Asylum

by Amy Cross

  More silence for a moment. "Okay," he says. I hear him walking away, and then I hear the door open. I look over and see him step outside, and finally he pulls the door shut and I'm alone in the dark. Stepping over to the bed, I sit down and find that my mind is almost blank. Then it happens: I start crying. For the first time since I left college, tears trickle down my face and I take long, deep breaths in an attempt to regather my composure. I thought I'd got away from a life of temptation and scandal, but now it feels like it's all going to start happening again.

  Dr. Lava

  Today

  For a moment, I'm not sure what to do. Try as I might to deny it, I have to acknowledge that she definitely looked directly at me, which means she knows I'm down here. I could retreat and claim she was mistaken, but that would never work. I was being so careful and so quiet, I'm not sure how she sensed I was watching her; now that the damage is done, though, I need to try another approach. Taking a deep breath, I step out into the room and force myself to smile. I'll just have to pretend that I intended to confront her all along.

  "Good evening, Dr. Lava," Nurse Winter says, barely even glancing up from her computer. "What a surprise to find you down here."

  The guard looks over at me. He doesn't seem too impressed as he continues to work on the chair, which looks like something an executioner would use.

  "Good evening," I say. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there were some strange power outages upstairs and as the new director of the hospital, I felt it was my duty to investigate."

  "How thorough of you," Nurse Winter replies, smiling. "Most men would have sent a guard down to investigate."

  "Why send someone else when I can do it myself?" I ask. "Besides, I wanted to explore the building, and I'm glad I did. This basement is huge. I feel we could convert it into a useful space."

  "Absolutely," Nurse Winter replies.

  It's a bullshit conversation, of course. We're each dancing around one another's words, trying to keep up the pretense that we're just chatting away when, really, we both know what's happening. She's probably trying to think of a way to explain all this equipment, while I'm trying to think of a way to allay her suspicions and ensure that I can still dig up enough information to exert power over her. I'm becoming increasingly convinced of one absolute truth, though: there's no room at this hospital for both Nurse Winter and myself, so one of us has to go. Since my work is of vital importance, and since I'm in a more senior position, I feel she's the one who'll have to bow out.

  "Interesting equipment," I say, wandering over to the chair. "Looks like you're planning to give someone quite a shock."

  "Nothing like that," she replies. "This is just one of the treatment rooms. We used to do this work upstairs, but the room was flooded during a storm and we haven't been able to effect repairs yet." She smiles. "I must say, working down here adds something to the atmosphere, but I assure you that we're doing nothing sinister."

  "Electro-shock?" I ask.

  "Nothing so crude," she replies. "No, this is just a brainwave-monitoring system devised by a former colleague of mine. The idea is to monitor, analyze and exploit the brainwaves of our patients in order to provide various therapeutic opportunities."

  "And this thing?" I ask, looking down at what appears to be an old-fashioned radio transmitter. "What's this doing down here?"

  "If you're looking for a quick rundown of the entire set-up," she says, "you'll have to ask Jerry. He's the technical wizard. I'm sure he'll be happy to help you, once he gets back from the storeroom."

  I look at the various wires running from the chair to the computer. It's quite clear that this is an extremely sophisticated machine, and it certainly does far more than Nurse Winter is acknowledging. I've seen equipment that's designed to work with patients' brainwaves, and this is something else entirely. This is using a send-receive protocol that makes no sense, because usually a set-up such as this would transmit brainwave patterns back to the computer. This machine, though, seems to be sending patterns in both directions, which suggests that as well as monitoring the patient's brainwaves, something is being sent back into their minds. There also seems to be a connection to a broadcast element.

  "You're not convinced, are you?" Nurse Winter says. "Perhaps a small demonstration would be in order?"

  At that moment, the elevator doors open and another guard enters, pulling Errol with him. Looking absolutely terrified, Errol tries to run, but the guard is a large man who keeps a firm grip on the patient's arms, dragging him towards the chair.

  "I knew you'd tell her!" he screams at me. "I knew you'd do it!"

  I look over at Nurse Winter, but she simply smiles, as if she finds Errol's terror amusing. I suppose if you do this kind of thing often enough, after a while it becomes rather mundane.

  The two guards strap Errol into the chair. He struggles as they tie the leather straps around his wrists, but he has no chance of escape. Finally, Eddie sets a metal disc over his head, and it's from this disc that most of the wires protrude.

  "What the hell is that?" I ask, utterly captivated not only by the science of the procedure but also by the sheer beauty of the machine.

  "The proper term is a Feed Replicator," Nurse Winter says. "I'm not very technical, I'm afraid, but fortunately I have a nice big manual. I didn't design the machine, but I'm slowly reverse-engineering it so that I can understand everything that's happening. It's all based on a rather unsettling theory."

  "What theory?" I ask. I feel as if I've stumbled onto something wholly unusual and unexpected.

  "I can't explain it," she replies. "I have to show you instead. No-one in their right mind would believe such a ludicrous idea if it were simply told to them. It has to be seen to be believed." She seems completely in control, as if she believes that there's nothing I can do to interfere with her work. For the first time, it occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn't view her as an enemy but, instead, as someone I can use for my own purposes. If I can fool her into believing that we're equals, I can trick her for as long as necessary, stringing her along until the moment when I can take over completely and use her work for my own benefit.

  "Go on," I say.

  She checks some more settings on the various machines. "Errol has had special treatment on five occasions now," she says. "This will be the sixth."

  "No!" Errol shouts, but one of the guards places a leather muzzle over his mouth to shut him up.

  "They don't seem to like it much," I say, becoming fascinating by the process.

  "There's a small amount of pain involved," she continues, "and the patients don't understand what's happening." She smiles. "Yes, they become scared, but they also become scared at bath-time, and bedtime, and pretty much every time they're required to move from one room to another. Errol's practically afraid of his own shadow. It's no wonder he misunderstands the work we do down here." She pauses. "You must think I'm a monster," she says finally.

  "Everyone's a monster to someone," I say. "Don't worry about it. Just show me how the machine works and what it does."

  In front of us, Errol struggles again with the restraints. Like an animal caught in a trap, he's desperate to get out, but there's no escape. His eyes are wide open, as if he knows the pain that's about to come to him. I have no doubt that Nurse Winter has been lying a little when she says that there's just a 'small amount' of pain involved. I'm quite sure she has no real care as to whether the patients endure agony or ecstasy.

  "I'll set the machine to run for eight seconds," she says. "It's the current maximum that I'll allow. I have no idea what would happen if we went much longer. Some people can't even manage eight, but Errol here is tough." She smiles. "Are you ready to see it in action, Dr. Lava?"

  "I'm ready," I say, transfixed by the ritual of what's happening.

  Nurse Winter presses a couple of buttons and a loud humming sound starts from near the chair. "Ten," she says, her voice filled with a deadly serious tone. She waits, apparently monitoring some kind of read-out display.
"Nine. Eight. Seven." She pauses and turns a dial for a couple of seconds. "Six," she continues. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

  Suddenly there's a huge white flash from behind the chair, growing to envelop everything in the room with such huge intensity that I'm knocked off my feet. I can barely even see my own hand in front of my face as the light gets stronger and stronger. Eventually it feels as if it's entering my body, consuming me, vibrating through me. And as it gets more and more intense, I start to feel that I can't take it any more. I close my eyes, but it's no use; the brightness is overpowering and, finally, I scream.

  Nurse Winter

  1999

  Leaning closer, I peer into Rolf's blank, whitened eyes. Ever since he was subjected to Andrew's machine, he's seemed listless, almost comatose. He barely speaks, and it's a struggle to get him to walk. The joking, theatrical old man I met on my first day here has become a vegetable, spending all day staring up at the ceiling. It's possible to get him up onto his feet now and again, so he can be washed and so his clothes can be changed, but it's as if someone has reached inside his soul and flicked a switch to Off. For all his talk of wanting to help these patients, Andrew has more or less killed Rolf, and the damage seems to be permanent.

  "Good night," I say. It's my third night here at Lakehurst, and I've spent the past two days carefully avoiding Andrew. With Rolf having taken a turn for the worse, I've been able to spend a lot of my time in here with him, hoping that Andrew doesn't come to check up on his 'victim'. "I'll be back in the morning," I add, hoping that Rolf can hear me. He doesn't respond, so I head over to the door and leave the room.

  "Nurse Winter!" says Dr. Campbell, standing at the other end of the corridor. He seems surprised to see me.

  "I was just checking on Rolf," I explain.

  "Any improvement?"

  I shake my head. "I think he's reached a point of no return," I say quietly. "I'm not expecting him to get better."

  "It happens," Dr. Campbell says. "Rolf's a nice old guy, but sometimes they just seem to fall off a cliff in terms of consciousness. I suspect you're right and he'll never get back to his old self."

  "I should get to bed," I say. "My next shift starts again in the morning."

  "Of course," he replies. "It's good that you seem to be fitting in at Lakehurst. Some people find the place a little strange and unusual, but I hear you've already made a good impression in several departments."

  "I have?" I ask.

  "Dr. Wylde speaks very highly of you," he continues. "He says you're one of the best young nurses he's seen in a long time."

  "That's very kind of him," I say, heading toward the door that leads through to the eastern wing. I want nothing more than to get to bed; I want to close my eyes and get away from the madness of this place, at least for a few hours. "Good night, Dr. Campbell."

  It takes me a few minutes to reach my bedroom on the other side of the building. The staff quarters have been placed this far out on purpose, to ensure that we all get a good night's sleep and aren't disturbed by any events that might happen on the wards. There are approximately twenty members of staff at the hospital, around a third of whom will be on duty at any one time. Walking along the dark corridor in the eastern wing, I'm very conscious that there are a great many people asleep in the rooms on either side.

  "Hey," calls out a voice.

  I almost jump out of my skin. Turning, I find that Andrew is loitering in the shadows, watching me. I instantly bristle, keen to get away from him. I turn to walk away.

  "Wait!" he says, hurrying after me. "I just wanted to apologize. I was an ass to you before. I'm not normally like that. I guess it was the stress talking."

  "Don't worry about it," I say, walking quickly toward my room. I just want to shake Andrew off, to make him leave me alone. I was a fool to think that by agreeing to his original request, I might be able to calm him down and get him to stop bothering me. Now I realize that by indulging him just a little, I encouraged him to fixate on me. Of all people, I should have understood that this is how men work. They focus on a woman, seeing her as a target to be hunted and trapped. Andrew is determined to get into my soul and turn me into a puppet for his own desires. The problem is: I know from bitter experience that I have a habit of falling for men like this. I don't know if I can be strong enough to resist Andrew, when I could just fuck him and maybe mollify him that way.

  "You hate me, right?" he says, still following me.

  "I don't hate you," I lie.

  "You think I'm an idiot," he continues.

  Getting to my door, I turn to him. "No," I say firmly, my voice trembling a little, "I think I'm an idiot for indulging your stupid obsessions for even a second. I should have told you to leave me alone the moment you started going on about your 'special treatment'. It's all bullshit!" I pause, realizing that I've stepped way over the line. "I came to Lakehurst to get away from this kind of thing," I say. "Please, just leave me alone. Let me just be another nurse you see in the corridors occasionally. Whatever you want to do down in that basement, get on with it, but for God's sake don't try to drag me into it."

  "You didn't feel anything?" he says. "When I turned the machine on, and the light came, you really didn't feel or see anything at all?"

  "No," I reply.

  "Nothing at all?" he continues, sounding a little desperate. "I opened the doors of creation, just a little but more than most people ever get to experience, and you felt nothing?" It's as if he can't believe that I failed to join him in his delusion. "You didn't hear anything?"

  I shake my head as I unlock the door and step into my room. "Good night, Andrew," I say, turning my back on him.

  "Soulless fucking whore," he says, suddenly pushing me into my room. I trip against the side of my bed and land hard on the floor. No sooner have I started to get up, than I hear the door shut and Andrew reaches down, hauling me up and placing a hand firmly over my mouth. "Listen to me," he hisses in my ear. "I know you understand my work. I know you felt what I felt in that room. The light is real. It brings... voices. You heard them, I know you did!"

  I shake my head, with Andrew's hand still clamped over my mouth.

  "There's this... force, Kirsten," he continues. "It hides from us, but that machine is able to pierce the shield and reveal its true nature, just for a moment." He sighs. "Tell me you understand, Kirsten. Tell me you realize that my work really has found something new. I've been practicing on these dumb patients, but soon I'll be ready to try it on someone else. I'm thinking of trying it on myself. To open the doors of perception. To peer through the void and see what's on the other side. Don't you -"

  I take this opportunity to elbow him as hard as possible in the chest, which causes him to fall backward. I turn and step away, looking around the room in a desperate search for some kind of weapon.

  "What the fuck's wrong with you?" Andrew shouts, clearly in pain.

  "Get out of here right now!" I say. "If you don't, I'll scream. I'll tell everyone that you attacked me. I'll tell them all about your work."

  "No-one'll believe you," he says.

  Fighting back tears, I feel like a complete fool. Why does this kind of thing always happen to me? All I want now is to be left alone, to be able to get on with my work without anyone trying to control me. I don't want any more trouble.

  "Leave me alone," I sob.

  "No," he says. "I want to help you." He steps toward me and reaches out his hands. "I want to -"

  "No!" I shout, pushing him so hard that he falls backward, striking his head on the edge of the bed before hitting the floor.

  The room is silent.

  He doesn't move.

  Slowly, a trickle of blood drips down his face. There's another patch of blood on the side of the bed.

  I step toward him, but I stop as soon as I see his cold, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. I take a deep breath, and I wait. Time passes. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably just a few minutes, I realize what I'm going to have to do.
>
  How the hell did this happen to me again?

  Dr. Lava

  Today.

  I wake up in bed. I'm tired, and my curtains are wide open, letting the sun in. I turn my face away, but the walls in here are white and even after I close my eyes, it's still too bright to sleep. Actually, it feels like no matter how tightly I scrunch my eyes up, there's a light burning inside me that I can't escape.

  "Good morning," says a voice as the door opens. "How are you feeling this morning?"

  I roll onto my back and look up to see a nurse standing over me, smiling.

  "Did you sleep okay?" she asks, bending over and pulling the bedsheets away. "Oh. Don't worry, we'll soon fix that."

  I reach my hands down and realize that the bed's wet. I must have wet myself during the night. Fortunately, the nurse seems to be very understanding, and she soon has me standing up so she can pull my pajamas down and change the bed. She wraps a towel around my waist and tells me to go and stand by the door.

  I do what I'm told.

  As I watch, the nurse finishes changing the bed, using a wet sponge to wipe away as much urine as possible from the plastic mat that was under the sheets. Finally she removes the mat and fetches a fresh one from the wardrobe.

  "Don't be embarrassed," she says, smiling at me. "It happens to the best of us."

  I look down at my feet, ashamed by the tears coming into my eyes. I wish I didn't cry so easily.

  "It's okay, Alexander," says the nurse, coming over and gently tilting my head up so that I'm looking into her eyes. She pulls a piece of tissue paper from her pocket and wipes my tears away. "You have to stop getting so easily upset about this every day. It's really not a problem. No-one else knows."