Chapter 32
I feel as though a hole has opened up beneath my feet. Did I encounter him again, on my way back out of the marsh after Hart and Myers drugged me? And if so, what the hell had I done to him?
Dr. North tuts. “Now, Caspar, we’ve talked about this.” He turns to me. “Mr. Underwood suffers from paranoid delusions. Don’t take anything he says to heart.”
Are they delusions, though?
“He said he weren’t a sorcerer.” Underwood directs his words at North, though he’s obviously talking about me. “I told him not to go, but he did. And he came back all changed! It weren’t him no more!”
“Another symptom of his delusions, but a most interesting one,” North says, studying Underwood’s frightened face with an air of scientific detachment.
“A similar case was recently described in France by Dr. Capgras. He called it the ‘illusion of doubles.’ It’s the belief that the people around one have been replaced by identical imposters.
Many of my colleagues think it a form of hysteria and unique to women, but I intend to disprove that theory with a paper on Mr. Underwood here. ”
The room seems to be shrinking, walls pressing in on me, even the air growing heavy. Adrian shoots me a concerned glance—but we can’t pass up this chance to speak with Underwood. “Why did you attack the insurance investigator last summer?”
“I couldn’t know what he was, could I?” Underwood’s eyes dart around, an animal backed into a corner, desperate for any avenue of escape. “If he were human or not.”
“Not human?” I repeat faintly.
His terrified eyes fix on me. “You told me they’re coming for us all.
You whispered it in my ear, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t run away.
You showed me. I’ll be the last real man, surrounded by things like you, things that look and sound like people, but ain’t.
” His eyes close. “Please don’t. Please, please, please. Just stop. Leave me alone.”
“You think the investigator wasn’t human?” Adrian asks him.
“I…I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. Couldn’t take the chance. Anyone might be replaced any time.” He looks at Adrian. “You might be one of them, too. Or Dr. North. Maybe all of you are, and you’re just doing this to torture me!”
Underwood suddenly hurls himself forward, fingers hooked into claws. The belt catches him short, though, and he stumbles back, eyes wide. “Let me go! Let me out of here!”
His voice rises into a scream and is joined in a chorus from the adjoining cells. “Settle down!” the male nurse barks.
North sighs. “I think we’ve gotten everything from him that we can. Remaining will only excite him further.”
We take our leave of Mr. Underwood, who is still at the length of his chain, shouting and pleading. The nurse slams the door shut behind us, making me jump.
Adrian gives me another look of concern, but there’s nothing to be done. I have to get through this if we’re to find any answers.
Though what answers Underwood might have given us, I don’t know. I must have run into him again, after I was drugged. He realized something was wrong, and his bruised mind came to the conclusion that I was some sort of imposter.
Or it hadn’t been a delusion, but magic. What if it hadn’t been me he spoke to the second time?
None of the actions I’d taken sounded like something I would do. Leaving Forgotten Folios, threatening people with violence, belonging to a cult…
But no, that doesn’t make any sense. A doppelg?nger wouldn’t explain my loss of memory, or why I’d woken up in a room in Widdershins if it had been an imposter Adrian tracked there. Either I’m missing something, or Underwood’s delusions are nothing more than that.
“The thing to understand,” North says as he makes for the exit back to the quieter wards, “is that Mr. Underwood behaves rationally within the boundaries of his delusions. In the case of the investigator he attacked, he believed anyone might be an imposter and decided to act rather than wait for evidence one way or another.” He shakes his head sadly.
“Sometimes, he believes I might be an imposter as well, and insists on questioning me in detail about past sessions to make me prove I am in fact the same person. Once he’s been satisfied as to my identity, the delusion loses its grip, and he speaks as any sane man would. ”
Adrian raises a brow. “Is that good?”
“Oh yes! It gives me hope for his recovery. If I can discover the source of his delusions under hypnosis, then I can show him via logic that his fears are unfounded. His rationality will reassert itself in full, and he’ll be able to return to society a cured man.”
I doubt it will be as easy as North seems to think, but there’s no point in saying so. “I see.”
“Speaking of hypnosis,” North says as he shuts the door to the ward behind us, “shall we go ahead and put you under, Mr. Caine? I’m sure you’ll find it most enlightening.”
“The catatonic patients first, if you please.” Adrian gives him a pleasant smile, and I’m glad to let them talk, because my heart has started racing again at the thought of being hypnotized.
“We encountered a man in a similar state, but he was being cared for at home by his mother. I’d like to know if they all present in the same manner. ”
North nods. “Of course, though I fear you’ll find any interaction with them unenlightening.”
He leads us up to the second floor, which proves to be identical in every way to the one we’ve just traversed.
“At least they’re easy to care for,” he says, unlocking the door into the ward for unexcited patients.
“The most docile group of patients I’ve ever encountered.
You’d think the nurses would fight for the chance to be assigned their care, but I’m told this is considered the worst placement in the hospital at the moment. ” He chuckles. “Imagine.”
The moment we step beyond the door, I understand exactly why none of the staff want to spend any more time here than they must. The only sound is the breathing of a hundred men. Not even the rustle of clothing breaks the absolute silence.
They line the corridor, standing in groups outside of their assigned rooms. Faces slack, bodies unmoving, eyes fixed straight ahead. Like oversized dolls left behind by a bored child.
They come in every shape and size, but wear the identical institutional clothing, the same vacant expressions. As if every hint of personality has been wiped away from them.
The cannibal, Barney, hadn’t struck me with such horror. Or rather, he had, but of a different sort. But that was because his mother’s orders had animated him; had she not been there, we would no doubt have encountered him exactly like this.
A shriek from our left makes us all jump. A female nurse leans against her desk on the other side of the wired glass separating the attendant’s station from the hallway, her hand pressed to her chest. “I’m sorry, doctor—you gave me a fright.”
North frowns at her. “You must be alert at all times, Nurse Driscoll.” He thaws a bit. “Though I suppose it is easy to let down one’s guard in this particular ward. Still, don’t let it become a habit.”
“No, sir.” She bobs a curtsy. “Is there anything I can assist with?”
“Nothing at this time.”
We continue on past the line of watching, immobile men, and every hair on my neck stands up. Though they seem to be ignoring us, my mind insists that if I look back, it will be to find all of them have turned to stare.
Cursing myself for a coward, I glance over my shoulder—and discover none of them have moved at all. Just my wrecked nerves getting the better of me.
We reach the twin parlors, where a small scattering of men sit in chairs, as motionless as their fellows. “Does their condition match that of the man you met before?” North asks.
“Not really,” Adrian says uncertainly.
“But his mother was giving him orders,” I remind him. I glance at North. “Do they take direction, or…?”
“Like a charm.” He walks over to the nearest seated man and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stand up.”
The patient immediately stands, though his expression doesn’t change in the slightest.
“Tell us your name.”
“Ernie Quill.” The words come out in a monotone.
“Can you please go stand in front of the door to your room?”
Quill immediately complies, shuffling down the hall until he joins two other men in front of one of the doors.
“As you see, they are utterly compliant in all things.” North shakes his head sadly.
“The nurse has but to tell them to wake in the morning, put on their uniforms, and go to breakfast. They eat, bathe, and do everything else with complete competence. I suspect, should one of them perish, the autopsy will advance brain science by decades, since clearly some very specific part of that organ has been damaged.”
Or the effect is one of magic, but I can hardly say that.
Adrian’s expression sharpens with interest. “You said ‘should one of them perish.’ An interesting way of phrasing things.”
“Well, obviously they’ll die eventually, just like anyone else.” North waves a hand dismissively. “But so far they’ve been extraordinarily healthy. Indeed, one of the few actions they will perform unprompted is to protect themselves from even the slightest harm.”
My heart quickens. I’d held off Barney with a broken umbrella, when he could have simply swept it aside and chopped me up for his larder. That must have been the same overly protective instinct these men show.
“A bee once found its way inside, and the entire ward got up in perfect silence and hastily retreated into one of the halls, crowding as far away as possible from the creature,” North goes on.
“There are other singular incidents, but that one was remarkable for its coordination. None of them attempted to swat it, just removed themselves from its presence.”
“And have you tried hypnotizing any of them?” Adrian asks.
“No—their illness is a physical one, I fear.” North sighs unhappily. “Just as going blind from drinking wood alcohol would be. Of course, we hope their brains will show some regenerative powers and their condition will improve.”
Or the enchantment they’re under will wear off. Could that happen?
Is it possible I was like these men after Hart drugged me? From what I’ve learned, it seems I was the opposite of passive. If someone told me to act like the head of the Timekeeper cult, or to leave Forgotten Folios, would that have been enough to animate me for long stretches at a time?
But for what possible end? None of this makes any sense.
“Is there anything else you gentlemen would like to observe here?” North asks.
Adrian glances at me, but though my mind is full of questions, I can’t ask the doctor any of them without sounding more disturbed than his charges.
“Is there anything—anything at all—that unites this group of men besides having drunk bad alcohol?” Adrian asks. “Social class, job, family life, anything?”
North shakes his head. “They come from all walks of life, and are everything from bachelors to fathers of twelve. Nor did they all visit the same speakeasy before succumbing.”
Adrian’s full lips press together. “I see. That makes things more complicated.”
“It does indeed.” North pauses, glancing from one of us to the other, then adds, “If you’re still interested in undergoing hypnosis, Mr. Caine, we can go somewhere more comfortable.”
I don’t have any other choice. We need any answers we can find, and the ones locked inside my brain might hold the key to everything. At the very least, recovering my memories will tell me whether or not I’m a murderer.
I straighten my shoulders. “Lead the way.”