Ducie by Chris Freeman
Chapter 17. Are you sitting comfortably?
The beautifully comfortable, cotton wool-like texture of unconsciousness dissipated quickly as Kate’s brain began leaking in the first few snippets of sight and sound. First she heard voices. Calm, unhurried, in-control voices. No commotion, no haste. Then a whisper of light trickled in, as she forced her eyes to open just a little. The room was dark, bar what seemed like perhaps a dim lamp. As her mind fumbled through the hazy filing cabinets of her memory bank, she was close to placing this room that she almost recognised when Harrison Morgan’s distinctive West Indian accent seemed to jolt Kate up to the next level of awake.
- Joey boy! Carry yaself over ‘ere. Sleepy ‘ead a starting to come arowund
Kate felt the presence of two, maybe three people move closer towards her. Opening her eyes some more, her view was dominated by Harrison Morgan and Joe McKenna. Her eyes were still adjusting, but the fact that Harrison was black and Joe was white made the job of distinguishing between the two straight forward. She watched helplessly, void of energy, as Harrison turned and went about some business or other across the room. The departure of his hulking body from Kate’s immediate vision made way for the features of the room. A desk, a chair, a TV or monitor of some sort and a clock. A black and white, oversized analogue clock that looked like it should have sat on the wall of a London train station. There were probably other clocks like it in the world, but the only one Kate knew of sat on the wall of the exact same security office that was the scene of Adam’s disastrous break-in. As the rest of the room came into focus, it became obvious that that was exactly where they were.
Kate felt her chair being raised into an upright position and a feeling of nausea swept through her, as she struggled with the concept of sitting vertically. A sudden, strong waft of coffee enhanced her desire to be sick. She felt too lifeless to move, but then again, where would have been a suitable place to hurl up vomit in this tiny office anyway? The bin perhaps I suppose, but it was too late. Kate quickly lost the battle to hold down the rising assault of her stomach contents up through her esophagus and out through her mouth. She let out a short, involuntary retching sound, as the watery liquid cascaded down into her lap. Instantly, as if having expected it to happen, Harrison lifted her up into the air like a waitress lifting up a salt shaker to clean the table underneath it, as Joe scurried around with paper towels mopping up the mess. Kate didn’t protest at being manhandled. Her bullish personality all but destroyed under these exhausting circumstances. She began to feel the nausea lifting, as she glanced around the room and noticed Adam sitting in the green, swivel chair to her left. He looked calmer and more at ease than he had done in the Situation Room; as if he’d accepted his fate. Though he couldn’t possibly have anticipated what was to come. Kate began putting herself in Adam’s proverbial shoes again and it made her ache with sadness for him. The trauma triggered the reappearance of the nausea, so she quickly put these thoughts to bed and reverted to the simplicity of gazing at her surroundings some more.
A mismatched array of chairs, a couple of which she recognised from the canteen had been brought into the office. She knew why they were here. A conversation was to be had. A conversation long enough and serious enough to warrant pulling in spare chairs from around the Institution.
Joe and Harrison took their seats, forming a diamond shape between the four of them. The silence that followed became instantly awkward, as three of four excruciating seconds limped by. Joe spoke first.
- Adam, I’d like to start off by saying sorry to you for the way you were handled today and for the trauma you’ve suffered.
Adam was slightly taken back by this sudden appearance of Joe’s sympathetic side, having been forcefully ushered into the office by him without a word just moments earlier. Joe’s brash Birmingham accent made the soft nature of his words seem even more surreal. The apology continued.
- Take my word for it mate, if we could have done it an easier way, we would have done.
A silence fell on the room as if Joe expected a response. ‘Oh yeah, that’s ok Joe. Don’t mention it. All’s well that ends well and all that, hey mate. Fancy going for a beer?’. Hardly! Adam said nothing. Joe went on.
- Adam, you might be wondering what Kate has to do with all of this.
- I’m still wondering what I have to do with all of this to be honest Joe! In fact, I’m still wondering what the fucking hell ‘this’ is exactly.
Adam had discovered a newfound sense of cockiness from somewhere, now that Joe appeared a lot less scary than before.
- I understand Adam, I really do. But I’m hoping that when we’ve finished giving you our explanation, you might understand a bit more.
- Explanation? For which bit of this circus do you have an explanation Joe? The bit where you shot me down outside the office maybe?
- We didn’t shoot you Adam.
- Or that space-age computer room you have back there? Or the fact that you two used to be quite nice chaps before you suddenly decided to turn into Tweedle-Nutcase and Tweedle-Psycho? Which bit of it do you have an explanation for exactly Joe? Huh?
Up until now, Kate had been a silent bystander, but for the first time since waking in the room, she spoke in a low, strained voice.
- All of it Adam. They’ll explain all of it. Just stop ranting and let them talk.
Adam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in an unspoken challenge to Joe to live up to Kate’s promise of an all encompassing explanation . Joe went on.
- Adam, four years ago, the British government sanctioned an operation that involved the patients in this Institution; yourself included.
- Sally Hibbert! I knew it! She’s a spy for them, yeah?
If Kate didn’t know Adam better, she’d have thought he was cracking a joke at the most inappropriate of times. But as well as Ducians knew Ducians, Kate knew Adam. And Kate knew he was being serious. As her croaky voice broke suddenly, the old sarcastic Kate made a brief return.
- Not Sally Hibbert, you fuckwit! That’s always going to be a hearing aid in her ear, no matter how many times your thick head tells you otherwise.
Joe continued.
- Adam, four years ago, a group of neuroscientists discovered that all drug addictions involve the action of a certain substance in one specific part of the brain. They discovered that both the pleasure generated by drugs and their adverse effects on withdrawal are connected to the same substance. They then developed an inhibitor that removes the craving for drugs and the pleasure obtained from them as well as the nasty withdrawal effects that I’m sure you’re familiar with. The team created a drug based on a naturally occurring enzyme known as CROP intended to act on the part of the brain where many drugs unleash that feeling of pleasure you get when you take them.
Adam looked perplexed.
- Are you on crack now Joe?
Joe ignored the wisecrack.
- The experiment was intended to cure addicts like yourself Adam. To change your lives for the better. Unfortunately however, the experiment produced some unexpected results.
- It didn’t work, no? Ah, bless the little eggheads. At least they tried, eh?
- It worked Adam. Just not in the way they expected it to.
Joe paused, as if waiting for the next sarcastic quip from Adam that didn’t come. He was relieved at the short, silent break in this stressful exchange.
- You see Adam, the test patient experienced some quite remarkable side effects, which…
A high pitched alarm wailed around the Institution and within seconds, two pager-like devices belonging to Joe and Harrison began vibrating in tandem on the desk.
- Wait there, the both of you. Don’t move. Don’t panic.
Joe and Harrison darted out of the office, quickly followed by Adam and Kate, who completely ignored their instructions to stay put. The four of them sprinted down identical looking corridors, careering round corners before Joe, who was leading the pack finally settled on a dormitory. T
What greeted them as they entered the room was the limp body of Harry Dunne, a patient of the Institution and a mildly familiar friend of both Kate and Adam. A pool of blood lay underneath his head, like a sticky, crimson pillow. His legs were bent at an awkward angle beneath his body, probably evidence of a fall from the top bunk of the metal bed.
Kate’s nausea returned, stronger this time, and for the second time tonight, she vomited.