The Secret of Kolney Hatch (24 page)

Medieval weapons hung on the walls as in the other torture rooms. I grabbed a sickle from the wall and began to dig in the earth. I had to verify whose body was buried underneath that dirt.

I don’t know how long I dug, but eventually I uncovered the rest of the body. I jumped back as I revealed Heathcliff’s lifeless face covered by maggots crawling from his eye sockets and mouth. I covered my mouth and stumbled backward toward the wall near the tiny opening in the room.

Again, I heard a sound. Someone was in the tunnels with me. I grabbed the torch from the wall and taking the sickle, I ran through a door, opposite from which I came, and into a set of new tunnels. I could see much better with more light, though the tunnels still seemed endless. I turned right at the next fork, hoping this would take me back to the stairs, but I found myself once again outside of a tall oak door. I feared I would die in this maze. I opened the door and gasped.

Before me, restrained to a bed, was a girl. She was still alive. I rushed to her side; I knew her face.

“Agatha,” I said. “Agatha, can you hear me?”

I knew this woman from London. She was Roger Loxley’s friend, the missing girl. She did not recognize me though. She was completely unresponsive, drugged, like I had been. Agatha was bruised and sickly. Underfed. She groaned, and I checked her pulse. Her heart rate was too slow. I would not let her die here. I looked for a place to set my torch. Luckily, I found a spot on the wall, and hurried to Agatha.

Doctor Reid kept her alive. Why? Why was she here? The adrenaline rushed through me as I hurried to unbuckle her restraints. I had to save her.

I stopped when I heard a “swoosh” sound and turned just in time to see the burly Bradford swinging a mace at me. I moved out of the way just as it crashed into the wall, missing Agatha by only inches. She was so drugged, she didn’t even scream. In those few seconds that the mace hit the wall, I jumped up from the ground, and, noticing a second doorway in the room, ran through it and into a faintly lit hallway.

This hallway had to lead toward the staircase. I continued and came to another fork. Both hallways were lit, so I chose the right tunnel and ran. I knew Bradford would follow me. At the next fork, only the right tunnel was lit—the left was in complete darkness.

Since I entered the tunnels in darkness, I chose the dark path and felt my way down the tunnel. I heard a clinking sound behind me, and I began to walk faster. When the wall ended, I knew I must be at another fork. I felt for the openings and decided that I would turn left. Of course I had no way of knowing if I was headed in the right direction, but I had to try.

Finally, I saw a light in the distance. I found the light and realized it was my candlestick, lit, and sitting on the ground. I left it in one of the rooms, so how did it get here, I wondered?

I picked it up and saw I was by the staircase. At the top of the narrow stairwell, I took a much needed deep inhale. Then I realized, someone had known I was in those tunnels. Someone was trying to guide me to safety.  

thirty nine

THE STORM

Paul Watson’s Journal

November 25, evening, continue
d
.
—It was late, a little after 11, when I changed my dirt-covered, bloodstained clothes and began to gather my belongings and pack them in my suitcase.
 
A knock on my door startled me, and I threw my suitcase down by the other side of my bed. I tried to behave normally as I answered the door, but I could not stop my body from trembling. My visitor was Doctor Reid, and my heart raced as I feared he would notice my unusual conduct and half-filled bag on the floor.
 

He greeted me with a halfhearted smile as he fixed his spectacles on his face.

“How are you feelin’ Paul?”

“Fine.”

I would not give him the satisfaction of any other answer.

“Good. I fear a blizzard is upon us. It appears we won’t be able to travel to town until the storm passes.
 
Our meager food supply may present an issue...”
 

I wanted to scream at Doctor Reid, and tell him I had discovered his big secret—I knew about his shady deals, the dead bodies and the torture chambers, but most importantly, I knew I was not crazy.
 

 
Instead, I portrayed a controlled guise.
 
I turned my back toward Doctor Reid for a moment and surveyed the outside.
 
A colossal blizzard threatened my chance to escape.
 
On the bright side, Doctor Reid did not seem to detect any incredulity in my behavior.

Caught in the abysmal thoughts of the murders, I could not bring myself to utter another word, so I kept my back turned toward the doctor. I stood there for some time in a strange daze, and when I finally turned around, Doctor Reid was gone. I sat on my bed and sighed. Now, not only had I seen the most horrific sight in those tunnels, but I was stuck at the very place where these people were murdered or imprisoned.
 
I would be a prisoner of Kolney Hatch until the blizzard cleared.

        
I only knew one thing for certain: I would escape Kolney Hatch.

Letter from Paul Watson to Amy Rose

“Dear Amy,                                                       “November 26

I am in danger, and you are my only hope. I do not know that this letter will reach you in time. I do not know if this letter will reach you at all. I pray you were able to reach Oscar.

You were right about the asylum. I discovered something at Kolney Hatch, something terrifying that has affected me as deeply as the day I learned my mother was murdered. A woman was kidnapped and chained against her will, and people were killed and thrown down in hidden tunnels left to rot with no proper burial and no family to miss them. I feel so helpless. I must escape this place. Please, Amy, send help as quickly as you are able.

“Faithfully yours,

“Paul

Paul Watson’s Journal

November 28, mornin
g
.—
I could not stare a single person in the eye. I contemplated braving the snow just to get out of this horrid place, but
 
the temperature was too cold; I would freeze. My eyes burned from watching those crystalline flakes rapidly cover the grass.

My only thoughts were of what I uncovered in those hidden tunnels.
 
I still had Doctor Wicks’ journal. I would take it with me when I left, and I would go straight to the London police. I would not take a chance with local authorities. I had an unsettling feeling that Doctor Reid had plenty of people working for him. Perhaps he paid them well, including Edward Fitch, the inspector.

As the snow accumulated, I noticed a collective and growing agitation in patients and staff. The Captain ranted throughout the hallways. The food depleted quickly, and some patients were feeling weak from the lack of nourishment.
 
Hannah yowled as usual; I heard her shaking her locked bars along with the other patients in the isolation ward. Ransford constantly recited a book of the Bible—Revelations.

I was busy berthed in my tormented thoughts; I could not focus my attention properly. I desired no food or sleep; I was paralyzed, not by fear, but by uncertainty.
 
Everything felt wrong,

and I had no idea how to make it right again.
 
I felt as if I was living in some other realm.
 
This life was not the life of Paul Watson.
 
No, this was the life of a man I did not recognize in some far away and unknown land. I needed to escape.

When I finally mustered the energy to deliver my letter for Amy Rose to the post box, I was met with resistance.

“No one in or out of the building. I’m sorry Doctor Watson,” Woods said as I put on my coat.

“Surely you can make an exception, Woods.”

I knew he wouldn’t, but I had to try.

“I’m sorry Doctor Watson. I can’t. The weather is too dangerous. The temperature’s gone below freezing. I’m not authorized to let anyone out or anyone in.”

“So if a person was out there, freezing to death, you would not take him in?”

“I could not. We can’t even get the doors open. Would you like to try?”

“No, that’s alright.”

“Besides, no one’s coming for the letters, Watson, it’s a blizzard, you see.”

“I’m well aware.”

“If you’ll trust the letter with me, I’ll be sure to deliver it when the snow stops.”

I did not trust Woods. I did not trust anyone anymore.

“No, thank you.”

Defeated, I began to head back to my office, when, suddenly I felt a surge of anger.

“I will send this letter, Woods, and not one person in this world can stop me.”

Without bothering to look for his reaction, I turned away then and briskly walked toward my office, feeling triumphant.

forty
THE FIRE

Paul Watson’s Journal

November 30, 8 o’clockin the evenin
g
.
—In the early morning of the 29
th
, around three, I woke to a burning smell and immediately jumped up from my bed. As I pulled on the warm doorknob, I saw the hallways were filled with thick smoke. Kolney Hatch was on fire.

 Smoke and hot flames were everywhere, and the patients screamed and ran through the hallways. In seconds, I dressed, grabbed my jacket, my journals and notebooks, and Doctor Wicks’ notebook and ran out into the South Wing. I needed to bring anyone I could to safety. My eyes burned from the smoke, and I could barely breathe.

“Help us!”

It was a woman’s voice, and I ran to the women’s ward. The door was locked.

“I can’t get the door open,” I yelled trying to break it down.

“Please! Help us!”

Then I heard the despairing screams, and I recoiled in horror. The door was too hot. They would not survive.

I would not die in this place, I thought, as I continued down the South Wing. The isolation ward doors were opened, and I checked that all rooms in the ward and South Wing were vacated. I ran into the children’s ward.

George sat in the corner, crying.

“Come on, George,” I said breathlessly.

I had to get to the stairs, but there was too much smoke. The windows would not open, they were too hot, and I began to panic.

I made my way down the corridor with George, checking for any other patients. I prayed they were able to get out somehow. When I reached the stairs, I saw the front of the building was on fire, but the flames had not reached the stairs yet. Someone started this fire and in different places of the building. I was able to get George down the stairs and just past the lobby as the chandelier crashed onto the floor, spreading the flames further.  

Still unsure if I would be able to get out the back door, I led George toward the dining room.

I heard the screams of patients running amuck but no sign of Doctor Reid or Alice. I tripped over a body in front of me. It was Hannah. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. George and I had to keep moving if we were to escape. Down the hallway to my right, by the kitchens and amongst the flames, was Ransford. He stood in front of the fire and as it began to consume him, he spoke.

“The evil one has come! Now is the time for our resurrection. Birthed out of the flames as the Phoenix, I will rise in the name of the Lord Almighty,” he said.

He did not flinch, even as the flames engulfed his body.

                      The dining room was also consumed in flames. We would not be able to exit the building.

“Come on, George,” I said, grabbing his hand.

The tunnels were our only hope. I opened the storage closet right by my office and grabbed several wool blankets. Our only hope for light was the candlesticks, so I quickly lit them on a burning drape. When we reached the library, which was also filled with the black smoke, I saw Bonnie White unconscious on the ground. Thankfully, she was still alive, so I lifted her in my arms. We could not breathe. We could barely speak.

“George, hurry, pull this here.”

Once the tunnels were opened, I carried Bonnie and the blankets, while George carried the candles. Then I closed the door tightly behind us.

The smoke and flames had not reached inside the tunnels yet, thankfully. But I did not know how long we would have before they did.

forty one

ESCAPE FROM THE ASYLUM

Paul Watson’s Journal

November 30, continue
d
.—
Once we were down the steps, I laid Bonnie on the ground and tried to revive her. She finally woke, coughing up inhaled smoke.

        “Are you alright?” I asked her, and she nodded slowly.