Bloodstains

by Andrew Puckett

  It’s not so much the temperature of the air that kills, but its movements… a body loses heat much more quickly in a cold wind…

  The fans. I must stop them… But how?

  I rubbed my hands together, breathed on them. How?

  Jam them, poke something in them, like a stick.

  I felt my way slowly towards the noise of the unit, touched the slatted wooden shelves, yes, they would do. Gripped one and pulled. Crates and bottles tumbled past me on to the floor and smashed.

  Bottles, with frozen plasma inside. I felt around until I found one, cleared a shelf, and holding it like a cudgel, brought it down as hard as I could.

  There was a splintering crash.

  I felt for the piece of wood and twisted it free. Then, feeling up for the bars of the grille, I thrust it through into the spinning blades. The fan stopped.

  One down, one to go, I thought, reaching for the bottle and lashing at another shelf. It missed, flew from my hands and landed on my foot.

  I clenched my teeth and gagged as the screaming pain climbed my leg.

  A breath, kneel, search for the bottle. Found it, up again, careful now — got it!

  I felt my way cautiously round the back of the room to the other unit. A moment later there was silence, save for an angry muted buzz from the electric motors.

  What now?

  I forced down the panic and the conviction that anything I did would be futile, forced myself to run on the spot-on feet I could hardly feel. Rubbed my hands together — no difference — futile.

  Think! The air had stopped moving now, but the coldness would still be pouring down from the units. How could I kill them?

  It was then that the idea came to me and I felt a surge of real hope.

  If I could somehow rip the wires away from the units, it would not only stop them: if the wires shorted, a fuse would blow somewhere.

  Yes! Units of this size would need a heavy current. If I could blow a main fuse, an alarm would be set off and the hospital engineers would come running…

  I felt for the bottom of the unit, fingers disrupting the delicate icicles which tinkled on to the floor at my feet. Felt around the side, yes, here was the cable, it was fastened to the wall by staples of some sort, there was a gap where it went into the side of the unit.

  I reached up and pulled out the slat holding the fan, which promptly hummed into life again.

  So, what? I carefully fed the wood sideways into the space behind the cable, squared my feet and pulled.

  It snapped in my hands.

  I screamed my impotence into the freezing air.

  Stop it! Think, man, think!

  I ran on the spot again, feverishly willing my body reserves to create heat. But a ten-mile walk and a cheese sandwich doesn’t make for that many reserves.

  Defeatist talk, think!

  I shook my head violently from side to side as though this would somehow force warm blood into my thought cells.

  That cable would need a crowbar to force it, and there was nothing like that in here, nothing…

  The emergency doorknob, the one I had flung to the floor in disgust. It might do it, it just might.

  I felt my way forward around the perimeter until I found the door. Feet crunched on broken glass, I stepped quickly back, it would easily go through my thin shoes — not that my feet could feel anything now.

  I crouched down, feeling for the glass, working my way slowly forward, fingers searching for the iron bar. My hand blundered into something, a smashed bottle. Oh God!

  Swallowed, edged forward again, pain in knee, forget it. Felt feverishly around with hands that felt only dull pain.

  Would they be able to recognize it? Rub them together again, forward, feel!

  Perhaps it was under the shelves. More glass, try the central ones.

  My fingers closed around it and I cried with joy. Stood up. Walked slowly back to the single humming fan. Felt for the cable and fed in the pathetically thin bar of iron.

  This was my last chance, my last hope. I set my legs apart, braced my shoulders, and heaved.

  The blue flash lit for an instant the walls and the needle-sharp icicles, a shock jolted my whole body, as with a clang, the iron bar fell to the floor.

  Silence.

  What now? Try to short the wires, or deal with the other unit? The electric shock had for a moment cleared my brain, made me aware of the crushing pain in my hands and feet.

  The other unit. I found my precious iron bar and felt round the back of the room again. Found the unit and the gap between wall and cable. Fed in the metal bar and heaved.

  There was a dull snap, and I knew that the staple holding the wire had come free. There was now no purchase.

  With a cry of anguish, I threw down the bar, seized the cable, and pulled.

  It bit into my freezing hands.

  Gripping it ferociously, I raised one foot over a shelf and on to the wall, then the other, and heaved with my whole body, my whole being.

  The flash as it came free merged with the lights in my head as it struck a shelf and I collapsed on to the concrete floor.

  Let’s stay here, I thought, it’s not so bad… Then the pain returned and I slowly dragged myself to my feet. Another bottle fell and shattered.

  The wires, how do I short the wires without electrocuting myself?

  I felt around until I found the cable, and holding it, poked it to where I thought the metal casing of the unit would be. Sparks. Try the grille, where it goes round the side of the unit. I reached up. More sparks, but it wouldn’t hold.

  I would have to bend them, separately, so as not to short them on myself.

  The first shock temporarily cleared my mind again, and with clumsy-cold fingers I bent each wire into a hook, and reaching up, hitched them on to the grille.

  A flash. I tentatively let go and it held.

  Now, the other one. Again, I worked my way round and gingerly felt for it.

  This one didn’t have such a long free length, it was still stapled to the wall. Better find the iron bar again.

  But I knew that I couldn’t, not again. Confusion was flooding my brain in waves.

  Whimpering vainly, I tugged at the cable, it wasn’t going to come, but then it did -

  Somehow, I managed to snag the ends on to the metal grille and leaned back.

  Done. But what now?

  My tired brain couldn’t function any further, I stumbled round to the door, tried running on the spot again on feet that weren’t there — it was as though I was jogging up and down on the stumps of my ankles.

  The non-pain forced me to stop, my mind wandered timelessly and then a dreadful lassitude began stealing over me. I knew what it meant.

  It meant that I was going to die, that there was no one coming to my aid, my plan had failed.

  Futile. I sank to the floor and thin tears squeezed from my eyes. I didn’t want to die. They froze on my cheeks; my whole life had been a failure and now it was going to end like this.

  I tried to think of Holly, but my dimming brain couldn’t hold her image.

  Then my mind clarified suddenly, and beautifully. I could hear the instructor again: If you were a bull, where would you rather die, in the slaughter-house, or in the bull-ring?

  No one had answered, we had just stared, and he continued softly, War is a bull-ring, remember that.

  So, this was my bull-ring. Well, at least I had tried.

  A lovely warmth crept over me, I knew what was happening, but simply didn’t care. Sleep beckoned, and I gratefully allowed it to take me.

  I thought: I wish Holly could have met my brother.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hell was pretty much as I’d expected, but with one subtle refinement. The never-ending fires were there all right, but not waiting in layers to be stoked. They were on the inside, coursing through the tubes and tunnels of my body, always on the point of consuming me from within but never quite succeeding, keeping me finely balanced on the point of everla
sting torment, punishment for a lifetime of sin; my pride, arrogance, bloody-mindedness…

  Had they been so awful, my sins? I supposed so, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I? I tried to think of some more; greed, lust, cowardice — and in doing so, suddenly realized that the pain had gone.

  It promptly returned — the pain of coming alive.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ inquired a gentle voice.

  A distorted face hung above me.

  ‘Are you the Devil?’

  A low chuckle. ‘Good Lord, no! Where did you think you were, Hades?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said simply.

  He was young and fair-haired, almost angelic in white coat and stethoscope.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked again.

  ‘Pretty rough.’

  ‘Not surprising in—’

  ‘How did I get out of there?’ I demanded, trying to sit up.

  That’ll keep for tomorrow.’ As he soothed me down, I became aware of a tube sprouting obscenely from my arm, trailing through some apparatus to a blood-pack hanging above.

  You’re still in shock,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to give you something to make you sleep.’

  I don’t want to sleep.’ My voice became shrill. I’ve got to know, don’t you understand…’

  But he had already uncovered my arm. I felt the cold touch of a swab and a sharp prick.

  ‘You see, I knew I was going to die, and I must know…’ I lost the ability to speak and fell through layer after layer of bedding as he faded from sight, miles above me.

  When I next awoke, it was to meet the eyes of a dark-haired nurse, sweet, but somehow not as angelic as the young doctor had been.

  She smiled. ‘How do you feel?’ It was obviously the standard question.

  Fine,’ I mumbled.

  ‘That’s good.’ She fussed around me for a moment while I tried to take in the meaning of what had happened.

  She turned to go.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ I croaked, and she came and sat beside me, held my hand. I felt the strength of her presence flow into me.

  She said, ‘I’ll go and fetch Dr York now.’

  I nodded and waited. Was he the one I’d called the Devil? I hoped so.

  I looked around the room. The tubes and scaffolding had been removed. I felt for my arm. A thick wad of sticking plaster was wrapped just below the elbow and I became aware of a dull ache beneath it.

  The door opened, and Dr York came in. He was the same one.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  I grinned and nodded.

  ‘Good.’ He lifted a clipboard from the bottom of the bed and studied it before sitting beside me.

  ‘You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘I… suppose I am.’

  ‘Can you sit up?’

  I did so.

  ‘Good. Any feeling of dizziness?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Right. I’d like to examine you, d’you think you could slide your legs out and sit on the side of the bed? Tell me if you feel any nausea or faintness.

  He took my pulse and blood pressure, peered into my eyes with a tiny beam, made me squeeze his hands and push them away and finally produced one of the little rubber hammers used for testing reflexes.

  ‘Well, you seem to have completely recovered,’ he said at last. ‘I think we’ll keep you here for tonight and discharge you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, but d’you think you could tell me what day it is?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s Monday. I suppose you’ve rather lost track of things.’

  ‘You told me before you would tell me how I was found in time.’

  He regarded me soberly. ‘So I did, fancy remembering that. Well, Dr Fakenham has been asking to see you. I think you’re well enough now, and I think he’s the best person to answer your questions.’

  I didn’t believe for a moment that Falkenham would be interested in answering my questions but didn’t say so. Instead, I pointed to my arm.

  ‘I presume this means I had a blood transfusion? Why? I didn’t lose any blood, did I?’

  ‘If you’ll get back into bed, I’ll tell you.’

  When I had done so, he said, ‘In cases of hypothermia, which means that a body has actually become cold rather than just feeling it, the patient has to be re-warmed slowly. If it’s done too quickly, the peripheral blood vessels dilate, and the inside of the body remains cold. Fibrillation can occur and stop the heart, and even if this doesn’t happen, the body now tends to overheat.

  That’s why we started warming you slowly and gently, but because you’re young and obviously fit, we decided to speed things up a bit by transfusing warm blood into you and taking heat inside where it was wanted.’

  I felt myself grin slowly. ‘I was convinced I was on fire from inside, that it was a new kind of hell.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’ve never heard that one before, I must make a note of it.’

  I had been thinking over and over what to say to Falkenham, but when he eventually came that afternoon, it was an anti-climax. At first.

  He was ushered in by a nurse, a po-faced Bennett in his wake.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Jones, how are you feeling?’ he asked solicitously. ‘D’you mind if I sit down?’

  He took the chair by my bed, then realizing there wasn’t another for Bennett, politely asked the nurse whether she could find one. Bennett followed her out.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he repeated.

  ‘Er-pretty well, I think,’ I answered warily.

  Good, good.’ He nodded. ‘It was a shock for all of us, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘Well now, as I’m sure you’ll understand, the Sergeant would like to ask you a few questions.’

  As he spoke, Bennett came back into the room carrying a chair, which he set beside Falkenham’s.

  The nurse, who had been hovering in the door, said, ‘I hope you gentlemen won’t want to keep Mr Jones for too long, he—’

  ‘Don’t you worry, my dear,’ said Falkenham, ‘just a friendly chat. Ten minutes, fifteen at the most.’

  She withdrew gratefully.

  ‘To business,’ he began briskly.

  ‘Before we start,’ I said quickly, ‘I must know, how was I found in time?’

  ‘A fair question.’ He nodded. ‘You did a pretty good job of demolition on the freezing-room in the short time you were there.’ Despite the lightness of the words, an edge had entered his voice. ‘After you stopped the refrigerator units, you collapsed under the heat-sensor by the door. The temperature had risen slightly anyway, and the heat rising from your body set the alarm off. The laboratory orderly came to investigate. You were very lucky.’

  ‘I know,’ I said feelingly. So much for all my planning.

  ‘The question is—’ Bennett, who had been fidgeting impatiently, leaned forward — ‘what were you doing in there?’

  ‘I was in there because somebody locked me in.’

  ‘Really?’ said Falkenham gently. ‘Why should anyone do that?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, it was attempted murder, which makes it your province,’ I said to Bennett.

  ‘Don’t start telling me my job,’ he grated. Perhaps it wasn’t the most tactful thing to say.

  I’m quite sure we’ll discover that it was all an unfortunate accident,’ said Falkenham smoothly.

  ‘Or carelessness,’ took up Bennett. ‘Your criminal stupidity—’

  ‘Let’s just try to find out what happened, shall we, before we make any accusations,’ said Falkenham.

  He turned to me. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell us what makes you think you were locked in.’

  ‘I left the door ajar,’ I began, gathering my thoughts. ‘I’d been inside about — er — five minutes when it slammed shut—’

  ‘Slammed shut, are you sure of that?’

  ‘I was just about to come out, I reached for it and it shut in front of me—’

 
‘You said slammed just now,’ interrupted Bennett.

  ‘It clicked shut, I saw it.’

  ‘You must have pulled it shut by mistake,’ he said contemptuously.

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ I began, but Falkenham cut in quickly, ‘There is another possibility.’

  We looked at him.

  ‘The lab orderly could have shut it. After all, it is part of his job, checking that doors are shut. He had no idea you were there, why should he? You had no right to be there, so if he’d discovered the door ajar as you say you left it, he would have just pushed it shut and walked away.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Is this what he says?’

  ‘He denied it — probably afraid to own up, since it nearly cost you your life.’

  There was another silence while I grappled with this. It was possible, just, but I didn’t believe it.

  ‘Why didn’t the emergency release work?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve looked into that. The split pin that holds the assembly together was found on the floor by the door. It had lost its tensile strength, and when the knob was turned, it simply fell out. Very unfortunate, but tell me, Mr Jones, why didn’t you use the siren?’

  I gazed at him blankly. ‘I did! The bloody thing wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you that it’s working perfectly well now. We had it thoroughly tested the morning after you were found.’

  ‘Well, let me assure you,’ I said thickly, ‘that it damned well wasn’t working last night.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Bennett. ‘What assurance can you give us that it wasn’t working?’

  ‘Listen, I just know. It bloody well wasn’t working, I’d have heard it.’

  They glanced at each other. Sceptically.

  ‘It needs quite a strong pull,’ said Falkenham. ‘Are you sure you pulled it hard enough?’

  ‘Yes!’ I had another thought. ‘Whoever shut me in switched the light off after I’d been yelling and beating at the door. How d’you explain that?’

  Falkenham sounded almost bored.

  ‘Naturally, the orderly would switch the light out after closing the door. He didn’t hear you because the room is virtually soundproof.’

  ‘He must have heard me,’ I said angrily.