Two posts in one day? I know, I must be ill. This is a rough intro to a solo project that's been rattling round my head in various forms for about five years. I think I've finally found a way I like it, but any comments would be appreciated. As I said, this is a very rough intro, but hopefully it'll give an idea of where this is going to go.
Charity looked up from her pile of notes with a sigh, which turned into a groan when she caught sight of the clock. She quickly sorted through the papers, pushing them into the appropriate folders, or what she at least reckoned were the appropriate folders. She pushed her chair back from the desk, stood up, and glared down at it; not a mark on the cushion. Then again, she had been floating three inches above it the entire time she had been sitting here.
Another glance at the clock took her out of her reverie, and she scooped up the folders, flicked off the lights, moved to the door and opened it, stepping out into…
“Oh for the love of!” She shook her foot to dislodge the goo that had newly attached itself, and retreated into her office, cursing the whole way. She dropped the folders back onto the desk, flicked the light back on, and grabbed the telecom. She pushed the button.
“Could a janitor please come to the ground floor? There’s…eurgh, there’s ectoplasm all over the corridor floor again. Thank you.”
She threw the device back onto the desk and moved to the door, leaning on the frame, arms folded as she waited. After a long moment a stooped figure shuffled into view, dragging a mop and bucket behind him.
“Mornin’, Miss Charity.”
She frowned in reply. “Do you know which of the cretin twins dragged this one by?”
“No idea, Miss Charity, I’ve been cleaning out the Hearing Rooms all morning.”
She sighed. “I only agreed to do this job because I thought I was doing some good, Alfie, and look where it’s gotten me…writing up endless notes and walking in…offal!”
He chuckled as he wrung out the mop and began to clean up. “Surely you must have known it wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows, pet. These are tortured souls you deal with.”
“I know, I just…well, I guess I thought it’d be a little more glamorous.”
He snorted at the age old conversation, and she winced at the sound of the mop dragging its way through the goo on the floor. “You do a good thing, that should be enough.”
She gave him a small smile. “You do know how to make me feel better, Alfie, ta.”
He doffed an imaginary cap towards her as she returned to her desk and scooped up her folders once more, flicking the light off as she left. “Anytime, Miss Charity. Have a nice day now.”
She laughed, and laid a hand on his shoulder as she passed. “And you.”
The sounds of his mopping followed her all the way along the corridor, and up the first flight of stairs, before it was overtaken by the shrieking. The shrieking blocked everything out at this end of the building, and it never failed to make her shudder. She carried on climbing, coming to the door of The Wing on the second floor. As always, her curiosity overtook her, and she felt compelled to look through the window, just as the yells and screams halted.
In the middle of the floor was a small, huddled figure, resting on its knees, trembling. The others scattered about the room approached, the braver ones getting near enough to prod the newcomer, most simply staring, as though hypnotised, at this new figure. And then, with a keenness that always made her jump, and usually drop whatever she was carrying as well as her glasses, the shrieks began anew, the newcomer all but forgotten as life returned to normal in the madhouse.
“Those poor buggers,” she muttered as she crouched down to retrieve the folders and her glasses. “Those are the one that are never getting out.” Straightening, she spared them one last pitying look before continuing up the stairs.
She found the Sister waiting for her when she gained the fifth floor, hands on hips, usual frown firmly in place. “And what time do you call this?”
“Apologies Sister, there was a problem with-“
“Ectoplasm, I heard. It is being cleaned up?”
“Yes, Alfie is doing it right now, Sister.”
“Good.” She nodded to the folders in the girl’s arms. “Are these the notes for today’s hearings?” A suspicious look. “You did bring the right ones this time?”
“Yes, Sister, I checked them myself, I just finished writing one of them-“
“Enough. Come, we’re late as it is.”
Charity stuck her tongue out at the back of the Sister’s head as she turned towards the Hearing Rooms, and then followed her along the corridor, trying and failing to supress another shudder. She hated Hearings; forced to relive the stories of these souls’ lives with them, nearly all of them gave her nightmares of some sort. “I guess that’s why it’s an asylum for tortured souls…”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, Sister, sorry, talking to myself.”
The Sister eyed her for a moment, and then swept into a room. Charity rolled her eyes and followed her, taking her customary seat in the corner of the room, depositing her folders on the table next to the seat. She pulled her notebook from the bundle, her pen from her breast pocket, and quickly scribbled the date and time at the top of the page.
“Who’s case are we hearing first, Nurse?”
Charity quickly checked the names on the folders, pulling one from the middle of the pile, and opening it in her lap. “Verity De Fau, Sister.”
“Now you’re just making names up.”
“I’m not!” She remembered herself, and cleared her throat. “She’s been with us a while, Sister, so her name may seem a little outdated.”
“Oh?”
“She came to us from the Bethlem Hospital, Sister. From Bedlam.”
“Ah, I see…” There was a moment’s pause. “Run the main details of her case by me before we get her in here please.”
Charity glared at the Sister, perched like an overlarge frog on her seat at the back of the room, leering over everything, and then looked down at her notes. The colour left her face as she scanned her handwriting. “Oh God, not this case again.”
“Well?”
She cleared her throat. “She was…she was raped, and as a result had a child out of wedlock. This, along with a few other incidents, had her thrown in Bedlam, where she lived the remainder of her life, Sister. She’s had three previous Hearings, and was not deemed fit to leave at any of them.”
“Well clearly child, she’s still here!”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Very well. Are we fit to proceed?”
Charity was quiet for a long moment, her inner voice screaming at her to get up and run from the room, to leave this place and this wretched job behind. She looked up.
“Yes, Sister. I’m ready.”
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