Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

He continued walking.

"Raffmir?"

He didn't stop but continued to a set of double doors at the end of the corridor.

"There is a purge mechanism," he said. "It is a gas, a combination of nerve agents, iron… other things."

"Can they trigger it remotely?"

"I believe so, but it will only affect the cells that are occupied and locked. The gas affects fey and human alike. It is quick."

"And painless?"

"I did not ask about the pain," said Raffmir.

"It seems to me," I said, "that there are a lot of things you didn't ask about."

We passed through a further set of doors, not locked and freely swinging, into an open area. As we entered, a man retreated into one of the rooms leading off the open area. Each room had heavy glass walls facing the corridor so that what transpired there could be observed from outside the room. The glass did not have the reinforcement of iron used for containment. To our left and right were large rooms with complex overhead lighting and a central raised table. They looked like operating theatres. In the dim light, I could see three men conversing urgently in the theatre to our left. In the centre was a room fitted out as a laboratory, with fridges, shelves of chemicals, racks of test tubes, microscopes and other scientific apparatus. I turned back to the room that was occupied. I could hear urgent words being spoken. As one of the men moved aside, I could see there was a figure lying on the central table.

It was Alex.

Tightening my grip on the hilt of my sword, I made for the door. Raffmir slipped quickly in ahead of me. He swung open the door and entered slowly, relaxed and calm.

"Dr Watkins. So nice to see you again," he said.

There was uproar from the other two men as they questioned the gaunt figure between them. "You know him? But he's one of them! How could you know him?"

Dr Watkins held up his delicately thin-boned hand to quell the clamour, but it was Raffmir who spoke.

"To answer your questions, yes, I know him and he knows me. No, I'm not one of them, I am something else, and he knows me because I am a trustee of the foundation."

"A trustee?" The two men spoke together.

"Yes." Raffmir wandered around the room, picking up objects and examining them. "I must say that it is most interesting to see all this first-hand, after reading so many dull reports." He affected a yawn, raising his hand to his mouth airily.

Impatient with his games, I raised my sword and stepped forward into the room. The men retreated, and in the confusion there was the briefest of struggles around Raffmir. When it resolved, Raffmir held high the wrist of a pale bald man, showing a hypodermic syringe, the needle bright in the white glow of his aura.

"What have we here?" He twisted the man's arm, eliciting a gasp of pain, his cheeks flushing harsh red against the pale skin.

"It's only a sedative," said the man, the curl of a lie in his voice.

"Ah, well. Nothing to worry about then, Mr…" said Raffmir.

"Todren. I'm the consultant anaesthetist."

Raffmir spun easily, lifting the man under the chin against the wall, pinning him there while he seized the hand with the syringe. The other man began to step forward, but Raffmir glanced sideways, halting him.

Without effort, Raffmir twisted the hand holding the needle down so that it was over his thigh, while the man tried to jerk free.

"You may feel a prick," said Raffmir, and slowly pushed the needle into his thigh. The man struggled and yelled, but Raffmir steadily emptied the syringe into his leg. When it was done, he jerked it out and tossed it on to the floor, leaving the man standing, breathless.

"Fuck," said the man. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward on to the floor. He jerked once, twice and then lay still.

"It appears that Mr Todren is having a nap," said Raffmir. "Any other bright ideas?"

The other two shook their heads and backed away, eyes wide. I raised the sword again and they reversed into the wall, their eyes focusing on the red smears down the blade. I reached Alex's side and placed my hand on her forehead. It was dry and warm. She was alive.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked Watkins.

He wrung his hands, "She has a rare genetic disorder, instability in the…"

"No, you fool, why isn't she awake?" I tried to keep the anger from my voice.

"Oh, she was given a pre-med by the nurses. We didn't want her to be distressed throughout the procedure."

I was tempted to kill him right then. He talked about the procedure as if he was removing an ingrowing toenail. Instead they had been planning to try an experimental drug that would end my daughter's life.

"Alex? Can you hear me, sweetheart?" I stroked back the dark curls from her face. There was no reaction. "How long until she wakes?"

"It was only a small dose. She is physically quite well, I assure you."

That left an open question. "And mentally?"

The other man spoke. "Mentally she is traumatised. Her recent experiences have left deep mental scars."

"And who are you?"

"I am Professor Petrokos – Alexandra's psychologist. She has been able to show some progress, but so far she's unable to come to terms with the violence of her actions. She claims that there's something inside her that made her do it. She's externalising the guilt, you see?"

"Or there really is something inside her?" I suggested.

He smiled, uncertain, and shook his head. "We've done full body scans of all the patients, and there's nothing inside them that shouldn't be there. It's some kind of common delusion, you see?"

"No, I think it's you who doesn't see."

"Come, Watkins, you can show me where the samples are," said Raffmir, "While my cousin revives his daughter."

"The samples? What do you want with the samples?"

"I am afraid that we will not be leaving your work intact. It has become… an embarrassment?" He echoed the tone of Petrokos' voice.

"But my work…?"

Raffmir put a hand half around his shoulder, propelling him towards the side door into the central lab area. At the same moment there was another dull boom from within the building. "Hurry, we do not have much time." He prodded the doctor forward.

I returned to Alex's side, lifted her wrist and patted it, trying to encourage some kind of life into her. Her hand dangled at the end of her wrist as if connected by string. I pointed the sword at Petrokos.

"Get in the corner. Stand where I can see you."

He moved sideways slowly until he was pressed into the angle of the corner. I laid my sword between me and Alex's body and lifted her shoulders. Her head flopped to one side at what looked like a painful angle. I laid her back down, trying to figure out a way to lift her on to my shoulder and still keep my sword arm free.

Raffmir pushed Watkins back into the room. "You're sure the glass meets the specification?" he asked Watkins. They had left all the doors to the fridges and freezers open, the containers open on the benches.

"It was all built to the specifications you demanded," he said. "We have complied with the trust's every wish. All our experiments have been conducted within the ethical guidelines." It sounded like an excuse.

Raffmir stood in the open doorway. He raised his hands and cupped them. He appeared to breathe into his hands and within them a spark of light kindled. It glowed bright through his fingers and as he parted his hands it persisted, hanging in the air, like the arc of a welding torch, casting his stark shadow huge on the wall behind. The air smelled of thunderstorms and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted.

I had seen this before. In the tunnels below the streets of London, Raffmir sent a glowing spark up into the vaulted roof of the hall where the anvil stood to illuminate the scene where I had been subject to a trial by ordeal.