Others

  This was no human, this could not possibly be of human origin. I refused to believe so. This was a demon, this was a BEAST! Nothing on Earth could have given birth to such a creature.

  Its small head – a head that was set in its chest rather than between its shoulders – weaved about me, harsh, stinking hot breath poisoning precious air between us, black, pointed tongue quivering stiffly inside the huge hole of its mouth, those thin dagger-teeth only inches away from me, and I wondered if it would shred my face before or after it had choked me.

  But something distracted it. Those terrifying, slanted eyes shifted their gaze, looking past me at the other person who had moved on the bed. The gleam in them seemed to change, to become lascivious.

  I twisted my head, to follow its look, and I saw what it saw and I began to fight back, for it was Constance this thing was leering at, and she was lying naked, helplessly exposed to this creature. I understood its thoughts, the rapaciousness in its eyes.

  I thought I might explode with the fury that swept through me

  As I’ve said, my shoulders and arms have always been strong, and now anger and desperation gave them power I had never known before. I grabbed the beast’s hairy wrists, lifting my shoulders from the bed as I did so, the hump of my back providing leverage, and I forced those hands slowly, ever so slowly, away from my throat, the slender clawed fingers slowly unfurling, the beast returning its attention to me, bewilderment in its rabid eyes. My hands and its wrists shook with opposing pressure and I was aware that ultimately it was a battle I could not win, my attacker had a superior strength that would sustain him longer than my fierce but temporary outburst. So with one last effort, I lifted him away from me and then let go. And as I let go, I brought my own head up.

  My forehead smashed into its shallow lower jaw, closing that gaping mouth, but while I cried out with the shock of pain, the beast merely grunted. I fell back on to the bed, all senses spinning, and once more the tenacious fingers with their curling nails found my throat. The pressure resumed as if there had never been an interruption, and this time I knew I was totally helpless, that my reserves of strength were all but used up in that last-ditch effort. At first I thought someone was using a dimmer switch on all the lights because everything began to grow dark, but I soon realized it was me, I was leaving it all behind. I tried – oh God, how I tried – to draw in breath, but soon it didn’t matter: the pain had lost its bite, my panic had lost its relevance. I knew I was dying, that air would never squeeze through to my lungs to save me, yet somehow it no longer mattered.

  I was dying and it wasn’t so bad. Hell, it was relatively easy.

  41

  It was a voice that saved me. A voice from a very long way off. It had quite an effect though, for the pressure at my throat suddenly eased, and then all the pain and fear and helplessness came rushing back.

  I slumped to the floor beside the bed, clutching at its soft material and gasping in great mouthfuls of life-giving air. The voice was still some distance away, but not as far as before.

  ‘Take it away,’ it was saying, and I realized it was the pounding in my own ears, blood rushing through them, that muted the words.

  When I finally managed to look up, still gagging for air, body hunched over my knees, I saw the smiling face of Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech peering into mine.

  ‘You took your time getting here, Mr Dismas,’ I thought I heard him say.

  ‘Wh . . . what?’

  His voice became clearer as my heartbeat dropped to a more regular, though not yet quite normal, rhythm and the roaring in my ears softened.

  ‘Did you think you weren’t expected?’ he said, the smile remaining, but the eyes as hard as steel. ‘You were on camera the moment you showed yourself at the gate. Hidden cameras, of course, and fitted with night-sights. I was curious as to what you would get up to, you see, so I let you have the run of the place in the knowledge that you could easily be brought here when we were ready for you. It seems you’ve saved us the trouble though: here you are in the very place to which you would eventually have been brought.’

  His face moved away from mine as he straightened and I could only watch silently as he towered over me. Behind him was the thing that had attacked me, the grotesque I could only think of as beast, and I shivered at the sight.

  It – I could not refer to it as he, for this thing was part-animal, part-man, neither species, it seemed to me, dominating the other – was now under restraint, the male orderly I knew as Bruce holding one of its arms, another thickset orderly clinging to the other. Its reddish, mottled skin was mostly covered by short, wiry hair and its shoulders were massive against a slim waist and legs, even its forearms thinning beyond the elbow to the wrists, its hands long, slender fingers ending in curled nails, like claws.

  And then I saw the most frightening thing of all about this mad-eyed creature, for events had happened too fast, my sight too restricted, when I had been attacked. Springing from the creature’s naked loins like some lengthy erubescent rod, whose colour paled and surged, was a penis of the like I had never before witnessed. Although it was slender considering its stretch – a foot-and-a-half at least! – it was gorged with blood that set it rigid and quivering, the flow inside accounting for its fluctuating hues, and at its end was a split, bulbous head that glistened wetly under the harsh lights. Rather than a natural organ of procreation, this looked lethal, more like a weapon of destruction. I shuddered at the thought of the damage it could do if it entered someone as small and frail as Constance.

  It all came to me then – the high-tech video cameras, the arc lights, the black cables that littered the floor like a vast nest of snakes; the people spread around here in this high-ceilinged studio, the man sitting by a box full of switches, a sound-man wearing earphones. Jesus Christ, this was Hollywood sleaze in the Home Counties, the kind of porno stuff that even the most hardcore fans might find hard to take. It struck me like a thunderbolt, although it still failed to make any kind of sense.

  I had thought that at its very worst, PERFECT REST was some clandestine research centre involved in the nature of deformity, but now I had uncovered a far deeper, a far darker, secret: the inmates here were being exploited in much more grievous ways, their abnormalities used by the profiteers of celluloid voyeurism. Barriers had been breached, boundaries pushed back, in the last decades and public taste and acceptability had been redefined, the search for more and more outrage an ongoing quest; and here, at this so-called place of perfect rest, it was being provided for them. What could be more titillating to such degenerates than sordid sexual acts between . . . there was no avoiding the term . . . freaks? It was beyond all bounds and I could not understand what would make an eminent physician like Leonard Wisbeech turn to such abomination. Was it just for financial gain? Or was there another motivation? Had his own moral depravity led him to this? Was his smooth, sophisticated exterior, his obvious pre-eminence as a physician, merely the disguise of a corrupt soul?

  ‘Cover him!’ Wisbeech barked at the beast’s ‘handlers’ as he walked away from me, as though suddenly offended by the brutal nakedness of this creature.

  The senior nurse, Fletcher, appeared with a robe held out in front of her. She swiftly threw it around the shoulders of the agitated demon-like thing and, almost comically – only I wasn’t laughing – the material fell around its jutting member. The beast snarled and tried to pull the robe off, but its guardians held firm.

  ‘Shall I sedate him?’ Fletcher asked Wisbeech, who by this time had turned about and was watching the proceedings.

  ‘Only mildly,’ the doctor replied. ‘We’ll be needing him soon.’ He eyed me as I lay slumped against the bed. ‘After I’ve had a little chat with our new guest,’ he added.

  I struggled to regain my feet. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I yelled at Wisbeech, even though I knew the answer in part.

  Bruce, the orderly, quickly stepped forward and slapped me down again. I fell on to the bed and felt Constance move behi
nd me. She gave out another small groan.

  I looked from her to Wisbeech. ‘What have you done to her?’ I pleaded, voice cracking, mid-sentence.

  ‘I’ve made her compliant,’ Wisbeech answered and I wanted to tear the contemptuous smile off his face with my bare hands. ‘Rohypnol, Mr Dismas.’

  The Mr was exaggerated, all part of his contempt.

  ‘It’s a sedative, normally prescribed for sleeplessness, but sometimes used to induce an almost hypnotic state. It makes the subject not only more malleable, but forgetful also. Constance has never fully remembered what has happened to her in this state, although I’m afraid her subconscious is bothering her more and more nowadays. I believe she is building a resistance to the drug, but no matter, her usefulness has come to an end.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What have you been doing to her?’ I gathered Constance up in my arms again, trying to cover her nakedness with my own body, aware of the shame she would feel at having her crooked little body exposed to the eyes of others. To people like us, nakedness before strangers is more than just an embarrassment, it’s a humiliation.

  Wisbeech silently regarded me for several moments, as though engaged in private thoughts in which I figured prominently. When he spoke, his smile had returned. ‘What do you say, Nurse Fletcher? Does this hunchback deserve an explanation? After all, there is no one he can tell.’

  The senior nurse shifted agitatedly. ‘It’s getting late, Doctor. I think we should carry on as planned.’

  Wisbeech’s response was firm. ‘No. I’d like to discuss matters with Mr Dismas. Can’t you see the curiosity in that lonely eye of his? Oh, and just feel the anger emanating from him. I do believe he would like to render me harm. Isn’t that so, Mr Dismas? You do see me as the villain of the piece, don’t you? And you know, it’s not entirely deserved.’

  ‘I’ve seen the people you keep locked up in this place, I’ve seen what you’ve done to them.’ I spat the words in his direction. ‘You treat them worse than animals, far worse, when they should be under strict medical care.’

  ‘But they are,’ he protested only mildly. ‘They’re nurtured and they are examined regularly.’

  ‘You keep a lot of them in filthy underground cells!’

  ‘Unfortunately, some of these – oh, I know you’ll object to the word, but apparently having observed them yourself, I’m sure the term “creatures” was not far from your own thoughts – some of these creatures are very dangerous. Witness the fate of your own colleague by the hands of one of them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What was his name? It was in the newspapers. Your agency accountant, I believe. Jewish sort of name . . .’

  ‘Henry. You did kill Henry.’

  ‘Henry Solomon. Yes, that was it. No, I didn’t kill him, Mr Dismas, but this fellow did.’

  He was pointing at the beast who was swaying between his two ‘handlers’, the nurse at that moment withdrawing a syringe needle from his arm. Although it was still making snuffling sounds and small grunts, it was already beginning to quieten, yellow eyes beginning to take on a marbled glare.

  ‘A remarkable being, don’t you think?’ Wisbeech spoke with some satisfaction. ‘Not from this country, of course.’

  ‘Not from this fucking planet either,’ I managed to say, clawing at my open shirt collar as if to relieve pressure that was no longer there. No, I wasn’t feeling feisty – I was too much in shock for that – but instinctively I was already trying to pull myself together, starting with the brain. Sarcasm in the face of threat was one way of doing it; it was a kind of defence mechanism that misfits or weaklings often use, and right then I was both.

  ‘Very good, Mr Dismas.’ He had dropped the Mr. ‘Very amusing. It’s from the Hubei province of Central China, in fact, and cost me a small fortune to acquire, then another rather large amount to smuggle it back into the country. The drugs we used to keep it sedated in its sealed box nearly killed the thing in transit, but I’m pleased to say it’s of a hardy breed – whatever that breed may be – and it survived to become the fine specimen you see before you now.’

  ‘Wisbeech, you’ve either got to be crazy or mad.’

  ‘Spare me any more of your wit, Dismas.’ Not even Mr, now.

  ‘Doctor, please . . .’ The nurse, Fletcher, had come forward again, and her hand swept around the studio, indicating the others waiting there.

  ‘Yes, I take your point, Rachel, but I feel a need to explain myself to this man. At this moment, he sees things only in black and white, and that isn’t worthy of thirty years’ diligent research on my part.’

  ‘Does it matter, Leonard?’

  ‘I’m afraid it does. To me. Besides, it’s information he will never pass on.’

  It was hardly unexpected, but still I didn’t like the inference in that last remark.

  ‘Now why don’t you take everyone outside,’ Wisbeech continued. ‘It must nearly be time for a break anyway.’

  A middle-aged man with long, thinning hair, dressed in sweatshirt and jeans, who was standing beside one of the tripod-mounted cameras, interjected. ‘We haven’t even started yet. A couple hours is all this would take, you said.’

  ‘But things have changed,’ Wisbeech told him placatingly. ‘I promise you, tonight’s work will be the best yet. Tonight we will go further than ever before.’

  The cameraman considered this, then looked around at what I assumed was his crew. The sound engineer shrugged, the lighting man grinned. I’d heard of shady film crews like this, involved in porn stuff, even snuff movies where people were killed on film for the delectation of perverse bastards whose sensory palates had been blunted by excess and this lot were obviously up for hire, no questions asked. In a sick world, these people were among the sickest.

  This Cameron of filth turned back to Wisbeech and gave him the thumbs-up. ‘Fifteen minutes,’ he agreed. ‘Coffee and fags, boys,’ he said to his chums, indicating the large double doors across the room with a toss of his head.

  The electrician made as if to switch off the glaring arc-light that lit up the velvet-draped bed, but Wisbeech stopped him.

  ‘Leave it,’ he ordered.

  ‘Need to save the lights.’ The ‘sparks’ addressed the cameraman rather than Wisbeech.

  ‘I rather like the idea of Dismas being under the spotlight, so to speak,’ the doctor said, his tone brooking no argument.

  Just to make me feel more vulnerable? To intimidate me? Or so that he could observe every part of Constance’s body? Who knew what ran through this degenerate’s mind?

  ‘Besides,’ Wisbeech added more reasonably, ‘this won’t take long. You’ll soon be able to resume filming.’

  The director-cum-cameraman shrugged and turned towards the exit door. The electrician gave a resigned shake of his head and followed.

  ‘See to them, Rachel,’ Wisbeech ordered the nurse before waving a hand at the two orderlies, who still held the arms of his ‘prize’ specimen. ‘Take it into the corner for now and keep it calm. Let me know immediately it begins to be a nuisance again.’

  The film crew, and another orderly and nurse, left the studio, closing the double doors behind them. I heard Constance softly moaning again, but when I looked her way, her eyes were still closed. Her body twitched as though she were having a bad dream. Because of the added lights I now spotted a grey dressing-gown or robe draped over the back of a nearby chair and I guessed it might belong to her, because propped up next to it were her metal elbow crutches. I pushed myself to my feet and limped over to the chair, aware that the two orderlies had released the beast and were about to rush me. Wisbeech, realizing my intent, raised a hand to stop them and I returned to the velvet-draped bed to lean the sticks against it. I wrapped the robe around Constance’s shoulders. She murmured something I didn’t catch, but I could see she was beginning to revive. No doubt if it hadn’t been for my unexpected interruption, filming would have been in full swing by now and I was pretty sure Wisbeech would have wanted he
r actively ‘involved’, whether fighting against what was happening, or meekly submitting to it, I couldn’t bear to think; but her sedation would have been expertly administered and timed so that she would not merely be sleeping. I sat next to her on the edge of the bed.

  Wisbeech had come forward once more, bringing with him a heavy-looking chair-stool, one made of chrome and leather and which, no doubt, made him feel superior to everyone else in the room when he sat on it. He placed it a few feet away from me and sat, one supremely polished shoe on the foot-rest near its base; he turned gently from side to side in its swivel seat.

  ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and proffered a silver cigarette case, its lid springing open with a press of a side tab.

  A last cigarette? I wondered. It would be the only reason he’d offer me one. Leaning forward, I took it from the case. It was an expensive brand, long and slim, filter-tipped, the kind I wasn’t used to. When Wisbeech lit it for me, the smoke felt cool in my throat.

  ‘I haven’t quite completed the story of my finest specimen, have I?’ So pleasant and conversational was his tone, he might have been in a bar – or perhaps one of his gentlemen’s clubs, the Garrick maybe.