Tormented

by Lee Mountford

  Oh, what it must be like to exist as such a being, to know what they know. Secrets and truths about the order of things that we, lowly creatures as we are, can scarcely comprehend.

  One even wonders if perhaps, just perhaps, ascension is possible for us. My initial thoughts were that the notion was nothing more than fanciful hopes and dreams, but recently I have not been as convinced of that.

  There may yet be a way. Not to worship a god, but to exist as one.

  And I often wonder what happened to my good friend Robert Wilson. Where is his soul now? And what wonders does he behold?

  To Reid, the diary entries sounded like the ravings of a madman—or a religious zealot, which to him was the same thing.

  During his conversation with Templeton, he had guessed that the director’s motives were in some way related to God, but after reading the entries, he no longer believed that to be the case. Templeton spoke of things—beings, he called them—that could perhaps be conceived as gods, but not the God that a Catholic or Christian priest would worship. Regardless, it was all nonsense, but Reid was concerned that such fanciful notions were the very reason this facility seemed to be in operation.

  There was also mention of a church—and again, this church was not one that Reid was familiar with. It seemed to be the organisation behind the asylum.

  This facility was the church’s operation, and Templeton was the one heading it up.

  04th March 1954

  The Church has given me instructions to progress things, as demanded by the Great Ailing One. We are to administer more doses of what we have collected to the inmates here.

  The results should be… interesting.

  Dr. Vine is also becoming more of a problem. I had hoped to bring him into the fold, into our family, but I fear his mind is not open to new possibilities. And he would, no doubt, strongly object to the real work we need to carry out here. Things will come to a head soon.

  For his own sake, I hope he can see the potential before him.

  Reid thumbed through further and eventually found the entry he was looking for.

  29th March 1954

  It is done.

  Unfortunately, Dr. Vine could not accept the truth and would not be swayed, as I feared, so we had no choice but to act. Still, his expertise will be missed, and we will need to consider replacing him as soon as possible. While we will be able to cover up his death relatively easily, I think the next successful applicant would need to be someone with fewer connections to the outside world. And someone who is a little more willing to push the boundaries in the treatments they develop.

  I shall begin my search. In the meantime, we will continue administering the medicine to selected patients.

  The discoveries we have made in such a short amount of time have been remarkable.

  Reid would have continued reading more if he had not heard approaching voices outside of his office. He quickly slipped the diary into his desk drawer and picked up a file from his desk. He opened it up and looked at the scrawled notes on the page, feigning interest.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Jones and Director Templeton pass by his door, stopping just outside. As the two talked, the director cast a look inside at Reid.

  Templeton seemed a different person to him now.

  Before, he was merely an old fool. A man who followed a make-believe god and had found himself in a position that was beyond him. Someone Reid was using as a stepping stone to move on to greater things. He had been a man Reid could simply manipulate and deal with until he was ready to leave Arlington Asylum behind.

  But now?

  Now Reid knew that Templeton was something else entirely. True, he still believed in the fantastic and the impossible—though the creature from the night before was testing Reid’s conviction on that—but Templeton was also backed by this strange group, or organisation, which held the same beliefs. Also, it would seem that most, if not all, of the staff here were members of the same… cult.

  And to top it all off, this diary strongly implied that Reid’s predecessor had met an untimely end, and that Templeton was responsible.

  Whether he had carried out the act himself or not, Templeton had the power to decide who lived and died here—patients and staff alike. And that was a terrifying thought.

  Jones and Templeton finished their conversation, and Jones strode away, leaving Templeton alone. He looked inside Reid’s office again and gave Reid a smile and a wave.

  Reid felt a knot form in his stomach.

  He gave a quick courtesy wave in return, and the director headed back to his office.

  Suddenly, Dr. Thomas Reid felt like he was living on borrowed time.

  15

  A loud knock on the door of the isolation room pulled Adrian from his thoughts.

  ‘Stand away from the door,’ a voice yelled, though it was muffled by the thick iron. An audible click sounded before the heavy door swung open. Three orderlies stood outside, one of them Adrian recognised as Duckworth.

  Thankfully, Jones was not among them.

  ‘Get up,’ Duckworth said, brandishing his cosh.

  Adrian did as instructed, though his movements were laboured and lethargic due to the pain that radiated throughout his body. His jaw still ached with every slight movement, and a sharp, stabbing pain continued in his ribs.

  When he got to his feet, two of the orderlies swooped into the room, and each took hold of an arm. As they restrained him and jostled his body, another jolt of searing agony erupted in his sides. Duckworth remained at the door, overseeing proceedings.

  ‘Don’t try anything, understand?’ he said. Adrian just nodded in response, feeling beaten and broken. ‘Good, now let’s go.’

  The other two orderlies pulled him forward, and he followed without resistance. Adrian barely registered the trip back to Ward B, instead lost in his thoughts, struggling with his internal conflict.

  Did he really want to remain here at the asylum any longer? Was his need for punishment that great?

  Adrian had no idea how it was possible, but he knew in his gut that what he had seen was real, despite Templeton’s assertions to the contrary. And, if Adrian remained here, he knew that he, too, would eventually end up like Malcolm, which was an irony in itself.

  He was desperate not to become his father—a monster—and he had come here in the hope of avoiding that fate. And yet that was literally what he could soon become—a monster.

  He remembered the sound the creature had made.

  That laugh.

  Maybe becoming something like that was fitting for him, but he dreaded to think of what his poor mother would have made of that.

  Not that she wouldn’t have hated him already, of course.

  After Adrian was dragged through the Main Hall, where the workers at their desks barely looked up at him, Adrian was then pushed through into the corridor of his ward and released.

  ‘Keep your nose clean, inmate,’ Duckworth said to him before the secure door was closed in his face.

  With nothing else to do, Adrian ambled back towards his room.

  16

  ‘Try to relax,’ Reid said to David Readman, who lay on a stainless-steel table that came up to Reid’s midsection. He was standing at its head so that he could look down at the face of his young patient.

  David solemnly nodded, knowing something was going to happen that would change things forever. Reid hadn’t outlined to David what he was planning to do, feeling there was little need in worrying the patient unnecessarily. David had been strapped down with leather restraints across his chest, waist, and legs to ensure he did not try to lash out and make things more difficult than they needed to be.

  Reid had postponed the procedure once already and, truth be told, wasn’t exactly feeling like himself today, either, so had considered delaying it again. After all, his plan of using Arlington Asylum as a stepping stone to propel him on to greater things now looked like a miscalculation. He didn’t think he would be allowed to leave this place
. Not alive, anyway.

  But then again, he had to keep himself occupied, and finally succeeding with this procedure was as good a use of his time as anything.

  Two orderlies were present with him in the room, watching Reid as he prepped himself. Normally, he would have paid their presence no mind, but now that he knew they were all wrapped up in the same cult—if that's what it was—it made them more difficult to ignore.

  The small room was barely big enough to fit them all in, especially with the table that held David Readman. The walls were bare, and there was a single, barred window on the back wall. Fortunately, the light given by the fitting in the ceiling was generous, and that was important for the procedure Reid was about to carry out.

  Come on, concentrate, Reid said to himself. This was important to him, a chance at redemption. Whatever trouble lay ahead with Templeton could wait. He needed to be in the here and now.

  Reid turned to the instrument table at his side; it contained only two objects, a mallet and a pick, both made from lightweight metal. He took them both in his hands and turned back to David.

  The young boy’s eyes were wide with fear and, for a moment, Reid could have sworn he was looking into the eyes of Elton Breyer, the person he’d tried this on before.

  The boy who had died.

  ‘Everything will be all right,’ Reid said in as comforting a tone as he could muster. He then lifted the pick and brought it slowly down towards the inside corner of David’s eye. For his part, young Mr. Readman was able to hold himself together quite well, despite his obvious worry. And especially considering he had no choice but to watch the sharp point of the spear-like object as it dropped towards his eyeball.

  Reid heard the young man give out a whimper, and he felt the pick make contact. Reid then raised the mallet and braced himself.

  This was it.

  ‘Please,’ David begged. ‘Don’t.’

  Reid dropped the hammer and felt the pick slide into the socket with a faint squelch. Another tap and it dropped down farther. He noticed the eyeball bulge slightly in its pit, the same as had happened with Elton.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The pick burrowed in deeper, and David began to convulse, but the restraints held firm. The pick was buried in too deep to be dislodged by the boy's movements.

  Another tap and Reid felt it—the sharp point had found and penetrated the brain.

  He just prayed it hadn’t speared its way in too far. David began to moan as Reid set the hammer down and took a firmer hold of the pick. He gently moved the instrument from side to side, feeling resistance as the point scraped away at the matter it was buried into.

  Reid was working blind, but he proceeded carefully.

  David began to buck wildly now, and a string of saliva rolled from the corner of his mouth. He uttered a sound, but it was incomprehensible—like the babbling of a child.

  Reid wanted to continue, to scrape away more of the matter, and to know for certain that the connections to the prefrontal cortex and frontal lobes were severed. But that was precisely how he’d felt when doing this to Elton, and then he had wound up killing his patient. This time he would show restraint. If the procedure was not successful, then he would just try again.

  So, instead of scraping further, he eased the pick from David’s eye socket. A squelch sounded as it released, like the sound of a boot pulling free from mud.

  The patient continued to buck and writhe for a good ten minutes, and Reid studied him the whole time.

  Slowly, the convulsions ended.

  ‘David?’ Reid asked. The young man turned his gaze to Reid, and the doctor noticed a bruise already forming on the inside of his left eye. ‘Can you hear me?’

  David did not respond.

  ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  Still nothing, just a blank stare.

  ‘I think you broke him,’ one of the orderlies said from behind. Reid spun his head and shot the man an angry scowl. Whether they were part of the cult or not, Reid was still in charge in this room.

  ‘Shut your mouth, you stupid fool,’ Reid snapped. ‘You are here to assist, not make comments. Understand?’

  The man clenched his jaw, but nodded his consent.

  Reid then got to work undoing the restraints that held his patient. Reid knew that David had been prone to bouts of violence, so he would need to be monitored just to be sure those episodes did not continue. However, Reid was confident in his work, and pleased at his success.

  ‘Come on,’ Reid said, ‘get up.’ He pulled at David’s shoulder and was encouraged when the young man obediently followed Reid’s lead. He then swung the man's legs from the table and pulled him up completely, praying David could stand and hold his own weight.

  He could.

  David stood, swaying gently and waiting, like a zombie without a purpose.

  Reid clicked his fingers in front of the man’s eyes, and they moved towards the noise, following Reid’s digits. David’s motor skills seemed to be functioning, but the man simply would not—or could not—speak.

  ‘Take him back to his room,’ Reid instructed the orderlies. ‘I want him under constant observation. If anything changes, I want to know about it. Especially if he becomes agitated or excited.’

  The two orderlies grunted in confirmation, but that was all they said before grabbing David by the arms and pulling him from the room. Again, David was completely submissive and stumbled along with them from the room.

  Reid was then left alone to consider how the procedure had gone. David indeed seemed more docile, but there was a danger he was now too docile. Just a husk of a person, with no personality to speak of.

  The man he used to be, scraped away and erased.

  Still, better that than the way he was before.

  And at least he was still breathing… for now.

  Reid felt a small surge of pride at his work. Things were still inconclusive, but so far the signs were good. And it was a massive improvement on his last effort.

  All in all, a success.

  And the distraction had been a welcome one. If Reid continued to concentrate on his work, then he perhaps could keep his mind occupied a little longer until he had the time and privacy to get more acquainted with Templeton’s diary.

  He wanted to know as much as he could about what was going on here, because one thing was for certain—he did not plan to stick around to see much more for himself. He would escape this place, and not look back.

  17

  As Adrian ghosted his way back to his room, he passed his neighbour’s cell and saw Tom lying on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest. The old man was shaking and sweating profusely. If it was possible, Tom seemed even worse than the last time Adrian had seen him, and the skin around his face had sunken further, making him look deathly ill. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin beneath them was a dark purple colour.

  ‘You don’t look so good, Tom,’ Adrian said through the open door. He stepped inside, and Tom turned his head. The man forced a friendly smile, but he looked pained, and his skin was horribly pale.

  ‘Don’t look too hot yourself, son,’ Tom replied with a strained voice. ‘You been done over?’

  Adrian nodded. ‘Yeah, apparently I was a little unruly. Took a beating and got thrown in isolation.’

  Tom forced out a chuckle. ‘Always thought you were one to keep your head down.’

  Adrian shrugged. ‘Me too.’ He walked over and squatted down next to the old man. ‘Is there anything I can do for you? Should I call for help?’

  ‘No,’ Tom said. ‘No point. I know what’s ailing me. It’s that cursed poison they keep pumping into me. And they’ll be back tonight, I’m told. It’ll probably finish the job.’

  ‘Refuse it,’ Adrian said.

  ‘Won’t do any good, friend,’ the old man replied. ‘You know that as well as I do. We’re prisoners in here. Things to be played with at the whims of those above us, until we are too bent, broken, and buckled to be useful an
ymore. Then we are cast out. Ignored, forgotten, and left to die.’

  Adrian went to respond, but quickly realised he couldn’t think of anything to say. There was a moment's silence between them.

  ‘You been getting this medicine too?’ Tom asked.

  Adrian nodded. ‘Just started the treatment.’

  ‘Treatment?’ Tom replied, forcing out a chuckle at the word. ‘It ain’t treatment, lad. Like I say, it’s poison. You know, I remember seeing the Krauts use poison gas a few times in the Great War. Our own men used it a few times as well, to be fair. I was out in Belgium and saw what that gas did to people. Not just soldiers, townsfolk as well. People just trying to avoid death, but it got them all the same. Ruined their insides and burnt them away. I reckon I’m just going through the same kind of death as those poor people, only slower and more drawn out.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Adrian said. ‘I had no idea it was that bad.’

  ‘It wasn’t, at first. I barely noticed it. In fact, I felt a little better. Brighter. Almost had a spring in my step. But it changed me, changed the way I think. Even now, part of me is wondering if I could reach out and grab your throat.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Adrian asked, instinctively leaning back.

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t have the strength even if I wanted to. Guess this is what you’ve got to look forward to, lad.’

  That struck a chord with Adrian.

  ‘Let me ask you something,’ Tom said. ‘Since they gave you that poison, do you dream?’

  Adrian nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They’ll get worse. Everything you’ve ever done that you’ve regretted is going to be replayed to you, night after night, like a stage play of shame. But behind that stage is… a place; somewhere horrible, like hell, only worse. And you know what’s scary? I think that place is real.’

  ‘They’re just dreams, Tom,’ Adrian said, but couldn’t deny how much the other man’s words resonated with him.

  ‘See, that’s the thing. I don’t think they are. And I swear to the Lord above that there is something inside me, in my head, and when things are quiet, I can hear it talking to me.’