Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2) (13 page)

“That is Priscilla,” Jena said, indicating the piano player.

“She is amazingly talented. Is she an entertainer for the patients?”

Anne smiled and shook her head, “No. This place is far too cheap to do something like that. She is a patient.”

Taking her eyes away from the piano player, Charlotte looked at Anne to see if perhaps she was jesting. Anne’s face showed no sign of play. “How could anyone with that kind of talent, that kind of passion and beauty in them be a patient here? It is like a Michelangelo painting being placed in some dirty East-end pub.”

“Her music is that of a supreme talent,” Anne agreed, “but that is all she can do. She doesn’t talk, doesn’t give evidence of knowing anyone is around her. Despite her amazing ability, she is one that truly belongs here.”

The highs and lows of the conversation with those two remarkable women had left Charlotte’s mind spinning. There were good parts of Bedlam that were very unexpected, but they were far overshadowed by the bad parts that are beyond despicable. Although the first couple of days had not been easy, this was the first time that she thought that maybe Mr. Godwit was right and that her idea to come here was a very dangerous one.

17.

Sigmund sat on his bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped together and tried to reconcile his current situation in the darkness. His room had no interior illumination, no candles, no lamps, and allowed only a small ray of grey light in through the viewing window in his door.

It was morning, exact time unknown. Sigmund was tired, having received little sleep the night before due to the uncomfortable bed and the bitter cold. He tried to gather his thoughts. The temperatures were a touch warmer now, but he still had the blanket pulled over his shoulders.

He should have been focusing on how to discover the source of the disease, but his mind was groggy, as if it was filled with wet rags. The dust motes that floated in and out of the muted light mesmerized his exhausted attention.

At the sound of chains and grunts, Sigmund’s thoughts became a little sharper. The noises were coming from the room next to his, the last room of the long hallway. It had to be The Beast that the orderlies had alluded to. Throughout the night, Sigmund had heard a few sounds, but it appeared that his neighbor was fully awake now.

It didn’t sound human. There were no recognizable words, just inarticulate grunts of an animal.
How does a person become like that?
Sigmund wondered. He thought back to the illustration that Dr. Madfyre had given about a mental barrier and concluded that if this person was as described, then surely he had no barrier left, nothing that protected his humanity.

“Hey!” an unpleasant voice bellowed out. Sigmund looked to his door window and saw the unshaven scowling face of Mr. Pegg. “Looks like Madfyre has taken an interest in you. Instead of keeping you locked up, he wants you to mix with the other patients.”

Sigmund didn’t react. He wasn’t sure what to expect and was too tired to care much at that time.

“Now listen good, Spoony. I own this floor. If you so much as look at someone wrong, I will lock you back up and break your fingers. You understand me?”

Sigmund looked at the man’s eyes and found no hint of a bluff. The orderly would hurt Sigmund if there was a misstep and not think twice about it. “Yes, sir. You are the boss,” Sigmund replied demurely, trying a little flattery to help smooth the road.

The face disappeared from the window and there was a jangling of keys before the door unlocked and opened. The orderly stood in the doorway and said darkly, “New patients often need a lesson to understand our ways here. I will have a close eye on you.” He then left and Sigmund could hear the heavy footsteps of the orderly as he walked away.

Keeping the blanket on his shoulders, Sigmund stood and opened his door fully to the grey hallway. The lengthy corridor was lit only by the windows along one side of it. Clouds still obscured the sky outside, but they were of a kinder, softer grey than the previous day. Still, it was much brighter than his room and he needed to guard his eyes. He could hear and feel the many people in the corridor even though his vision hadn’t adjusted yet. A fluctuating tapping sound could be heard from the light rain as it hit the window panes – a sound that Sigmund loved under normal circumstances, but not here. Here the rain added dreariness to an already sad place. As his eyes started to welcome the light, Sigmund looked at the rain on the window and was surprised to find several panes missing and water trickling in through the openings. He watched as a breeze blew in some rain drops and felt the cold and damp outside air move against him a moment later.
No wonder this place is so cold.

The sound of grunts and chains grabbed Sigmund’s attention once again. He looked at the last door of the hallway and found it identical to his, including a small viewing window. Gazing down the hallway, the few patients that were close enough to hear the sounds didn’t seem to care. Conflicting thoughts warred in Sigmund’s mind. He desperately wanted to see this individual, but didn’t want to subvert whatever dignity this man had by turning him into a sideshow freak. Despite his best intentions, Sigmund’s curiosity won out – he had to see The Beast. He had to know if insanity could run that deep.

With the blanket still around his shoulders, he approached the door slowly, as if it could open at any moment and release the madman inside. Grunting sounds and movement of chains continued. The opening was dark and Sigmund realized that it would be hard to see inside. Still, he kept moving forward. That is when the smell hit him. It was a foul stench that far surpassed anything Sigmund had experienced. His stomach turned and he had to fight back the bile that rose in his throat. Burying his nose in the rough blanket, he continued forward, the smell acting almost like a physical barrier. His eyes began to water and he needed to blink repeatedly to keep his vision sharp. Two steps away from the door, the noises from inside stopped, as if The Beast could sense someone approaching. Sigmund’s heart beat faster as he wondered what he would find within.

At the door, he leaned his head so that one eye could see in and still leave room for some light to make its way past. He held his breath in anticipation and to try to combat the stench. It was very dark inside the room and nothing showed in the small beam of illumination. Straining his senses, he still couldn’t see anything, but could hear the breathing of the occupant. Another few seconds went by with his eyes scanning the dark interior fruitlessly. Suddenly, a rush of sound and a face appeared in the light. Sigmund took in a quick breath from the surprise but managed not to look away. What he saw was horrible. The face, or at least the part he could see, was filthy, but most was hidden behind a leather mask that covered from the bottom of his chin to the bridge of his nose. Beneath the mask, a long unkempt beard flowed out. The eyes were bright blue, haunting, but lacking anything that Sigmund would call human. They contained only fury. The man tried to lunge at Sigmund, letting out a low growl, but was halted by a restraint. Sigmund couldn’t see it at first, but could now make out a metal collar that was around The Beast’s neck. The collar was attached to a chain that disappeared in the darkness. In the small glimpse that Sigmund had, he could see raw red flesh around the collar. This was the absolute lowest form of humanity that he had ever witnessed. His emotions ran the gamut from disgust, fright, and eventually sadness. He looked at this man for a little longer until, finally, the guilt of watching this patient like a zoo animal overcame his curiosity and he turned away. Sigmund knew that he would not soon forget what he had just witnessed.

With his eyes on the floor, he took a couple of steps down the hall and took deep breaths to calm himself and rid the stench from his lungs. Behind him The Beast’s sounds continued, frightening Sigmund even more than before. He now had a vision to go with the noises.

When he finally turned his attention to the corridor, he saw what he had experienced the previous day, a wide space with many patients involved in various activities. Whereas before he was too overwhelmed to pay much attention, today he took a moment to consider the sight before him. The right side of the long hallway was an outside wall and had regularly spaced windows. These windows proved to be the main light source for the passage, but the age and poor maintenance of them contributed to the cold and damp. The left wall was spaced with doors – some open, some closed – that led to rooms of various sizes. The people, however, are what Sigmund noticed the most. Some were sitting in the chairs that dotted the hallway, some sat on the floor. A few walked around as if in a dream. One man played a violin, a dark melody, but not played very well.

A chess match with two seated men was the most surprising to Sigmund. He did not have a lot of preconceived notions as to what he would find in the asylum, but a game of such complexity was certainly not one of them. He walked towards the two players wondering if they were actually following rules or just randomly moving pieces around. As he got closer, he examined the two players. The man on the left had a narrow face with receding hair, styled straight back. His dark eyes peered with great focus down his sharp nose. He certainly gave the appearance of understanding the game. His clothes were modest – as everyone’s appeared to be – but were well arranged. The man on the right was quite different. He had a large round face with a mass of messy grey hair. His clothes fit poorly and had buttons out of place. This round-faced man looked at the game board but showed no particular focus or interest.

The match itself looked to be approaching the end-game. To Sigmund’s surprise, it seemed as if the round-faced man had the advantage. His piece positioning was dangerous and he had an advantage in pieces. The narrow faced man gave a little sigh, apparently a sign of resignation, and moved his bishop to a more attacking position. It was a failing effort, a distraction at best. Round-face moved his knight to a safe location but could now attack either the enemy Queen or Rook. A devastating situation for his opponent.

Narrow-face considered the board and then gently laid his King on its side. “Excellent game, Xavier,” he said with sincerity. Sigmund looked at the round-faced man, Xavier, but he didn’t respond, just kept staring at the board with the same blank look.

Noticing that they had an observer, the narrowed-faced man looked up at Sigmund and said cordially, “Hello. Are you interested in a game? Xavier here is quite an expert player.”

“Oh, no,” Sigmund responded. “I was just watching. I’m new here and am sort of exploring my surroundings.”

“Well then, welcome! I’m Basil Addams,” the man said as he stood up and put out his hand.

Shaking the offered hand, Sigmund said, “Pleased to meet you, I’m Sigmund Maxwell.” He was proud of himself for remembering his fake identity.

“It is nice to meet you, Sigmund. This here,” he indicated his chess opponent, “is Xavier Dalby. He is not much of a talker, but as I said, he is brilliant at chess.”

Sigmund nodded at Xavier, but there was no response.

“So, Sigmund, have you eaten breakfast yet?”

He hadn’t. Until the question was asked, he wasn’t even aware of his empty stomach. But now that he paid a little attention… “No, I have not. I’m not actually sure where I would go to get some.”

“Well then,” Basil said brightly, “follow me. I have not eaten yet either.” Then turning to his chess opponent, “Xavier, I will be back later for a rematch.”

Sigmund liked Basil immediately, although he had to remind himself that he needed caution as this stranger was a patient in an insane asylum. He would need to be on guard with anyone, but so far Basil seemed like a normal, amiable person.

“You must forgive Xavier,” Basil said as he led Sigmund down the hallway. “Poor fellow hasn’t much sense beyond that of chess. Although he doesn’t react, I firmly believe that he is appreciative of our games. He has certainly been less agitated since the discovery of his love for chess. Not playing must have been for him like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.”

Sigmund could not help but think of the ‘brain focus’ that Sutton told him about. Xavier must be unbalanced and overloaded in the part of the brain for chess or perhaps logic.

Sigmund asked, “Tell me, Basil, what do you know about the patient in the last room?”

“Ah, The Beast. His real name is Roland Oxley and he’s been here for quite some time.” They sidestepped a small puddle forming on the floor. “From what I could gather, he had attacked some family members, scratching and biting them.”

“That’s awful.”

“It is. I don’t know what makes a man like that, to completely give up on his humanity, but he is beyond reason and evidently doomed to the life of an animal.”

They approached the exit at the beginning of the hallway. Sitting in a chair near the closed, and no doubt locked, doors was the orderly, Mr. Pegg. When he saw the two patients approaching he said, “Ah, Basil! Was there a monster under your bed last night? Perhaps a ghost?” He then started laughing at his own comments.

Sigmund was confused, but didn’t say anything.

Ignoring the comments, Basil asked, “Mr. Pegg, may we proceed to the dining room?”

Pegg eyed the two of them as if they were up to something and then finally answered, “Alright then. But watch this one,” he pointed to Sigmund, “he might try to attack you with a spoon!” He laughed some more as he stood up and unlocked the doors.

The dining room was not far and once they were inside, Mr. Pegg went back to his post. “He’s an intolerable man,” Basil said. “But I find it best to not rile him up or argue.”

Sigmund nodded. He had already come to the same conclusion. They sat at a long table, one of four, and each took a very bruised apple and a bowl of lumpy porridge. It wasn’t very appetizing, but there were not any other options. A handful of other patients were in the room with them, but no conversations. The main sound was that of silverware scraping plates.