Shades of Grey
Chapter 77: The Good Doctor

MURIAS ASYLUM— APRIL 1844

The next morning, the three sisters woke me up.

“Come, Grey, it’s time for your primary assessment,” said Tess gently.

I stood and followed them out of my room down to a very bright hallway near the reception corridor.

“What does ‘primary assesment’ mean?” I asked Meg quietly.

She smiled.

“It’s just to assess your exact mental state to see how much work is ahead of Dr. Kingsmith and the rest of the doctors!”

I nodded warily as we then entered a black room with one bright gaslight directly above a single wooden chair.

“Go ahead and sit down and the doctor will be with you shortly,” Alexa said, pointing to the chair.

I obeyed, still in a daze as they left the room in silence, leaving me to listen to the flickering wick of the gaslight above me.

After what felt like years, the stout man who had entered my room the day before barrelled noisily into the room, giving me a patronising smile.

“Hello Miss Echo!” he greeted in an almost sycophantic voice.

I frowned at his overzealousness.

“Hello doctor.”

“How are you doing today?”

I laughed once. How was I doing? I was wrongfully locked in an insane asylum where, if my first assumption was correct, the mad doctors locked up anyone who did not agree with the policies of this mysterious ‘Board’ whom I was fairly certain I had to destroy while trying to rescue my werewolf Maisling from a psychotic wizard.

“I’m just fine, doctor,” I replied.

“Excellent!”

He scribbled something down on a parchment and then pulled out a caliper with which he proceeded to measure the distance between my septum and my hairline.

“Right, have you been having any headaches or hallucinations as of late?” he asked, finishing his measurements.

“Just a few nightmares.”

“Nightmares…” the man spoke as he scribbled more phrenology related notes on the parchment again. “Very good…”

I scoffed.

“Not the ones I’ve been having.”

He looked up at me.

“Why don’t you describe them to me?” he offered.

I frowned. He seemed like a real doctor, as concerned for my health as one would expect him to be, but I could not shake the image of the patients I had seen in my ward — how sane they all looked. I resolved not to reveal anything that they could use against me.

“I’d rather not,” I said, keeping my gaze locked on his bespectacled eyes.

“Why not? You know I’m only here to help you get better,” he replied in a lofty voice.

There was a brief pause as I searched his expression for signs of legitimacy. I found none.

“I’d still rather not,” I retorted simply, crossing my legs.

“Well,” he sighed. “I happen to have it on good authority that you continue to shout out the name ‘Forma’ over and over every night. Why don’t you tell me about her? Was she your sister? Your friend? Your lover?”

My incoherent daze had faded with each intrusive question he dared to ask. Finally, I grew so angry that I leapt upwards, kicking the doctor in the face and sending his spectacles flying across the room where they smashed into the wall. The man looked at me in shock as I landed perched on the arms of his chair, my hands clamped around his throat.

“Ask me about her again and I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand,” I threatened as I slid away from him and smoothly back into my chair.

He looked with wide eyes, making several notes on his paper before knocking twice on the door. Seconds later, the door opened and several male orderlies entered.

“Take her to solitary confinement,” ordered the doctor in a shaky voice, clutching his throat. “Watch her closely and take her to the recreation room after she has calmed down and isn’t quite so feisty. Notify Dr. Kingsmith.”

“Yessir,” replied the first orderly.

I merely offered the doctor a sly smile. He avoided my eyes as he attempted to regain his composure.

“See you later, doctor,” I called as the two orderlies led me out of the office and down the long hallway to the small, compact solitary confinement room at the very end.

I laughed to myself as they locked the doors behind me and I sat in a corner of the dark room and proceeded to calmly wait out my sentence.

The next few days were spent adjusting to the elementary routine of Asylum life. I spent the majority of my time in the recreation room playing games, in the mess hall eating meals and passing the time with an unnervingly high amount of patients (the majority of whom I saw were clearly sane) outside during ‘physical activity’ hour where patients were encouraged to run around in the immense courtyard. It was not the worst place I had ever been: the food was decent, the orderlies and nurses were all licensed, caring individuals who treated the patients with a suitable mixture of kindness and authority. This did not shake my apprehension, however. Nothing would.

I continued to have meetings with various doctors where they would measure every limb of my body and continue to ask me asinine questions about my irritating nightmares, which were growing steadily worse. I still had no interest in divulging anything to any of the doctors so my responses to their questions only grew more sardonic, which resulted in more stays in solitary confinement.

“Come, Grey, it’s time for dinner!” urged Tess after my seventh stay in the padded confinement cell. The padlocked door swung open and let in the harsh neon light, burning my sensitive eyes.

“Let’s go, sweetie,” Tess continued after a moment had passed and I had not stood. She gently helped me to my feet and walked close to me after I had found my balance.

“It’s always so bright…” I muttered out loud, rubbing my eyes.

Tess laughed.

“It wouldn’t seem so bright if you would be cooperative in your meetings! Why don’t you give the doctors what they need? Do you like solitary confinement?”

I shrugged passively.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said simply.

Tess bit her lips, pretending for anyone who may have been watching that she thought this was not true.

“That can’t be. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here!”

Her voice then dropped and she spoke in such a low whisper, I could barely hear her.

“Have you found Isabella?”

I shook my head, ashamed of the fact that I had forgotten about their instructions to do so.

Tess smiled, but her eyes were forceful.

“Try again today. It is of the utmost importance that you speak with her as soon as possible.”

I nodded and turned to ask her a question, but she shook her head curtly, for we had arrived at the large rec room.

The recreation hall was filled to the brim with patients, most of whom were conversing very quietly with each other. Only a few times did I notice a truly mad person staring at the wall or turning in circles or performing some other harmlessly futile activity. Alexa and Meg were both assisting some of the more serious patients by one of the many large bay windows while several more orderlies and nurses patrolled both the rec room and the adjacent dining hall, keeping a supervisory eye on everything.

“Watch your back,” Tess urged. “There are many unfriendly eyes and ears in this place.” She then spoke loudly and gaily, clearly putting on a casual show for anyone watching us.

“Here you are, Miss Echo!”

“Thank you Tess,” I said, looking at her with a genuine smile.

“You are most welcome, Grey,” she said with a smile. “You’re alright now?”

I nodded.

“Alright then! Enjoy your dinner.”

I smiled to her as she approached her sisters before I got in line to receive my supper ration for the evening.

“Tags?” prompted the servingwoman in a bored voice. I showed her the card hanging over my neck and she nodded, dishing up food to match my exact caloric needs.

“Enjoy,” replied the servingwoman with no enthusiasm, the first person I had seen to not treat me as if I were a fragile nutter.

I gave her a sickly sweet smile, which she did not acknowledge at all and calmly took a seat near a window where I began to eat, pondering Tess’s warning. So far, the Asylum seemed like a legitimate establishment genuinely concerned for the health of its patients. Their methods may be slightly harsh and strange, but it didn’t seem to be doing any real harm…

As I contemplated my thoughts and ate my rations, I began to scan the room, searching for anyone with a streak of rebellion running through their eyes.

“Have you seen my sheepdog?”

I looked behind me, taken aback by the strange address, and saw an older gentleman with wide blue eyes and unkempt graying hair standing unnervingly close to me.

“Erm, no,” I replied curtly.

“If you see one, tell him Harry wants him to come back to our room.”

I nodded.

“Alright.”

Harry nodded and proceeded to walk up the length of the room, calling to his imaginary dog.

I shook my head and finished my rations. I quickly placed my plate on a collection cart and began to roam the dining hall, searching the faces of the patients.

I caught scraps of conversation, but that was all I needed. The exchanges I heard all centred either on whether or not someone’s food rations resembled Napoleon Bonaparte or the exact quantity of the gaslamps in the dining hall. There was a surprising amount of conversation about the latter topic, so much so that I began to count the lamps…there were quite a few…

“Why are you standing there?”

A portly gentleman seated at the table to my right looked at me as though I had just stolen his most prized possession.

“Pardon?” I asked, snapping roughly out of my daze. He stood up suddenly, knocking both his tray and all four chairs to the ground. He stood at least three foot taller than me and had almost fourteen stone on me. I gulped.

“No one stands next to me without my permission,” he said in a low growl, leaning towards me as he spoke.

“My apologies,” I said quickly. “I didn’t know. I was just looking for someone.”

“You don’t look for anyone near my table!” he shouted. “Now I’m gonna teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!”

“Allan!”

I looked up at saw a pretty girl suddenly fly between the large territorial man and me.

“Allan, you forget your manners,” she said sweetly in a friendly Italian accent.

“Izzy, she stood next to me! She don’t know me! She can’t do that!”

The girl showed no signs of fear. In fact, she gave an authoritative giggle and dared to place her hand on the large man’s face.

“Allan, you must remember your manners. She is clearly a new patient and doesn’t know the rule about Allan’s table” — she turned to me —“have you learned the rule about Allan’s table?”

I nodded quickly and she turned back to him.

“Good. See? Now she knows and won’t do it again. Is that alright, Allan?”

Allan furrowed his brow, but he picked up his tray and walked away, staring at me the entire time.

The girl turned to me.

“Don’t mind Allan. He’s always been a little obsessive about his personal space,” she smiled as she looked at me. “My name is Isabella.”

She extended a friendly hand. I shook it strongly, recalling my instructions to find Isabella. I decided to do a bit of probing first, find out if she could really be trusted.

“I’m Grey Echo.”

“Interesting name,” she mused as she led me to a group of large poufs and chaise lounges in an unoccupied corner of the room.

“Where are you from? You do not seem like a native of Murias.”

I shrugged sheepishly.

“I’m a traveller.”

Isabella smiled.

“I understand not wanting to divulge your history to a stranger, but you will find that having friends in a place like this is a very valuable thing.”

She took a confident swig of her drink. I found her demeanour very striking. She seemed very calm and collected: she clearly had this place figured out and had everyone wrapped around her finger. But, what if this was an act?

“How do I know I can trust you?”

She laughed, flashing me an attractive smile.

“You mean how do you know I’m not mad?”

I bit my lip.

“More or less.”

She paused, staring out at the patients in the dining room as her demeanour grew dark and vengeful.

“If I’m mad, it is with passionate fury towards the Board and their unethical practices in these walls. If I’m mad, it is with the determination to obliterate them forever and liberate all who have been wrongly locked away here. If I’m mad, it is with an unabashed and fervent desire to see them pay for all their wrong doings.”

“Really?” I asked, shocked at her vehement hatred. My guard had certainly gone up since my cryptic introduction to ‘the Board,’ but I could not see the reason for her blatant wrath. It seemed a nice enough place…

“Do not be taken in by the façade. The Board is evil.”

“What do they do?” I asked with cautious intrigue.

“They rid us of our emotions until we become vapid and brainless. They make us insane. I’ve seen it on many an occasion and I am now more determined than ever to stop it.”

I sat back, thinking of the three sisters and how kind they had been to me.

“Why would the Board want to do this?” I asked.

“They desire control. Anything and anyone that they cannot control, they bring here and turn into something that is easily malleable, someone who will obey without question.”

I sat back, aghast that my initial fears proved to be true. How on Earth was I supposed to take down an entire government?

I then tensed, suddenly recalling the cryptic note I had been passed. Quickly, I pulled it out of my shoe and looked it over again.

“Do you know of Meg, Tess and Alexa?”

“The Morrigan sisters? Of course. Every patient goes to them for decontamination and Asylum induction procedures. They are often the first people patients see. Why?”

“They gave me a note telling me to find you,” I said, re-reading the note. Isabella gave a winning smile of pride.

“Excellent! Those clever girls…it’s alright to trust them. They are prisoners just as we are.”

“Really?” I inquired. “How?”

“They will not give specifics, but I know that they were all brought in after a terrible string of fires plagued Murias. The head doctors were particularly harsh in their punishments.”

I recalled the branded M in the faces of each sister. I took a deep inhale and turned her.

“Will you help me free them, Isabella?” I asked. “Will you help me free all of us?”

She gave me a dangerous grin.

“Hell yes I will! I will live to see the Board overthrown or die trying.”

Isabella and I spent the next several hours in the rec room talking. Mostly it consisted of me answering her questions about my life on the road and my education as a Hunter. She was also good enough to point out several patients that I would have to steer clear of in order to avoid another ‘Allan’ incident. We talked for so long that the orderlies came in to ferry us through the line once more for lunch. We both received our rations and then sat together at a single table near a barred window and began to eat, continuing our conversation.

“I am curious, what was your first impression of Murias?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Nausea. I don’t know how its citizens live in a city of such bland architecture,” I remarked as I took a bite of my slop.

“The Board tells them to ignore it,” Isabella said simply.

I noted the unassuming passion in her simple statement. She wasn’t trying to force me to believe her: she was simply stating facts. I liked her confidence.

“Where in Italy are you from?” I asked.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about me…” she said self-consciously.

“Of course I do! I’ve spent the last few hours answering all of your questions about me, the least you could do is answer some of mine about you.”

Isabella smiled, pleased at my interest.

“I come from Verona. My father owned a pottery shop in la Piazza delle Erbe.”

“Were you an only child?” I asked.

“I had one brother but he ran away when he was seventeen just after my parents died. I was eight. I haven’t seen him since.”

“He just left you?”

“Yes, my brother was never well in the head. And here I am in an insane asylum. Irony can be quite cruel sometimes…”

Isabella was silent for a moment as she thought about it when suddenly a cheerful voice broke her reverie.

“Hello Izzy!”

Isabella and I turned suddenly at the new voice, which belonged to a red-haired girl who looked to be just as old as Isabella and myself.

“Who’s winning?” queried the younger of two men standing next to her as he sat down. The third man merely stared at me with observantly playful eyes. I looked to Isabella, who was smiling at them casually. She then noticed my edgy expression and laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Grey, this is Ophelia Duncan, Kam Hawkins and Cyrus Xavier, three of the many that were wrongfully imprisoned here.”

Cyrus continued to stare at me and I grew increasingly more uncomfortable as his bright eyes bore into me with sharp precision.

“Can he speak?” I finally asked.

“No. Dr. Kingsmith cut out his tongue back when the Asylum was first opened. He was charged with sedition. She was much more ruthless back then…”

I stared open-mouthed at Cyrus and he shrugged, dismissing my pity that hung in my stomach like the thinly hanging sword of Damocles. I turned my attention to the other three, Isabella’s story growing steadily more solid and believable.

“Who exactly is Dr. Kingsmith?” I asked.

The other three grew silent.

“Dr. Kingsmith is the head psychiatrist. She examines all of the patients and oversees all activity in the Asylum,” replied Isabella.

“And she’s a megalomaniac!” Kam sang with malice, causing several of the other patients to send us curious gazes. Even several orderlies frowned.

The others laughed quietly at the scene. Cyrus then made several abrupt hand gestures and Kam laughed harder.

“That’s exactly right,” he said, responding to some private joke Cyrus had made. “…along with just about every evil figure you can imagine.”

I laughed to cover my uneasy trepidation. Such a woman was to supervise people whose sanity was in question? What kind of a place was this?

“How long have you all known each other?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Well, Cyrus has been here the longest, around six years. He befriended Kam and taught him how to communicate with his hands, so now Kam and Cyrus are nearly inseparable. I came here about five years ago. I dared to question the Board’s food rationing policies, so they made it appear as though I had broken into a food storage closet and taken everything that was inside….bastards…Isabella came here soon after I did and I saw that she was one of the many that was not insane. So I introduced her to our group, and now you can be a part of it too! What did you say your name was?”

Ophelia’s massive explanation was followed by a large gasp for air, for she had not taken any during her long-winded speech.

The others laughed and before I could re-introduce myself, a piercing voice that sounded not unlike a banshee wail cut through the chatter of the rec room.

“Patient E, it is time for your preliminary meeting with Dr. Kingsmith.”

A very tall, rail thin woman stood at the door next to the orderlies, staring at me expectantly. Her eyes were cold and her frizzy red hair resembled a red cloud hovering forebodingly over her white uniform. She reminded me of Medusa, so much so that I averted my eyes.

“Wow, she sent Warden Allen to escort you to her office,” remarked Ophelia. “She must know that you are of some importance.”

“That is Warden Allen?!” I exclaimed, gaping at the restive termagant waiting for me.

“Unfortunately,” Isabella scoffed. “Warden Allen is not known for her feminine qualities.”

“That’s putting it gently!” Kam lambasted.

I stood strongly and turned to the Warden, who was impatiently tapping her foot.

“Hurry up!” she barked.

“Remain as stoic as possible,” cautioned Ophelia as I left. “Dr. Kingsmith preys on your fears and weaknesses. She can read you like a novel!”

I nodded as I crossed the room and leave with the Warden. I looked at the hopeful faces of the four of them and was immediately filled with trepidation. I could not be unsuccessful; I simply could not…

Warden Allen was even more irritated when I approached her.

“It’s about time!” she snapped, hastily grabbing my wrist cuffs and binding them in my belt. It was then that I noticed the same black flame tattoo on her wrist as I had seen on the wrists of the two men I first met in my room. I frowned in thought and she noticed my acute stare. She hastily pulled her sleeves down.

“Do not attempt anything,” she threatened, gripping my arm.

“Yessir,” I assured her, laughing to myself.

She then brought her gloved hand sharply across the side of my face, halting my amusement and most of the activity in the room. I touched my lip I tasted blood.

“Warden Allen!” protested Meg from nearby. “Please control yourself!”

“Oh shut up!” snapped the Warden.

Meg flashed me a sly wink, which I carefully returned before I gracefully expectorated the blood onto the shoes of the Warden and I heard four muffled snickers from the corner of the dining hall. This did not, however, please Warden Allen. She grabbed my chin and forced me to stare into her ugly, cold eyes.

“You will conduct yourself with decorum in my presence! I will not tolerate lewd and immature behaviour in my wing! Understood?”

I nodded solemnly, doing my very best not to expectorate more blood into her face.

She nodded curtly and then began leading me through two identically white hallways of patient rooms before we came upon the wide, open foyer I had entered several days ago.

“Keep up,” barked the Warden as she shoved me through a pair of thick oak doors and into a narrow stone turret leading to a lengthy brick corridor. We passed through two more locked doors before we ascended a long spiralling staircase, arriving at an oak door with black iron locks. Formal gold letters spelled out the name ‘Dr. Morgana Kingsmith, Head Psychiatrist and Physician’ on a plaque in the middle of the door. Warden Allen knocked twice.

“Patient E, ma’am,” she said.

“Enter,” replied a warmly inviting voice from inside.

Warden Allen opened the door and ushered me inside to a large wooden chair in front of a desk, behind which sat a woman of about thirty years. Her hair was long and several different intense colours ran through it — reds, browns and shades of blonde that I did not think were possible by natural means. Her brown eyes were beaming behind a pair of black horn rimmed glasses and she smiled at me with a warm engaging grin.

“Hello!” she said, shuffling through some papers on her desk. She looked to the Warden and nodded. The Warden then tied each of my ankles tightly to the legs of the chair and locked two leather straps to my belt, leaving my wrists still cuffed. The doctor’s casual expression told me that this was not an uncommon occurrence.

“Thank you, Warden. That will be all,” she said sweetly when Warden Allen had finished.

“I’ll wait outside then, ma’am.”

She left the room promptly and the doctor turned to me with her ostentatiously fecetious smile.

“So, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, yet! I’m—”

“Dr. Kingsmith, I know,” I finished, gesturing to the outside door. She gave me a politely discommoded grin, as though she was unaccustomed to her patients knowing how to read.

“Right, well, you’re certainly a perceptive one, aren’t you?” she said, proceeding to write something down in a file which allotted me a glimpse of her black flame tattoo, exactly the same as the others I had seen. My brow furrowed in further intrigue and the doctor noticed. She quickly rolled her sleeves down to cover the mark and happily changed the subject.

“How are you enjoying your stay, then? Have you made any friends?”

She spoke to me as though I were a child and I was starting to feel that this was purposeful patronisation — if you treated a man as though he was insane and insignificant for a long enough period of time, he would begin to believe it.

“I’ve met a few…Kam, Ophelia, Cyrus and Isabella,” I replied with caution.

Dr. Kingsmith looked up and gave a very wistful, feminine sigh.

“I’m so glad. They have all been here for quite some time and we’ve noticed anti-social tendencies in each of them. They keep to themselves, don’t really enjoy talking with the other patients and they seem to have adopted rather nihilistic views of the Murias society. I’m so happy you’ve bonded with them! Perhaps you can help them come out of their shells!”

I nodded and shifted my weight uncomfortably. The doctor looked down at her papers and sighed, changing the subject once more.

“Grey, I understand that you believe you are one of the legendary Creature Hunters and that you were sent here by a mad wizard?”

As she spoke, my eyes again slipped down to her tattooed wrist, which had agilely manoeuvred to the other side of the desk and over a small hidden device.

“Yes. My next task is to decipher why,” I said strongly, taking note of where the concealed device was located.

“Yes of course, but I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Murias is the perfect city! Since the Board has taken over, there has been no conflict or trouble at all! It really is paradise!”

The doctor sighed, gave a trite laugh and stared at me with very evident nationalistic pride. She then walked out from behind her desk and began to circle me with the grace and malicious intent of a harpy. Unable to defend myself, my muscles tensed and my heart began to race.

“How does one become a Creature Hunter, exactly?”

I frowned as she leaned against the desk in front of me, studying her face. Her physiognomy read of clandestine menace. I remained silent.

“Oh, is it against your code for me to know?” she said in a debasingly mocking voice. “Or have you just not imagined that part yet? Tell me, what is a Creature by your definition?”

She stared at me harder with dark eyes of haughty scepticism.

“I would like to leave now. I’m not feeling well,” I said softly, tugging at my restraints. Suddenly, Dr. Kingsmith lunged for me, jabbing the concealed metal instrument into my neck. I then felt several waves of burning fire pulsate through me, leaving me paralysed.

“You will not be leaving,” she taunted in my ear with a voice of unctuous cruelty. “I still have questions for you. If I don’t ask you, then I can’t really get a decent understanding of your mental state and therefore, I can’t help you! And you do want help, don’t you? Of course you do, so let’s talk about you, alright?”

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