The Loss of Some Detail

by Mandi Martin

  The Loss Of Some Detail

  Mandi Martin

  For my mom and my brother, both a great support to me.

  And to my Grandparents who have always been there for me.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Copyright

  *Authors note: Some language used in this book, whilst unacceptable today, was commonplace in the era it is set in and is in no way a reflection of my own opinion and nor do I condone it nowadays.

  From the desk of: Silas Everett; Oculus mentis.

  Forget all you know…for what you know may all be false…is the sky truly blue? Do our hearts really beat?

  Perhaps existence is but a dream, a nightmare…maybe I am merely unhinged but what is sane and what is normal?

  Madness to one is normality to another…and no person should judge…so heed the following tale, should it ever be surfaced, with an open mind, for if it be closed then it surely has no function…

  We are none of us perfect…and I myself do not wish to be…for what then would one strive for?

  Still…I have rambled enough, and so, good reader, I wish thee well.

  Both blessed and cursed

  Silas Everett

  The austere building was dark as it sat lost in the surrounding of a heavy forest, the branches and thorns keepings prying eyes away and making it impossible for any to flee. Even the light seemed afraid to penetrate into the barred windows.

  How the ragged trees remained impervious to the howls of the wind and barrage of brine and rain no one knew.

  Situated on a long-abandoned island out to sea, it had been isolated when the rocky crags threatened to fall as the waves crashed against them eroding them daily with the beat of their icy strikes.

  No doubt in years to come the stone would fail and fall to form a grisly tomb beneath the ocean taking away anyone left to perish.

  It had been the perfect place for the temple of the insane.

  Known ‘affectionately’ to those beyond the sea and over the shore as Oculus Mentis; Mind’s Eye…for it was the pupil in the great turbulence of the mysterious waters.

  Inside the cold, grey walls it was just as gloomy shrouded in shadows and filled with an air of hopelessness for any who were condemned to remain.

  For in the midst of the cold and confusion there was indeed life of sorts although to the many that resided within the ivy entwined walls the touch of the reaper would have been preferable.

  The rare sight of a smile from within the barred doors was normally one of malice or if not rapidly removed by the swift ‘correction’ of one of the staff.

  Eventually spirit died.

  Chapter One

  With the sound of his footfalls echoing against the stone behind him James Grey made his way down the corridor toward the isolation block.

  In his mid-twenties he was one of younger of attendants of the male section, slender in frame with slightly unevenly trimmed blond hair, this however was done on purpose to allow the fringe to fall over his right eye concealing the fact one was green and the other brown.

  He had found out well before working there that it was more prudent in life not to stand out too much, being where he was had only reinforced that belief more strongly. Any discrepancy in appearance or thought was never looked on kindly.

  With a far more sympathetic manner James was widely distrusted and reviled by his colleagues, he had seen such illness in his neighbour when he lived at home and had witnessed that treated with a kind hand the man had fared far better.

  Granted he had not been cured, the voices and occasional mania continued but they were manageable, he had caused no unmanageable issues.

  He recalled the day when the man’s wife had passed away, he had been taken away as no other family remained or if they did, they had no interest.

  The next thing they heard was he was dead. Death by his own hand.

  Although it was never confirmed rumour was rife that the body had been in a less than satisfactory condition.

  There were two or three other attendants who did do an iota more for their charges but it was risky, despite being termed imbeciles most were very astute and knew how to manipulate to gain advantage.

  The rest of the staff mostly saw them as tools to obtaining a wage, and not a good one at that.

  After fiddling about for some time to find the right key James unlocked the iron door to the stale-smelling corridor.

  Most of the inmates in isolation were tethered for both their own and staff safety but it was still advised to use the hatch on the door and enter only if something needed adjusting.

  Working his way down the barren passage nothing seemed out of order, making brief notes as he did so, the patients were mostly quiet, either restrained or sat uncomfortably in their own world. Each so different in their mood and emotions it was impossible for him to see them as anything but humans.

  It was for him however an unusual evening.

  James had walked these passages so often and yet everything felt as if he were seeing things for the first time, his body working as an automaton performing his duties, duties he done hundreds of times and yet sensing he had never.

  ‘Tis but the atmosphere,’ James thought, suppressing a shudder ‘I have been here so long it affects one at times. I have heard others tell of similar.’

  He believed he had anyway, that seemed to be something else he could not remember.

  ‘Tiredness. The disturbance of sleep must have taken a toll also.’

  He ventured down to his final room, one of the larger ones that was reserved for the more affluent patients or at least those who had people to pay for what they believed to be better keeping. It afforded some privilege in the keeping of belongings but treatment would remain the same.

  Looking at the list the patient wasn’t named, it gave only a gender and a smudged and unreadable date.

  It wasn’t that unusual, when left out the papers often got damaged from the carelessness of others and the elements themselves.

  James rolled his mismatched eyes and tucked it behind the rest of the papers; if he was able, he could jot down the details later.

  He pushed open the hatch, grimacing at the high-pitched squeal that felt as if it would pierce his eardrums. He could not see whoever was incarcerated there but the water jug was empty which meant he had to go in and fetch it.

  Reaching for his belt James sorted through the keys that hung from it and pressed the correct one nosily into the lock, the clattering of iron reverberating off the stone walls.

  The saying ‘money talks’ was evident; the cell was far larger than those occupied by the ones who had little. Furnished well with a proper bed covered by homely blankets, no doubt sent from the family of who dwelt there.

  However, the grey walls
remained the same as did the barred window, the view blocked by the ivy growing outside giving the shadows free reign over everything.

  Only thin streaks of ambient moonlight managing to traverse through.

  The sense of another presence was evident as soon as James set foot in the room, the feeling of eyes watching every movement.

  Turning around slowly his eyes fell towards a rosewood desk that had been moved into the corner, green eyes met his own.

  James couldn’t recall seeing this inmate before, a pale man with long, silver hair that fell well past his waist and yet his face betrayed no age, the skin blighted only by a ragged scar across the right cheek.

  The clothing worn was simple but well made, the white of the blouse appearing as if it were brand new, not a mark to be seen.

  He sat cross-legged gazing evenly with a small smile tugging at his lips, tapping a blunted pencil on his thigh.

  “Good morrow, Mr Grey…” He spoke in a pleasant drawl, a clipped edge indicating good birth. “Always a pleasure to see a familiar face.”

  James blinked at the use of his name, wracking his brain to try and recall the man before him but drew a blank.

  “It’s evening,” he replied simply and reached for the jug. “I only do night shifts.”

  “Really. Well it is hard to tell,” the man said, his eyes never leaving him. “Day and night merge into one.”

  James made a sound of agreement before speaking again

  “You will forgive me but do I know you?”

  “Of course you know me!” The other seemed mildly insulted. “God knows I been here long enough!”

  He exhaled in frustration and leant on the desk, placing the pencil carefully to one side before extending a hand as one did for a suitor, his fingers long and ending in immaculately manicured nails, a rare sight even on the outside.

  “Silas Everett at your service.”

  After some hesitation James inched forward to take hold of the proffered hand but as he grazed the fingertips it drew back as if burnt.

  “Now we are acquainted…again,” Silas examined his nails as if fearing they had been damaged “…James…”

  He smiled when he noticed the bemused expression.

  “Did I not say I knew you? I remember even if you do not.”

  Getting up he sidled past him to reseat himself on his bed, giving a shrug as he did so, it had been difficult to gauge his height from his sitting position but upon standing Silas was nearing six-foot-tall, his hair falling to the hips of his willowy frame.

  “Only exercise I tend to get.”

  James nodded slowly, his nerves on high alert as the other moved past him with a grace that rivalled the finest dancer.

  “You look no worse for it.”

  Rising an eyebrow Silas appeared vaguely amused.

  “Even money cannot make the fare here palatable.”

  “You may think me foolish for asking,” James said carefully, wondering if this was merely a ruse used by a clever inmate “but how exactly do I know you? I assume it is just in passing, I cannot imagine myself forgetting someone as…unique.”

  “Forgetful, aren’t we?” Silas said with a shake of his head. “We know each other far better than that. Well we did.”

  “Well, if you will excuse me, I have to refill your water.” He took up the jug. “I am sure I will see you again, Mr Everett.”

  “Come now that is hardly very amicable of you.”

  “I have other work to do…”

  Silas frowned

  “I know I am the last on your list, you have told me that before.”

  “Have I indeed?” James sighed as he sorted his keys with his free hand. “Then forgive me for not trusting you, Mr Everett, but I have been duped many times before.”

  He back stepped towards the doors, watching as Silas gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

  “You wound me,” he sighed “I have never ‘duped’ anyone…not to a dangerous degree.”

  James raised an eyebrow but did not respond. It was the best way with some inmates, ignore them and get on with the job at hand.

  He slipped swiftly from the room and locked it firmly behind him.

  The asylum water supply was a single well set in the centre of the courtyard.

  At least that they used it for the patients, the staff used it only as a last resort, their own water supply brought from the mainland.

  The water from the well was never the best and refilled by rain often carried an earthy taste.

  After the heavy rains coupled by the spray from the sea the cobbled ground was as slippery as black ice.

  Even in the nicer weather it was unpleasant, surrounded by the intimidating walls and the feeling of unseen eyes from the barred windows.

  The ominous tension it exuded was almost tangible.

  At night it was far worse and James had lost count of the times he had fallen. He had been fortunate that the worst he acquired was a few bruises and wet clothing.

  It was damp now and James had to watch his step, a hard feat in the sparse light given by a clouded moon and dim glow from inside.

  After what seemed like hours, his fingers going numb from the chill of both the air and the jug he was holding, he reached the well without incident.

  Placing the jug down with a metallic ring echoing about the empty courtyard James reluctantly gripped the slimy, frayed rope to haul the bucket from the depths.

  He hated this, the twisted hemp was coated with algae as he pulled it up further and smelt worse than when the mildew ate through the curtains in the staff area.

  It always seemed to take hours but pulling any harder or faster might have spilt the contents of the bucket or broken the rope.

  Finally, it came within reach and James carefully leant over to transplant the contents into the jug.

  Letting go of the pail it fell back into the obsidian depths with a resounding splash and James wondered how the old wood never shattered.

  Still, it didn’t and that was that. It was hardly a miracle he was going to lose any sleep over. He lost enough over other things.

  Picking up the jug he gingerly made his way back inside. These were the only occasions he was thankful the void inside.

  Silas was lying down when James re-entered and, looking over, sat up slowly.

  “Wonderful. You did not fall down the well, that would have been most unfortunate!”

  James frowned and placed the jug down heavily.

  “Not disappointed then?”

  “Of course I’m not!” Silas flicked his hair back and looked fixatedly at him. “Who else would talk to me then? I should be left in an eternal torment of silence and four walls.”

  He sighed, rolling his green eyes in a dramatic fashion that suited a theatrical environment far more than the one he resided in.

  “You know I am a very friendly person, but alas no one understands me!”

  He flung his arms out and flopped back to the bed with a squeak of rusty springs, his lengthy hair falling about him as if he were draped in greying cobwebs.

  James coughed as he tried to stifle the laugher that was rapidly rising within him like the stormy tide beyond the walls.

  Silas lifted his head and raised an elegant eyebrow

  “No one takes me seriously either it seems.” However a light chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Although I am perfectly sane, for myself anyway, but anyone who errs from what is deemed to be the norm seems to be castigated.”

  He groaned

  “Whipped off the street like a common mongrel, apparently a relative knew. They could have at least given their victim notice. Peril of being the working class…”

  James smiled, the caution he normally employed slackening somewhat, Silas’s quirky, somewhat flamboyant, personality was one that was easy to relax around.

  “Yes, people are strange.”

  Silas gave a lengthy sigh and sat up, resting his head on his hand.

  “Aye, and although you do not recall, our
agreement on that subject was partially the reason we got on.”

  “…You are still a human being,” James said cautiously, his voice dropping to a whisper, “yet I mean so offence when I say it is will be hard to find someone, besides myself, who takes you seriously considering the…” he paused, searching for the correct word “… predicament that led to you being here, whatever it may be.”

  “Well if you ever find out what that predicament is then kindly inform me,” Silas grumbled “I have had that many diagnoses since I have been here that if I was not considered insane before then I most certainly am now.”

  Laughing James checked the lacklustre pocket watch attached securely to his uniform

  “I am afraid I have to leave you, Mr Everett. I doubt anyone would notice but I shall be in trouble if they do.”

  “Yes, you have mentioned that before also,” Silas replied, exhaling sharply as he idly twirled a lock of his hair “I do hope next time you visit you may be able to recall our past conversations… it would save me having to hear what has been spoken already. Although I fear I may have to repeat myself…”

  “I can but try,” James smiled. “I cannot guarantee it though.”

  He was, quite frankly, still steadfast in the belief that this was still some ruse on Silas’s part for his memory was normally faultless.

  “So I am being hopelessly optimistic that we shall be back on first name terms then?”

  Silas said with a woebegone expression.

  “I am afraid so. But considering you seem to call me by mine anyway I have my doubts things will be that different.”

  James gave a polite nod in his direction, opening the door as wide as he dared before slipping through and sealing it securely behind him.

  Chapter Two

  James’s room was nothing to write home about.

  It had once been a storage room to house the various medications and other items of treatment until the lock had rusted in a copper dust and it had been too much effort to replace it.