“Are you alright?”
Even as the heavy steel door shuts behind them, Alex catches Lydia’s arm and spins her around to face him. A neon light above buzzes and flickers, echoing her chaotic thoughts.
“I’m fine,” she replies, absently.
“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened in there, I- I just couldn’t help myself—”
“It’s fine.” She cuts him off. “What did you find out about that teacher?”
“I can’t talk to you about it,” he replies sheepishly. “Not right now.”
“You invited me to the crime scene!” Lydia blinks at him in disbelief.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I wanted to make sure you were safe, and I couldn’t leave.”
“So you have no idea who attacked me?”
“If someone attacked you,” Alex says gently, moving to hold her again. Lydia shakes him off with a piercing look.
“You think I’m lying?”
“Of course not!” Alex pleads. “But you have to understand how this all sounds. You didn’t see anyone; you don’t remember what happened and the doctor says you had quite a concussion. You could have been out for hours. I mean…”
“Don’t say it, Alex,” Lydia warns.
“Are you sure you didn’t just slip, and you’re paranoid because of what’s happened?”
She takes a step away from him, the colour draining from her already pale face, eyes wide with shock.
“Lydia, please don’t be mad,” Alex says. “I’m just trying to figure it out. And I mean, wouldn’t that be better? If it was an accident?” He makes a movement towards her again, but Lydia raises a straight arm, her hand flat against his chest.
“Maybe you’re right,” she says, her voice empty as though her mind is elsewhere.
“I can still look out for you,” he says. “If that’s what you want?” Lydia doesn’t reply. She sways unsteadily and for a moment looks like she might topple over. “Lydia?” Alex goes to catch her, but she regains her balance at the last moment.
“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I just feel a little strange.”
“Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?” asks Alex. “Or…”
“Your place?” Lydia narrows her eyes at him.
“I was going to say ‘to get something to eat’,” says Alex. “But I like your idea too.” He catches her eye and she smiles. She can’t help herself. Being desired makes her feel good, makes her feel strong and purposeful again, even if she knows it’s only for a fleeting moment with her handsome toy. In a way, Alex is the only thing in this troublesome time keeping Lydia together; she feels safe with him strangely, though she would never admit that to herself, much less to anyone else.
“Food sounds good,” she says. “Where shall we go?”
“I’ll surprise you.” Alex grins.
“I hate surprises,” says Lydia with a frown.
“You’ll like this one.”
Lydia opens her mouth to say that she doubts it, but decides that she doesn’t have the energy for this small talk right now. “I’d like to go back and change first,” she says, “take a bath; get his… scent out of my nostrils.” She makes a face.
“I’ll give you a ride,” says Alex.
“Don’t be silly.” She waves him away. “My car’s here.”
Alex stares at her. “How did your car get here? I thought it was still—”
“You’re not the only one with a few tricks up their sleeve.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” he asks, looking somewhat alarmed. “The doctor said—”
“I know what she said,” Lydia says flatly. “I am saying that I’m fine.”
“Alright,” says Alex. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t want an argument either. “Then I’ll pick you up around… eight?”
“Perfect.” Lydia smiles an unsteady smile. Usually false sincerity comes as easily to her as breathing, but this definitely feels forced, and she can tell from the look on Alex’s face that he’s noticed it too. “Let’s get out of here,” she says quickly. “Come o—”
“Miss Tune!”
Lydia turns to see the tyrannical Warden Shade marching down the corridor towards them.
“You’d better go,” she murmurs to Alex. “He won’t be happy when he hears what you did to Jason. I’ll smooth him over, but best you’re not here.”
“Sure?” asks Alex, uncertainly.
“Positive.” Lydia smiles. That one was easier. Just a temporary lapse. “I’ll see you at eight.”
“Alright,” says Alex, and he turns and heads in the opposite direction, back towards the entrance to the asylum.
“Is Detective Gilbey in a hurry to be somewhere?” asks the warden, brusquely.
“Work,” Lydia replies, simply.
“I see,” says Shade. “Tell me, does his work usually involve assaulting his suspects?”
He knows, Lydia thinks. One of the guards must have gone straight to tell him. Of course he had a spy. He’s just the sort. “I expect that depends on the suspect,” Lydia replies, coolly.
“Indeed,” says the warden. His tone is conversational, but his eyes are dark and menacing. “I must say I’m surprised that you approved such a course of action.”
“Why so?” Lydia asks, politely.
“I had heard that you were a woman of many subtle talents,” says Shade. “I thought you would find Detective Gilbey’s approach crude and unsatisfactory.” Lydia peers at him curiously. Was that an insult or a compliment? Perhaps both? “Still,” the warden continues, “if it gets results, I suppose. So our boy knows nothing about your situation, eh? That is unfortunate.”
Lydia feels a chill creep up her spine. Could Warden Shade be Jason’s accomplice? Was she standing here alone with the man who had knocked her out and left her for dead in the snow? “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she says, the coolness in her voice turning to ice.
“No?” says Shade. “Well I’m sure about this; you and your damn book are going to get this place shut down if this carries on. And I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“I assure you, warden,” says Lydia quickly, preservation instincts kicking in. “You may see me as a problem, but I can also be a solution.”
The warden peers at her over the top of his spectacles. “Go on…”
“Allow me to continue my work undisturbed,” says Lydia smoothly, “and I guarantee you Mortem will receive nothing but praise from me.”
“I see,” says Shade, thinking it over. “That’s all very well, but why should I trust you when I can save myself the bother and just kick you out now?”
“If you were going to do that,” says Lydia, taking a subtle step towards him and pushing out her chest a little, “you would have done it before now. I already have more than enough material for a story.”
“Hmmm…” Shade’s piercing eyes fix upon her as though trying to see through her veneer of deceit. “I’d like to show you something,” he says finally.
“Of course,” Lydia replies, somewhat taken aback. Alarm bells are ringing in her head, and it takes her a second to realise why. There is a battle of wills being waged, and she is losing. The sensation feels like a distant memory to her. Is she doing something wrong? Is she in danger?
“This way.” He gestures down the corridor that Alex took, and together they make their way back towards the entrance to Mortem Asylum.
*
The cage-like elevator shudders as Warden Shade pulls the grate shut, and the vibration travels through Lydia like a wave of anxiety. Shade pushes the button marked with a downward arrow and it lights up as, with another quaking shudder, the contraption begins to descend into the bowels of the asylum.
“You see, Miss Tune,” he says, looking straight ahead, “people see themselves as entitled to things they have not earned. They believe that they can achieve anything they set their minds to.” He smooths his walrus moustache. “Having borne witness to more failures of the human experiment than I care to count, I have to disagree. A person’s birthright is not the moon and stars; it is nothing but ash and dirt. The chance at a life, nothing more.” The elevator slows, and grinds to a standstill. “Please,” he says, heaving the grate aside. “After you.”
Lydia steps out into a pristine, white, well-lit corridor. “Where are we?” she asks, uncertainly. Just hearing the question come out of her mouth makes her heart race. She can hear the fear in her own voice, a quavering that echoes the crawling of her skin. And now the doubts begin to stack upon themselves, the thread of sanity slipping between her fingers. Panic. A synapse that, once triggered, cannot be undone. Something feels different about this part of the building, a tremor in the air itself that sets her teeth on edge.
“The basement,” replies the warden. “Where we carry out our electroshock treatment program.” He motions down the corridor and they proceed. Lydia notices the network of pipes and cables along the ceiling all snaking towards their destinations in a twisted, convoluted manner.
“So, do we have a deal?” she asks, a futile attempt to wrestle the situation back onto her terms. But she is out on a limb, and she knows it.
“We do,” Shade replies, peering at her for the briefest moment. “You will return to Devere as many times as necessary to write your book, and you will have the full cooperation of my staff. In return,” he lets the words linger a moment, “you will put Mortem Asylum back on the map, for the right reasons. And you will give me full and final approval of your manuscript.”
They reach a door with a glass window, through which Lydia can see a figure in a white coat. Doctor Engel? No, a man. He steps aside, and her heart stops. A patient is strapped to a chair, belts tight around his wrists and ankles, and a twisted crown of metal upon his head. His mouth is gagged, but his eyes are screaming.
Shade opens the door. “After you.”
“I never offered you approval,” Lydia says, frozen to the spot.
“Nevertheless,” the warden replies with a nasty smile, “that is the deal.”
“What if I refuse?” Lydia asks. She knows she is in danger, but her curiosity gets the better of her. Who is this man?
“Then I’m sure we will find other uses for you,” says Shade, stepping inside the room himself and holding the door for her. If Lydia is going to bolt, she knows this is the moment. But before she knows it, she is inside, and the door has closed behind her. Reckless. She imagines Alex’s face if he could see this. He would be furious. Maybe she will tell him, she thinks, when it suits her purpose.
“Uses?” she asks, snapping back into the moment.
“Like our friend here,” Shade gestures to the man in the chair. “Nasty piece of work. Enjoys the taste of human flesh. Can you imagine?” He wrinkles his nose in disgust, but his gleeful eyes suggest to Lydia that Shade doesn’t need to imagine. She tastes bitterness at the back of her throat as the panic rises from deep within her. She badly underestimated the warden, and now finds herself at the mercy of a monster.
“You see,” Shade continues, giving no sign as to having noticed Lydia’s discomfort, “our friend here can no longer contribute to society, so now he contributes to our research effort instead. Don’t you?” Shade smacks the helpless man upside his head, and Lydia watches tears form in the tortured, barely alive creature’s eyes.
“I hope you’re not threatening me,” she says sharply, summoning as much bravery as she can muster and rounding on the warden as he makes his way to the computer bank where two doctors are poring over their data. Both are old, and frail, and neither says a word to their guests. It’s almost as if she and Shade are ghosts visiting a spirit world, Lydia thinks.
“My dear, I have no reason to threaten you,” says Shade, poking one of the scientists and pointing to a switch. “I have the utmost confidence that you will not betray my trust.”
Lydia opens her mouth to reply, but as she does so the doctor reaches for the switch and turns it hard to the right. The lights dim and a deafening buzz fills the room, followed by blood-curdling screams as thousands of volts of electricity surge through the wretched young man’s already fried brain. Lydia feels all of the strength leave her body in an instant, and has to grab on to a table to stop herself from falling.
A moment later, the screaming stops. The lights return to their original brightness. The buzz is gone. A sudden, eerie peace.
“Electricity is a reliable force,” says Shade, with the air of an English general casually explaining the destructive power of a new weapon to a stunned civilian. “No matter who we put in that chair, it will break their mind as surely as stone breaks glass. Even a brilliant individual,” he turns to Lydia, black eyes twinkling with malice, “such as yourself. We could fry your brain in seconds, toss you in a cell and just tell people you went mad writing about all these freaks.”
Lydia stares at the broken test subject, his eyes rolling independently in their sockets, drool running down his face and neck, hollow cheeks, wasted flesh. She is frozen, unable to move, or speak, or even to breathe. This is what pure terror feels like.
“Do we understand one another?” Shade’s voice reverberates through her very soul, a deep and timeless evil.
Lydia nods weakly, still winded from shock.
“Excellent,” says Shade, smoothly. “Now, would you like to stay a while and watch? It’s really rather fascinating.”
Lydia shakes her head, her eyes fixed upon the victim in the centre of the room, slumped, twitching, broken. This is the heart of darkness, she thinks. This is worse than death.