WARNING:

The following book has many scenes which some will find offensive and disturbing. If you are not a fan of extreme horror and are easily shocked and offended, please do not purchase this title.

This is an extreme horror novel intended for a mature audience only.

The characters are based loosely upon two of Matt Shaw’s readers as part of a commissioned story. The situations they find themselves in this book are entirely fictional; the product of twisted minds.

Copyright © 2015 Matt Shaw

http://www.mattshawpublications.co.uk/

The moral right of Matt Shaw and Michael Bray to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

LAB RAT

M A T T    S H A W

PART ONE

Chapter One

I

The sound of his older sister drowning in her own phlegm woke him from his slumber. She was sitting up and coughing, violently. Hacking up little pieces of what the young, eight year old child presumed was his sister’s lungs. Each string of spittle captured in the clear breathing mask, strapped around her face forcing oxygen, into either mouth or nose, from the tank resting on the trolley, by the foot of her bed.

Her name was Sammi and this was a typical night for her and had been for the last twenty-three years of her life. Each day she faced an ongoing struggle to survive as her illness took its toll on her fragile body; constant chest infections, bouts of sinusitis, issues with her digestive system, malnutrition and - more lately - suspected diabetes where her pancreas was believed not to be producing enough insulin. This latest problem in her ongoing symptoms in her day to day struggle was what had the doctors worried. They knew, as well as the issues surrounding diabetes in people with her condition, it could well lead to a decline in her lung function - something she, and her parents, had been warned about when they started putting her through the next barrage of tests.

Sammi wished she was well, like the rest of her family and friends, but knew it was pointless to waste time hoping for a miracle. Instead, she took one day at a time - where permitted - and tried to live it to the full. She knew there was no cure. She knew her story would not be one of a happy ending. She just didn’t want what came before her death to be a waste; a tragic tale of a girl who’d given up despite having a fight on her hands.

The only plus side to her illness, if there was such a thing, was the fact she got to eat whatever she wanted. Whilst her friends were worrying about their weight and constantly on diets - she’d eat three meals a day and push herself to snack as much as possible too. Anything and everything to maintain a high intake of energy; fatty foods, sugary foods, milk and dairy products along with the usual proteins, starchy foods and - of course - vitamins and mineral-rich foods. The other benefit of her illness - which tied in nicely with her diet - was the fact it was difficult to gain and maintain weight. When she needed a silver-lining, on darker days, this was one of the only things she could laugh about with regards to her illness.

Her brother sat up in his own bed. Their beds were separated by a thin wall. He was on one side and she was on the other. He didn’t move to see if she was alright. He just sat there, listening. A small prayer to God that he’d see fit into helping his sister overcome this illness. Something he understood very little about.

He had often heard his mother and father talking; hushed voices trying to offer support to a daughter who was both scared and in pain. He had even gone as far, during one episode where she was forced to stay in hospital, to ask what was wrong but they just told him that she was unwell. Perhaps they kept him in the dark for his own benefit? He was a picture of health, unlike his sister, and they didn’t want to unnecessarily worry him? Or maybe it was for more selfish reasons such as not wanting to waste breath on the illness when they could do very little to stop it in its tracks? His parents - and even Sammi - knew what the end game was going to be so, until it really mattered, they liked to get on as though everything was okay.

Of course it wasn’t always practical to do so. There were dark days. There were trips to the hospitals and more courses of antibiotics for her to swallow. She once joked that - if you shook her - you could hear her rattle. No one laughed. And all the time this was happening, he was nearby listening and watching and wishing he could take it all away and make her better.

“When I grow up I’m going to be a doctor,” he’d innocently said one day when they were all sitting at the breakfast table. His parents smiled at him. It was a good job for a child to want to have, especially at that young age, but they had had their fill of doctors. They had spoken to so many over the last twenty-three years of their daughter’s life that they couldn’t face speaking to any more, despite knowing they’d need to. The day they’d finally get to stop going to various appointments and ‘talking things through’ to make Sammi as comfortable as possible was both a day they longed for and a day they dreaded. At least it would have meant she was no longer suffering. Her pain would be gone.

He listened as her bedroom door opened and footsteps crossed the floor. Mumbled voices on the other side of the room; a worried mother and father comforting their sickly daughter. He hated hearing her like this. He knew she was in pain, even if he didn’t understand why she was and - more specifically - why no one was making her feel better. This is why he wanted to be a doctor. He would be able to do what no one else had done. He would be able to fix his sister and make her feel better. Gone would be her headaches and stomachaches. Gone would be the need to carry that oxygen tank around the house. Gone would be repeated trips to hospital and to the local surgery. Gone would be her pain. She would be well again and she would be happy because he would make it so.

Little did he know that - within the year - his sister would be gone; one final trip to the hospital from which there’d be no coming home.

I I

He had been told to stay out of the living room. He knew why. She was in there. It had been his mother’s idea. She had wanted Sammi home for one final night. He had watched from his bedroom window as a private ambulance pulled up in their driveway. Neighbours across the street watching from their windows - some simply being nosy whilst others had sympathetic looks upon their faces. One face - an elderly lady across the street - streaming with tears as she watched the coffin get pulled from the back of the ambulance. Her name was Mavis and she’d been a close family friend for many years. When his mum and dad had had to go to work, and someone was needed to watch over the children - especially when Sammi was sick - it was usually Mavis who stayed with them.

They used to spend the evening playing board games and laughing whilst chewing on toffee sweets right up until the time he was forced to go to bed. And then he’d lay there, in the darkness, listening to Sammi and Mavis sharing stories - not that he could hear the words being spoken. Just more mumbled voices through the floorboards. He envied Sammi that she got to stay up later than him but it wasn’t like that all of the time. Sometimes he had got to stay up later because she was tired and needed to get her head down. Those were the days he felt most grown-up. Now he realised she would never be staying up later than him again, he felt an increasing amount of sadness within him. Gone was the chance to fix her. Gone was the chance to make her feel better so she could spend more time smiling than looking as though she were in pain. Gone was that opportunity to make his mum and dad proud and fix the family. A wish replaced with an open casket installed in the family’s living room.

Despite being told to stay out of there, he couldn’t resist the urge to go in. He wanted to see her just as much as his mum had wanted to. It wasn’t fair that he wouldn’t be allowed to say goodbye the same way his mum and dad could; not that his dad had wanted to go in the room. He had said he didn’t want the last memory of her to be what she looked like in her coffin. It had hit both parents hard but he took it harder. This was his little girl. This was his little Princess and he too had failed to protect her from the harsh realities of this cruel, cruel world.

His parents were in their own bedroom. More mumbled voices offering each other comfort. The living room was empty, with the exception of Sammi and now was his chance to get in there and say goodbye.

Quietly, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. There it was - set up in the centre of the room. Two wooden stands raising it from the floor. The coffee table, once resting in the same spot, had been moved to the corner of the room out of the way. Up-ended as though it were no longer important or even cared about.

The casket lid was open. The sides of the casket were deep so he couldn’t see inside. Not properly. Not from this angle. Slowly he walked closer. His heart was racing. Part of him apprehensive about the way she was going to look. Would she still look like his sister? Would she look like she had in those final moments? A face contorted with pain? Or would she look as though she were happy - a content smile on her face at the peace his mum and dad said she would have found? But then - was she even at peace or had that too been a lie just as it had been when they told him not to worry?

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay!” That’s what his father had said when his mum was seen in floods of tears, coming out of the hospital room where Sammi was laid up. Within days Sammi was dead and the lie was shown for what it was. Nothing was going to be okay again and - without knowing it - their son’s future had been shaped. A future full of good intention but stuck in a dark, dark place.

I I I

Thirty years later and the young boy had grown into a professional man. Years of studying and hard work saw his promise of becoming a doctor pay off. After graduating, he found his perfect woman and the two of them moved to Sellersbury, a small town in Indiana. It was here that he opened his own practice and lived his life with the intention of helping all those around that needed him to do so.

To those who didn’t know him, he was a quiet man who liked his own space. If you were to say hello to him in the street, he would give you a nod back. If you were to try and engage him in a conversation, you would find it short and sweet but his expression always suggested he was a million miles away - lost in deep thought. You didn’t even have half of the attention he had to give. Instead - his mind was mulling over something entirely different. How can he help those who are deemed incurable? The people such as his sister who needed him the most. What could he do to find a one-vaccine-fixes-all drug? He knew it would exist. Anything was possible with the right combination of antibodies. It was just a question of which antibodies.

When the opportunity came to expand his business - he purchased the house across the street from where he worked. Morning would come and he would hurry from one building to the other, ready to start work. At the end of the day, he would dash back again.

His wife was happy because it meant she was never far from her husband. Sometimes - at lunch time - she would cross the street with a plate of sandwiches to ensure he ate properly. And nights when he worked late, catching up on paperwork, she would take his lunch over or simply go over there with her knitting. He would work away and she would sit there, quietly - just content to be in his company.

He liked it because he was very much driven by work. He had the luxury of an easy, stress-free commute and he was never far from the people that he wanted to help. Nor was he far from the ones who had no cure. The dead people walking; the ones who became his reluctant experiments.

Chapter Two

At the age of forty-three years - Rebecca, or Becky to her friends, had hoped she had moved house for the last time and yet here she was, with her husband Kevin, looking around yet another property. A large three storey building in Sellersburg.

“And of course it is a quiet town, perfect for raising your family!” the real estate woman, a haggard looking woman with buck teeth, was giving them the spiel unaware that Becky and Kevin already owned a properly in this very town and knew the area well. Nor did she know that they weren’t looking for a place to raise a family. Truth be told they didn’t even need to move. Kevin just liked the look of the property and had done so ever since he had first passed by it on the way to his job in the local UPS, picking the orders for their shipments. When he saw the advert come up, in the local press, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a look around - especially at the price they were asking for it. The real estate woman continued, “Did you know that the town doctor lived here many years ago?” she asked. “He had many years of happiness here - right up until his wife passed away,” she continued.

“Wait. What? Did she die in the house?”

“What? Oh God no.” The real estate woman said with another flash of her buck teeth as she forced a smile. “She died out there, in the street!” she pointed through the front door, where they were standing. “No haunted houses here,” she laughed. “Unless of course you go in for that kind of thing in which case you might be interested with what is on the third floor.” The woman pushed past Kevin, ready to lead the married couple on the tour of the house, starting with the living area. Kevin and Becky just looked at each other. Both of them were wondering whether this woman was for real or whether she was part of a show where a series of hidden cameras films the reactions of unsuspecting couples.

Knowing he was most likely in trouble for dragging Becky along to this, Kevin gave his wife a flash of a smile as he took hold of her hand; leading her through to the living area. The cheeky grin and the sparkle in his blue eyes, she couldn’t stay mad at him. Besides, it’s not as though she was even angry with being dragged here. She was just confused. She understood he liked the property, she also understood that it was cheaper than where they were currently living but was he really expecting to buy it?

“As you can see - the previous owner left some of his possessions here. You might be interested to know - he has no desire to take them with him either. So - for the asking price of the house - everything you see, you get!” the woman said with a grand, sweeping gesture of her arm pointing into the living room.

The first thing Kevin and Becky noticed was the grand piano.

“So you’re saying we buy a house and we get a grand piano for free?”

“That’s right,” the real estate woman beamed. “Do either of you play?”

“Well - no - but I do enjoy carving wood and I bet I can whittle that thing down in no time,” Kevin said. The woman laughed, unaware that he was being deadly serious. Becky shot him a glance in the hope it would be enough to make him behave. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure I can make you something nice out of it. Maybe a nice bookcase for all of your books…”

“You like to read?” the realtor asked - hoping to find a common interest to make her more of an option to purchase from.

“I do,” Becky’s answer was short and sweet.

“Who’s your favourite? I am a sucker for Stephen King. The way he builds his characters up, adding layer, upon layer… He is a true master of his craft.”

“He is,” Becky answered. Again, keeping it short and sweet.

“My wife prefers… Oh… What are their names… Matt Not Shaw and Iain Rob Wrong.”

“Excuse my husband, he’s being an idiot.”

“Okay then,” the realtor said - not really sure what she should be saying. She smiled and gestured back to the room, “As you can see - though - it’s not just the grand piano you’d be getting.”

The grand piano was the most eccentric thing in the room. Elsewhere there were what appeared to be family photos, pictures of what looked like office spaces, some kind of professional certificates, a couch, coffee table and wall-mounted television. None of it was exactly impressive but - at the same time - none of it looked to be very cheap either and, if it was free… Well… You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“And just through here is the kitchen,” the realtor led them through to the next room and Becky’s mouth must have dropped open in amazement. “I take it you like it then?” the woman asked - a look on her face suggesting she knew she’d already sold the house. She knew, you win the wife over and more than half the battle is won.

“I don’t know what to say…” said Becky.

“Quick - someone… Record this moment for me,” Kevin said to no one in-particular.

The kitchen was overly large and filled with all of the latest in kitchenware. It was hard to believe the house was on the market so cheap. Half of the stuff in this one room alone looked as though it had only recently been purchased. White goods such as a washing machine, tumble-dryer, oven, fridge-freezer, dishwasher - even a microwave tucked away on the corner of the worktop.

“And we get to keep all of this too?” Becky asked.

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “It really is a steal,” she said.

Kevin laughed, “So what’s the catch? Or did you guys miss a zero off the end of the price-tag when you put the advert in?”

“No catch,” the woman said with a smile. She walked back through to the hallway; a grand greeting area with stairs leading up to the second and third floor. She continued up the stairs, expecting the couple to follow. She only stopped when she realised they weren’t.

“What do you think?” Kevin asked Becky as they both continued looking around the living room.

“I’m thinking why would he not want his certificates of achievement?” Becky said, eyeing up one of the many framed certificates showing the old doctor’s various qualifications. Kevin walked up behind her and looked at it too, his arms wrapped around her waist in a sweet embrace.

“They’re probably duplicates put there for the sole purpose of showing off to his friends when they came over. He probably has loads.” He changed the subject back to what he was originally asking, “I meant what do you think about the house?”

Becky turned around in her husband’s embrace until she was facing him, “Why are we even here? We have a house. And it’s not even that far from here! I like our house!”

“You’ve seen the price. This is bigger than our house and much, much cheaper. This house is a steal. If we use our savings, get a second mortgage… We could buy this property easily,” he continued. “Keep our current house. We move in here, we rent out the second place. Think of it as a long-term investment.”

“Long-term? We’re in our forties. Those savings took us ages to get and it would take even longer to get them back now that I’m not working,” she continued, pulling away from his embrace and taking a step back. Becky hadn’t worked for a while now, due to poor health, but she used to work as a title clerk at a car dealership. It wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs but it had passed the time and she had enjoyed working with the people there. Had it not been for her health issues, she’d have most likely still been there.

“I’ll talk to the bank and see what they say. How’s about that?” Kevin asked. “If they think we can go for it, and they’re happy to lend us the rest of the money needed… I think we should do it.”

“Are y’all coming up? There’s so much more to see!” the realtor yelled down the stairs.

“Let’s just see what the rest of the house has to offer, shall we? There has to be a reason it’s so cheap.” Becky left the room. Kevin sighed, frustrated that she couldn’t see what a good opportunity this was. He followed after her, out of the living room and up the stairs where the realtor was waiting with that stupid, fake smile.

The upstairs of the house contained bedrooms and a bathroom. All rooms were full of furniture that - again - the realtor mentioned as not being wanted by the previous owner. It was the third floor that intrigued them though. The third floor of the three-storey house was one large room; perhaps a converted loft area? It was filled with old, tatty hospital beds.

“It was used as a makeshift hospital during a war,” the lady explained. “For some reason they never changed it back.” She laughed, “At least you have somewhere for guests to stay,” she said making light of it.

Becky looked around the room, as did Kevin. Neither knew what to make of what they were seeing. Becky had questions - such as why had it been left like this? Why wasn’t the room emptied and the space used for something else? She knew there was little sense in asking the woman though. It’s not as though she would have known the answers.

“Any questions?” the lady asked, clearly reading both Kevin and Becky’s expressions.

I I

A week had passed by since Kevin had dragged Becky around the house. He had pretty much made his mind up that he wanted it the moment he stepped foot over the threshold. In fact, it had been safe to say that he’d made his mind up the moment they had pulled up outside the property. Becky was less sure about it though. She liked their old white house with its welcoming porch. She had never felt uncomfortable there and - yes - they may have had some trying times in the house, but it had never anything that beat them. Whatever they went through, they worked together - a strong couple - to make sure everything was okay. Such as when Becky’s health issues flared up. They talked about it, as a couple, they came up with a plan for her to stop working and they continued with their lives. By themselves, they were strong people but - together - they were stronger. And yet here Kevin was, sitting opposite his bank manager, nervously watching him go through the spreadsheet Kevin had printed off earlier that morning.

“And you plan on renting out your currently property?” the bank manager said, without looking up from the paperwork.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I see.”

Kevin shifted in his chair as quietly as he could whilst the manager continued reading through the figures he’d been presented with. Each separate column, on the paper, showed a different expenditure; various bills that would need to be paid such as gas, electric, water. It also showed the mortgage repayments of the two properties.

There were other columns which showed income too; what Kevin pulled in from his job in the warehouse and what he hoped to bring in from renting out their old property.

“We decorated quite recently so the place looks in tip top condition,” Kevin said, breaking the awkward silence. “And I looked into what other houses in the area rent for and went in ever-so slightly under their asking price to ensure we’re competitive.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“It’s good for the tenants too because it means they get a good deal.”

“Yes. There is that.” He suddenly looked up. “What if you can’t rent it out?” he asked. “What if it sits on the market empty? Your income here doesn’t stretch to the two houses. What happens if you can’t get any tenants?”

“I have a little more in savings to tide us over,” Kevin said. “But - at the prices we’d put it up for - I am confident it won’t be an issue…”

“That maybe so but we need to look at every eventuality,” the manager shot him down. He smiled and looked back down at the figures.

“Well - okay - if we can’t manage it than we could sell our current house. The money we get from it will more than cover the small asking price for the new property. Chances are, I might replace all of my savings that I would need to use for the deposit too,” Kevin continued.

“I did see the price they were asking,” the manager continued. “Does that not concern you?” He looked up, “A house priced like that usually means there is work to be done somewhere.”

“I had surveyors go in and take a look around. They said it was structurally sound.”

The manager laughed, “You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, very much so.”

The way Kevin saw it - it was a win-win situation for him. If it worked then they could rent their current property out at a rate which would not only pay off that mortgage but also pay most of the money required for the second mortgage too. Moving forward, when they were sure it was going to work as he had imagined, he knew he’d be able to go part-time at work and spend more time with Becky. If it didn’t work then they could sell the older house and recoup the money they had invested in the new property. He didn’t understand why the price was so low and - to be frank - he didn’t care. He just presumed it was something silly like maybe the old doctor couldn’t stand to be in the property because he was heartbroken about his deceased wife. Too many painful memories so he moved out to another property and just wanted a quick sale.

“So what do you think?” Kevin pushed the manager for an answer.

“Well your figures look sound enough and your credit is at a good level…” he paused a moment. “We can do this,” he smiled and - in turn - Kevin smiled too.

“Really?”

“Yes. As you said - it looks to be a sound investment. To be honest, I’m a little jealous I didn’t spot it first,” the man laughed. “We’ll get the paperwork drawn up,” he stood up and extended his hand. Kevin took it and they shook. The deal was closed. Now all he had to do was explain to Becky that he’d done it. He had figured that he would talk to the bank first and then worry about talking her around. Besides, he just presumed she was worried that the bank would refuse them the second mortgage. With it in place, surely she had no reason to be upset - or think that it was a bad idea. As he kept saying, it was win-win.

Chapter Three

Becky was sitting down in the living room. Beside her was a book she had been reading before Kevin had interrupted her. Upturned and waiting to be picked up once more. In her hands now was the piece of paper Kevin had presented to her; an excited grin on his face.

“I don’t understand,” Becky said with a frown on her own face.

“They said yes.”

“Who?”

“The bank said yes!”

“A second mortgage?” she asked as she scanned down the paperwork. She looked up at her husband in disbelief. He nodded. “You went and asked for the money?” she continued. The smile dropped from his face at the hint of disappointment in her tone of voice. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to do this?” she asked.

“You were worried about the bank saying no. I worked on some figures, took over a proposal and showed them what I was planning. They were more than okay with it. Do you know what he said? He said he was disappointed he hadn’t thought of it first. My own bank manager said that. Our line of credit is good, my figures were spot-on… We can do this. We can make it work. You were worried about the bank manager saying no but he didn’t. He said yes. We can have the house!”

“I said no because I am happy here.” She tossed the paper to one side. “I like our house. It’s the right size for us. What the Hell are we going to do with all that room in the other place? It is a waste.”

“You can spend more time in the kitchen?” Becky raised an eyebrow as soon as he’d finished his sentence. His words had come out wrong. He wasn’t being sexist. He was referring to the fact that she loved to cook and - with a kitchen that size - she could spend all day and night in there, playing with ingredients, and still not run out of room to store her creations. Instead of explaining what he meant, he quickly changed the subject, “The dogs and cats… They’d love it there. Loads more room for them to run around.”

Becky and Kevin didn’t have children of their own but it hadn’t stopped them from getting a different sort of family. Three cats and two dogs made up their family. Two black cats named Boo Boo Bad Cat and Mouse, a tiger striped feline named Toby and then the dogs. Junior was a Weiner dog and Cole was their black shih-tzu. None of the animals were particularly large and Kevin knew it was a low shot, using them as an excuse to move. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“We really have nothing to lose,” Kevin said.

“But I don’t want to move!”

He sighed, “Okay then we stay here but we rent that property out. It will pay more than enough to cover the cost of the mortgage and - who knows - I might even be able to go part-time at work.” He felt it a fair compromise. Becky couldn’t really say anything since she didn’t work. It was through no fault of her own. Poor health could not be helped but she did feel guilty that he had to go to work whilst she stayed at home. If he could go part-time through making this purchase then he shouldn’t be denied the opportunity. He continued, “And if it doesn’t work out - we can put the house back on the market. We’ll definitely get our money back but - honestly - I think we could sell it for more than what is currently being asked…”

“It’s one thing to get the money back but I don’t think we will get a profit,” Becky said. She was right to point the risk of no profit out too. Had the house been worth more then surely the original owner would have wanted more for it in the first place. She didn’t buy into the whole story of him being desperate to be rid of it. In this day and age, people were out for as much as they could get no matter what they said. The house was cheap and - in Becky’s eyes - there had to be a reason as to why.

Kevin pushed on with the fact, “We wouldn’t come away with a loss though.”

“Look if you really want to do it, I won’t say no. But I don’t want to move. I’m happy in this house. And I don’t care what you say, the dogs don’t need a bigger area to run around in. They’re just as happy here as I am. But if you want to buy the house and use it as a rental property - fine.”

“Really? You mean that?”

“Well you’ve already agreed to the mortgage terms!” she pointed out.

Kevin had said ‘yes’ to his manager. All that was now required of him was to sign the paperwork and get it back into the office and then - just like that - the deal would be complete and the house would be theirs.

Kevin smiled, “So I can call the realtor and say yes then?” he asked just to be sure. That way - if things did go wrong - it was something they had both discussed and agreed upon. Becky’s response came in the form of a nod. Kevin leaned down to her and gave her a kiss on the forehead before disappearing into the other room, “I’ll call her now!”

Becky got up from her seat and walked through to the hallway, where the house phone was plugged into the wall. She watched as Kevin excitedly dialled the number and called the realtor up. She listened as he introduced himself and told her that he wanted to purchase the property; a large smile spread from ear to ear. He gave a thumbs up; the property was still available on the market. Becky’s heart sunk a little. She was fine with the idea of him trying to do something which brought in more income giving him the possibility of going part-time at work but - despite agreeing to the purchase - she wasn’t comfortable about it. The house was very cheap. And she had always been brought up with the belief that if something seemed too good to be true… It usually was.

“That’s that then,” Kevin said as he hung the phone up. Tomorrow, he’d take the signed paperback back to his bank manager and the process would begin. He walked over to his hesitant wife and put his arms around her. “You know we’re going to have to spend the night there, right? I mean, I’m not saying we will move in but… I wouldn’t mind having a night there just to see what it’s like. Be like a weekend away,” he said with a smile.

Becky didn’t say anything, hoping that her silence would be enough to convey the fact she wasn’t keen on the idea. To Kevin it would be their house and their investment but to Becky - the fact that it was filled with another person’s belongings - it would never feel like home. To her, it would just feel as though she were sleeping in another person’s bed.

End of Part One

Cures from insects and other creatures

Throughout the years creatures have been used within the medical profession with varying degrees of success. The following is not a comprehensive list of all available remedies supposedly found in non-human life. It is merely an example of what is out there and how it is used.

Leeches:

If you were to look back through history there are many documented cases of leeches being used within the world of medicine. They were widely used up until this century for many medical conditions, including tonsillitis and piles. Most people associate the use of these bloodsucking worms around medieval time but - as previously mentioned - they were used much later with some doctors using them right up through the 1930s and 1940s. Their use then died out but interest was reignited in the 60s.

In the last ten to fifteen years, their usefulness to treat certain ailments came back into ‘fashion’ and - during the last five years - the use of leeches has, once again, taken off. So popular have they become, in fact, that a specialist farm has been set up in Swansea. This farm sells approximately fifteen thousand leeches to the NHS every year. It exports a further fifteen thousand - a year - around the world.

Some people believe they were no longer used due to an image problem. Not many patients wish to go to the doctors only to be prescribed a jar of leeches to be applied to the skin x amount of days and who can blame them?

However leeches are particularly useful in plastic surgery - such as breast reconstruction - or where a part of a body has become severed and needs to be sewn back on. This is because - at the wound - a patient’s veins can be too weak to take the blood away from the body part and so the blood builds up, causing ‘venous congestion’. By applying leeches to the area, the blood could be drawn away from the area. There would be no pain to the patient due to the fact there is anaesthetic within the bug’s saliva. Thanks to the leech, and its greed to suck on blood, the re-attached body part would survive until the veins were strong enough to work for themselves.

A recent case involved leeches and a man who severed his own penis - for whatever reason. The leeches were attached to his member and the blood drained away until his veins were strong enough to continue circulating the blood without the need for leeches to be attached anymore.

A leech can take up to ten times its bodyweight in blood. When they are full, they fall off and are replaced with another. A patient may need up to thirty of them to help drain blood away. Whilst you may squirm at the idea of having such a procedure yourself - when faced with the possibility of losing a limb, or more operations, many people do a U-Turn and welcome the idea with open arms.

The most welcoming patients are children. Most children - according to records and feedback - often find themselves giving the leeches individual names. Their friends and family, however, are not so keen to see the creatures doing their work. Adults are also not as keen to see their helpers at work and it is with them in mind that doctors in Philadelphia developed a plastic shield to keep the leeches hidden and kept where they were meant to be. After all, never minding the fact some people did not want to see them, it wouldn’t do much good if the leech were to move to another area.

It is not just the bloodsucking capabilities used by leeches. As previously mentioned their saliva also has medicinal uses. It prevents clotting and is being used in several new drugs. One such drug treats patients who have had a stroke, often due to blood clots in the brain. These new drugs are believed to have less side effects than other anti-clotting drugs available.

Dried Centipede:

A quick look on Google highlights many exotic insects available to purchase online for medical purposes. One of them being that of ‘dried centipede’. This supposedly fixed lock-jaw. It is not commonly available from your local hospital or offered by doctors so it is arguable that it actually works.

Venom sac of ants from the genus Pseudomyrmex triplarinus:

A little bit of a mouthful and in need of a name change if it is truly to take off. These long, thin, reddish ants, from the Bolivian Amazon, are thought to have healing qualities. So much so, in fact, that the US patented the chemicals from the ants. The patent reads as the heading of this section.

When injected into a patient, the patient feels a remission of pain and other symptoms. Trails show the venom contains a new class of anti-inflammatory proteins and a process has been developed and patented for cluttering the venom gland cells of the insects, which could provide a route to the production of the active components. One of the medical conditions it is known to help? Arthritis.

As mentioned, the above are just three examples but there are many, many more cases of non-human life containing compounds which could help medical cases. Unfortunately very few insect derived pharmaceutical products have made it through the clinical trials phase, and into sales, but there are a few start-ups out there who view the possibilities of insect pharmaceuticals as strong. So much so that these companies have made them their sole focus. Many people do not believe this to be a bad move. After all - scientists look at plants for their potential to find healing compounds but the truth of the matter is these are the minority player in the planet’s biodiversity. Insects produce complex suites of chemicals. They make them for the same reason as the plants do: Defense, mating, communication, medicine and other processes which help them survive. But they are more diverse than plants, meaning they contain a much greater diversity of chemical compounds too…

But what if scientists are looking at things too closely? What if the answer really is simpler - such as the use of leeches to help with medical treatments? There’s no dissecting involved, there’s no long process of trying to draw the chemicals from the creature. They just use the leech as it is.

* * * * *

The patient screamed.

PART TWO

“Kevin”

Chapter Four

I opened my eyes.

A blinding headache pounding through my skull.

What the Hell happened?

Where am I?

I tried to sit but couldn’t. My wrists and ankles seemingly held down by something. I looked down. I’m in bed. Not my bed. Some kind of hospital bed? Wrists and ankles bound to the metal railings on the sides of the bed by bright metal cuffs. What the fuck is this?

Where the fuck am I?

I screamed out, “Hello?! What’s going on?!”

Someone screamed from within the building - wherever the Hell I was. A scream of pain, I think. Not an answer to my own yell.

I called out, “Hello?! Is anyone out there?!”

I knew there was someone out there. I just didn’t know who. The person screaming sounded male. Where’s Becky? Where’s my wife? Is she here with me? Here?! Where is here?!

“Becky!” I screamed out.

Another scream from beyond my own room.

What the fuck is going on?

I tried pulling my wrists up to my face in a lame effort to break away from the railings. All I succeeded in doing was hurting myself; the metal cuffs digging into the skin and cutting it open - a little blood trickling from each wrist.

I screamed out again, “Becky!”

A third scream from elsewhere as I started shaking my wrists back and forth, and kicking my feet. Metal on metal. Neither piece giving any room for movement or coming close to breaking away from the bed. I stopped struggling. Something in my head telling me that I’m going to need my strength. Whatever is happening, it’s not good. I’m going to need to be strong. Even so - one final kick with my feet. Still no give in the cuffs or the railings. I’m here until whoever has put me here decides otherwise.

Here?!

I still have no idea where here is.

I looked around the room. It’s empty. No carpet, just floorboards stained over time. The walls were bare. What little paint had been on them was peeling away in flecks. There was one window in the room and that had been boarded up with wood… A flicker in my brain. I knew that window. I knew it. I had seen it before.

#

“Aren’t you a little bit excited?” I asked Becky as I slid the key into the yale lock on the front door. I couldn’t believe how straight-faced and neutral she was being about this. I had been like a kid at Christmas ever since the house sale had gone through and finally - what seemed like ages after starting the process - we finally had the key to let ourselves in for a proper look around, without the stuffy realtor lady watching over our shoulders whilst kissing our asses; telling us what a sound investment it was.

“I don’t see why we need to spend the night here, it’s weird.” Becky said.

I looked at her, unsure of whether she was being serious or not. The way she was behaving, you’d have thought she wasn’t up for this. You’d have thought she hated the idea and yet she had given me the go ahead to do this. We were in it together. I turned my attention back to the lock and twisted the key, releasing the latch in the process. As I pushed the door open, I pulled the key out and slid it into my pocket before bending down to pick up the overnight bag. I stepped into the house and flicked the hallway light on. It was obvious, from walking in, that the first thing we’d need to do would be to open the windows and doors and let some air in here. Despite the price being so low, the house had sat on the market for long enough for a damp smell to fester throughout the rooms. No worry though, a good airing should clear that. If not we could get some of the plug-in air fresheners. Mask the smell until someone moves in. Once someone was living here, the smell would subside anyway.

I turned back to the doorway, conscious of the fact Becky hadn’t come in.

“You coming?” I called back to her.

No response.

Oh, good, the silent treatment.

I walked back to the porch to see what she was doing. She was standing there, staring across to the other side of the road - transfixed by the building opposite. I glanced over; nothing out of the ordinary. Just a derelict building by all accounts. It used to be the doctor’s surgery but I guess it was left to rot ever since he moved on with his life. Certainly nothing to capture someone’s attention like it had caught Becky’s.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I thought I saw someone,” she said.

I looked back over at the building and paid more attention. There was no one over there. There was nothing moving to suggest Becky had seen anything either.

“Probably just a trick of the light or something,” I said. “Nothing to worry about. Come on, I’m dying to take a proper look around…” I took her hand and led her into the house, closing the door behind us.

#

The building opposite our new home. But how did I get here?

“Hello?” I called out again. “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?!” I yelled.

It’s okay. Stop panicking. This is just a prank. Someone being an idiot. Maybe put up to it by Becky. Yeah. That’s it. That must be it. A silly little prank as revenge for purchasing the house. A little pay-back.

“Okay - very funny - you got me,” I called out to whoever was listening. “Enough is enough. Come and let me out now.”

I paused, waiting for an answer. Even the other person - the one screaming - had gone quiet now. I knew they were there though. I knew someone was out there listening to me.

“Did you hear me?” I called out.

Maybe the closed door is really thick wood and the walls are solid brick? It’s not that they were ignoring me, or even messing with me - they just hadn’t heard me. That would explain it.

I shouted louder, “I SAID YOU GOT ME! VERY FUNNY! … HELLO?!”

No answer. At least, no one speaking to me. Just that scream again. It dawned on me that if I could hear that so clearly, they’d have been able to hear me too. The walls weren’t too thick. I was being ignored.

I violently pulled my ankles and wrists against the railings once more out of frustration. So many questions bouncing through my head, the main one being - what am I doing here? And my heartbeat quickened once more having previously settled a little.

Stop.

Calm yourself.

There’s little point in getting upset. You need to conserve your energy for whatever happens next. And something will be about to happen. Whoever has put you here… They won’t just leave you to rot. They’ll reveal themselves eventually and - when they do - I will play it cool. I’ll lull them into a false sense of security, pretend I’m no threat to them and - then - when they let me out, I’ll hurt them. I’m not a violent person but I’m not usually cornered like this.  For now though, I just need to bide my time.

The same person screamed out from within the building once more. I strained - listening carefully to the tones in the voice. It definitely isn’t Becky. There’s no way. I’ve never heard her scream to the extent that person is and - yes - it could make your voice sound slightly different when straining that hard but… It isn’t her. It’s someone else.

A second question in my head, what has happened to Becky?

Is she okay?

Is she even here with me?

An uncomfortable flooding of adrenaline as my body tried to force me into fighting the restraints once more. They hadn’t budged beforehand but it didn’t mean I didn’t weaken them significantly. Go on, my body shouted as it flooded my veins once more, give it another go. One more struggle.

I closed my eyes tight and blocked out the thoughts despite everything within me telling me to give it one more go. Just give it one more go and you’ll be free… Liar. I won’t get out. The restraints are too tough. The side of the bed too rigid. The desperation in the sound of the other person’s voice telling me that whoever has me here is too well-practised in keeping people where they want them to be.

If Becky is here, I’ll find her before I get out of here. Until then, I can’t think of her. I can’t imagine her stuck in a similar position. I can’t think of the fear rushing through her as she struggles to understand what has happened too. I can’t think of it and yet I can’t stop myself from doing exactly that.

Come on… Think about something else.

“How did you get here?” I asked myself out loud; hearing my voice ask the question making it more of a ‘thing’ to answer as opposed to another fleeting thought bouncing around in my head. “How did you get here?”

#

“I don’t know, I think we should leave it like this. It’s part of the town’s history!” I said, looking around the third floor of the building; hospital beds all lined up in the old make-shift ward. Becky was just looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“It’s creepy.”

“Come on, I thought you liked the horror and macabre.”

“This is just creepy. The fact that the guy who owned the place was the doctor - and everything else in this house is so normal looking… I don’t know… I can picture him doing all kinds of experiments up here.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She was looking at it in a completely different light to me. But then, I guess that is what happens when you have a mind geared towards enjoying horror. You have a more active imagination to pick up on things like that. To me, it was just an old hospital ward - a room used in an effort to save people. There was nothing evil about it. If anything it was good. Someone was so desperate to help, in any way they could, they had allowed the top of their home to be converted. It was admirable.

“You can’t leave it like this if you ever want to rent the place out,” Becky said. “It’s probably why it was on the market for so long. You realise that, don’t you? People were creeped out by it.”

“So - what? You want me to empty all of the beds?” I glanced back into the room. Eight beds in total. Four on either side of the room. Even if I were to empty it, what the hell would I do with them all? Do things like that go on eBay? Collection only? “I think it will draw people. It’s an interesting feature…”

“It will draw people to look, maybe. It won’t draw them to move in. They’ll be thinking exactly what I am thinking now.”

“And what’s that?”

“Who died in here?”

“What?”

“Who died in here. These are hospital beds. Despite the best efforts of doctors and nurses, sometimes they lose people. They can’t help it. It just works out that way. I guarantee you, someone died in this house. And I’m not talking about the doctor’s wife who supposedly died outside of the building. I mean, someone actually died in this very building. Granted it could be a few years ago but, yep, someone died. Maybe even a few people.”

I looked back into the room. I hadn’t given it as much thought as Becky clearly.

“Okay,” I suggested, “here’s what we can do - we can change the bedding.”

“Change the bedding?”

I nodded, “Single beds, we could put children’s bedding on them. Turn it from a hospital room into that of an orphanage. During the war, this house was used as a safe haven for children. That won’t put people off from staying here. If anything, it will encourage them to move in. If it was safe enough for kids - during darker days - it would be safe for families now.”

I felt like giving myself a pat on the back. It was a sound suggestion. Becky’s face suggested otherwise but - the way I saw it - it was the best of the three options so far. She didn’t want to leave it as a hospital room, I didn’t know how to dispose of the beds and I stand by my thoughts of turning it into a bright, friendly children’s room.

Eventually Becky shrugged, “This is your baby. You do what you feel best but you know what I think.”

Dangerous ground right there. On the one hand it looked as though Becky were leaving it to me but the truth was - she wanted me to get rid of the beds. I can do what feels best but I know what she thinks. A clear hidden message, right there. Get rid of them or have arguments further down the line. Even so, despite the message being clear, I couldn’t be seen to back down so quickly.

“I’ll have a sleep on it,” I said.

Already, in my head, I was trying to figure out how to get rid of the beds.

#

We went to bed soon afterwards. The last thing I remember is being under the duvet - taken from our own home because Becky didn’t want to use the one already in the house - and we were having a conversation about what to keep in the house and what to bin. The beds were already going. That much was a given, not that I had confessed the plans to her yet, but - other than that we hadn’t discussed much else to do with the furniture. Until we climbed into bed that is. We’d agreed to keep most of it. Becky had said that - if we were moving in - she would want it gone but the fact we were renting the place out… It saved us from having to go out and buy more. In fact, the only thing we agreed to dispose of were the various pictures and medical certificates dotted around the home. And even then, we weren’t going to bin them, we were going to put them in a box and store them somewhere safe. Just in case the doctor wanted them back at any point. Yes, we were told he didn’t want them but it didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind. And to bin something that could have held a lot of sentimental value to someone? It seemed wrong. Ungrateful even, given he had left everything else for us.

That night sleep came quickly for the pair of us. I was hot so turned the air conditioning unit on to a decent temperature. Not soon after - Becky was sound asleep and then… So was I.

And then I woke up here.

“HELLO?!” I screamed out once more.

My housemate screamed.

Chapter Five

Time had stood still. No clocks on the wall and my wrist at such an angle - bound to the side of the bed - that I couldn’t make out the digits on the watch face. I had long since given up shouting out, hoping to hear a friendly voice… Or any voice for that matter. Any voice that wasn’t a scream, that is.

Save my voice.

Save my strength.

Keep telling myself over, and over again, that someone will be coming for me. People don’t just kidnap people and lock them away to leave them to rot. Not without telling them that that is what they are going to be doing anyway. A sadistic grin on their face as they whisper to the trapped person what they have planned for them, that they are going to lie on the bed until they eventually starve to death. It’s how these sick sons of bitches get their kicks.

I just had to be patient.

My ears suddenly pricked up at the sound of heavy footsteps on wooden floorboards beyond the doorway. Someone was heading this way. Loud, deliberate steps.

“Hello?! In here!” I called out.

My heart rate increased as my mind started playing through various possibilities of who it could be. It’s Becky, playing a prank. It’s some madman with an axe. It’s a police officer who has found me in the nick of time.

The handle twisted and the door creaked out.

It’s… a doctor?

An elderly man dressed in a long white lab coat. Black trousers underneath with a white, buttoned shirt and red tie. A biro in the top pocket of his coat and a blue clipboard under his arm with some kind of printed sheet pinned in place.

“Good morning,” he said. A smile on his face. Yellow teeth. “Did you have a pleasant sleep?”

“Who are you? Where’s Becky? What is this place?”

“And how are you feeling today?” he asked, ignoring my questions.

I suddenly stopped repeating the same questions over and over as I took a minute to actually look at him. I recognised him. I had seen that face before. There had been an uncertain familiarity when he had first walked into the room, a sense that I had seen him somewhere, but I couldn’t place it until now.

#

I walked into the living room. Becky was sitting at the grand piano. Her hands on the keys as though she were desperate to play it. She used to play but - recently - her hands just didn’t seem to have it in them. Despite sitting at the piano, her eyes were fixed on the pictures hanging on the wall next to the medical certificates.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Just looking…”

I walked across to the pictures. The previous owners; the doctor standing there with his wife with their arms interlocked and smiling. It looks as though it’s a holiday snap, taken in some deep jungle somewhere exotic.

“Why wouldn’t you want to take your pictures with you?” Becky asked. “It’s strange.”

I shrugged, “Maybe they’re too painful for him to look at? Maybe, like the certificates, he has duplicates somewhere? I don’t know.” I changed the subject, “In the morning I need to go and pick up a key to one of the rooms here. I phoned the realtor and they have it in their office. Just forgot to give it to us earlier,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Found a locked door. No key! Always a bit of a problem,” I said.

“Okay. Did you want me to come?”

“Up to you.”

The office wasn’t too far away from the house so it didn’t really make much difference if she came with me, or stayed at the house. A little part of me hoped she would stay at the house. I know she wasn’t a fan of it here, at least not as much of a fan as I was - but if she stayed here a little while, alone - she might warm to it. Ideal scenario for me would be to come back here with the key and find that she has changed her tune on the property; gone from loathing it to loving it and wanting to move in. Doubtful, I know, but… Didn’t stop me from holding out hope.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she changed the subject, “Can you take those pictures down? He kind of gives me the creeps.”

I nodded and reached over to the pictures, lifting them - one by one - from their hooks. “I know what you mean. I’m not sure I would have liked him as my doctor.”

#

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” he said. His thin, cracked lips spread into what he must have considered to be a smile. He was standing at my side with pen poised over the paper on the clipboard, ready to write some notes.

“Nothing is wrong with me!” I hissed. “Fuck you! Let me out of these!” I struggled against the restraints. “Where’s my wife?”

“If you mean the lady who came in with you, she is in another room waiting for her pre-assessment. The sooner I am done with you, the sooner I can get to help her. So, if we can start?” He turned the clipboard round so that I could see what was written on the paper. “Can you confirm these details are true?”

The son of a bitch had everything about me scribbled down on a piece of paper. My name, my address (both of them), where I work, my date of birth, my damned social security number, cell phone and home number.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing but I don’t need help. I’m not unwell,” I told him - trying to keep calm so as not to piss him off. Given the fact I can’t move, it probably wouldn’t make much sense to anger him. Not when I couldn’t defend myself.

“A simple yes or no will suffice,” he shook the clipboard, pulling my attention back to what he was showing me.

“Yes.”

“That’s good. It’s important our records are up to date.”

He set the clipboard on the bed, next to me, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a plastic bracelet and jotted something down on it with his pen. Setting the biro to one side, he reached across and secured the plastic bracelet to my wrist. It spelled out my name and date of birth.

“You have the wrong person,” I tried telling him. “I’m not unwell. I shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s a sobering thought but we’re all dying. It’s my job - and the job of my colleagues - to stop that from happening…” he said.

Colleagues? Was he speaking of the medical industry as a whole or did he mean there were other people here, helping him do whatever it was he was trying to do.

“… It’s thanks to people like you that we’re able to test various procedures in an ongoing effort to push medicines to the next level.”

“I haven’t agreed to this. I haven’t signed up for any of this. You touch me and I will fucking sue you,” I hissed.

“If you didn’t sign, we wouldn’t have you here with us,” he told me. His tone was very matter of fact.

“You’re insane! I haven’t signed up to be part of any tests! I wouldn’t! Let me out of here. You have the wrong person!”

The doctor smiled and tapped the clipboard on the bed, “Apparently I have the right person,” he said with a wink.

“You’re a piece of shit!” I struggled against the restraints again.

“So - if you’re quite done - let us begin. What seems to be the problem?”

I didn’t know what to say to him. Other than a slight headache, and being stuck here, there wasn’t a problem. I was of good health, as I kept telling him; I was fine. I am fine. I hesitated, still unsure as to what to say. He was just looking at me with thick eyebrows raised high.

He repeated, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“A headache! I have a headache!” I blurted out.

It was clear he wasn’t going to take ‘nothing is wrong’ as an answer so I said whatever came to mind just to shut him up and move on. People get headaches every day, it doesn’t necessarily mean it is anything serious and most doctors are quick to dismiss them unless accompanied by other symptoms or if they have been going on for longer than a day.

“There’s nothing else wrong with me. I just have a headache. Probably to do with stress or tiredness,” I said. ‘More likely a combination of both.”

“Headaches can be a miserable pain to deal with,” the doctor said as he lifted the clipboard and started jotting down some notes. “Any dizziness? Loss of appetite? How’s your vision been? And whereabouts is the pain? To the side or more central?” a quick burst fire of questions.

“It’s just a headache,” I repeated.

“I once knew of a young boy who went to school with just a stomach ache. Towards the end of the day, he was rushed to hospital with appendicitis. Had it been left much longer, his appendix would have exploded and he would have been in a serious amount of trouble. The moral of the story - if you’re unwell, it’s always better to get it checked out when given an opportunity to do so.” He finished writing something down on the paper and then tossed the clipboard back down onto the bed. “I’m going to admit you to the ward to run some more tests, just to be on the safe side. If there is anything there, you’ll thank me. If there is not - I shall discharge you.” He smiled. “How’s your healthcare?” He laughed as he walked to the top of the bed. With a hand on either side, he kicked some kind of release under the bed. Suddenly he swivelled the bed around so that I was facing the other wall and - more specifically - a large set of double doors.

He pushed me through them. Immediately I was greeted with the sight of a woman, lying on a bed against the far wall. As I was, she was restrained with some kind of mirror set-up hanging before her face - pointing her own reflection right back at her. She screamed at the sound of us entering the room.

The doctor pushed me until I was lined-up next to the other patient. The bed clanged against the wall, sending a jolt down my back and causing her to scream again.

“I’m terribly sorry about your room-mate but we do not have private wards here. The poor girl is hysterical but - don’t worry - we’re doing all we can to help her.”

His words were of no comfort as he walked around to her bed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a long syringe. Without a second’s hesitation, he stuck it into her arm. Her screaming quietened before stopping completely. She was out cold.

I watched as the doctor put the needle back in his pocket.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you will understand that I am a busy man and have my rounds to make but rest assured I will be as quick as I possibly can. Once they’re out of the way - we can begin treatment.”

And with that he left the room. I turned to my room-mate. Why did he have to knock her out? I’m sure she might have been in a better position to answer some of the many questions bouncing through my mind. I laid there, in the near-silence, wishing for her to wake up.

End of Part Two

The Other Patient

Her name was Tammy Vartanian. Her picture had been in the news, on and off, over the last few months since she disappeared from her home town, Oro Valley.

Oro Valley is situated at the base of the Catalina Mountains and is widely regarded as an upscale suburb of Tucson. It was the sort of place where - if you needed a cop - they’d have been there within minutes. When talking about the speed with which the police respond there, some people have jokingly said that it is because they have nothing else to do as it is rare for anything to happen there.

Tammy lived with her fiancé, Mike, and one of her sons - Jake. She had two other sons, Jarret and Jason - twenty-five and twenty-one years of age respectively and both living elsewhere. Along with Mike and Jake, she also lived with the usual household full of pets; two dogs and one cat. A tidy little home with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office - all on one floor - and a decent sized back yard for the dogs to play in.

Her story had remained in the news because people from her neck of the woods didn’t just up and vanish. Especially when they were in a loving relationship, with children, and a good job (she worked as an x-ray technician). There was no history of depression, there was no evidence of an affair. She had just simply upped and disappeared; she had not used her credit cards, she had not used her phone since calling home in the evening of the day she vanished and her bank had confirmed there’d been no activity on her account since the day she had dropped communication.

The hospitals - all presented with her picture on the off-chance she had been admitted as a Jane Doe - yielded no success in finding her either. Her case had all the tell-tale signs of someone who had been abducted, or worse - with the body just lying somewhere, waiting to be discovered by some poor passerby - not that the officer in charge of the case had told her anxious partner this. When asked, he simply said he was doing all he could to find her.

All Mike knew was that the longer she was missing, the less chance she was coming back to him alive. A thought he tried to dismiss as much as possible. He didn’t want to think like that. He didn’t want to lose hope that she would just - one day - walk through the front door as though she had never been missing in the first place.

The way it stood at the moment was there were no suspects. The person who had been asked the most probing questions was Mike; how was the relationship? Was he having an affair? Did he suspect she was? All questions had drawn a blank. The only one which offered the possibility of a lead was: How was she on the morning she went missing?

She had been in high spirits. She had a week off work and - because Mike didn’t and needed to work - she had decided to visit her cousin, who happened to be her best friend, Ann. She lived in Iowa and they spoke at least once a week. Whenever she had the chance she made the trip across the States to see her but it wasn’t as much as she would have liked; so when the opportunity did arise she tended to be hyped about it.

Tammy never made it to her cousin’s.

Approximately, it was a twenty-two hour journey which - when driving - Tammy tended to split into two. The police had managed to get into her emails in order to check the hotel bookings. Calling the reception desk revealed the fact that Tammy had both checked-in and out of the hotel and - not just that - she had been alone at the time.

From there, despite appealing for witnesses and information via the various news stations, the trail had gone cold. Mike did not give up hope of finding her though, and neither had her children, all of whom were doing their part to try to find her and - more importantly - bring her home…

* * * * *

“Where am I?” Tammy asked.

PART THREE

“Tammy”

Chapter Six

I struggled to open my eyes, blinking a few times to try and clear my fogged vision.

I feel sick.

The mirror - hanging above me - tells me I look sick too.

More wrinkles.

Heavier bags.

Pale.

“Are you awake?” a voice to my side. A man.

I tried to twist my neck round to see but the clamp keeps me held in place.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“My name is Kevin,” he said.

I wasn’t sure whether he was someone here to mock me further, put here for the amusement of the man who was keeping me here, or whether he was someone like me; trapped against their will. I want to keep my guard up but I’m desperate to hear the voice of someone friendly. I’m desperate to have someone to talk to who can take my mind from what is happening. The fear and solitude chipping away daily at my sanity.

“Where am I?” I asked him.

“I think we’re in the old surgery,” the man answered.

I couldn’t help but cry. I closed my eyes to escape from my reflection; frustrated at how pathetic I looked despite knowing I had every reason to look that way.

I asked him to clarify, “But where’s that? Where am I?”

There was a slight pause before he said, “Sellersburg.”

“Indiana?” I had been headed for Iowa. How did I get to Indiana? Was there another Sellersburg?

“Yes.”

I thought it would make things easier - knowing where I was - but it brought no comfort. If anything it just made everything seem that little more hopeless by reminding me how far I was from my family.

“You’re not from around here?” the man asked.

I tried to shake my head, temporarily forgetting it was held in place by the metal clamps pushing uncomfortably on either side of my temple. “No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Arizona,” I answered. Even if he was part of what I was going through - a friend of the sick bastard keeping me here - it didn’t matter if he knew where I was from. They already had all the information on me anyway.

“Long way from home,” he muttered.

I don’t think he meant to remind me how far away I was from the people I knew and loved. I think he meant it as just a general statement. I didn’t answer him either way. There was nothing I could say. At least, there was nothing I could say that would lead to anything worthwhile.

“Is your head locked in position too?” I asked him, curious to know if he was going through the same treatment as me. I couldn’t see from the corner of my eye and the reflection on the mirror above literally let me see my face only.

“No. Just my wrists and ankles.”

“Why is he doing this?” I asked despite knowing this stranger wouldn’t have the answers either.

“I don’t know.”

I tried to suck back the tears as they continuing snaking their way down the side of my face and onto the pillow underneath me.

“How long have you been here?” the man asked after a few minutes silence.

“I don’t know,” I told him. A genuine answer and not just trying to be difficult.

The only window in here was completely boarded up allowing very little light to spill through. Pretty much as soon as I had woken up, I had lost track of the time and it was never something I asked when that man did come in here. I was too busy crying - like an idiot - or asking what he wanted from me.

“Has he said anything? Has he tried anything?” the man started asking the questions. No doubt he was as much in the dark about how he had got here - and why - as I had been when I first arrived.

“He’s only said he is looking at the ageing process. That’s why the mirror is set up,” I told him - trying to keep from crying out again. “I look at it every day and every day I have to report back to him what has changed in my appearance… Sometimes he comes in and applies some creams, some days he doesn’t. There seems to be no real pattern…”

The man - Kevin, wasn’t it? - didn’t say anything. He just laid there, on his bed, in silence.

“Has he said anything to you?” I asked him.

He cleared his throat, “He kept asking me how I was feeling and what was wrong. In the end I told him I had a headache just to shut him up.”

“You shouldn’t have said anything, he might have let you go,” I pointed out.

I hadn’t had that question when I first found myself here. He had simply told me that he was looking at the ageing process. There were no options, no alternatives. This was what he was doing whether I liked it or not. I almost envied Kevin for being given a choice; a possible way out of this nightmare. He said he didn’t have much of a choice but to answer but… I don’t know… I would have kept saying nothing was wrong over and over again until I was blue in the face.

“He had no intention of letting me go,” Kevin said, breaking my train of thoughts.

We both fell into an uncomfortable silence - neither one of us knowing what to say to the other, either for comfort or conversation to break the atmosphere. I was bad enough when it came to meeting strangers. In my job I tended to take people into a room and then step out whilst I took their X-Rays. Conversation - other than the very basics - wasn’t necessary. As bad as it sounds - I actually felt a little out of practice. Even in circumstances such as these. What are we supposed to talk about? The weather? What’s happening in the latest bout of reality shows?

“What’s your name?” he asked me eventually.

“Tammy.”

I heard him shift his weight in the bed as he moved around. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him straining to get a look at my face.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“I’m not married but my fiancé is Mike.”

“Yes. And you have children, yeah? One of them… What was his name…. Was it Jake?”

“Yes,” I said. “Jarret, Jason and Jake - my boys…”

“They’re looking for you!” Kevin said. “They’ve been all over the news. All of them. They’re out there and they're looking for you… Jesus Christ… You’ve been here for ages… At least a month… I’m sure of it. Every other week there seems to be a new appeal to try and find you…”

His words should have offered me some comfort. My family were out there and they were looking for me. They hadn’t given up on me. However, his words offered little in the way of comfort. They were out there - yes - but, in all this time, they hadn’t found me. How much longer was it before they gave up completely?

I started to cry again at the thought of them out there, looking.

“It’s okay,” he told me, trying to calm me down. “They’ll find us. You have to believe they’ll find us. Don’t give up hope…”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better but he hadn’t seen the bigger picture the way I had. He had just taken hold of the fact that someone was out there looking. He hadn’t taken into consideration how long it had been since they started their search. It had been at least a month - he said. A month and they were no closer to finding me. The longer I was here, the less chance they’d succeed. For all we knew, the last appeal Kevin saw could have been the last one to run.

“How did you get here?” he asked, changing the subject. I’m not sure whether this was a tactic used to try and calm me down or whether he was genuinely curious.

* * * * *

I hadn’t intentionally left it to chance; to the possibility of the hotel having a small tube of travel-sized toothpaste in the room upon my arrival. I always meant to pack my own, I just forgot and of course the hotel didn’t have one in the room. Not a budget hotel like this. With the price I had paid, I was lucky that it had a complete roof and a lock on the door with a relatively stain-free bedding set.

I had driven my car to the local store. It wasn’t a Walmart but given the state of the place, and the braindead staff running the tills, it may as well have been. Still - I only needed toothpaste and, even though the majority of the customers who came here were missing teeth, I’m sure it would be for sale at a reasonable price.

Still thinking about the teeth of the customers I had seen (stained heavily or just missing) I was surprised to find the toothpaste down the fourth aisle. I had presumed it would have been tucked away somewhere, out back. Hence the lack of dental hygiene in this place. But no, management were clearly trying to help their customers by putting it somewhere it could be easily found. Either that or the braindead staff were putting their least selling items at the front of the store - encouraging them to be seen more by the customers as they looked for their beer and donut supplies. In a place like this, you never can tell.

I grabbed the cheapest small tube of paste that I could find. I only needed it for the hotel and for while I was staying at Ann’s house as I had enough at home to last us a good few weeks. Mission accomplished, I turned towards the end of the aisle and stopped dead in my tracks. My sight caught by a small tub of anti-ageing cream in the hand of an elderly man. I stifled a laugh as it dawned on me that he was coming to that product far too late for it to be of any use! Even so, it didn’t stop him from being completely absorbed in the packaging material, seemingly reading every bit of information offered.

“You okay there?” I asked.

I might not have worked in the shop but considering I am paranoid about ageing, it’s fair to say I probably know more about these creams than most of the staff who worked there.

The elderly man looked up at me and smiled.

“I was just looking, thank you.”

“That’s not a very good one if you’re looking to treat the wife to a tub,” I told him.

“Oh?”

“I don’t think there is anything in there which makes a difference to the skin. I tried it for about a month and - look - still have a few lines…” I pointed to my face.

Ageing is one of my biggest fears. That and heights. I hate the idea of getting older. Not only do you change but it’s the whole thought of someday being dead. I am fifty-two years old and I’ve had a good enough life. Some things could have been better but, considering the hands some folk are dealt … It could have been much worse too. I know the creams offered do not stop the ageing process but if they can lull you into a false sense of security by keeping you looking young for as long as possible… Well… Sign me up.

I reached across to the shelf next to the gentleman and picked him another tub.

“Try this one. I mean, I’m not convinced any of them are that good but… This is probably one of the more respected brands.”

He thanked me and started reading the back - captivated by the active ingredients. He set the first tub he had chosen back on the shelf as I started to walk away.

“You seem to know your stuff?” he said, stopping me in my tracks.

“I don’t want to age so…” I laughed, a little embarrassed, “I’ve tried most of them.”

He smiled at me sympathetically. If anyone knew about ageing, it would have been him. “Wouldn’t it be nice if some non-profit organisation came out with a way of stopping people from appearing to age?” he said.

I smiled, “That would be the Golden Ticket.”

“One day,” he said with a wink.

I smiled again, “Well, have a good day.”

And - with that - I about turned and continued towards the check out. Given the look of the staff, milling around aimlessly, I think I will use the self-service check out…

* * * * *

I played the scenario through in my head again and again. At first I was unsure whether it had really happened like that; whether the old man was actually my captor. I couldn’t help but think that maybe my brain had put him in the memory because the man in the shop was one of the last I remember talking to but then… Given this person wants to investigate the ageing process, and the man in the shop was looking at anti-ageing creams… It’s too much of a coincidence.

He must have followed me from the shop and pounced in the parking lot. But how could no one else have spotted us? How could there have been no witnesses? How could my car not have been found? If they found my car in the parking lot, surely they could have looked back on security cameras? They could have seen the man talking to me in the store, they could have seen him attack me in the parking lot. They would have seen his face. A lead - bringing them straight here…

To answer Kevin’s question about how I had got here, “I think he attacked me in a parking lot but I’m not one hundred percent sure. I don’t really remember.”  I paused a moment, “What about you?” I asked. “How did you get here?”

“Honestly - I have no idea…”

The door suddenly burst open and the doctor walked in, coated in fresh blood.

“Terribly sorry about all of the waiting. Only me on today and - as I am sure you’re aware - it’s pretty busy…” he said. “Anyway… Let us get started with your treatment!” he beamed.

I couldn’t help but scream at him.

Chapter Seven

I wished I hadn’t been locked in this headgear. I wished I had been able to struggle around like Kevin next to me; frantically pulling at his restraints. I wasn’t going anywhere though and the Doctor was soon standing above me, looking down. He fiddled with the mirror, unscrewing parts which held it onto the headgear, and pulled it away from my sight - a welcome relief from being forced to stare at it day in and day out. He looked down at me and smiled; a smile of menace - not friendliness.

Kevin - still straining at his restraints - was screaming out to the man, demanding to know where his wife was but the Doctor paid him no attention. As he was looking at me, it felt rude not to ask the question too.

“What have you done with his wife?” I asked.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, “I’ve moved the mirror from your line of sight - that reflection I have forced you to gaze upon for so long now… And that’s your question? What have I done to his wife?”

I could have asked him why he had moved the mirror.

I could have.

I knew he wouldn’t answer me though. Not with a proper answer. He’s quick to keep us here but slow to reveal his plans. For a long time, I couldn’t help but wonder whether he even had any plans.

“I will be putting the mirror back, by the way.”

“Please just answer him…” I pleaded.

Kevin was screaming; a desperation to know that his wife was okay, that she was even in here with us. I prayed - for both of their sakes - that she wasn’t. He never told me how he had got here but I hoped - somehow - she had managed to get away. Even better - maybe she had managed to raise an alarm and help was coming?

“Now… Ageing… Just to draw a line underneath them, we’re both of the opinion that the creams - sold in pharmacies and supermarkets are of no good, yes?”

He wasn’t going to answer me. At least I had tried. Just as he had ignored my question, I ignored his.

“I shall take your answer as an agreement,” he said with a wink. “By all means - if I say something you disagree with - speak up.” He paused a moment and then nodded to himself that it was okay to carry on, “Truth be told we really should stick with the clinical trial of the creams for a little longer but time is running out…”

Time is running out? What did he mean by that?

“… And we have some other things to try before I try and find a solution to the problem.” Another pause. “The next thing to try is a bit of an old wive’s tale I feel,” he continued. “It has been said that semen is mightily good for the complexion and so - for the next week…” His voice cut off. My heart was already racing ten times faster than was natural at where this was heading.

He reached down and started unbuttoning the front of his grey trousers.

“No… Please no….” I started mumbling as he withdrew his flaccid penis from between the flies.

“Get away from her, you sick son of a bitch!” Kevin started calling over, changing the sound of his broken record demanding to know his wife’s whereabouts.

The Doctor smirked as he started stroking himself. It took longer than he was probably expecting before he was hard in his tight grip and his smirk had turned to look of frustration. Happily hard now, he didn’t stop pumping backwards and forwards. The look of frustration etched between wrinkles soon dispersed and turned to a look of satisfaction.

I wanted to move my head away. I wanted to look over to Kevin (still shouting for him to leave me alone) but I couldn’t - still locked in place by the damned grips on either side of my head. As the Doctor’s breathing quickened, I shut my closes and clamped my mouth closed - fully expecting him to unload onto my face at any moment. One wish that, if it were going to happen - it would happen sooner rather than later just to get it over and done with.

My mind turned to thoughts of Mike and whether he’d still love me and want to marry me if this man did spill his seed on my face. My mind forced into negativity thanks to the circumstances of my situation telling me that there wasn’t a chance. I’d be forever thought of as damaged goods.

The sound of the Doctor’s hand stroking back and forth on the shaft of his penis suddenly sped up before it stopped completely. Slowly, unsure of what to expect, I opened my eyes. He was standing there - looking down at his cock. I noticed it was no longer hard. A flaccid, pathetic member hanging limply in his grip. Clearly embarrassed he put himself away and pulled his flies up - sealing the embarrassment back within his trousers.

I couldn’t help but to laugh - both at his awkwardness and due to the relief of not having his semen coat my face.

“Shut up, bitch!” he shouted at me - the first time, since being here, that I had seen him lose his cool. “Of course it doesn’t work! The pressure I am under trying to fix ungrateful, vile pigs like you! Fuck you!”

He stepped back from my line of sight. I heard him hurry around the bed to the other patient in the room.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you work? Maybe you can help me out before I start on your treatment!” the Doctor suggested.

“Fuck you!” Kevin spat.

Good on him.

“What? You aren’t going to help me out?” the Doctor asked, giving him a clear second chance.

“Let me the fuck out of these restraints!”

“Your name can go down in history,” the Doctor said. “One of my colleagues. A fellow Scientist who helped conduct some tests…”

I kept hoping - over and over again - that Kevin wouldn’t listen to him. He wouldn’t help play out whatever sick fantasies were obviously playing through the bastard’s head.

“Fuck you!” Kevin shouted again.

I breathed a sigh of relief. My heart rate slowly started to go back down to as close to normal as it could under the circumstances.

“Unless - of course - you don’t want to know what happened to Becky?” the Doctor sneered. “Such a shame about her. She was a lovely woman…”

“What have you fucking done?” Kevin shouted.

“I’d like to say it was quick but…”

“What have you fucking done?!”

“Are you going to help me out?” the Doctor asked again.

“Please. Just tell me what you’ve done to my wife…”

“Are you going to help me out?” the Doctor repeated his question. He was starting to sound impatient. “Answer the question.”

“If you tell me what happened to my wife…”

“It doesn’t work like that. You help me and I will tell you what you want to know.”

There was a pause.

“Please don’t do this,” I took the opportunity to try and remind Kevin that I was not only still here but also a person - trapped like him. I didn’t deserve this, just as he didn’t.

“Okay,” Kevin said.

My heart sunk as I immediately knew his response wasn’t aimed at me. Once again - my eyes began to well up at the prospect of what was to follow. I didn’t say anything. I knew there was little point. I just laid there and listened to what the doctor had to say. He explained how he would inject Kevin with something to knock him out. By the time Kevin woke up - the doctor would have vacated the room and locked the door behind him. The shackles would have also been removed from Kevin and he would be free to wander around the room. His movements would be monitored by the cameras in the room - not that I had known there were any in here for the whole of the time I had been here. Once the job was done, Kevin was to get back onto the bed and shackle himself down once more. Only then would the doctor come back to the room and tell him about his wife. A sickness stirred in my gut as my fellow patient agreed to the terms.

End of Part Three

The Plan was a simple one…

The plan had been formulated in Kevin’s head long before the syringe pierced his skin and the clear liquid was pushed into his veins. The plan - a simple idea - even managed to stay at the forefront of his mind as his vision began to blur and everything became groggy.

He didn’t need the doctor to tell him the fate of his Becky. He just needed the restraints to be removed. With them gone, he would be free to find out for himself. The doctor was - after all - nothing but an old man. He wasn’t big and he certainly didn’t look strong. At least, not as strong as Kevin felt - especially when backed into a corner.

Despite waking from his induced sleep with a worse headache than before, the plan was still there - clear as day itself. And - just as had been promised - the restraints had been removed, although the part of them around the bed railings was still there locked in place.

Slowly Kevin sat up. The room was spinning violently around and he couldn’t help but to retch - a heavy movement from the very depth of his stomach. Nothing came out, thank God. He sat there a moment, letting all of his senses slowly come back to life. His eyes fixed upon the camera hanging from the corner of the wall; little red light flashing - scanning the whole room. His eyes moved to the door - shut. He didn’t need to try the handle to know it was definitely locked. Everything else had been as the doctor had said so there was little reason to doubt him.

The woman in the bed next to him - Tammy - was crying. She looked like Hell. Pale faced, red eyes and streaks running down her cheeks. The poor woman was petrified.

Kevin rested his head in his hands, looking down at the mattress he sat upon, as though suffering ill-effects from the anaesthetic. Whilst he wasn’t free of the unpleasant side-effects, this wasn’t the reason for his posture. He was sitting like this so the camera couldn’t capture his mouth - and the fact he was talking to his fellow prisoner.

He told her of his plan.

He explained that everything was going to be okay. He told her not to say anything. He warned her to just listen so it didn’t look as though they were communicating. He said there was no reason the camera could pick up every slight movement that happened in the room. It looked to be a cheap variety so he was nearly one hundred percent positive that it wouldn’t have been filming in HD and capable of anything other than capturing the most basic of images. He was going to do as the doctor instructed. He feared - to gain the trust of the demented man - he wouldn’t have a choice. And he apologised for that. He did not want to do it just as she did not want it to be done to her. But, given the fact freedom was at stake, he felt as though it was a necessary evil. She did not argue despite wishing to. She knew he was right about needing to keep their conversation secret. Once the job was done, he was going to get back onto the bed - as instructed - but he wasn’t going to put the restraints on. He was simply going to make it look as though they were on and then - when the doctor came back into the room - he was going to make his move. He would do whatever it took to gain the freedom of not just him but Tammy too. And - with the job done - he was going to find his wife and get the Hell out of there.

Kevin did not ask whether Tammy understood and neither did he repeat himself. He knew the doctor would be watching from wherever the camera was linked up to and that time was of the essence. He wanted his help - that much was true - but it didn’t mean he would sit there and patiently wait for hours on end for Kevin to get on with it. Kevin knew that he would at least have to appear to be trying to do what was requested of him. Especially if it all went wrong and his plan failed - a worst case scenario which would at least lead to knowing what happened to his Becky.

Thoughts of his wife started overshadowing all other thoughts as he fought hard to push them to the back of his mind once more. Although it might have helped with the task at hand - to think of her - he knew he didn’t want her to be a part of it; even if it were in his head only. He wanted to keep all thoughts of a normal life as far from his mind as possible for what was to (literally) come. At least that way, it wouldn’t taint anything when he was out of here and this nightmare was nothing but an experience that they had survived.

Shaking, he climbed from the bed. His legs felt weak as he steadied himself, standing by the bed and clutching the metal railings. He looked at the woman lying on the bed and could only imagine the pain coursing through her veins from being bedridden so long; poor blood flow, weak muscles and unsightly sores hidden beneath the bedding covering her. A thought crossed his mind - if his plan succeeded, if he did indeed manage to get their freedom, would she be able to walk? More to the point, if she couldn’t - would he be able to just abandon her there with the promise of fetching help?

He dismissed the thoughts as quickly as he could before stumbling across to her bed. He looked at the camera and wished the doctor was stupid enough to fall for a clever miming act but he knew it would be no good to try. He might have fallen for it but when he came back into the room and looked at Tammy’s clean face, he would have known something was wrong and he was in the process of being duped. For this to work - Kevin needed to be seen to help him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath as he fumbled with the belt around his jeans.

Tammy could do nothing but lay there and weep.

PART FOUR

“BECKY”

Chapter Eight

I hate the bed. I hate the house. Kevin was adamant that it had been a good deal but the more I stay here, the more I see, the less sure I am. It’s damned creepy here and just reminds me of every single building that has featured in the vast horror collection I have thumbed through over the years.

Kevin clearly doesn’t feel the same and even if he does, he doesn’t show it and it certainly isn’t disturbing his sleep. I had left him snoring in the bed to go and get a glass of water. I had grown tired of lying there, staring at the ceiling with monsters forming in the shadows stretching across the walls. If he suggests moving in here, in the morning, I’m most likely going to slap him.

Standing by the sink in the kitchen, I filled a tall glass with cold water from the tap. The old pipes banged throughout the house as the water spluttered out. Something else that will need fixing at some point.

It’s funny - he says it was a good deal but - looking around this house at the tired decorating, ugly furniture, damp lingering in the air, banging pipes… I do not believe this is as good a deal as he had originally thought. Not that he would admit to it if I were to bring it up. He wouldn’t want to be proven wrong. He is right, I am wrong. That’s what he likes to believe and most of the time I let him think that.

The house has been on and off the market so much, I just hope we manage to find some peaceful tenants to move in quickly. The last thing we need, which I am sure he didn’t think about properly, is for the house to be left vacant for ages. Two mortgages to pay with only his wage coming in to cover them. It could yet be the shortest house possession of all time. One week it is ours and the next, the bank forecloses on it because we can’t pay all of the bills.

That would be embarrassing.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of the house remaining vacant. My fears aren’t helped by the fact that the doctor’s wife had died right out there, on the doorstep. Most people would be put off by that. Most normal people anyway - the kind of person we are hoping will want to move in. Jesus. We’ll probably end up with some kind of ghost-hunter. They’ll be in here conducting various experiments to try and determine whether there are such things as spirits and we will be back home, blissfully unaware.

Does it really matter so long as they’re paying their bills?

I turned the tap off. The pipes stopped banging after a couple of extra seconds.

I took a sip of the water. Even that tastes funky.

My eyes were drawn to the house opposite the kitchen window; sitting at the other side of the street. Another vacant property. It used to be the doctor’s surgery but since he left it has been left to rot. Can’t help but wonder why it wasn’t put on the market with this one. Why let one property go to ruin if they’re going to shift the other? It would have made sense to sell them both. At least that way we would have had neighbours as opposed to a derelict looking dive of a place. Sitting over there, illuminated by the full moon, the place looks as creepy as Hell. It doesn’t help that the windows are boarded up and ivy has been left to grow across the brickwork.

Damned stuff grows everywhere given half a chance.

I looked up to the ceiling as the floorboards above me groaned under the weight of what must have been Kevin’s feet. The pipes must have disturbed his sleep. Not my fault. I hadn’t intended to wake him up. Still, I’m sure he will most likely moan at me when I climb back into bed.

Another sip of the water and I can’t drink anymore. He is going to need to look at the pipes in the morning, certainly before we rent this place out. The water here really is grim – just as if it had been left to go stagnant somehow.

I tipped it down the sink and left the kitchen, walking down the hallway back towards the stairs. I stopped midway. The door that had been earlier locked was wide open. Had Kevin managed to find a key for it and forgotten to tell me? Last I heard, he needed to meet up with the Realtor in the morning to get a spare.

A shiver ran down my spine as a draught breezed past. It felt like it had come from the cupboard. Oh good - a hole in there that’s also going to need fixing before we rent the place out. No wonder the whole place smells of damp. Oh well. We should at least be grateful that no animals had found their way in and made the house their own whilst it was left vacant.

I approached the door with my hand extended and stopped short of simply pulling it closed. Standing near to it, the draught was much stronger. I reached across to a light-switch on the wall and flicked it up. Only then did I realise that the doorway didn’t lead to a cupboard.

Set just inside the doorway was a set of stairs leading down.

We have a cellar?

“Kevin?” I called up the stairway towards the bedroom. I knew he was up, I had heard him moving around up there. “Kevin?” I called again. There was no response. “You need to come and see this!” I said, unsure whether he had ventured down there when he had first opened the door. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have - not without saying something to me about it.

When did he even open it? I was sure the door had been shut when I went to bed.

I called up again, “Kevin!”

Nothing.

For God’s sake. I stepped away from the doorway and walked up the stairs, back towards the bedroom and Sleeping Beauty.

“Did you not hear me shouting?” I opened the door and jumped at the sight of a man standing by the bed; dressed in a long white coat and with a gas mask strapped to his face. Not Kevin. I screamed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a gun of some description.

I turned and ran towards the door and then suddenly slumped to the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in my back as my limbs convulsed involuntarily. Everything before me getting darker as I struggled to keep a grip on r………………….

* * * * *

Despite waking on a soft mattress, my back felt bruised from the prongs of his taser. I tried to scream but couldn’t. Tape stretched across my mouth. Same for my hands and wrists too - taped to the side of the bed I was on.

I tried to pull free but it was clear I was going nowhere fast.

“In all the time I have been doing this,” a voice said from the corner of the room. I looked over. It was the man in the white coat. I instantly recognised him as the same man in the photos dotted around the house. “You are the first person I’ve had to shoot. Usually the gas leaking in from the air-con unit deals with the residents. Still, not to worry. Both ways had the same desired result.” He stood up from his rickety chair and walked into the light. He was smiling. “Now, I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth. If you try and scream, I will be forced to take action. It is also worth pointing out that the rooms are sound-proofed so, even if you do try it, no one will hear you. Okay?”

I nodded.

He smiled wider still and leaned down, ripping away the corner of the tape first and then yanking it away from my mouth. It stung and I tried not to scream out in pain, let alone the fear I felt.

“Do you know who I am?”

I nodded. The man in the pictures. The doctor who lost his wife and supposedly moved on.

“Do you know where you are?”

Boarded up windows. An empty room other than the chair he had been sitting on in the corner of the room and the bed I am laying upon. I’d hazard a guess that I was in the building opposite our house. I nodded.

“Good. Do you know why you are here?”

I shook my head and shifted on the bed - uncomfortable at the thought of all he could do to me whilst I was trapped like this and why he had even brought me over here in the first place.

“Have you ever lost a loved one?”

I nodded. You don’t get to be in your fifties without seeing people die around you.

“Looking at you, I’m presuming it wasn’t to do with old age although that is something I am tackling as part of my ongoing investigations and experiments. No. I would hazard a guess it was something to do with an unexpected illness. Cancer, tumour, diseases… That kind of thing. Am I right?”

I didn’t move. Where was he going with all of this?

“You won’t know this about me but I lost my sister to a terrible disease and there was nothing that could be done for her. Watching the pain and suffering she endured broke my heart - and the hearts of my parents. I was only young so I didn’t understand everything surrounding her illness but I knew I wanted to be able to help her, and people like her, by finding cures for conditions otherwise considered terminal.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I told him.

“Well that’s not strictly speaking true, is it? I’ve pulled your medical records. I see you’ve had some trouble in the past which is pretty much over with but you still have your ups and downs. Most notably I see you suffer from unpleasant stomach aches from time to time…”

“They’re nothing.”

“Enough for you to go to a doctor about them on a couple of occasions.”

“They were just a bug. They went after a couple of days.”

“But what if I were to tell you I could stop you from ever having a bug in your stomach again?”

“I’m fine now.”

“Wouldn’t you take the opportunity? One small procedure and your pains would be over - at least in your stomach anyway but once that is dealt with, we can always look at other issues you may wish to discuss.”

“I just want to go home.”

The Doctor smiled, “And you will. Not only that - you’ll be healthier too.”

“I don’t want any procedures,” I pleaded.

My words fell on deaf ears.

“What’s more - you’re in luck. An earlier procedure didn’t take as long as I had initially believed it would and so we can fit you in right now. The whole thing will most likely take half an hour. After that, we’ll let you rest up for a while and you will probably by home in time for afternoon tea.”

“I don’t even have a stomach ache at the moment. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“But you suffer from them a lot. This will keep them at bay. Just because you don’t have one now, it doesn’t mean you won’t have one later.”

“I’m fine. I can’t do this anyway. I don’t have health insurance anymore.”

“Not a problem. In my quest to help humanity - I’m not charging people. Of course that will change when my cures are approved by the relevant governing bodies but - at the moment - it’s all about proving them fit for use in the field, so to speak.”

I wanted to cry but knew - if I did - it would probably only anger him.

“Now, I’m going to put the tape back over your mouth and lead you through to the operating theatre. Before we go, do you have anything you would like to add?”

“Please don’t do this.”

He laughed as he applied the tape to my mouth once more, “You’ll be thanking me later.”

The Doctor pulled the bed away from the wall and stepped behind it. With a heavy grunt, he pushed both me and the bed out of the double doors at the far side of the room. I don’t know why but - given all the talk of operating theatres - I was expecting a short journey down a series of long corridors but that wasn’t the case. We stopped in the next room where there was a line of beds already along the wall. Panic set in and my heartbeat shot up.

From left to right there were four beds in total. One was empty, there was a human shaped lump on the next one in - covered with a bloody red sheet, the same with the one next to that. The final bed had a person on it - strapped down in a series of braces keeping him from moving. A funnel was poking from his ear with a lid over the top. It was only when the Doctor wheeled my bed closer that I realised the funnel was filled with hundreds of ants, all crawling around looking for a way out.

The person wasn’t moving. His eyes were fixed on me - looking through me. Ants were crawling from his nose and mouth, down onto the white mattress. I tried to scream.

Chapter Nine

The Doctor walked from my bed to the one next to me. He reached down to the man’s wrist and lifted it from the mattress. The man didn’t move. The Doctor was checking the pulse although I do not know why. It was obvious he was dead.

I was so scared, I was shaking. Everyone in the room had died. It was just a matter of time before I did too. Dying scares the crap out of me at the best of times. The whole idea that one minute you’re here and the next, you’re gone. It’s horrible. But it is ten times worse when you know it is about to happen.

My eyes welled up as thoughts of Kevin - and my family - came into my head. The first tear slipped from my tear duct when I realised I wouldn’t even get the chance to tell them - one final time - that I loved them. I know they already knew it but, even so, I would love one final opportunity to say it and, more importantly, hear them say the same to me. Another tear slipped out.

The Doctor sighed as he lowered the man’s arm. Out of frustration, he swiped the funnel from the his ear, sending it crashing to the floor. The lid fell off and hundreds of ants made their bid for freedom. Without a word, the Doctor took hold of the sheet and pulled it over the dead man. Another corpse hidden in plain sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

He turned back to me, “So,” he said, “are you ready?”

I shook my head, desperate for him to stop what he was doing.

“Good,” he said ignoring my actions. “You wait right there and I shall go and get the tools I require.”

He walked from the room. I immediately started struggling against the tape holding me in place. He must have used a whole roll, it wouldn’t budge - not even the slightest bit of give. I couldn’t help but whimper as I strained against it, only stopping when he came back into the room pushing a trolley - covered by a sheet - before him. Still silent, he removed the sheet from the trolley. My eyes went wide again and I took a sharp intake of breath as my heartbeat pounded faster still. On the trolley - in a glass jar - was a large, brown spider. It was sitting on the bottom of the jar with two of its legs up against the side - revealing the black, pin-point fangs beneath.

Another pointless struggle against the restraints.

Next to the jar were sharp implements such as scalpels and materials with which to stitch.

The tears were streaming down my face faster now, uncontrollably so and my breathing was quick and heavy as I started to hyperventilate. Despite knowing the tape wasn’t going to give, I kept pulling at it hoping for a lucky break. I was mumbling through the tape for him not to do this. Begging him. I’m not sure if he could understand my words or whether he was simply ignoring them.

“The spider is a remarkable creature, don’t you think?” He lifted the jar and held it close to his face, admiring the arachnid through the glass. The spider moved slightly, its left leg twitching on the glass with an audible tap as a cold shiver ran down my back. “The way it catches bugs and disposes of them. Imagine the fly population if it weren’t for spiders and - yet - people are not only scared of them but even go out of their way to kill them. They should be thanking them. As should you. You see, with a spider in your stomach… Imagine the bugs it will catch.” He set the jar down and looked at me. It was impossible to hide the fact that I was shaking like a leaf. “Now, come, there’s no need to be nervous. It’s a simple operation. I’m going to make an incision in your stomach and then, pulling the two sides wide open - I’m going to slip the spider in and then stitch you back up. It might feel weird to begin with but I am confident - once you get used to it - you will never have to worry about stomach bugs again. Or until that spider perishes anyway but then - as you will see - it will be a simple enough procedure to replace it.” He took a moment to catch his breath, “I estimate the whole procedure will take about twenty minutes,” he said with a smile.

I was shaking my head from side to side, tears still streaming, wishing he could read my mind and hear the mumbled words through the tape. Please don’t do this. Please don’t do this. He winked and then reached down for one of the sharp scalpels. He held it up to the light, seemingly inspecting the tip of the blade, and then lifted my top - pressing the cold metal of the blade against my skin. He suddenly pulled it away.

“By the way, I’m very sorry but… I’m currently waiting for my anaesthetic delivery so… This might sting a little. But - remember - it’s only a short operation so it will be over quickly.” He gave me what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, I’m sure, and then pressed the blade against my stomach once more. I flinched as it touched my skin. His second hand, free of instruments, pressed down upon my flesh. I closed my eyes and braced myself.

* * * * *

It is important when making the first incision to remain calm. You do not wish to give your patient an unsightly scar or, worse yet, go in at the wrong angle - missing the target area completely. It is equally important to remain light fingered for, if you press too deep, you will rupture something which you had never intended to touch in the first place. In this instance I want to cut through the skin and any fatty tissue but stop just short of cutting into the stomach bag for to do so would be extremely bad for the patient as her stomach bile would flood areas not used to such acidic liquids and the chance of infection would be high. Worse yet, without the proper medications in store, it would most likely prove fatal too, as has been the case with other patients who have volunteered to be a part of this program.

The poor girl was shaking as I made the cut, and that was even with me pressing my weight upon her stomach. I tried to reassure her that everything would be okay but nervous patients are a part of everyday life in this profession and, given what some of them are going through, it is easy to understand as to why this is the case. As I finished the cut, she was screaming through the tape. I regret not being able to offer a proper anaesthetic but, the truth of the matter is, I do not have the time. There are too many patients to attend and not enough staff - as always seems the case within this industry. Going in – in this way - it will be easier to see how the patient responds if she remains awake for the procedure, hence my little lie about the lack of drugs to administer.

If all goes well, when we are done, I will make it up to her with some welcome pain relief.

I glanced up to her face to see how she was doing. Her eyes were clamped shut, she was still shaking and I could tell she was in a fair amount of pain.

“That’s the incision done,” I told her - news that I was sure would be welcome.

I set the knife to one side and lifted the metal clamps from the table. A funny device, you slide the two ends into the wound and then open it up as though using a pair of scissors in reverse. Once open, you can lock them into place and let go of them. The wound is open and you are hands free to continue doing what needed to be done.

The patient flinched as I slide the metal clamps in. She flinched again and screamed through the gag once more as I opened them up within her.

“Nearly done,” I told her. “You’re being incredibly brave. Well done.”

I set them in place so they wouldn’t shut of their own accord and turned back to the trolley before lifting the jar up. Another look at the spider in all of its close-up splendour. Such a magnificent creature. Such misunderstood beauty. Carefully I unscrewed the lid, setting it to one side. The spider moved a little but didn’t try climbing up the glass. No doubt it had given up trying.

I moved over to the bed and looked at the patient. She was staring at the jar. Her eyes wide - no doubt she was as intrigued as I, to see how this would pan out. As I moved the jar to above her belly, she started to shake her head from side to side once more.

“This might feel a little strange to begin with,” I told her, “but you’ll soon get used to it. I imagine it will be a little similar to how you feel when you wear contact lenses for the first time…”

I turned the jar upside down, above her open wound, and tapped the bottom of it until the spider fell - legs splayed out. It landed next to the wound so, quick as I could, I used the jar to push it into the hole. The spider instinctively played dead, just as they usually do when threatened, leaving me the perfect opportunity to remove the clamps sealing it inside. All that was needed now was to stitch her shut.

The patient was starting to writhe around, despite the secure bindings holding her in place. As I reached for the materials with which to stitch her closed, I kept telling her - over and over again - to relax or else she’d scare the spider. I looked down to the wound and noticed her skin moving slightly as though there were a baby underneath, kicking against her. One spindly leg sticking from the slit I had made. As I went to push the leg back inside of her, she suddenly flinched hard - bucking her whole body in the process. I stopped what I was doing and watched her a moment. She flinched again and - again - her body bucked.

I watched as the patient pulled at the restraints again, seemingly in agony, and it dawned on me what must have been happening. Something that I had not taken into consideration. The spider - one of the only venomous ones in the area - must have been biting her; feeling threatened in the new environment which it found itself in. I stood there, watching, as the patient flinched again and started to convulse violently. There was nothing I could do other than to make a note not to use that species of spider again. Her body bucked again and her left wrist broke free, allowing her body to buck even more - ripping her stomach open wider in the process and spraying blood from within.

I stepped back, splattered with gore, and watched - both horrified and curious as to what would happen next. The spider didn’t come running out, as I might have expected. I could see it there, though, in the opening of the wound. Its legs not moving. Was it playing dead or had she somehow managed to crush it with her writhing? Just as quickly as it had started, her body stopped thrashing around. I looked at her pale face, shimmering with a sheen of sweat. Her watery eyes still leaking. I walked over to her and pulled the tape from her mouth, curious to see if she was still breathing. A white foam spilled onto the mattress.

I’m not sure exactly what had happened, all I knew was that I had lost another patient.

Today was not shaping to be a good day. As I mentally crossed that experiment from my thoughts, I couldn’t help but be grateful there were two patients left.

End of Part Four

A Good Plan

The Doctor and the patient climaxed at the same time, one spilling his creamy seed onto the face of another patient and the other shooting it directly into a coffee cup. One having used images of his wife - in happier times - to help reach the point of climax and the other having relied on a penile injection in the side of his penis to help him get it up in the first place.

The Doctor had been impressed with the patient’s commitment to helping out. It had been a good idea to get him to help out. So much so that he had mentally decided he wouldn’t be continuing his treatment until he had finished testing the semen theory. The only concern he had was his promise to answer the question of where the man’s wife was. The patient had upheld his end of the bargain, if the Doctor refused to uphold his end - the man might stop cooperating with him. Yet, if he told him the truth, he would also undoubtedly stop helping him out.

Unsure of what to do for the best, he stood up and tucked his dripping penis back into his shorts before doing his trousers up once more. A happier feeling than when he had failed to climax earlier. Embarrassing but hardly surprising given the stress he had put himself under.

He couldn’t tell him the truth. He had no option but to lie to him. But, in doing so, he knew the next demand would be for the patient to see his wife and that was where things were potentially going to get awkward. He would demand it, the Doctor would refuse. The patient would refuse to help out, moving forward and the Doctor would be forced to blackmail him; help out or have his wife’s severed head delivered to his bed. At that point, the Doctor was hoping the patient would back down. Even without proof that his wife was okay, or even in the building, the man would not risk her being hurt. At least, not if he loved her. The fact he was demanding to know where she was, and that she was okay, was a good sign though. It pointed to a strong bond between the two of them and that was going to be used against him. The Doctor would threaten him; help me for the rest of the experiment or I will hurt your wife. Only when the experiment was complete would he confess what had actually happened; an unfortunate turn of events when trying to cure her of her stomach ailments.

The patient would be upset, the Doctor knew that. He would offer counselling though. A little one on one all the way through his own medical trials. Anything to help him stay positive whilst going through his own tests. Anything to stop the negativity having an impact on the results.

He looked at the screen monitoring the room next door. The patient had climbed back onto the bed and secured himself - as per the instructions. Satisfied all had been done, he flicked the monitor off and headed back to his patients.

Fishing in his pocket, he withdrew the door-key and let himself in. Immediately he could hear that the woman was still weeping; clearly unhappy with what she had gone through. The male patient was on his bed, looking embarrassed as though it had been him who had been degraded. The Doctor was disappointed in them both. They should have been looking at the bigger picture; the fact that - actually - they were going to be helping people in the long run. A short amount of pain, some might even say ‘suffering’, but then it would all be over and they’d forever go down in history as his helpers.

They shouldn’t be upset, embarrassed, or angry. They should be grateful.

He slammed the door behind him. Neither patient looked at him.

“So how did it go then?” he asked.

PART FIVE

“KEVIN”

Chapter Ten

I waited for the right moment. The Doctor crossed the room and looked at the woman’s face. I could have sworn I heard him stifle a laugh as he claimed it was a ‘good effort’.

“And you managed to miss her eyes. A very good shot,” he continued.

I watched - in disgust - as he smeared the sperm down half of her face before cleaning the other half of any trace of it, using the tail of his lab coat as a towel.

“If we only treat half of her face, it will be easier to see any changes. Technically, the right hand side of her face should look younger by the time we’re done.”

I changed the subject to what was important to me, “Where’s my wife?”

The Doctor wiped his hands on the front of his trousers and looked at me, “We’re not done yet. This was day one. I told you - we’re going to do this for a week…”

“That’s not what you said,” I protested.

I don’t know why I expected anything different from him. Just because he had made it easy for me to do as he had originally planned, I should have known it didn’t mean he was going to give me the information I was waiting to hear.

“It does, however, mean your own treatment will be postponed until we finish this little experiment. I’m sorry, I know you’re probably anxious to get started but… I don’t want your own treatment contaminating this little experiment…”

“I won’t be a part of it,” I hissed. “Not until you tell me about my wife.”

“Your wife is fine.”

“Where is she? I don’t believe you.”

“Your wife is fine.”

The blood was pumping around my veins. As soon as he was close enough to my bed, I’d make my move and swing for him. Asking about my wife now… Nothing but a smoke-screen to make him think everything was as he intended. A good punch, though… Catching him off-guard, I’m sure it would be easy to knock him to his ass. With him down, I just need to jump up from the bed and carry on hitting him. He’s old. He is scrawny. He shouldn’t be a match for me. Just keep hitting him until he moves no more and then - to be safe - hit him some more. I won’t be one of these stereotypical characters so often found in the horror Becky reads; the kind of person who hits the psychopath once and is then surprised when they get up, soon after, madder than before. Not that I think he’d get up after a couple of hits. Not with the way he looks. Even so, I’d better not underestimate his strength, especially when he is being attacked. And - despite how he looks - I can’t feel bad for hitting him. He is a dangerous man, no matter what he believes in his own sick and twisted head.

“I want to talk to her. I want to see her.”

“And you can, when these experiments are over and done with.”

“You said I could see her after I helped you today…”

“I meant the whole week. I am sorry if you misunderstood.”

“I won’t help you until I get to see her, and talk to her.”

The idea with the constant arguing was to get him angry enough to come over to the bed. As soon as he got here, standing by my side - he wouldn’t see the punch coming and wouldn’t have time to react to it. If I make my move now, with him standing a few feet away, then he would have a chance to prepare himself. Can’t allow that.

“If you don’t help me this week,” the Doctor said, “then I will have no option but to take your wife out of the equation completely. But - in doing so - don’t think you’ll be free from your obligations. I will keep you here as long as it takes and if that’s the rest of your life then so be it. Help me now and speak to your wife at the end of the week. Don’t help me now and I’ll try some of the chemicals I’ve been experimenting with - for the government - on your wife. We all know how they like their new fangled weapons. Although, I feel I should warn you, the last person… Their face literally melted off. They didn’t die for about five minutes or so but, yes, their face was nothing but a puddle on the floor.” He paused a moment, “Isn’t it a sorry state of affairs when we seem to be able to create such noxious gases and solutions - capable of killing people so easily - and yet creating something that benefits us is so much harder.” He shrugged.

I didn’t say anything. He still wasn’t coming over to the bed. I still couldn’t make my move.

He continued, “So what is it to be? Are you going to help me out or am I going to have to change your wife’s treatment plan?” he asked.

“I’ll help,” I stuttered.

Why won’t he come over to the fucking bed? Just a few feet away - why won’t he come over and speak face to face with me, up close and personal? Damn him. Damn him to Hell.

He smiled, “Good to hear it.”

And - with that - he turned and walked from the room. The door slammed shut. No. No… Come back, you son of a bitch. The temptation was strong to jump up from the bed and chase after him but I knew I couldn’t. I had to be patient and bide my time if this was going to work. Fuck him.

“You said you were going to get us out of here,” the woman next to me whimpered.

I hesitated a moment as I thought things through mentally. He’ll come back to the room later, maybe today but definitely tomorrow. He’ll want me to… Take part in his experiment again. No doubt he will follow the same procedure we went through today.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “We just need to wait here a little longer. But I promise, I’ll get us out of here.”

I didn’t tell her the exact plan. I didn’t tell her why I was so confident either - with the fact he had to come back. Even if I had wanted to go into all the small details as to what was going to happen… Was he still watching us via the camera or had he moved onto someone else?

“I want to go home,” the woman on the bed started crying harder than before.

I looked over to her. Her face was a mess - at least, half of it was. I felt guilty. Not just because it was me who had done that to her but also because I had failed to get us out of here as promised. Yes it was only temporary but, even so… I had told her it would soon be over and now we have to endure this for - potentially - another day.

“What’s your name?” I asked her. I know she had told me but - with all that had been happening - I had forgotten. All I could recall was that it started with a T.

“Tammy,” she wept.

“Tammy, listen to me… I will get us out of this. I promise. But even if, for some reason, I can’t… I took out a mortgage on the house across the street from here. When people start to realise we’re missing - my wife and I - they will come looking. Admittedly none of our friends know about the second house yet but we’ll make the News, just like you did… Maybe not nationally but it doesn’t matter. We live in this town. This is our town. People know us. The bank manager who approved my loan will see the News. It won’t be long before the authorities know about our second home and they’ll come investigating. When they do - remember this - we are literally across the other side of the road to where they’ll be. They will find us. We just have to be strong for now. And remember, that is worst case scenario. I don’t plan to leave it down to them to get us out…”

“I’m scared,” she wept.

I didn’t tell her I was as well. Not just for me but for my wife and even this poor girl… I was scared for all of us but it didn’t help to state as much. One of us needed to remain strong for the other and - given the state of her now - clearly it was down to me.

“Everything will be okay,” I told her again.

My mind drifted back to Becky. Even though I suspected he wasn’t going to make it easy for me to talk to her, I still couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he hadn’t stood by what he had originally stated and let me. Tammy - this stranger - has me telling her that everything is going to be okay but I have no one saying the same to me. If I could have just heard her voice, even if it was saying nothing but my name, at least I could have used it to fuel my own positive outlook. A little booster in my hour of need. For all I know she’s dead already.

No.

Don’t think like that.

A hopeful thought darted through my mind that she wasn’t even in the property. Surely - if she had been - I would have heard her screaming, just as I heard Tammy yell out before I was brought into the same room as her. Maybe the Doctor is just pretending he has her so I do his bidding for him? I don’t know how I got here, I can’t recall it but… Maybe - somehow - Becky had managed to get away from him? I can’t take the chance. I need to be sure and - until I am out of here, or he wheels her in here - there’s no way of knowing. And there’s a very good chance she isn’t screaming because she isn’t able to. For all I know, she could be unconscious - out cold thanks to whatever drugs he chooses to administer.

“Keep crying,” I told Tammy as a plan started to formulate in my head.

“What?” she stuttered through her tears.

“The tears are washing your face clean… You’re ruining his experiment. Keep going.” I hated to do what I was about to do but I didn’t have a choice, “Just think of your family and how much they’re missing you. Or what if your other half has moved on and met someone else?” Cruel words fuelling her distressed emotions as planned. The tears were streaming uncontrollably. I felt like an asshole but it had to be done if this was going to work…

I called out at the top of my lungs, “Doctor!”

“What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to contain the raw emotion flooding from within.

“Trust me.” I called out again, “Doctor! WE NEED YOU!”

If he wants to help people, like he says he does, then he won’t hesitate to come to our aid. And I know he would have heard me. I was calling out louder than she had been screaming when I first woke in this god forsaken nightmare. He can hear me alright.

“Doctor!”

The door opened and the Doctor stepped in, a genuine look of concern on his face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Her tears… She’s ruined the experiment. It’s cleaned away the… product.” What other word was there for it? I didn’t want to call it what it was.

The Doctor crossed the room and looked at the woman’s face. Instant frown across his.

“You silly girl,” he hissed. He paused, “I think it’s okay though. It hasn’t got rid of it completely.”

“But it would have diluted it,” I told him. “The more she cries, the more it will continue to do so too.”

He sighed heavily - no doubt frustrated at the prospect of another experiment going wrong.

“I can re-apply it, if need be.”

He looked at me. He looked surprised by my offer. Probably surprised by my claim. It had been less than an hour since I had done the deed. To ejaculate again, so soon, would be no easy task - not unless you were someone in their twenties, or younger, anyway. Back then, growing up, it wouldn’t have been an issue.

“You could?”

“I want to see my wife. If this experiment gets delayed because she can’t control her emotions, and see that you’re trying to help mankind then it stops me from being able to see her. I’m not waiting longer than a week. Come on, let me out of here and I’ll do it all over again. Maybe this time she will be able to control herself?”

The Doctor turned to Tammy, “Well? It’s a generous offer from him. Do you think you could control yourself better if we started again?”

Tammy nodded, much to my relief. She could obviously tell what my plan was; a sneaky way of cutting the time down before he’d come over to my bed again. A way of speeding up the process and chance of escape.

“Okay then,” the Doctor said. “I’ll be back in a minute and we shall get started once more.”

He turned and walked from the room. Neither Tammy nor I said anything. We just laid there and awaited his imminent return.

Chapter Eleven

Tammy and I waited longer than I had expected before the door opened and the Doctor walked back into the room. In his hands was another syringe, filled with a clear liquid - no doubt to be used to knock me out once again. He sticks it in me, undoes the restraints, leaves the room, waits for me to wake up and watches from wherever his monitor is set up. Or so he thinks.

“You know the procedure,” he told me, tapping the side of the needle as he approached. His voice was different as to how it was before, as though something was weighing heavily on his mind.

“Yes,” I replied, not wanting to give him any cause for concern.

I waited for him to get a little closer. Come on, you son of a bitch… Standing next to me now, he stopped by the bed and started to line the needle up to my arm. Without a word, or second thought, I pulled my hand from the cuff and swung it straight into his face with a heavy crack and such force that he staggered to the side and dropped to his knees. Without waiting to see if he was okay, I quickly jumped from the bed and followed through with another punch and another. The Doctor fell backwards onto his back and his hand opened - sending the needle rolling across the floor. Tammy was screaming for me to hit him again. She didn’t need to say anything. I slammed my fist against his head again. A sting as my knuckle split open, spilling blood onto his already bloodied face. His head lolled to the side as he groaned heavily. He was still conscious but barely so. There was a temptation to keep hitting him until he no longer moved - or even breathed - but I stopped myself after one more hit to the side of his temple. If I kill him, it would make me just as bad as he. Maybe that’s why all of the characters in Becky’s books decide to walk away? Because they’re not murderers and don’t want the guilt of another human’s death on their hands? Even if the person they’re attacking is a piece of shit.

I jumped up and hurried over to the syringe. Grabbing it from the floor, I took it back to his still body and stuck the point of the needle into his neck. I pressed the plunger and watched as the clear liquid filtered through into his blood stream. Contents emptied, I pulled it from his skin and tossed it to one side. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before slowly closing. That was it. He was out for the count. Not sure for how long but… We don’t need long to get out of here and find someone to help us. Just across the street is my cell phone…

I clambered to my feet. I was out of breath but still going strong thanks to the adrenaline pumping through my body.

“Get me out of here!” Tammy was saying, over and over again - pulling at her restraints. Realising she was cuffed, I turned back to the Doctor’s body and patted him down until I felt the familiar jingle of keys in one of his pockets. With one eye on his face, just in case he woke up, and the other on what I was doing - I reached in and pulled the keys out. “Please hurry up!” Tammy yelled.

I hurried over to her bed and started trying the various little keys in the handcuff’s lock until I felt a little click. The cuff popped open and she immediately pulled her hand free - thanking me as she did so. I wasted no time in freeing the other wrist and then her two ankles. By the time I had finished, she was already working the screws on the head-clamp; twisting them round and around until she were able to pull the uncomfortable contraption from her head. She dropped it to the floor where it clanged loudly. She sat up and I helped her to her feet. She let out a squeal of pain as soon as her weight was on both legs and she dropped to the floor like a sack of shit.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as the pain made her cry once more.

I tried helping her to her feet but she couldn’t support her own weight. She dropped to the floor once more. A crumpled ball of pain. Of course she couldn’t. She has been on that fucking bed for so long… Her muscles have practically wasted away to nothing. I looked towards the sleeping Doctor. I knew we didn’t have long before he started to stir. I looked at Tammy - already guilty about what I was about to say.

“Wait here,” I told her. “I will get help.”

“No! Please don’t leave me!”

I didn’t have a choice. If I took her with me, I’d be carrying her and it would slow me down. Our best chance was for me to get out of here, even before finding my Becky.

“I promise I won’t stop for anything. I’ll find a phone and I will call for help. Then I will come right back… Okay?”

“Please don’t leave me here with him.”

“I can’t take you.”

It dawned on me that - although I still had to leave her behind - I could at least take some of the stress away by dealing with him. Acting quickly, I pulled one of the pairs of hand-cuffs from her bed and hurried over to the Doctor. I dragged him via his wrist towards the other bed and cuffed him onto the railing - just as he had cuffed us. I dropped the keys in my pocket on the off-chance I happened upon a locked door.

Looking at Tammy’s face, I could see a little relief that I had restrained him but she was still petrified. I couldn’t blame her. Despite being so close to freedom, I felt the same feelings. The only advantage I had over her was the adrenaline pumping through me.

“I promise you I won’t be long, okay?”

Realising I had to leave her, she reluctantly nodded. I still felt guilty about leaving her but - right now - time was of the essence. The sooner I got to a phone, the sooner help comes and we can put an end to this ordeal. I gave her a quick, reassuring smile and then I fled the room.

All I need is a phone.

End of Part Five

Mental Illness

About a quarter of the population will experience some kind of mental health problem over the course a year. Of those people - women are more likely to be treated for such a problem although this could be down to the fact they are more open with their feelings compared to men. Men tend to bury such issues - which is never recommended - especially given the fact that suicide rates show men are three times more likely to die by taking their own life than women.

Ten percent of children have a mental health problem at any one time.

Whilst most forms of mental illness are centred around anxiety and depression, there is another disorder which affects around 26 million people worldwide. Schizophrenia.

Schizophrenic disorders rank fifth among men and sixth among women as a leading cause of years lived with a disability. More than fifty percent of these people are not receiving the appropriate care and - alarmingly - ninety percent of people with untreated schizophrenia are from developing countries.

Mortality among people with such an illness is about fifty percent above that of the general population - mainly due to the increased incidence of suicide, violent death and partly as a result of an increased risk of a wide range of physical health problems.

Schizophrenic disorders result in moderate or severe disability but it is highly treatable. The treatment most likely offered first - especially when first diagnosed as a result of an episode - is medication. A patient could be prescribed with an antipsychotic, a mood stabiliser - especially if they have manic episodes rather than depression - and an antidepressant, although these should be used cautiously because they can cause the patient to have a manic episode. Some antipsychotics are licensed to treat mania as well as psychosis, so it may be that one drug will be adequate although it is likely a patient will end up taking a combination of drugs.

If they choose to, that is. If they are off the radar and their symptoms have not been highlighted to those in a position to help - the patient could simply be living their life on a day to day basis whilst struggling with the illness.

As she was…

* * * * *

The doctor stepped from the room and closed the door behind him. A quick trip to where he kept his medical supplies - a little cupboard on the other side of the property - in order to get another syringe full of anaesthetic and he would be able to restart the experiment.

He stopped in his tracks as he passed one of the operating theatres. From the corner of his eye he could tell something was very wrong. Slowly, he looked in. All the beds were still against the walls. Still five of them there, just as there had been when he left the room. Three of them were still had sheets covering the ex-patients. It was the final bed that was all wrong. The new patient.

Becky.

It had been her face that had caught the doctor’s attention. Or rather, her lack of face. Where once there was skin and features, now there was nothing but a bloody mess. On the floor, by the bed - and surrounded by a splattering of red and skin - was one of his scalpel blades. He sighed heavily. She had been at it again. He thought, after their last conversation, she had finished with this but clearly not.

He walked down the hallway and turned right at the end of it. Faced with a door, he lifted his hand and knocked loudly. The door opened and there - staring right back at him - was Becky’s face.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the lifeless, bloody face said with unmoving lips.

The doctor pushed his way into the room. There were clothes scattered around the floor. There was an unmade bed in the corner and, next to that, a make-up table with a picture of what appeared to be the Realtor who had sold the house to Becky and Kevin. In front of the picture was a mannequin head - a wig perched on top which matched the hairstyle in the photograph perfectly - and, next to that, a glass with a pair of false bucked teeth. The unexpected truth that the woman selling the house in the first instance was actually the doctor’s own wife simply playing a role to lure in more test subjects. Heavy make-up, a good disguise and a story detailing her own demise.

“What are you doing?” the doctor asked, turning back to his wife. She was standing there in a hospital gown; a further attempt at a sick role-play. “We’ve spoken about this before.” He pointed to the make-up table, “This… This is okay. This is useful.” He then turned back to his wife and pointed at the human mask she was wearing on her face. “This is not okay. This is counter-productive. Take it off.”

“No. If I look like one of your patients, you might spend some time with me.”

“I’m busy. You know what I am trying to do. I’m sorry if that gets in the way of my relationship with you but it is my life work we are talking about.”

“I don’t care about that anymore. I’m fed up sharing you. If that means I have to become one of your little experiments, to get you to spend time with me then so be it…”

“I do not have time for this. I love you. I have always loved you. But, right now, I am busy. I need to redo an experiment from earlier. You are more than welcome to come and watch on the monitors and - whilst my subject sleeps off the anaesthetic, we can talk but - right now - I need to go…” He paused. “But - whatever you do - take that face off.”

He turned and stormed from the room. His wife did not move for a second. She just stood there, watching the door - half-hoping for him to come back in. He didn’t reappear. He was already half-way down the corridor on his way to get what was needed for his experiment’s restart. He knew he couldn’t be angry with his wife. She wasn’t well and hadn’t been well for most of her life.

He could be disappointed though.

He had prescribed her the medication to help her with this kind of behaviour and yet - once again - she had evidently stopped taking it for whatever reason. The last time being because she didn’t like how it made her feel. He never understood that. Surely having a dry mouth and feeling sluggish is better than how she was now?

She turned to the mirror and admired her reflection, lifting her hand to the cold skin mask wrapped around her own, old face. He had told her to take the mask off but she didn’t want to. For the time being, she liked being someone else. Especially if it meant she got to spend more time with her husband - a man who’d pushed her to one side to concentrate on his experiments.

“You should just try talking to him again,” Becky told the girl beneath the mask.

“He never listens. There is always a reason he can’t spend time with me.”

“Maybe you could help him with his experiments? Maybe you could learn from him?”

“He won’t let me.”

“Have you tried asking?”

“No.”

“Well you heard him. Go through and watch this experiment via the monitors. Learn from it and then talk to him. Show him what you learned from such a short time watching. Prove to him you’d be useful. Show him you’re not just good at selling the house…”

“You really think that would work?”

“Do you have anything to lose?”

She paused a moment before reaching up and peeling the mask from her face. She turned it back towards her and smiled at it, “Thank you.”

Becky didn’t respond.

PART SIX

EPILOGUE

“THE DOCTOR’S WIFE”

Chapter Twelve

I screamed out loud as I swung the axe.

No.

Not me.

His wife.

His wife is swinging the axe.

I am her now; her pretty face plastered to my own, tied around with a piece of string - secured at the back of my head and hidden by my hair.

Question?

Is it me screaming because I do not want to be a part of this or is it his wife screaming because my body is controlling the axe and she can do nothing but witness the proceedings?

I do not know anymore but I do know the smile spreading beneath the mask - as the axe buries into his gut - is genuine.

Maybe that - in itself - answers the question/

The smile is definitely all me so it must be his wife screaming.

He hurt my husband, I hurt him.

An eye for an eye.

His eyes went wide when he opened the door and ran into me. They went wider still when I stuck the axe in him. A funny noise - gargled wheezing - escaped his mouth as I pulled the axe out of his gut with a little effort on my part. He dropped to his knees with blood trickling from his mouth but pouring from the wound - a hand pointlessly over it as though it had the power to stop the flow of blood. Pathetic.

Behind him - in the other room - I can see the patient, on the floor, screaming at me. And, secured to the bed on the other side, I can see my husband.

I looked back to the man before me. He was looking pitiful. One minute - witness on camera - so full of violence and betrayal, pounding upon my husband with clenched fists and now… Like someone so broken.

I lifted the axe high in the air above his head. He raised his hand - a pathetic attempt at shielding the incoming blow? I swung down. The blade of the axe severed his hand at the wrist and continued down until it embedded in his skull; a perfect shot, straight between his eyes. I pulled up again - pressing against his body with a foot - and tore the axe away. A splattering of blood and brain as he slumped to the floor.

One minute so brave, the next so dead.

“Stop screaming, you little cunt!” the dead man’s wife appeared to scream at the other patient who was busy dragging herself away from me. I wonder whether she knows it is me under here or whether she believes I really am the dead man’s wife. I also wonder where she is going. One way in and one way out of this room.

Axe in hand, I stomped into the room. I held it out towards the whore - not ready to strike a blow, just a little threat. She tries anything and she is next to perish. Without a word - from either myself or the dead man’s wife - I turned and swung the axe to the chain of the cuff restraining my husband’s wrist. It broke with ease and - just like that - he was free.

I turned back to the woman cowering before me.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, visibly shaking.

I’m not sure what she was expecting me to do. She had just seen me kill the other patient. She had just seen me free the good doctor. Even if she thought I was really the dead man’s wife - and not just wearing her face as a mask - what did she expect me to do after watching the previous actions? Was she expecting me to tell her that everything was going to be okay? Did she think I was now going to lead her out to freedom? Or was the question more in tune with - how was I going to kill her? Because… The way I win the day is… I do kill her. I kill her and my husband has no more patients to treat when he wakes up. With no more patients, I get him all to myself again. At least until we re-sell the house across the street and I’m sure I can ask my cousin at the bank to delay that a while longer whilst he buries the paperwork from the previous owners, just as he has done so many times before. I win. I get my husband back.

The dead man’s wife smiled at the petrified woman as I leaned in closer to her.

“You do have a very pretty face,” I told her.

She screamed as I raised the axe one final time. A quick, steady swing and her head popped off at the shoulders and rolled to the other side of the room; a beautiful spray of red painting the room a pretty colour. I danced around - in the unexpected fountain - as the patient blinked for the last few seconds of the brain’s life. Considering the abandonment I had felt when I first woke up this morning, it really is turning into a beautiful day and it can only get better when my sweet husband opens his eyes.

Wake up, husband, wake up. I have so many wondrous things to show you.

T H E    E N D

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Romance is Dead

The Infestation

My Deadly Obsession

The 8TH

Dear Mum: The Heartbreaking Letters of an unheard Daughter

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