk of Templeton walking in on him, especially as Reid had no idea how long the director would be. The other option was to take something with him—steal it to review later when he had more time and privacy.
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