Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2) (9 page)

“Madfyre said that Priscilla was a prime example of brain focus. All her focus was dedicated to the playing of piano. No emotion, no speaking, just music. Part of me was glad for it – her music was a gift and should be praised as the height of talent. Not that any amount of praise would break through into her world.

“Doctor Madfyre then produced a syringe that contained a serum he had developed. He claimed that it would help balance the brain focus, to take from the music and give to the neglected areas. The guests did not know what to make of this – some laughed, some shook their heads, and some seemed quite angry as if this was a waste of their valuable time. I watched with rapt attention as he led Priscilla from the piano and sat her in a chair for all to see. He brought the needle close to her arm and explained that he would inject the serum into a vein, which would then distribute the serum throughout her body, and most importantly, the brain.

“When the needle went in, she gave a small yelp. It was the first sound she had made to that point. After the injection, Madfyre pulled up a chair to face her and started to talk with her, well, to her.

“At first, she was oblivious to the conversation, her attention focused off into space. But Madfyre kept talking. Nothing of note, mind you, just about the weather and comments on the room’s color scheme. After about thirty minutes, a noticeable change started to occur with Priscilla. She started to become a little agitated, her obliviousness to everything was fading. There were occasional suspicious glances that she threw at Madfyre and the guests, which was the first acknowledgement of anyone she had given. Her look grew increasingly frustrated as reality was forcing its way into her private world.

“After a few more minutes, she started to look around less and focus more on Madfyre. This is when he started to ask her questions. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Where do you live?’ ‘What is your favorite color?’ After the question about color, she spoke in a quiet voice and said, ‘Blue.’

“The guests all stared in silence at what they just saw and heard. This was far beyond anything anyone had ever seen and beyond what anyone had imagined when accepting the invitation for this demonstration. Their attention was fixed on the girl, seeing if she would respond to more questions.”

“And did she?” Sigmund asked.

“She did. Madfyre continued with basic queries such as her name, and how old she was, what food did she like. Her responses were just one word answers, but they were in harmony with the questions. This proved that there was understanding, that her mind was operating in ways that it never previously did. In short, the serum worked. Her brain focus was redistributed.”

Sigmund commented, “You mentioned that this was a frightening experience. It seems much more like a miracle.”

“At this point of the experiment, I believe that all in attendance would have called it a miracle. I doubt that I can convey the true revelation of being in that room and experiencing the change in that woman. However, the experiment was not over. Madfyre had proven that her mind was different now, but he wanted to prove that it was a result of the reallocation of her brain focus. What he next wanted to show was that the piano playing ability was reduced and that this was the reason why she now comprehended questions and spoke.

“Inviting her back to the piano, he instructed that she play her favorite piece. The look on her face this time was not one of love, but of concern. Her hands rested on the keys as if they were going to hurt her. Then she started playing. The once sublime sound of her music was gone and replaced with mediocrity. The song was recognizable, but it now contained no feeling, nothing to set it apart from what you would hear from a typical piano student.

“As you can imagine, this garnered quite a reaction from us in attendance. But no reaction was greater than the one from Priscilla herself. She started playing louder, striking the keys with great force. A melody was there, but hidden in fury. Where her music had previously sounded of heaven, she now played a melody from hell. It was awful. I wanted to leave. What a tragedy to remove such a gift!

“Her anger grew and she no longer was playing a song but was banging on the keys with her fists. Over and over she hit them and soon added screams to accompany the noise. A few of the guests stood up with alarm. I moved closer. I had to see. I was terrified and my mind screamed to run away, but I couldn’t. Through the growing commotion, I could see that Priscilla’s hands were becoming bloody from her attack on the keys. Madfyre must have seen it too as he rushed to her and grabbed her wrists to stop the pounding.

“And then,” Sutton paused to wipe perspiration from his brow, “she collapsed off of the piano bench and fell to her knees and started to cry. Tears flowed from her eyes as she let out the most mournful wails you could imagine. Madfyre was trying to calm her down but she was inconsolable. Many guests started to leave and condemned the whole experiment. Others stayed, whether out of curiosity, concern, or an enjoyment of the macabre, I’m not sure. I think I stayed for all three reasons. I moved closer and was now only a few feet from where Priscilla was sitting on the floor, still sobbing uncontrollably, her dress and face now stained with blood from her hands. Madfyre was kneeling next to her and continued to try and give comfort.

“Out of all that occurred, what happened next was the most disturbing. Priscilla’s crying slowed and stopped. She became quiet and soon a ferocious look came into her eyes while she stared at Madfyre. It was cold and threatening beyond measure. He backed away at the sight of her and she screamed, ‘Give it back! Give it back! Give it back!’ She continued screaming ‘Give it back’ as she lunged at him. He wasn’t quick enough and she raked his face with her nails, damaging his left eye and leaving four red streaks down his cheek. Madfyre did his best to ignore the wounds and grabbed her wrists once again. She fought like a caged animal as he forced her towards the door, all the while she continued to scream, ‘Give it back!’

“An assistant of Madfyre’s finally showed up and helped him to take her out of the room. The last thing I heard her say was, ‘It was all I had.’

“Those of us that were remaining just looked at each other in disbelief. The emotions that we went through over the previous few minutes were too overwhelming to articulate. The bliss of her music, the astonishment of her talking, the angry sorrow of her piano playing, the sadness of a this broken girl, and the unbridled fury towards Madfyre.”

Sigmund listened with complete attention while rubbing his thumb over the cover of his pocket watch – a habit he did when he was nervous. It was an astonishing account and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor girl. “What did she mean, ‘give it back’? Was she aware of the serum and Madfyre’s theory?”

Sutton shook his head. “No. She may have been more lucid than perhaps at any other point in her life, but those concepts of his were not her concern. What she knew was simple: The one thing in her life, the one pastime that gave her comfort, perhaps even happiness was ripped from her. She knew no other way to exist. Everything in her life revolved around playing the piano. When she shouted, ‘give it back’ she was talking about her music. Gaining the basic abilities that we take for granted was not, in her mind, a fair trade. It was all she had and it was stolen.”

A few moments passed as they allowed their emotions to settle. Sigmund then asked, “Did you ever find out what happened to her?”

“I did,” Sutton answered while nodding slightly. “The serum’s effect proved temporary. She returned back to her original state after a few hours and was taken back to wherever she came from. Doctor Madfyre stopped experimenting with the serum, understanding more fully the repercussions of using it on others. Despite the promise of what he had done, he could not find a way to justify the pain it caused. Who was he to make that decisions for these individuals?”

“And this is the man in charge of Bedlam Asylum?” Sigmund asked in some disbelief.

“This experiment had very unintended consequences, but that is not uncommon. Madfyre is brilliant and probably knows more about the human brain and its disorders than anyone in Europe.”

Sigmund thought about this for a moment, not so willing to give Madfyre much of a break, and then asked, “What if he started experimenting again? What if the deaths I’m investigating are because of him and some new serum?”

“I will admit that it crossed my mind, but I don’t think so. He called that demonstration to keep his work visible and sanctioned by his peers. He detested those who operated in secret, pointing to their selfish motivations.”

Giving a wry smile, Sigmund commented, “I guess I was being a little too optimistic. That I could close this favor with only this conversation. But, since when have things ever come easy for us?”

Sutton laughed, “That is unfortunately true.” Then, with a look of sympathy, he asked, “So where does that leave you?”

Sigmund looked down at the floor between them and then back to Sutton’s face, “It leaves me with some more work to do.” A beginning of a unwelcomed plan was being formed, but he would need assistance.

“Anything I can do to help?” asked Sutton.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

11.

One Year Prior, Winter…

It was well after midnight and the man sat in his recently created lab. Beakers and vials glistened in the candle light, while notes and thick books rested heavily on the table in front of him. He knew that he would be safe from disturbances here, as no one came down to the dank basement of Bedlam. The building was old and this level was the first area that caretakers had given up on so many years ago. The basement was wet, run down, and dangerous with debris. The man couldn’t shake the feeling that the ceiling would collapse onto him. Still, although not perfect in aesthetics, it was ideal for solitude.

The need for secrecy, however, was something that he hated.
The serum had worked! Why couldn’t anyone see that?
It had been years since the demonstration with Priscilla and no more progress had been made. The only true problem, that he could see, was that the results were temporary. Any side effects that resulted could surely be overcome with time. And that was the goal – spend the necessary time and create a permanent cure.

His own mind had been stretched to its limits. It was true that he had learned much, but not enough to solve the problems he faced and advance the serum. While struggling with this perceived ineptitude, this physical roadblock of a normal mind, he offhandedly wished that he could reallocate his brain focus to reasoning and scientific thought, like Priscilla did with playing the piano. It was this abstract notion that led him to his current course of action. It was a radical idea, dangerous, but a step that he felt must be tried.

The man opened a small black case in front of him and lifted the syringe from its bed of red silk. He filled it with the serum and brought the needle to his arm.
Could the serum have a reverse effect on a sane person?
On an unbalanced mind, the serum redistributed the focus closer to normal.
What if the mind was already in balance?
Perhaps it would have an opposite effect. Maybe it will redistribute the brain focus to a specific area. This is what he was testing. A hazardous proposition, but he did not see a choice in the matter. His current obstacles seemed insurmountable without assistance.

Before this step, he had injected the serum into a few of the many rodents that inhabited the basement realm. Three observations were made. One, the injected rodent acted differently, although to know what specifically motivated the difference was impossible to know – was it more focused? Was it just sick? The second observation was that the rodents did not die. A most important outcome before trying the serum on oneself. The third, and final, observation was that the rodents seemed to go back to a normal state after a few hours. These little tests validated the results of the initial trial on Priscilla.

Lifting the syringe, he moved it close to the crook of his arm. When the metal touched his skin, he hesitated, taking a moment to reassure himself that whatever happened would only be temporary.
Hopefully.
He pressed and felt the sting of the needle enter his vein. He smoothly injected the serum and removed the syringe when it was empty.

After wiping clean the needle, he replaced the syringe to its case, and took stock of how he felt. Outside of the slight pain from the needle, he felt normal. Picking up one of the volumes off the table, he started to read. It was hard to focus, at first, his mind being distracted by what he had just done, but slowly his focus increased. After several pages, he became absorbed. Exciting possibilities started to trickle into his mind. Connections between previously abstract thoughts formed a tapestry of knowledge and logic. The trickle became a flood as he started to expand his ideas to greater levels. His hand took notes and was barely able to keep up with his minds revelations. Although there were no overt side effects that he could notice, there was no denying a greater understanding of his studies.

As new thoughts continued to be discovered, the idea of stopping the research into the brain serum became more ludicrous than ever. To think that the potential negative effects on an insane patient was enough to cause opposition seemed so impractical. Couldn’t people realize that the mindless existence of those that he was trying to help is a sacrifice that is well worth making? A small cost for so great a prize.

Yes, this was science working
for
humanity, not against it! The naysayers were weak and cowardly, hiding behind some kind of ethical shield, like a child hiding behind his mother’s skirt.

The experimentation would continue. The price, whatever it amounted to, would be worth it. A cure for insanity, a one-time dream, was nearing the precipice of reality.