Others (39 page)

‘I wanted you to be badly frightened, even badly beaten. What’s the phrase? Ah yes, - I wanted you put “out of the game” for a while. Obviously there could be no indication that I was involved, although it was all right for you to suspect so; as long as you had no evidence to take to the police, everything would be fine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fine for your friend. It was Nurse Fletcher who, after a suitable period of time, went up to your office to find our yellow-eyed monster sexually abusing your friend in a most horrible way.’

He was taunting me, enjoying my anguish, for he spoke as if the creature had been discovered engaged in nothing worse than picking its own teeth with the best silver dinner-set fork. I remembered that Henry’s autopsy had revealed semen among the blood inside his empty eye socket.

Wisbeech waved a hand towards the red monster across the room, docile at the moment, but closely watched by his ‘handlers’. ‘It’s an interesting creature, which can only be controlled by certain medicines. On that evening, he was on methamphetamines, the only thing that could arouse him from the drug-stupor we generally keep him under, and I’m afraid Nurse Fletcher may have been a little too liberal with the amount she administered. It has no fear, incidentally, and it’s only in recent years that I discovered the physical reason.’

The doctor leaned forward, as though sharing a confidence. ‘Fear is controlled inside our brains by the amygdalae, two tangles of neurons located just behind our ears. Investigative surgery has shown me that this creature does not possess any such neurons. I could go on, tell you of other discoveries I’ve made about these creatures by carefully opening their bodies and examining certain areas, but there isn’t time.’

‘I’m in no rush,’ I said. ‘I’ve got all night, if you like.’ I could always cadge more cigarettes, keep one alight at all times.

‘Oh, but you haven’t. Nurse Fletcher is already throwing me impatient glances and my film unit is eager to get back to work. Besides, my protege has only been minimally sedated; he will soon be barely containable, but perfect for what I have in mind.’

Another ominous little tidbit. Time was running out, but there was one more thing I had to know.

Tell me what Constance has to do with all this, Wisbeech,’ I said, feeling her move against me at the sound of her name. ‘I can’t believe she approves of what you do here, so why is it she never left?’

‘Do I detect a note of affection in your voice?’ His eyebrows were raised as if he really were surprised. Well, well. Like attracts like, I suppose.’

Again that almost oblivious contempt.

Where do you think she would go,
Mr
Dismas? She has been with me since she was a child. She knows no other home and I’m afraid her condition has relieved her spirit of any boldness. Constance has wonderful beauty though, don’t you think? On film she is very popular with my bidders.’

‘You bastard!’

‘I believe you’ve already expressed your opinion of me and, I can promise you, it will not be overlooked. You should be made aware though, that I have always cared for Constance.’

‘Cared for her? You mean you’ve corrupted her, don’t you?’ No wonder that since I had first met her I had noticed a haunted look in Constance’s eyes, shadows behind veils, secrets masked by the drugs she was forced to take (I wondered if Wisbeech kidded her that they were for health reasons) but never expunged completely, unfocused memories floating in the depths of her subconscious, tormenting her with elusive intimations, filling her with a bewildering dread. I felt sure that Constance was unaware of her involvement in her guardian’s sick agenda, but I’d always believed that the human psyche cannot permanently be deceived, that self-hidden truths will eventually drift towards the conscious level. And, as if to confirm my own theory, Wisbeech said something that made me even more tense.

The problem now with my beautiful but physically flawed ward is that recently she has begun to ask awkward questions, as if a certain awareness is stirring within. Her association with you seems to be leading towards an escalation of that awareness. I’m afraid it’s a problem that has to be dealt with tonight. It’s unfortunate, but ultimately it will be to my own advantage.’

That was the part that made me shudder. ‘So you intend to issue yet another death certificate,’ I said flatly while I screamed inside.

‘Alas, a genuine one this time. I’ve always been very fond of Constance, but she cannot be allowed to jeopardize my whole operation.’

Well, well, as if I hadn’t already suspected it, Wisbeech was a psychopath as well as a sociopath. If the spirit, the soul, whatever you might care to call it, was a visible thing, then this man’s would have been uglier than anything he kept in the cells below.

‘Such unfortunate people are meant to die at an early age, nobody questions it, least of all the officials who monitor such statistics. In fact, none of my charges here are known to be alive; as far as the authorities are concerned, each one died a long time ago. They
belong
to me, Dismas; every one of them
belongs
to me. And tonight, so do you.’

‘You’re going to have me killed?’

‘Oh yes.’

That won’t be so easy to cover op. People know I’ve come here.’

‘You are a very awkward man, Dismas. In the physical sense, I mean. A tumble down concrete steps, a fall from the fire-escape while trying to make an illegal entry. It won’t be hard to arrange, nor to explain.’

What really made my blood run cold was that this arrogant bastard was right. Who would ever suspect such a reputable physician, one who had spent his career researching the problems of the infirm in body in an attempt to understand and perhaps eventually alleviate the worst of their suffering, and latterly devoting his time in care for the elderly, of murder and kidnap? Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech was a pillar of society with all the medical credentials behind his name to prove it. Who the hell would doubt his word?

The robe slipped from Constance as I pulled her to a sitting position. She quickly covered her breasts with her arms again, her hands grasping her shoulders; her thin, wasted legs drew themselves up and her eyes blurred with tears of shame. I wanted to hold her close and tell her it didn’t matter, her body was wonderful to me; but this was not the time. She looked at me imploringly, shaking her head in confusion.

‘It’s okay, Constance.’ I tried to be soothing, but there was a tightness to my voice, a kind of sprung-wire action to my movements. I pulled the robe back around her again and said, ‘Put it on. We’re leaving.’

‘Nick?’ She still didn’t understand what was happening.

‘Just put it on, Constance.’ I wondered how much she had taken in over the last fifteen minutes or so. I faced Wisbeech as he rose from his chair.

But it was the
beast
that I had to contend with as it charged across the room at me.

42

I’d nurtured the second long cigarette Wisbeech had given me, drawing on it and the one before occasionally to keep it alive. It had burnt down close to the filter by now, but was still usable as a weapon and certainly the only one I had close at hand (literally). Many years ago I’d been taught the basic techniques of fending off an aggressor with the use of everyday objects such as a rolled magazine, a small stick, a spoon, a pencil, even a matchbox (you had a two-to-one chance of knocking someone out with a fist-clenched matchbox), my teacher a nightclub bouncer who had spent some time with the SAS before one public brawl too many had brought about an abrupt end to his military career. He had shown me how a glowing cigarette could be lethal if applied correctly to the right area of a body.

As the
beast
rushed towards me I could hear Wisbeech yelling,
‘Stop it, not yet, don’t let it-‘
but the orderlies were too slow and too clumsy as they tried to grab the thing, one tripping over cables snaking across the floor, while the other, Bruce (Rambo with bad eyesight), succeeded only in pulling off the loose robe his charge wore, the creature twisting its body as it ran and easily slipping free. I don’t believe Wisbeech was in the least concerned for my well-being; no, if I was to be maimed and killed, then better that the cameras were rolling to capture the moment.

It came at me with a swift, rolling gait, an animal really, hardly human, and it was a scary sight, those bared needle-teeth in that huge gaping mouth, lipless edges joined by silky drool, those yellow, demon’s eyes intense on me: the gross thing that quivered from its centre was raised more like a weapon than an aroused organ. I readied myself to meet the charge, slightly crouched, leaning forward, stronger left leg braced a little bit behind for stability, but immediately I took up the stance, I realized it was a mistake. The
beast
was coming too swiftly and with no caution at all: I knew I would never be able to withstand its rush. It was too reckless, too fearless, and it would be too overwhelming, no matter how fast I dodged.

So I took one step to the side and swiped a hand, cigarette between fingers, at the tall arc light that was there to illuminate the bed for the cameras. It came crashing down, the long stand angling itself between myself and the charging creature. The creature was either too dull-witted from the drugs, or was naturally stupid (a bit of both, I guessed), to avoid the sudden obstruction, for it ran straight into it, taking no evasive action whatsoever, tripping over the metal bar, a flailing claw-like hand smashing the powerful lightbulb. An incandescent shower of sparks shot from the high-powered exploding lightbulb as the whole thing crashed on to the velvet-covered section of floor beside the bed. More sparks flew out and wisps of smoke rose into the air as the material began to smoulder.

I didn’t wait around. Even as the creature stumbled over the metal rod I was moving towards it, and when it fell to the floor I also went down, stabbing at one of its eyes with the remainder of the cigarette.

It yowled. Christ, then the
beast
screeched, an ejaculation of sound so fierce and piercing it stung my heart and I screeched too (after all, I knew the feeling). But I did not draw back. Avoiding those snapping teeth below me by holding its neck as hard as I could against the shiny floor (I told you my arms and shoulders are powerful), I pushed the cigarette butt further into the socket, with my other hand feeling the sclera, the white meat - in this case, the
yellow
- of the eye, and the black pupil, melt beneath the steady pressure, ignoring the whispery sizzling and the steamy smoke rising from under my fingertips. And still I drove the tiny brand further in, knowing that I stood no chance against this
beast
otherwise, that I had to maim it as badly as I could, put it out of action before it destroyed me. It thrashed around beneath me, legs entangled in cables and the arc light rod, its clawed hands flailing my head and shoulders. I was vaguely aware of the double doors across the room crashing open, people rushing in, their shouts seemingly a long way off; and out of the corner of my eye I saw Wisbeech rise from his chair, the two orderlies rushing towards me, the nurse’s mouth wide as she screamed something.

Then I was sailing back through the air, finally tossed aside by the creature who, by now, had gone quite berserk with agony. I landed heavily against the side of the bed and felt hands clutch at me. I glanced up into Constance’s horror-stricken face and saw the sharpness in her eyes, her senses having at last returned, shock no doubt speeding the process. There was no time to say anything to her, for everything had gone crazy: more lights and reflector sheets were being knocked over by rushing bodies, most of these seeming to be rushing at me, everybody appeared to be shouting, the clamour adding to the confusion; and most terrifying of all, the creature,
beast,
was tearing to and fro, upsetting one of the tripod-mounted cameras, kicking aside chairs and anything or anyone else that got in its way, clutching at the ember embedded in its eye, and howling like some demented thing - which is exactly what it was.

I figured I had nothing to lose by joining in on the fun. Before doing so though, I hissed at Constance:
‘Cover yourself and get ready to follow me.’
She looked down at the robe, which again lay ruffled around her waist, as if seeing it for the first time. As I pushed myself to my feet she began to struggle into it.

Bruce, probably wisely, had decided to let the
beast
run amok for the time being and to concentrate on me, for he was cautiously making his way round the agonized creature, his eyes fearful, until he had a clear run at me. Then he came, tearing at me with all the elegance of an enraged bull.

Ignoring the rest of the chaos around us, concentrating just on the big guy, I moved slightly away from the bed and waited for his charge. It came fast and furious, less than a second’s waiting time, and I turned my angled body away from him, sticking out my leg and grabbing the front of his tunic with one fist. His height and my lack helped the move, for he pivoted over my protruding hip, his rush and his own weight carrying him forward, the move upsetting his balance. It was a simple fulcrum manoeuvre, taught to me by my pal the bouncer and one which rarely failed when used on big men. Bruce flipped over on to his back but, although winded, he hadn’t lost it completely: he grabbed my leg - my right, the weak one - and brought me down on top of him. Now there was no way I was going to mix it with him in a wrestling match - I wouldn’t have had a chance - so I had to act before he had time to damage me seriously. When I’d fallen he had changed his grip so that his arms were around my lower back, just below the hump, and foolishly he thought a bear-hug might subdue me. He was doubly foolish because he had also allowed my arms to be free.

You might think that a few good punches from me would have earned my release, but you’d be wrong; when you’re floor-wrestling it’s almost impossible to get any bodyweight behind a fist-blow or jab, no matter how well-placed it might be. The answer is to maim or gouge and I chose the latter (I’d done enough maiming already that night and, even though it had been to save my own life - and ultimately, Constance’s - I felt sickened by it). The first move I made was to stick my little finger straight up one of his nostrils, as hard and as deep as I could. Sounds mild enough, I know, but believe me, it isn’t. Bruce probably thought I’d magically produced a Black and Decker from somewhere and was attempting to drill right into his brain.

He tried to lift his head back and away from me, but my little pinkie went with him (and wasn’t I glad I hadn’t had a chance to trim my fingernails that week). I could have carried on doing that and his grip on me would have soon broken; I wanted him stunned though, wanted to put him out of the way for a while. As his head reared further back and his neck stretched I went for one of the most gouge-sensitive areas on the human body. Pulling my finger free, I stiffened my thumb and drove it into the indent just below the ear and behind the jaw, where muscles, glands, and a cluster of nerves just beneath the skin make this place so vulnerable. He screamed when I dug into the stylohyoid and digastric muscles, separating them so that I could squash one of the spinal nerves no less. It hurt him, oh it fucking hurt him, and he let me go, trying to scrabble out from under me, his hands now grabbing my wrists, straining to pull them away. But I was relentless; I showed him about as much mercy as he would have shown me.

This all happened much faster than it takes to tell, a matter of seconds I would guess, and the action around us was still in full flow, the
beast
stumbling around, screeching, wrecking the place, claws still clutching at his injured - his
ruined
- eye, film crew and Perfect Rest employees still shouting and gawking and attempting to save toppled equipment, and Wisbeech, face like thunder and not quite so handsome any more, pointing my way and yelling, expecting someone to do something about me.

Maybe my luck so far had made me over-confident, maybe adrenaline charging around my body had got me high, but instead of grabbing Constance and getting the hell out of there, I rose to my feet yet again, leaving the orderly squirming on the floor, his big hands holding his neck, and advanced on Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech. And perhaps I was out for revenge as well, not just for the poor wretches that had been locked away in this place for so many years, used and abused, their unfortunate physiques merely a source of study, experimentation, and pornography, not just for Constance, whose frail little body had also been abused and who was meant to die that night for the ultimate erotic thrill and to ensure her silence, but for myself also, for all the crap I’d taken in the past six days, the nightmares, the intrusions, the loss of Henry, the police suspicion and interrogation, even the bloody beating I’d taken on Brighton beach, which had nothing to do with this but was something I’d had to endure anyway. I’m sure it was
all
these things, plus every humiliation and indignity I’d had to suffer throughout my miserable life, every jibe, every cruel remark and joke at my expense, every blatant stare - every fucking unfairness that had come my way. I had planned to emulate the
beast,
to join it as a dervish of destruction, anything to create havoc and confusion so that Constance and I could escape while the enemy was in disarray; but now my rage, my
resentment,
was directed at one person, this paragon of the medical world, this handsomely well-favoured physician whose fine exterior hid a soul as repellent as Satan’s. Wisbeech understood my intent the moment he looked into my eye.

He began to back away and I followed.

I felt strong. God, I suddenly felt powerful. That’s what an adrenaline rush will do for you and you had to use it while it was there, because it never lasts long, your system can’t take too much. Those other people in the room, apart from the
beast
thing which was now on its knees, rocking backwards and forwards, head held in its clawed hands, and Bruce, who was just dragging himself up from the floor, one hand touching the tender spot behind his jaw, were watching me warily, no doubt impressed by the way I had dealt with both my attackers. Maybe they were equating me with other dangerously crazy monsters locked up in this place. There was something odd about the studio-room, a flickering reflected on its walls, but my attention was on Wisbeech alone. I advanced on the doctor and was satisfied that there was at least some fear in those bleak eyes of his; he moved away and I went with him, angry to the point of rashness, too set on exacting some kind of retribution when I should have been concerned only with escape. It was a cold anger rather than a passionate one, and unfortunately its single-mindedness overrode common sense for the moment. As I passed by, I picked up the heavy swivel chair on which Wisbeech had throned himself while boasting to me of his devotion to others less fortunate than himself, of his brilliance in combining care and medical research with profit, how he had allowed my friend and colleague to be murdered, and how both Constance and I were soon to meet with a similar fate, all spoken with a patronizing civility as he smoked his expensive cigarettes.

I brought the chair up to chest level, its construction and weight making it awkward to carry; he walked backwards, one hand raised as if to ward me off, and I stalked him. He nearly tripped over cables, but quickly recovered, moving back, his gaze never leaving my face, his pace steady and, almost admirably, without panic. Finally, he could back away no further: he had reached the other side of the room. Although that glimmer of fear remained in his eyes, his voice was calm - and a little weary, I thought - when he spoke.

‘Will someone please stop him,’ he said.

By now, I had raised the chrome and leather chair above my head, the three-pronged base pointing towards my quarry. I stood on tip-toe, my arms and legs quivering as I arched my back as much as my curved spine would allow. At last Wisbeech cowered, lifting his arms to protect himself, and I threw the chair.

But not at the doctor.

I threw it at the two-way mirror behind him.