The Torment

Four

The clock ticked six in the evening when the nurse walked in to give me my medicines. I winced at the pain erupting in my arm as soon as she injected me. Fumbling with the bottles, she passed me a sorry look before hurrying out of my room. I took my place by the window where the sky had turned dark, waiting for Clinton to arrive so we could go to Patrick together.

My head felt more dizzy than usual but I passed it as the medicine's side effect. After waiting a few hours, I heard the door behind me click open and Clinton stepped in.

"A flower, for a flower" He smiled, handing me a rose. I took it from his hands with a grin.

"You shouldn't have"

"Oh but I did," He smiled.

"Did I ever tell you, you have a dazzling smile?" I asked and his brows rose in surprise.

"A bit unusual, but I take it" He smirked. I grabbed his hand and led him out of the door and into the cold lobby. Our footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, making the wooden floor creak slightly.

Slowly, my vision had started to blur, making the surroundings almost translucent. I stopped abruptly, letting go of Clinton's hand.

"Hey-" He was cut off when I pushed him against the wall, a wave of euphoria hitting me, making excitement bubble inside me. Everything felt beautiful, just like when I took my first dose of drugs.

"You're the best man alive, Clinton" I urged.

"Are you- goodness gracious" He sighed, sliding down the wall. His hands came around my face as he held it gently.

"Muriel?" He asked in a low voice.

"Hmm?"

"They drugged you" He stated.

"Nonsense" I chuckled. A scream left my mouth as he lifted me up and then bolted for my room. There, he made me sit on the bed and rummaged through the medicines on my bedside table.

"Sedatives" His eyes widened at the empty bottle and I reached for my dress.

"Consent, Arahood" He stated before hurriedly filling another injection with something I couldn't see. My vision was slowly blurring and I could hear music all around me. Once again I was with my father, a vinyl playing slow music behind me as I screamed at his ghost.

"You're cursed, little Mary" My father cooed, rushing towards me with what looked like a knife.

"No!" I shouted, regaining some of my consciousness, although my head still felt dizzy. Clinton was kneeling beside my bed, an injection in his hand.

"Flumazenil," he explained. "It cancels the effect of sedatives"

"I-"

"Rest for now, I'll go look for the nurse who injected you" He spoke. Flattered, I only nodded and then fell into a nap.

When I woke up, Clinton was inspecting the medicines next to my bed. His eyes lifted to mine and a wave of realisation flowed through me. His blonde hair was not in its usual neat form, it was rather dishevelled as if he'd run his hands through them a couple of times.

Did I-.

I shook the thought away.

"Go to Patrick, I'll stay here and keep checking in case the nurse comes again" He ordered. I nodded and then bolted for the door. I'd passed the library on the first day that I was brought here so it didn't take me long to find the room with built-in floor to ceiling shelves, surrounding a fireplace. Patrick sat on one of the tables with a huge map in front of him and a couple of newspapers scattered on the table.

"Is that....the corridor on floor fourth?" I asked, looking at the map on the table. Patrick nodded before pushing it towards me.

"The hall is where they perform those tortures" He explained, pointing towards the double doors that I previously mistook for an operation theatre. And the memories came flooding back.

The man behind the translucent door...

"Why don't you report this to the authorities?" I asked.

"What do we have for proof? Our eyes?.It takes a lot more than that to have them trust us let alone filing a case" he said. I thought for a while, my eyes wandering towards a newspaper with the headline 'Downtown Asylum Blamed For The Death Of The Viscount'.

"The Viscount?" I queried, lifting the newspaper.

"Joan Hattersley, son of Luke Hattersley, one of the most powerful men of his times. Rumour had that Joan had started a campaign against the asylum. He disappeared shortly and when he returned, an argument took place between his father and him resulting in Luke calling the asylum. They took away Joan and Earl Luke, afraid of ruining his reputation, made the news die down. That was until the death of Joan Hattersley, eighty years ago, that the rumours came back"

"And they blame the asylum for it?" I asked.

"Yes. They believe the doctors experimented on him. Some said his father loved him dearly and so wanted him reborn"

"You don't mean-"

"They cut off parts of his brain to render him emotionless. But they failed desperately and...accused him of suicide by jumping out of the conservatory window"

"Are the authorities that blind?"

"He was recorded visiting the conservatory countless times during his stay, he was thrown off his title as viscount, as much as I hate to say it, he had every reason to do so"

"But he didn't"

"Which is why the injuries his head took during the fall were unquestionable" He ended with a sigh. I frowned at his name in the newspaper and then at the picture of the asylum. Footsteps echoed in the hallway and I gathered a few more newspapers before turning towards the door.

"I'll keep a check on the doctor's schedule on the fourth floor. There are three of them, as I've observed, two of them leave at midnight whilst one stays. It's better to take down one than three." Patrick spoke.

"I'll think of a plan" I nodded and stared at the map that he handed me.

"Here, take this with you" He asked and I took it with a short nod.

"I'll see you here again, tomorrow?" I questioned and it was his turn to nod before we parted ways.

When I entered my room, Clinton stood up from my bed and gave me a small nod.

"I had all your sedatives replaced with lighter doses, but the nurses shouldn't find that out so you'll have to pretend" he smiled sadly.

"That's the worst part" I groaned, glaring at the bottles.

"But thanks, anyways" I smiled.