Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2) (11 page)

14.

One Year Prior, Late Winter…

The unconscious patient looked peaceful, something that she never looked when awake. The oil lamp on the table illuminated the small lab and gave a warm glow to the woman’s face. A man loomed over her and finished strapping the patient – Delphine Hubert – to the bed. He was sweating as it was more work than anticipated to bring down an unconscious body to the basement. At least she was silent during the trip.

A new version of the serum was created and Delphine would be the first experiment. Although he would never admit it, he hoped that his new serum would work perfectly on this first attempt. That was quite unlikely, even with his mind working better with the original serum helping it. Still, he wanted it to be so.

Without knowing exactly what to expect, he took no chances with the patient and made the straps very tight. After all, the first demonstration of the serum had proven that precautions were needed.

It had been nearly two months since he had started injecting himself with the original version of the serum, and his studies, while under its influence, had provided great leaps of knowledge. His mind was now thinking in different and exciting directions and the new serum that was on his lab table was the first fruit of this expanded intelligence. His knowledge was growing in more ways than just chemistry, but methodology of practice, and insight into the physical brain itself. It was awe inspiring to think that the human mind was beginning to reveal its vast secrets to him.

Delphine continued unconscious and unaware of the work happening around her. Unaware as the man filled a syringe with liquid. Unaware as the man examined her neck for the placement of the injection. Unaware as the needle pierced her artery and the serum flowed into her brain.

With the needle back in its case, the man sat in a chair next to Delphine and started talking to her. He didn’t know if the serum would overpower the chloroform, but he wanted to give her mind, conscious or not, as much intelligent stimulus as possible.

As she lay there, unconscious, the man talked to her about her past. “Delphine, you have been here for many useless years. You were once a normal citizen of London, but suffered a terrible accident that robbed you of everything. Now, without reason, without communication, you both exist and do not simultaneously. Like most here, you add nothing to our world. But I can change that.”

He leaned closer to her ear and continued, “The damage that was done can be undone. Right now, the serum is interacting with your brain, manipulating it to function like it should. I’m giving you back your life.”

The man continued talking for many minutes and didn’t stop until Delphine stirred. Her eyes started to flutter and then open. A look of concern was on her face and it turned to panic as she discovered that she could not move. At first, she made grunts and moans as she struggled against the straps.

“Calm down, Delphine,” soothed the man. “You are safe.”

She stopped struggling for a moment and looked at the man, suddenly realizing that he was in the room. This simple connection was the first proof that the serum was working. She looked away and struggled again, then looked back at the man and with some effort, she asked, “Why?”

The man stood up, eyes wide with excitement, and stared at the patient in speechless exuberance.

Delphine asked again, “Why? Why can I not move?”

“You were in an accident,” he soothed, “but you are safe now. Tell me, what do you remember?”

Her face took on a look of confusion mixed with concentration. She was searching the unused vastness of her mind, trying to find memories for how she could be there. After many seconds of mental struggle, she answered, “I remember playing with my sister.”

“Yes, that is right. You and your sister were playing near the open window in your home on that hot summer day.”

“Yes,” she said in growing comprehension, “It was hot. We complained to mum about it.” A pause for more concentration and then, “Mother had talked about taking us to the coast. Sister cried because she was scared of the waves. But… I don’t remember mum taking us there. I remember leaning out the window and yelling at the boys down below.” Another pause, then, “A few of them were around the corner, so I leaned way out in order to see them. Then…then I dreamt. Dark dreams, frightening and lonely.”

The man could barely contain his excitement. The serum was working and surpassing the original! However, he reminded himself, the original may not have been quite as successful, but it had another failing in that its effects were temporary. Yes, the key was to make it work, and make it work permanently. “Tell me about this dream you had?”

Delphine again searched her mind for clarity. “It was…it was not pleasant. It was as if I was locked away from the world, and yet, right in the middle of it. I screamed and yelled, but everyone ignored me. Perhaps no one could hear my cries. I was surrounded, overcrowded, and so very alone. The impotence turned to terror and I would scream louder. My lungs would ache. Still, no one would respond. I had no power, no way to fight. It was pure and absolute helplessness.”

The man nodded understandingly as she talked. Her thoughts would be groundbreaking, the actual feelings and views of an insane person articulated for the first time ever. He put a tender hand on her forehead and said, “The nightmare has ended. You are helpless no more.”

She smiled at him, her eyes glistening with thankfulness. But then, the serene face went blank. She closed her eyes and started struggling against her restraints.

“Calm down,” commanded the man, but she paid no attention.

Her struggles turned to uncontrolled thrashing and she started to scream. Intermixed with the horrific yells were the words, “It hurts! It hurts!”

The man watched, not certain what to do. He hoped that this was a temporary side effect and that it would pass.

She continued screaming and yelling for a couple minutes before finally collapsing. Her breath became fast and shallow as she laid unmoving and apparently unconscious.

“Delphine,” the man pleaded, “Talk to me. What is wrong? What hurts?”

She didn’t answer. Her breath became more shallow until it finally stopped. She was dead.

The man looked at the body of the woman with contempt. Despite some improvement, she now represented failure. His serum needed much more work.

At least
, he thought,
there is no shortage of test subjects.
Opening his leather-bound notebook, he wrote down the results of the experiment. His anger was subsiding as he was already thinking of adjustments to the serum and planning on what patient would be fortunate enough to be used next.

15.

Sigmund looked at the shackles on his wrists as he and Holmes rode in the back of a police steam carriage. The vehicle looked like a breadbox on wheels, with a driver cabin and a back section designed to carry multiple police officers, or criminals. On the side of the dark exterior was ‘POLICE’ written in white. Its lone electric light cut through the rain as its wheels sloshed through the puddled streets.

The back section of the vehicle consisted of two benches that faced each other and darkness. The only light available was through the barred windows. As they approached Westminster bridge, Sigmund looked out at Big Ben and noted that even the rain and grey couldn’t take away all of its luster. It stood valiantly, a beautiful and inspiring icon of London.

Returning his eyes to the much less inspiring interior of the cabin, Sigmund reached for his watch that was not there. He didn’t want to risk losing it, but missed the comfort that it brought him.
Sigh.

They had only left Scotland Yard a few minutes before, on their way to Bedlam Asylum, and Sigmund already had to convince himself, multiple times, that this was the right thing to do. Still, he again wondered if he was certain that he wanted to go through with this.

“Are you certain that you want to go through with this?” Holmes asked, as if reading his mind.

Sigmund did not answer right away as he was not sure what the honest answer was. Eventually he nodded and said, “I’m quite sure that I
don’t
want to go through with this, but I will. Besides the importance of discovering the source of the disease, I have other motivations.”

“Look, Sigmund, if you are in some kind of trouble, I can help.”

Sigmund looked at the dimly lit face of his friend and shook his head silently.

“Fine,” Holmes said, a little annoyance in his voice. Then, a little kinder, “I’ve seen you overcome some remarkable circumstances. If it wasn’t for that, I would not have even considered this. I guess what I’m saying is that I have a lot of faith in your abilities.”

With a small smile, Sigmund said, “I appreciate that. But the most important part belongs to you – you have to get me out of there.”

“Don’t worry, that will not be an issue. Besides, even if I couldn’t, you have a way of getting around obstacles when you need to.”

This was an allusion to Sigmund’s past of being a thief, of being able to break into houses or businesses. As much as Sigmund didn’t like his past, he was good at that part of his life. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of being on his own in a place like Bedlam. Knowing that Holmes was on the outside was a sort of anchor for his concerns. No matter what happened in there, Holmes could get him out. Storms could rage, but the anchor would keep him safe.

The rest of the short journey was made in silence. Sigmund looked out the window at the grey city and tried not to think about anything. He failed. He kept remembering the judge’s face at the Magistrates Court when Holmes explained the situation and asked that he approve the request for Sigmund to be admitted. Like Holmes, the judge was concerned about the disease but was flabbergasted at the proposed investigation plan. Ultimately, he trusted in Holmes’ judgement and signed the admission form. “With that paper in hand,” said the Judge, “there should be no issue in getting admitted.” –
Oh, good
, Sigmund had thought sourly.

Lambeth Road was familiar to Sigmund, as were most roads for a cab driver, but it looked foreign today, uninviting. As the steam carriage puffed its thick white breath and drew near to the entrance of Bedlam, Sigmund looked out the window that was behind Holmes and could see the large asylum building. His heart felt cold and he was scared in a way he had never felt before. This wasn’t fear about being hurt, or even fear for his families safety. What he felt in that moment was the fear of insanity, the fear that once you were admitted, you truly belonged.

As the carriage turned into the entrance, the gates already open in anticipation of their visit, Sigmund lost sight of the building. He reached for his watch again and gritted his teeth when he realized that it still wasn’t there.

“Last chance.” Holmes said.

In an effort to calm himself, Sigmund closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sound of the tires crunching on the gravel seemed too loud. The air felt like it was getting hotter.
Calm yourself
, Sigmund screamed and pleaded in his mind. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, Sigmund opened his eyes and looked across to Holmes. “I can do it.”

“Very well, Mr. Maxwell.”

Sigmund couldn’t use his own name as he was widely talked about during the Grimkraken episode – some for bad, but eventually for good. Time had passed and he was not quite as famous as he once was, but he did not want to take any chances. Wanting to choose an alias that would get his attention, he chose Maxwell. The name belonged to Jeremiah Maxwell, a man that both saved Sigmund’s life and destroyed a precious future for England. If someone said that name, Sigmund would take notice. That should help eliminate any awkward moments of not recognizing that he was being addressed while under the assumed persona.

The two doors at the back of the carriage opened, throwing in grey light that hurt their eyes. The carriage driver stood outside and waited for his superior, Chief Inspector Holmes, and the ‘criminal’ to exit.

Sigmund jumped out of the back, careful to keep his balance despite his shackled hands. Once he had both feet on the ground, the driver grabbed his right arm. Holmes exited and grabbed Sigmund’s other arm. The moderate rain and cold air felt refreshing after the stuffy cab ride, but did nothing to settle his mood. They approached the six large pillars that stood in front of the entrance and saw that there were several people standing outside to greet them.

“Chief Inspector Holmes, I presume?” said a middle-aged man that had some sort of optical contraption over his left eye.

“That is right.” Holmes responded.

“Holmes!” said a large unkempt man and then pointed at Sigmund and asked, “So this must be Watson then, eh?”

Knowing that this was not a topic that Chief Inspector Holmes enjoyed, Sigmund did his best not to smile at the forthcoming rebuttal.

Looking directly at the man, Holmes asked sharply, “Your name, sir?”

“Umm, Mr. Pegg. I am one of the orderlies here.”

“Let me be clear, Mr. Pegg. I am not Sherlock Holmes, nor am I a bungling fool as Doyle would have you believe. I am Chief Inspector Gabriel Holmes of Scotland Yard. Are there any other inane questions or imbecilic statements you would like to make?”

The orderly’s demeanor changed dramatically. It went from a humorous look to one of fright, as if he thought he might be arrested. He stammered, “No. Nothing more.”

Holmes continued to stare at the man and Sigmund watched as it further beat down the orderly. “Nothing more…” Holmes asked, leading Mr. Pegg to further embarrassment.

“Nothing more, um, Chief Inspector.”

“Alright then.”

Sigmund turned his eyes to the ground and only risked the smallest of glances to catch a glimpse of his soon to be captors. Next to the man who originally addressed Holmes were Mr. Pegg and two other men, similarly dressed in greyish white pants and shirts.
Must all be orderlies
, thought Sigmund.

“If we are quite done…” the older man said, “Chief Inspector, I am Doctor Madfyre. I assume that this is the patient you communicated about?”

“Yes,” said Holmes as he handed over the admission paper, “this is Sigmund Maxwell. A violent man, but confused as well.”

“How do you mean, exactly?” asked the doctor.

Holmes looked at Sigmund, giving a disgusted look, and said to Dr. Madfyre, “Evidently he was sitting in a restaurant eating some soup. He asked the waiter for another bowl and the waiter informed him that they had run out. Mr. Maxwell then immediately leapt from his chair and attacked the waiter, stabbing him over and over again.”

“My goodness,” the doctor commented. “Did the waiter live?”

“He did. Fortunately, Mr. Maxwell here happened to be holding a soup spoon so the waiter only suffered some bruises.”

“Oh, that is classic!” exclaimed one of the orderlies, a tall slim man with a rat-like face and at least a day’s growth of whiskers. “He is a real nutter, this one!”

“Enough, Mr. Baker!” said Madfyre sternly. Then to Holmes and Sigmund, “Has he had any particular noteworthy events in his life recently?”

Sigmund gave out a sad sigh but didn’t answer. Holmes spoke up, “How did you know? Outside of this incident with the waiter, his wife left him a fortnight ago.”

“Ah,” said Madfyre excitedly, “That explains everything.”

Holmes cocked his head and asked, “It does?”

“Yes. You see, the human mind has a barrier, if you will, that keeps back our baser and generally wrong actions. That barrier is defined by our own innate consciences and by societal standards. For example, would you show up at a friend’s house unannounced for an overnight stay?”

“No, of course not. Outside of an emergency, of course,” answered Holmes.

“Precisely. But in some cultures that is accepted behavior and even encouraged. Different societal standards. And yet, no matter where you go, taking another person’s life is wrong – this is beyond society and is an ingrained standard that is created by our conscience.”

“But, if that is so ingrained, why did Mr. Maxwell attack that waiter? It is only good fortune that he happened to have a spoon in in his hand. What if it was a fork or, heaven forbid, a knife?”

“Excellent question, Chief Inspector. This barrier is strong but not invulnerable. When a significant occurrence happens in someone’s life, the barrier can weaken or crack. Some of those wrong actions that it protects us against could leak out with unpredictable and often terrible results.

“I am convinced that when Mr. Maxwell’s wife left him, it created just such a crack in his barrier. The constant stress of it all continued to weaken him until finally a small unpleasantry, like not getting a second bowl of soup, let out the forbidden actions.”

Holmes stared at Madfyre as he allowed the explanation to sink in. Sigmund thought that Madfyre was quite brilliant in his analysis – even if the whole situation was a made up story.

Nodding in agreement and understanding, Holmes said, “Well, this looks like the right place for him. Can he be cured? The barrier repaired?”

Sigmund looked at Doctor Madfyre for the first time. He felt the look was justified as the answer to that question would certainly be of interest to a patient. The first thing that Sigmund noticed was Madfyre’s left eye – or, more accurately, the optical device, much like a jewelers glass, attached where his left eye would be. Below the eye was a scar on Madfyre’s left cheek, four lines that reached down to his jaw-line. He knew it to be the result of the attack by Priscilla, the woman from the demonstration that Sutton had told Sigmund about. Madfyre’s good eye was dark but not unkind. His receding salt and pepper hair was parted and styled close to his head. Equally styled was his mustache and goatee that came to a fine point.

Doctor Madfyre looked intently at Holmes before answering the question. “Can he be cured? In my experience, no, not completely. However, he can be helped.” Madfyre then turned to his orderlies and said, “Mr. Baker, please assist Mr. Pegg in taking this patient to a private room. I believe there is one available on the second floor.”

“Yes, Doctor Madfyre,” the two orderlies said in unison and walked to take Sigmund from Holmes and the driver. Standing in front of Sigmund, they waited a moment and then said to Holmes, “You may remove the shackles now, Chief Inspector.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot release the shackles until he is safely in his room.”

The two orderlies looked at each other and evidently came to the conclusion that they didn’t care, and, no doubt, didn’t want to risk upsetting Holmes again. They turned and started to walk in the building and called out behind them, “Follow us then.”