The Secret of Kolney Hatch (20 page)

“Let’s go in here,” I said unlocking the office door.

Barely inside, I pulled Rosalind into my arms, and as she caressed me, I fell into her seduction there in the secluded safety of my office.  

twenty nine

THE MYSTERIOUS MAN

Petunia told Phillip she would lunch with Tessie Wendell at noon on that August day when Phillip planned to meet Roger Loxley. She told him she would not be back for a few hours. The predictable Phillip would entertain Roger in the drawing room, so two days before the “secret meeting,” Petunia cleared out the small closet in the room and hid the items usually stuffed inside—linens, blankets, extra silverware and such—in various places in the house.

Phillip would take his lunch break around noon, so Petunia had wedged herself—with much difficulty—into the empty closet and sat, close to an hour, waiting for Phillip and Roger to enter the room. The closet was hot; Petunia felt faint more than once, and her pink silk dress stuck to her body. She was thankful she remembered to bring the silk folding fan to cool herself. Otherwise, she may have either burst out of that closet during the secret meeting, or days from now someone would find her unconscious in the closet. She believed sometimes one must suffer through certain endeavors in order to learn the truth.

At exactly half past noon, the door opened and Petunia heard the voices of Phillip and Roger. She had kept the door to the drawing room wide open, as well as a tiny part of the closet door, just a crack, so she could see and hear everything.

        “Right in here,” Phillip said, and Petunia knew the two were headed into the room.

        “And you’re sure your wife won’t return?” Roger asked.

        “I’m positive. She’s out to lunch with that nosey parker Tessie Wendell. She’ll be out for a few hours, though the last thing Petunia needs is another meal.”

        
You are a blasphemous lout, Phillip
, Petunia thought.

        “You speak quite ill of your wife.”

        “And with good reason,” Phillip barked. “But that, is none of your business. Now tell me what I need to know.”

        Petunia heard the clink of glasses; she surmised Phillip was pouring Roger a drink.

        “I can’t tell you much about him, Phillip,” Roger replied, “He’s too dangerous.”

        “I need to know everything, Roger.”

        “Trust me,” Roger cautioned. “You are better off not knowing.”

       “Damn it Roger! It’s a large sum of money. I have to know. They’re watching my every move.”

        “Do you want Agatha to stay alive or not?” Roger growled.

        “Fine! Just tell me where and when to meet him, and what I have to say.”

        “He won’t be in town until the last week of October. You’ll meet him at The Old Wind Tavern on Jermyn.”

                      “And what am I to do once I see him?”

                      “Go to the bar, hand him the package, and
leave
… immediately. Do not converse with him, do not utter a single word to him. If he asks to buy you a pint, say, ‘no.’”

                     “Are you that affected by him, Roger?”

                     Petunia noted a bit of uneasiness in Phillip’s tone.

                     “Yes, and you should be also.”

                     “At least tell me his name.”

                      “Thomas. His name is Thomas Reid.”

The men stayed in the parlor for a half hour more, discussing lighter subjects—Lord Loxley’s latest investment in an American steel company, American Prohibition, and the best types of gambling. Inside the closet, a fainty Petunia’s mind reeled, and her stomach churned.

                      So Phillip did know about Agatha’s disappearance. And Roger Loxley was involved also. But who was this Thomas Reid? And why was he so dangerous? Petunia fanned herself again. The closet was becoming hotter and hotter. She prayed she would not faint.

thirty
PUDDLE OF BLOOD

Paul Watson’s Journal

September 15, Noo
n
.
—The last thing I remember was that it was the sixth of September, and as I returned to my room from a late supper in the cafeteria, I heard whispering voices toward the end of the downstairs West Wing. I crept down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. Normally, I’m not interested in another person’s chatter, but that night, though the voices were somewhat muffled, I recognized one of them as Alice’s.

 “Paul,” Alice whispered. “He’s really got himself in a boiling pot, I tell you.” And then, “No, no. You mustn’t. We can’t have another…”

I found her tone peculiar—I sensed a mixture of anger and fright. I wondered whom she was speaking to, and at that moment, I accidentally lost my balance. I could not help but make a noise, and then the voices ceased. They sensed someone was there, so I swiftly ran down the hallway and into the dining room. I had just enough time to plop into one of the dining room chairs and pretend I was making notes in my journal when Heathcliff appeared in the doorway.

I wondered if he was the one speaking with Alice. Now that he knew about Rosalind and me, he was especially unfriendly.  

Our eyes made contact for a split second, and then he was gone.

I tried to fall asleep that night but kept tossing and turning from the rigid bed. I heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm rolled in quickly that night, and in only a few minutes the thunder roared like the mighty king of the jungle. The lightning, swift and bright, lit up the entire sky, and I knew it was striking anything and everything in its path. A loud crash of thunder shook the floor beneath me. Another flash of lightning lit up my room. It must have struck the top of Kolney’s towers because after another huge crash of thunder, everything around me went dark. For a moment, I was in pitch-blackness, and I had to feel my way toward my bed.

I heard screams in the distance from some of the terrified patients. The screams made the storm all the more frightening. Suddenly, another blaze of lightning lit up my entire room, and I saw the most chilling, skin-crawling sight I had ever seen: a shadow that was not mine reflected off the bare walls. It was only for an instant that I saw that silhouette, and then everything in the room was black once more.

I continued to feel for my bed. Once I reached the bed, I sat down and took a few deep breaths. I could not see anything in the darkness, and all I could hear was the torrential rain and the booming thunder. Yet another flash of lightning filled the room, and my heartbeat quickened as I saw the horrid girl that was following me sitting at the bottom of my bed, glaring at me with her menacing eyes.

That split second of light felt like minutes. Her entire face was still covered by the shawl. A strange, uneasy feeling crept over me. As I quickly looked away from the girl, I noticed there was something in her hand, though I could not discern what it was. Suddenly, the flash ended, and the piercing thunder roared so loudly I felt my eardrums may burst from the reverberation.

Seconds later, something pierced my leg. Did the girl stab me? I hopped off the bed and stumbled to the ground, shrieking from the pain. I attempted to crawl toward the door, dragging my now numb leg behind me. Halfway from the bed to the door, my hand felt a liquid on the floor. At first, I wondered if the rain somehow managed to leak through the roof, and I kept crawling through it. When another flash of lightning lit the room, to my utmost horror, I saw I was crawling through a large pool of blood. Now the numbness was spreading throughout my body, but still I continued to drag myself toward the door. A last flash of lightning struck, and now I could see a body lying in front of me. I knew his face immediately; the man was Heathcliff, and he was dead. He was sliced at the neck. I attempted to throw myself back toward the bed in fright, but my body was too numb to move, and just before that flash of light was gone, I glimpsed the girl running from my room. Then my vision blurred, and I felt lightheaded. I fell into complete darkness there on the floor.

thirty one

THE DARK ROOM

Paul Watson’s Journal

September 15, Evenin
g
.—
Groggily, I awoke, unsure if it was night or morning. My vision was still blurry, and for a moment I grasped at anything in my immediate surroundings. I was still on the floor, so I managed to grab what I thought was the bed and hoisted myself just enough to see two figures in white in front of me. For a moment, I thought I died and these figures were angels. I tried, with little success, to focus my eyes; one of the figures appeared to be female, the other, male, and both were busy with something. A few minutes passed, and my vision cleared a tiny bit. I could no longer see Heathcliff’s body, and the female hovered over the spot where the pool of blood had been.

When they saw I was awake, both the male and female knelt by my side and helped me to my feet. I could not get my bearings; I could barely see, and I assumed that the female must have injected me with a heavy tranquilizer. I could hear the man’s slow, drawn out voice; it was muffled, but soon I realized Doctor Reid was the man speaking. He seemed to be consoling me, and then he and the female helped me to walk, both of my arms thrown around one of their shoulders.

 Doctor Reid and the woman led me down the dim corridor. They stopped in front of a wall. I thought I heard them whispering. I started to regain consciousness and could tell the woman helping Doctor Reid was Alice. I tried to break away from their grasp; I was apprehensive about Alice, but Doctor Reid kept a firm grip on my arms, and I was too weak to break free.

I heard a rumble again, and a moment later we started down a long, dark winding stairwell, the only light came from a lantern that Doctor Reid held in front of us. The stairwell smelled of the unmistakable stench of stagnant, moldy air. It reminded me of an old book that I once dropped in a murky lake.

We walked for about five minutes, and when we reached the bottom we began down another dark and sinister hallway.
 
Now another rancid smell filled my nostrils, a mixture of defecation and vomit. I could hardly keep from vomiting. What was this place, I wondered? My vision began to focus, and I realized that except for the small lantern, we were in complete darkness.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

Neither Doctor Reid nor Alice replied. We walked in that darkness for several minutes, turning down various corridors until we came to a tall, arched wooden door. Inside was a small room with stone walls and frigid air. The room had no windows and only two torches of fire provided minimal light. The smell was rancid like decaying scraps of food, and the only sounds were the scurrying rats. A bed was in the middle of the room and medieval weapons hung on the stone walls: a sickle, a mace, and an axe were among the few I could recognize. Was this a torture chamber?

“Tell me what’s going on!” I demanded as I continued my attempt to break free. I was too weak to fight my way out of Doctor Reid and Alice’s grips.
 

Moments later, a large burly man appeared from the darkness. I had never seen him at Kolney Hatch. Deep pockmarks covered his face. His thick eyebrows were in a permanent furrow, and his eyes were large and black as the night. He had no hair on his head and many teeth missing. His scar-covered, dirty chest was exposed, and he wore a metal collar around his neck. I sensed this man was dangerous.

Doctor Reid handed the lantern to Alice; she placed it on the floor by my side as Doctor Reid and the broad-shouldered man grabbed my shoulders. They slammed me onto the bed and buckled my arms and legs into mechanical restraints. I was certain they were going to kill me.

“I didn’t kill Heathcliff,” I pleaded. “If this is what that’s about. I didn’t do anything.”

Doctor Reid’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled out a long needle. Without a word, he jabbed the needle into my leg, exactly where I felt it the night before. In seconds, I felt the drug pulse through my veins. Then the three left the room, and I was left locked in the cell, strapped to the bed.

“Let me out of here!” I screamed. “Let me out!”

When my cries went unanswered, the realization that maybe they left me on this table to die horrified me.

 
I lifted my head slightly—my vision was blurry—I could barely see the door. The putrid odor in the room made me nauseous. Then I heard a noise in the distance; it sounded like footsteps. At first the footsteps were faint. Then, they grew louder, accompanied by a strange clinking noise. Simultaneously, the eeriest cry echoed throughout the room, causing me to shudder. Was someone watching me? I pleaded for someone to help me, but my cries were weak. Suddenly the large wooden door opened and a strange ethereal form resembling a thick white cloud appeared. Was it a ghost? I could not distinguish any features, but I could hear its heavy breathing. I blinked my eyes many times to see clearly, but my blurry vision would not subside, a side effect of the drug. And then I heard continuous crying coming from the ghost-like figure as if it were sad to see me in such a state. I kept drifting in and out of unconsciousness. The cries shifted from sorrow to cries of fury. And then the figure was gone, and I fell again into a deep sleep.