The Ghosts of Heaven (16 page)

He bowled round a corner and stopped when he saw us. He said nothing.

Doctor Phillips turned to me.

“I think that's enough for one morning, Doctor James. We will see you on the wards early tomorrow and we can begin our work in earnest. I look forward to that. For now perhaps you should take Verity to see the sights of the island. The coastline is quite pretty I think, and it's a pleasant day for March.”

I had the feeling I was being dismissed. There was perhaps something private that Doctor Phillips wished to discuss with Dexter or Solway, or both.

I took Verity's hand and bidding everyone a good morning, we set off. I decided to head back up to our rooms first because I had a conversation to have with her about her escape.

As we stepped into the entrance hall, however, I remembered that I had meant to ask Doctor Phillips if I could receive an advance on my salary. I would not have done so if matters were less pressing, but I had left New York with some financial trouble over me.

“Go straight upstairs and wait for me by the gate,” I told Verity, and for once I was glad she did just what I said, because as I stepped out again and round the first corner of the building, I found a terrible scene.

There stood Doctor Phillips, his hands on his hips. He stood a little way away from Solway, who was bent over Dexter, who half lay on the ground as the head warder rained a series of blows about his head and his shoulders. Blood was running across his face from a cut above his eye.

Dexter tried to ward off Solway's fists, but Solway is a tough character, and kept up this assault. I heard Doctor Phillips speaking to him.

“What did I say, Dexter? What did I tell you?”

Dexter did not reply, but as he struggled under the blows, he saw me staring at the three of them, and managed to stumble out some words, still with that same smile with which he had greeted me earlier.

“Doctor James!” he cried, and his eyes were bright. “Welcome to Orient Point!”

 

Monday, March 28—early morning

Today I will begin my work as the assistant superintendent of Orient Point, but I will do so with a clouded mind.

I slept badly.

On my first night I had been tired from the journey, but Sunday's events had stimulated my thoughts, so that I could not find an easy path to sleep.

Of course I asked Doctor Phillips about Dexter.

My arrival seemed to bring an end to his assault by Solway, who then escorted the injured man off to the infirmary to have the cut above his eye dressed.

“Who is that man?” I asked. “Is he not then one of the doctors?”

“Such can be the drawback of those patients who wear their own clothes,” he said. He showed no hint of concern at having been discovered meting out this punishment to Dexter. “It can be hard to tell them apart from the rest of us … to the untrained eye.”

This last remark I felt could only be directed at me.

“He's a patient?”

“Of course. One of the most awkward we have. In some ways.”

“But he seems to be normal. Rational.”

Doctor Phillips raised an eyebrow at me.

“Seems?” he said. “You ought to know better than seeming, Doctor James. Charles Dexter is a constant source of friction in this hospital. And he is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“I use my words accurately,” he said, “in all things.”

That was the end of the interview, and he left me. Of course I forgot to ask about my salary, and must find the courage to do so at the first opportunity.

*   *   *

Verity and I walked as much of the coastline as I could bear, and I asked her how she had escaped from our rooms. I told her that she had to obey me, and she said she was sorry and didn't think she was doing anything wrong.

“This is to say nothing of the danger,” I said, trying to worry her, just a little.

Her eyes lit up.

“The danger?”

“Of traveling in the dumb waiter. You could have been hurt, Verity. Or worse.”

“But I didn't go in the dumb waiter,” she said and then I had to remind her that we don't lie.

“I'm not lying!” she said.

I was patient. Everyone deserves that.

“Then how did you get down from our floor?” I asked, pointing out to her that there was only one explanation. “There's no other way.”

“Unless someone let me out,” she said.

“Who?” I asked. “Only Doctor Phillips, Solway, and I have a key. I was with Doctor Phillips and I know Solway didn't let you out.”

Verity said nothing.

“Did he,” I stated.

Verity looked really worried. I could see she wasn't playing games.

“Did he?” I asked.

“You've told me not to break promises,” she said.

“I have,” I said. “What of it? Have you made a promise to someone?”

She nodded and looked even more worried.

“To whom?”

“That's the promise. I can't tell you.”

“Verity, you have to tell me the truth. I'm your father. We must have no secrets.”

“But you said never to break a promise.”

I held my breath for a moment.

“Yes,” I said. “You're right. But if you are telling me that Solway let you out and made you promise not to say anything about it then that is a bad thing. Are you saying that?”

“Father, please. I can't break a promise.”

I could see it was hurting her, both to think of breaking her word and to keep things from me. So I let it go.

“If that's what happened,” I said, “you need to make a new promise. Which is not to do anything that you cannot tell your father about. Do you understand?”

She nodded and I let her go and paddle in the freezing ocean until I dragged her back to our new home, wondering all the while if Solway really had let her out, and if so, why?

*   *   *

In the night, I heard the sea. I must have been so tired on Saturday that it did not disturb me, but last night I could not hear anything else but the constant soft roar of the beach that lies just beyond the grounds of the asylum.

I wonder if it will drive me mad.

Maybe it will save me. Perhaps that's why I've come here. Not because of the promotion, or the salary. Not because it means I can be close to Verity. But because it means I will be close to the sea. Not just close to it. Surrounded by it. Perhaps I have intended to force a cure on myself.

*   *   *

In the smallest hours, as sleep still eluded me, I got out of bed and went to the window. A weak waning moon shone through a bank of clouds that drifted steadily across the sound, and I was about to step out onto the balcony, when I remembered the spiral stair up to the cupola.

A desire to torture myself crept into me, and though I fought it, I did not try to fight very hard.

I found myself at the foot of the elegant spiral that led up to the circular balcony and in bare feet I padded up the smooth wooden steps.

There, from that narrow circular gallery, was a pale night view of the whole of Orient Point and the sea surrounding us on all sides, save for that one narrow and low stretch where the road comes in from Greenport.

I stared at the blackness where the sea lay, unseen in the dark, and I thought long and hard about Caroline, my beautiful wife.

 

Monday, March 28

I spent the morning doing rounds in the company of Doctor Delgado, one of the junior doctors. He told me that Doctor Phillips wished me to start with the men's wards, and we began on the sixth floor, working our way downward. Doctor Delgado is a young man and I asked myself why I didn't feel as I should be feeling. As assistant superintendent, I am Delgado's superior, and yet, as he spoke to me, I sensed that he didn't see it that way. Perhaps I'm being arrogant. We are all engaged on the same mission here. But, something made me uncomfortable, and it is the sense that I cannot seem to gain respect from others.

Of course, it's natural. I know little of the hospital. Doctor Delgado has worked here for four years, he told me, and therefore knows everything. He had a story about every patient, even the newest ones, and he was not shy about telling me these tales. I grew to dislike him before we had even finished the first ward.

All the way, however, was something more pressing in my mind. I found myself thinking about Dexter, who had seemed perfectly rational when I met him, albeit a very brief meeting. I have worked with the insane for ten years now and never met anyone as composed as he seems. I assumed therefore that he would be housed on the sixth floor, for the least disturbed of all the patients, but as we passed room after room and Delgado gave me his withering opinions of man after man, in their rooms and to their faces, Dexter was not among them.

We made our way onto the fifth floor by way of a no more than functional set of stairs at the far end of the wing, and once again I expected, with each door that opened, to greet Dexter. I found myself wanting to talk to him, and guessed that he would be somewhere on this floor, since he had not been on the one above.

But he was not. We progressed slowly, ever downward, floor by floor, and our slowest progress was on the third and second, where the forms of madness displayed by our patients grew more extreme. Now the inmates were clothed in simple white pajamas, as on a hospital ward, though the clothes were gray from frequent washing. Delgado laughed at one or two, was angry with others, and even shoved one unfortunate man back into his room, which was much more akin to a cell than the rooms on higher floors, slamming the door on him.

“Idiot,” Delgado said. “But that's why he's in here, right?”

He grinned at me.

Still we had not found Dexter, and it was close to lunchtime when we reached the first floor.

The sights behind the doors on the lowest rung of Orient Point were ones I was familiar with from New York. Yes, their rooms might be a little bigger and brighter and they might not be shut in with other patients, but the terrible sad scenes were just the same. These rooms had, for the most part, been stripped of all furniture. There were no washstands or bedframes, just mattresses on the bare floor, for the patients' own safety, so they did not do themselves harm.

Then, toward the end of the wing, farthest from the center of the building, we finally found Dexter.

Delgado opened the door, and there he was, sitting on his bed, propped up on a pillow with his hands behind his head.

As we entered, he showed no sign of noticing us, which gave me a moment to regard him closely. Here was another tall man, with gangly limbs, emphasized by the fact that his suit was rather small for him. His eyes were large and somewhat round. They spoke of nights lying awake with the moon. The cut above his eye had dried but bruises had welled up around his neck and forehead.

Finally, he stirred.

“Doctors,” he said, turning to us.

“What did you do this time, Dex?” asked Delgado, with the air of one trying to provoke. Dexter responded amiably.

“Something I had apparently been told not to do,” he said.

“You freak,” said Delgado. “Don't be smart with me.”

“Doctor,” I interjected. “Please. Let's let Mr. Dexter speak for himself.”

“
You
let him,” said Delgado. “I think we're done for today.”

He turned and left the room with a sour look on his face.

I turned back to Dexter. The door was open, and I stood on the threshold.

“Won't you come in, Doctor?” Dexter asked.

Once again, I had the feeling that I was the one taking orders when I should have been the one giving them.

“I'm fine here,” I said. “In fact, why don't we take a walk? It's a sunny day.”

Dexter raised his eyebrows.

“Would Doctor Phillips think that a good idea?”

Damn this,
I thought.

“Doctor Phillips has given me no such instructions and since I am second here, I think if I invite a patient for a walk there is nothing to prevent us. Don't you?”

Dexter smiled and got to his feet.

“Besides,” I said. “Your room, though comfortable, must get tiresome occasionally.”

Dexter's room is unlike the others on the first floor. He has not only a proper bed, but a chair, and a tidy desk. There is a washstand with a good china jug on it and, most remarkable of all, along the wall above his bed is a narrow shelf crammed with books, so many that they are piled on their sides along the top of those ranged conventionally. Fascinated, I tried to glance at some titles, but Dexter was speaking to me.

“On the contrary,” he said. “Sometimes it's the only way I can get any peace around here.”

I wondered at the use of the word
peace
, since just next door one of his peers was emitting a constant low moaning. Other, wilder sounds came from along the hall—the cries of the insane and the harsh shouts of warders. I am used to such noises, of course, from my work in the city and so I put the sounds from my mind.

Dexter was appraising me.

“But I've reached a good place to stop work for the day,” he said, and then, as if we were two old friends deciding to take a stroll, “Yes, why not?”

He even picked up a fedora to put on his head.

“It's not as warm as it ought to be,” he said. “The winds that come in from the sound can cut you in half.”

“Work?” I asked, as we made our way along the corridor. “What are you working at?”

“A novel,” he said, simply. “It's to be my first.”

“That's admirable,” I said. “To use your time here to such good effect. What did you do before you came here?”

We had reached the door to the grounds, which Dexter held open for me.

“After you,” I said.

Dexter shrugged, and I followed him out.

“What work did I have?” he asked. “Is that what you mean?”