The Loss of Some Detail

by Mandi Martin

  Silence. Eventually another long sigh.

  “It is this place,” he said quietly. “It feels wrong, more than it has done in the past. Although I’ll be honest and say I hardly remember the past. As if I have simply existed here for all time. I find myself wanting to run from these doors and return to the mainland.”

  “Do not crave the rose if you cannot bear its thorns, James. They are what you must edge your way through, acting rashly increases the injury.”

  James decided to the shift the subject, not comfortable with speaking of himself or his flights of fancy. Talking could help but he resented doing so, at least with someone who had his own issues. It didn’t seem right or fair.

  He fidgeted on a lump in the mattress, causing the springs to squeak like startled mice.

  “What were you, Silas?”

  Silas blinked, his eyes seeming more luminous in the gloom with only a sliver of light entering inside.

  “An odd question with an obvious answer I would think. I was a man, unfortunately, same as I am now.”

  “No, I meant your occupation, before you came here.”

  “Oh, I see. I worked the graveyards, simple work of keeping them tidy, stop them falling into disrepair. Fascinating in a way, especially when you look at the diversity of humans beneath the earth, proves in the end we are all the same and end the same. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” He gave an unnerving, rather macabre smile, recalling the artistry of death before adding hastily, “And I assure you that my record does not state I had alternative uses for corpses. The very idea is repulsive.”

  “Glad to hear it,” James said quietly. “We already have one atrocity below I have to deal with, I don’t think I could endure another.”

  “No.”

  Once again silence rolled over them like the incoming tide. Finally Silas spoke, gazing at James solemnly.

  “You still haven’t really covered the reason for your visit, my friend, and I fear you are not going to. But understand that keeping thoughts locked away can be detrimental.”

  James nodded.

  “Dreams again,” he said with reticence, his voice lowered. “The same one as before which is what confused me. How is it possible I can dream about the same place, an identical place, two nights consecutively?”

  Silas pursed his lips.

  “I’m not entirely sure. I can imagine one dreams of the same places, I’ve dreamt of places that I am certain I have before, nothing that exists in real life but I feel I have been there in the land of sleep.” He smirked. “Perhaps you are under a curse?”

  “Certainly feels as if I am.” James got up to pace the room, feeling the others eyes watch him, bright and vibrant as though laughing. “Another thing is I seem to find things odd that are clearly commonplace. One of the others was rambling earlier and said something, the word is just deemed a colour but I found the connotation offensive.”

  “Ah, you mean ni…”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t want to explain more, fearing repercussion even though Silas seemed completely accepting, taking it all seriously in his detached manner as though it was as normal as breathing. He flicked his wrist and turned away, resuming his habit of twirling his silvery hair.

  Before James could speak again the sound of muffled voices, mingled with the sound of footsteps pulled his attention back to the door.

  The voices were light, feminine but no women walked this way, forbidden to leave the female wards unless given express permission.

  He looked to Silas who shifted his shoulders in a parody of a shrug.

  The little colour he had drained from his face. Giving a small nod towards him James hastened to the door, opening enough to slip through without allowing any view of the corridor beyond.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The corridor seemed brighter than normal. Cleaner and as if bathed in glorious rays of sun, the likes of which never penetrated the steely building.

  James’s temples throbbed; his skull feeling as though it was pulsating in pain as he stepped forward into the unusual lustre.

  He felt blindly for the door behind him to pull it shut, the soft click considerably muted when he thought of the harsh clang of iron he was used to.

  The voices echoed further down the passage and around the sharp corner. Whoever spoke sounded so cheerful, an emotion few were used to hearing.

  It was a happy noise but one that was completely alien to the sprawling building and consequently evoked fear rather than pleasure.

  His feet felt as though leaden weights were attached to the soles, each step a draining effort. As he moved forward his nervousness grew, the compulsion to stop making it feel as though he were wading through tar.

  His heart pulsating so rapidly it was almost a droning hum.

  He rounded the corner painfully; his fingers taut and arthritic clutched the wall as coldness washed over him like a rising tide, his body beginning to shake violently.

  The voices ceased.

  The sound of rushing feet was the last thing he heard before sinking into blackness.

  When he awoke he was back in his room again as if nothing had happened and no time had passed.

  All was well with the world again.

  James lay still, toying with the corner of the flocked blanket as he regained himself. Slowly he rolled himself over to the face the wall, raking his fingers through the asymmetrical fringe, finding the dull, chipped stone a far better view than the cracked ceiling.

  There was a soft rustling outside as a frigid rain waltzed wildly with sleet in the air and coerced the trees to move with them.

  Muscles he didn’t know he had ached, stiff from either the fall or spasms, if indeed they had occurred. It may well have been yet another horrific trick of his mind.

  “Pull yourself together; you’re a man not a mouse!” James cursed himself furiously. “Just because you’re around insanity all day does not mean it is catching. You’re simply allowing your mind to run amok!”

  He struggled into a sitting position, resting his head in his hands while he allowed it to catch up and his vision to settle.

  “Stupid!” He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved to the barred window to gaze onto the dolorous surroundings, droplets falling like heavens tears down to the earth below. “Nothing ails you! Nightmares brought upon by sheer insipience!”

  Taking a harsh breath, he strode to the door and flung it open, immediately hit with the freezing air. The building itself seeming colder than the freezing tides that wore the island day in and day out.

  Turning to his left he met the scornful eyes of another warden. His heart jolted into his throat. Seldom did anyone come up this way anymore.

  Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the pair acknowledged each other, the bulkier male seeming almost statue like until he gave a slow blink of his unpleasant eyes and took in the sight of his dishevelled colleague.

  The man’s fingers seemed distended like the talons of a bird, gnarled and worked as they toyed with a pencil in his hand.

  With a scornful sniff he turned to leave, the sound making it clear what he thought.

  “Do not shun me!”

  “I can do nothing but shun you, why do I need to concern myself with another imbecile, diseased and dangerous? Or just like one of those rotten darkies who taint our sights?”

  Despite the fact they had never been close James still felt the tug of pain, of abandonment. Friend or not there still seemed to be an unwritten rule of support but it seemed he was exempt from it.

  His eyes shifted as a glow emanated from the darkness, unseen by the other. He continued walking towards the stairway even as the visage of the mournful female appeared.

  He walked right through her.

  James found his feet rooted to the spot, unable to move as glided forward, her hand outstretched to brush his face.

  Her eyes like polished emeralds in a sea of snow. He couldn’t count how many shades of green were concentrated in those vibrant irises.


  ‘Please, I know you see me, hear me,’ she begged, a tear beginning to fall. ‘Fight on. I’m here, I’ll never leave you.’

  Yanking away James darted back clumsily, his back connecting sharply with the railings behind him.

  “Leave me be spirit!” He ejected towards the translucent shade, his body and voice quaking “or tell me what you want of me!”

  He wasn’t sure she could hear him. It felt as if a world divided them and her expression remained fixed, gazing at him with eyes that had seen both lives and dreams broken.

  One again her hand extended, reaching out towards his own even though it was now far from her grasp.

  Intense nausea blended with fear churned in his stomach. Mingled whispers drifted around him.

  From her?

  From Marianne?

  Or just from inside of him?

  ‘You don’t belong here.’

  He didn’t know who, if anyone spoke. Not anymore as he felt himself being shrouded in a mist of bright, white lights.

  Blinding and disorientating.

  He didn’t feel an impact or any pain as he fell, crashing to the ground. In fact, he felt comfortable, or he would if it were not for the light.

  Reaching out he felt for something, anything, to give him some idea of where he was.

  Considering where he fell, he expected to feel metal or the stone floor. He certainly didn’t expect to feel thin air and a drop as if he lay on a soft but dangerous precipice. He continued to shift his hand cautiously, searching for anything tangible.

  After a time his fingers brushed against something cold and hard. The smoothness indicated wood. A table?

  There was something on it whatever it was.

  His digits clasped what felt like a jar, turning his aching neck to see a flash of brown in the blinding whiteness.

  He clutched it tightly, his knuckles becoming as white as the room he lay in.

  This felt like a bad dream but he could clearly feel the jar in his hand, feel his tendons tightening as he held it.

  Clamping his eyes shut almost as firmly he slowly counted in his head, praying that when he reached the number ten that this would all vanish once again.

  That he would open his eyes to the hateful scenery he loathed and be glad of it.

  One, two, three…

  As the numbers grew higher the surface beneath him hardened like setting clay and the blinding light that penetrated his eyelids began to dull.

  His heart skipped a beat as he felt the surface beneath him sink as if someone perched nearby, a suspicion that was confirmed as he felt warmer as heat sank and spread through the thin mattress.

  “I have not seen such a material as that,” a familiar voice sounded, “nor such medication. May I ask where you obtained it?”

  James’s eyes snapped open, meeting the solemn gaze of Silas sat on the end of the bed, obscuring his vision of the door and where he had fell. He motioned to the jar still clutched in his hand.

  “S-Silas? How did you…?”

  Silas raised a hand. “Time for idle curiosities later,” he interrupted impatiently, twiddling his lengthy fingers, “but indulge mine, will you?”

  James sighed, his head had started to throb and he hadn’t the energy to argue. Had Silas answered his query he probably would not have been able to process the information anyway.

  He looked at the jar, turning it over in shaking hands, unable to properly read the faded label stuck on the surface. Inside thin syrup splashed about, forming hard little bubbles upon the surface.

  “I’m not sure. I think Morbridge keeps newer drugs; perhaps he decided I needed them? Fainting on the job is hardly something one can ignore as a physician.”

  Silas arched an eyebrow.

  “I see.” His tone could not conceal the doubt he held. “Well, I would be wary of taking anything that charlatan promotes as remedy but perhaps I am too rash to judge? He may actually have curative items that he simply does not see fit to use.”

  He held out a hand expectantly. Without a second thought James handed it over, watching as the vibrant eyes looked it over.

  James’s explanation did not shed light on the construction of the bottle but that matter seemed so paltry he was not about to push it.

  He also felt the answer was somewhat too vague but it was not for him to cast judgement upon.

  “Are you going to enlighten me to how you got out?” James’s voice broke the short silence “or am I going to have to accept I am losing my own mind and that you may just be another trick of my imagination?”

  “The latter theory, whilst understandable, isn’t something you need to worry about,” Silas replied calmly “but as for how I can to be here I shall put it as simply as I am able. Marianne states there are ways beyond words, I shall state that there are ways beyond locks.”

  “Well that explains a lot,” James muttered sarcastically “always a goldmine of answers, aren’t you?”

  Silas gave a rumbling chuckle and shook his head slowly from side to side, his hair falling forward in wispy waves.

  He pushed it back.

  “Such mockery! I think my explanation was fitting enough!” He shifted back to sit in a more comfortable position, folding his arms “I always said no one takes me seriously and when I deign to be serious I’m taken less seriously!”

  James gave a faint smile at the pout that appeared on the others face. It was hard to decipher what age Silas was, whilst his hair was as grey as the oldest human his skin and certainly his heart was childlike.

  Flawless if one was to ignore the few lines beneath the soulful eyes.

  “I am doomed to be a jester, added to the likes of Yorick and Rigoletto,” Silas added with zeal, “yet unlike their good selves I am also doomed to be erased from history!”

  The soft pad of catlike footsteps stopped any reply leaving James’s lips, his gaze moving nervously towards the door where the slim crack gave a scant view of who approached. But whoever it has stood back and only a flit of white grace appeared for a brief moment before the door eased open.

  He relaxed to see Marianne’s enigmatic smile, her pretty face a pleasant view after the darkness he felt he had faced and still faced.

  ‘There are ways beyond doors,’ her voice filled his mind as she shared a knowing look with Silas who responded with a roll of his eyes.

  “So I have heard,” James responded, amusement lacing his voice “not that I understand it. However, I shall not quibble over it, your company is appreciated greatly.”

  Marianne’s eyes appeared to beam in the dimness before she drifted to the window, looking out with fascination at the thickset trees beyond the bars, sniffing the cold but fresh air, devoid of the scent of urine or filthy bodies.

  The joy in her eyes brought a smile of content to James’s lips, an expression not unnoticed by Silas who smirked to himself.

  The human heart was so predictable.

  James could not deny Marianne looked beautiful when the smile brightened her eyes, showing the handsomeness that had been slowly drained over the years, sapped away to join the woe that resided within the stones.

  “It isn’t the finest view but it gives some colour to the drabbed,” James said quietly, scuffing his foot on the floor “seems a shame to put blinds or curtains to shut it out.”

  “Life should not be taken from ones sight,” Marianne answered “life is beautiful in any form; even the darkest can have some light.”

  When James considered the black souls that disguised themselves as workers and those who dwelled in the lower regions it was a hard thing to see. Deep down he knew the words were right but seeing it was like holding a dying candle in the gloom to light one’s way.

  Almost impossible.

  Sensing disconcertion Marianne moved over, her slim hand caressing his cheek.

  “I will stay with you if you wish,” she smiled kindly, her eyes the image of a loving friend, “none will know.”

  “Well I will,” Silas interjected, tilt
ing his head, “but I shall not breathe a word on pain of death! And…” a sly smile played on his lips “and with Morbid around that is always in one’s mind.”

  James didn’t seem to hear, his hand covering Marianne’s own.

  Outside a door slammed, echoing painfully and fragmenting any thoughts he was about to voice. Silas and Marianne turned in tandem.

  Then there was white. So much white.

  James heard a voice, muffled through a blanket he had over his head, casually dropped by a heedless hand. He found the darkness and the claustrophobic confines oddly comforting. Slowly he hooked the corner and pulled it off, his skin pale as always, used to heat and tolerant of cold it seldom changed in colour to match the atmosphere.

  The grizzled face of the doctor was the last thing he wished to see when the blanket was pulled down and the realisation that he was still on the cold floor outside his room was equally unnerving.

  “I-I’m fine,” James struggled into a sitting position, rubbing his tired temples. “I felt dizzy, perhaps I have not been eating correctly or nor sleeping enough.”

  “Is that so?” Morbridge smirked cynically as he watched the awkward manoeuvre. “For a glorious moment I thought I may have a new study.”

  “No one is here for your study!” James snapped as he gripped the door handle, easing himself up. “Or even because they want to be, who would want to be sat in filth? We live, we breathe, even if that ends too soon for certain people.”

  The implication was clear but the words had no effect, only widening the smile on the others face.

  “What else is there to do with them?” Morbridge asked frankly as he got to his feet, brushing away the clinging dust on his trousers, his dark eyes watching the man’s every movement. “Their minds are as barren as a wombless woman, occasionally a phantom seed is sown but a phantom is all it is. When the mind fails, humanity ends.”

  James shook his head as he pushed open his door, not allowing the sharp words he wished to say to leave his lips.

  No words could break the iron will of the doctor, his mind set, and attempting to change it would be as futile as trying to turn the tide.