That Which Should Not Be (17 page)

Chapter

25

Darkness had long fallen on Danvers Asylum, but I knew no matter my misgivings, I could not put off the inevitable.  I made my way to the west wing where the male patients were held. 

The incurables ward was particularly chaotic, and I wondered if they somehow sensed the tension among the doctors, or if Robert’s bizarre death still resonated with them.  But when the door to the incurables ward closed behind me, the heavy silence of the criminally insane was upon me. 

I remember thinking, back on that first day when I arrived, it was peaceful.  How things had changed in the fleeting months that had passed.  Now it chilled my blood.  Dr. Seward was in the last room at the end of the hall.  As I walked down the hallway, I tried to avoid looking into the cells — and they were cells — that housed some of the most deranged men in New England. 

But it was impossible to avoid them all.  Justice Mastis had his face pressed up against the bars of his door.  Mastis was an abomination.  In a former life, he had been a puppeteer, and I suppose in his own way, he brought joy to an untold number of children.  But something evil had stirred within him, and Mastis snapped.  He killed his wife, but killing her had not been enough.  After he chopped up her body, he gutted her.  They found him sitting on the floor, his hand shoved up her stomach cavity, fingers working the mouth and jaw of her corpse. 

The constable who stumbled upon that scene shot him on sight.  It

was unfortunate for all that he lived, but he kept mostly to himself.  He spoke only to the puppet he had created out of a pillow case and some buttons from his clothes. He called the puppet by the same name as his dead wife. 

In the cell next to Mastis was the Butcher of Bedford.  I grew up in Massachusetts, and I remembered his story from my youth.  He was famous, from Newbury to Bridgewater, Boston to Springfield, for his pork sausage.  People would come from every town and village, from neighboring states and foreign lands, just to try it. 

There was a secret ingredient some said, something that separated his wurst from all others.  Then somebody noticed Bedford was a town without a problem that plagues modern man.  There were no vagrants, no poor, no wandering homeless.  I don’t know how they found out, how they discovered the secret, but one day they stumbled upon where Bedford’s downtrodden had gone.  My mother would sometimes say how glad she was she had never purchased any sausage from the Butcher.  I remembered better.

It was that type of man who inhabited this place — the most vile, the most disturbed.  The darkest of man’s imaginings can never match the reality of the depths of his depravity.  In some places, one may see the human race’s finest character, its greatest heights.  Not here.  I stood in front of the door to Dr. Seward’s cell.  This was the man I had called friend and had admired; the man in whose image I would have mirrored my life. 

“Alright, Jacob,” I said quietly.  “I’ll go inside.  Please don’t disturb us unless I call you.  Dr. Seward was very specific in his instructions.  I am to go in alone, and frankly I am not sure you should even have come this far.”  I turned and looked over my shoulder at the door behind, and in that moment I was glad Jacob was there.  “But the danger is real,” I finally said, “and I would not venture inside alone.” 

Jacob nodded once to show he understood.  He slid the key into the cell door and pulled it open.  I stepped inside and heard it slam behind me.  The feeling of oppression was instant.  The room was dark, and the fear I felt made it darker.  But it wasn’t so dark that I could not see the man I had known in a radically different world, one that seemed very far away at that moment.

“William!” he said brightly.  He smiled, and the blood caked on his face cracked like gruesome paint on a deranged clown.  “I would get up, William, but as you can see, I am a little indisposed.”  He gently shook the chains that held him.  They jingled lightly, like the bells on Fortunato’s cap. 

“They chained you?”

“It would appear so,” Dr. Seward replied matter-of-factly. 

He sat, held back by the chains, looking so pitiful that, for an instant, I almost forgot why he was there, why I was there.  But then I looked at his tattered clothing, stained crimson in blood that was not his own, and I recovered my poise.  I decided to make a gesture to further ensure his trust. 

“Jacob!” I called.  I saw Dr. Seward stiffen.  He wanted us to be alone, and a little bit of the friendliness he had shown to this point faded.  I heard the key slide in the cell lock, and Jacob stepped inside.

“Yes, doctor?  Is something wrong?”

“Jacob, I want you to unchain Dr. Seward.”

“But sir, Inspector Davenport was very clear Dr. Seward was not to go without restraints.”

“Jacob, I have no doubt in his domain, Inspector Davenport’s word holds sway.  But this is not his domain, and Dr. Seward is my patient.  Unchain him.  If I need you, I will call.”

Jacob hesitated for a second, but my gaze was stern.  Finally, he nodded.  He walked over to where the doctor sat, unchaining him gingerly.  Though Jacob was prepared for violence, Dr. Seward made no aggressive move.  Jacob backed up to where I stood, never taking his eyes off of Seward.

“That will be all, Jacob.  You can leave us now.”

“Are you sure, doctor?”

“Yes, Jacob.  I am sure.”

“Right, sir,” he said, stepping towards the door.

“And, Jacob,” I turned and said, “after I leave, please ensure the doctor has a bath.  He is not a prisoner here.”

“Not yet, at least,” the doctor said with a smile as he rubbed his now unencumbered wrists.  Jacob and I both turned to look at him.  For another moment we hesitated then Jacob jammed the key into the lock and stepped outside.  I had a feeling he didn’t go far. 

“That was very kind of you, William.” 

“Dr. Seward,” I said, stepping forward, “I want you to know I am terribly sorry about all this, but I am sure you understand . . .”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he said quickly, in an almost manic style to which I was not accustomed.  “They think me quite mad, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied, drawing out the word.  “Dr. Seward, are you aware of your situation?”

“Of course!” he replied brightly.  “When a man is sick, you take him to the doctor.  You are a doctor of the mind, and apparently my mind is not quite what it used to be.”

“Dr. Seward,” I continued, ignoring his last comments, “we are very concerned about Dr. Thacker.  Dr. Thacker is a friend of yours, right?  I am sure you want nothing ill to befall him.”

“Oh, no harm will come to Dr. Thacker.”

“He is alright, then?” I asked, a sudden feeling of hope in my heart.  It was quickly dashed. 

“It’s hard to harm the dead.  No, I wager whatever suffering Dr. Thacker may have endured in his final moments is now over.” 

Dr. Seward laughed.  It chilled me, that laugh.  I had heard it before, but never from a man who was sane. 

“Dr. Seward,” I said solemnly, “I need to know what happened last night.  I need to know what happened to Dr. Thacker.”

We stared at each other.  Dr. Seward’s eyes narrowed, and I had the sinking suspicion everything that had transpired was merely a part of an act, the first part of a play Dr. Seward had written. 

“Are you familiar,” he said without the mania that had crept into his voice before, as if I was sitting back in his office at Miskatonic, “with the history of this place?”

“I am not.”

“This asylum was supposed to have been in Boston, you know?” he asked in the manner of one relaying some interesting, but trivial, fact to a friend.  “Near the old hospital that closed down.  I was one of the men charged with designing this place.  We determined a rural location would be more appropriate.  And so we built it here.”

“Well, that is very interesting, Dr. Seward, but . . .”

“I am not finished, Dr. Hamilton,” he said sternly.  I fell silent, cursing myself for allowing him to take control.

“We picked this hill, this out-of-the-way outcropping.  A beautiful place.  We wondered how it remained deserted, wondered about the abandoned structures overlooking the village below.”

“Danvers?”

Dr. Seward chuckled.  “Yes, Danvers.  That’s what they call it now.  But two hundred years ago it went by a different name.  Two hundred years ago, it was known as Salem.  Yes,” he said, seeing my mouth drop in surprise, “witch-haunted Salem.  There is a tree on this hill.  I am sure you saw it when you arrived.  A great Oak tree, tall and strong, with branches that point straight down to Hell.  It was from that tree they hanged the first of the witches, before it became clear a more permanent fixture was required.”  Seward waited for a response, but I gave him none.  He smiled.  “But that’s not all.  Do you know the name John Hawthorne?”

“Of course,” I said.  I doubt there was a man or woman alive within a hundred miles of Boston who had not heard that accursed name. 

“Then, you know what he did?  The great jurist?  The high inquisitor of Salem?  He who kindled the flames of the Burning Time?  He who stood like a great, pharisaical god, the zealous fire raging in his eyes as the innocents were hanged before him?  Where you stand now was once his house.  Yes,” he said, seeing the chill roll through me, “that great devil of a man called this his home.  It is no wonder it was judged cursed by those around it.”

I listened as Dr. Seward spoke.  His words were fevered now, coming fast and hard.  He was stern, too, lucid and logical.  But it was the passion in his voice that scared me.

“What do you know of Giles Corey?” Seward asked.  I simply shook my head.  Nothing would have been my only answer. 

“Ah, the state of education these days,” he said dryly.  “Giles Corey was charged by John Hawthorne with witchcraft.  He was adjudged guilty, of course, by all the learned men of Salem, John Hawthorne being only the most zealous amongst them. 

“But Giles Corey knew his innocence, in the face of the certainty of those who accused him.  And, despite the efforts of his erstwhile friends and neighbors to convince him of his guilt, he refused to confess.  So the great and just John Hawthorne ordered he be pressed, right here on this hill, perhaps where you stand tonight, so he might come to recognize the truth of the charges against him. 

“While Hawthorne stood watch, stone weights were placed upon Corey, one after another, slowly crushing the life out of him.  ‘Confess your crimes, Giles Corey,’ Hawthorne was said to say, ‘and you will be free.’  Do you know what Corey said, William Hamilton?  What his final words were?”

He looked at me expectantly, but I said nothing. 

“‘More weight.’  And so they killed him, Dr. Hamilton.  Crushed him to death.  But it can never be said that Giles Corey confessed to a crime he didn’t commit.  We would all do well to follow that example.”

Dr. Seward looked up to me, and I could tell by his face he was done for the night. 

“I’ll have Jacob make arrangements for a bath.  Tomorrow then, Dr. Seward?”

“Dr. Hamilton, I can honestly say I’m not going anywhere.  Tomorrow it is.  And Dr. Hamilton,” he said as I turned to go, “will you bring me a Bible?  Surely even the insane are permitted that?”

“Of course,” I said with my hand on the handle of the cell door, “I will have one brought right down.”

I gave Jacob his instructions and then walked back to my room.  I was exhausted from the events of the day, and Dr. Seward’s words had only added to my confusion.  If Dr. Seward were innocent, as was certainly implied by his Giles Corey ramblings, then why not say so?  But I admit I gave it little thought then.  I was certain this was but the beginning of a long and twisted journey. 

Chapter

26

“So he admits that Thacker is dead?”

The next morning, I sat across from Dr. Harker with Dr. Winthrop at my side.  I had given them a report of the conversation.  We had remained in silence for a while, but finally Dr. Harker spoke. 

“Yes, he was quite unequivocal in that.”

“But you didn’t press him on how he died?  Who killed him?  How he came to be covered in Thacker’s blood?”  Dr. Winthrop asked impatiently.  I could tell by how he reacted to my story that he did not approve of my methods. 

“No, Dr. Winthrop.  I didn’t think a direct approach would have accomplished anything.”

“No doubt you were right there,” Dr. Harker interjected.  I could sense Dr. Winthrop deflate beside me.  “Dr. Seward is no fool, and you will need to maintain that nimble mind if you are to navigate this mystery.  Tell me, Dr. Hamilton, do you believe Dr. Seward is insane?”

Now I hesitated.

“That is what I thought.”

“It’s not that he isn’t insane,” I said quickly, “but it is impossible for me to tell for sure at this point.  He certainly seemed as though he was, when I first encountered him.  He was jittery, manic.  Then he changed in an instant.  He was stern, like he always was in class.  But throughout it all, I felt as though he was attempting to convince me of his innocence,