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part 4 of the story
A S Y L U M

Mark Pearce

    “We hooked him up to the machine, but it wouldn’t work, and while we were checking it, he took off.”
    “How did he get out of the straps?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, get after him! Catch him before he reaches the gate!”
    Harry ran out of the room.
    Koestler stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “It appears the rat has escaped by its own effort.”
    Reid slowly turned to face him. “Where is he?”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t have time to play games with you. We both know that he never would have escaped without your prompting, and never could have escaped without your help. You must have planned the whole thing for him.”
    “Really?”
    “You’re not as smart as you think. He’ll never get outside the gate. He wouldn’t even have gotten this far if the machine hadn’t broken down.”
    “That was a fortunate coincidence, wasn’t it?”
    Reid looked at him; his expression hardened. “You bastard.”
    “Careful, doctor. You’re losing your objectivity.”
    Harry rushed in. “He’s out.”
    “What do you mean?” said Reid.
    “He cut a hole in the gate and escaped.”
    “Show me.” He rushed to the door, then turned back to Koestler. “I’ll talk to you shortly.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    Reid and Harry exited. They closed the door. Koestler went to the window and slid it up. He then picked the lock on the bars and swung them open. Nigel climbed through.
    “It worked great!” said Nigel. “You should have seen the look on their faces when the machine wouldn’t work.”
    “Did you have any trouble with the straps?”
    “Not a bit.”
    “Good. Now, you’ll have to wait about ten minutes before you can escape. They’ll have someone guarding the hole in the fence, but you can cut a new hole and be free. Do you remember what you’re supposed to do when you get out of here?”
    As though reciting something he memorized: “I’m supposed to go to Meadowlawn Avenue and find Officer Jameson. He’s a cop, but he’s okay.”
    “Right. He’ll help you out. It might be a good idea for you to get out of town.”
    “I wish I could go back to my family.”
    There was an awkward pause.
    “You’d better be going,” said Koestler. “Reid will be back soon.”
    Nigel was somber. “This was supposed to be your escape.”
    “I can wait.”
    “Please come with me.”
    “I can’t. If I left with you now, they’d know you didn’t escape through the first hole, and they’d figure we were still in the vicinity.”
    “You know what Reid will do to you.”
    “I can take it. I’ll wait a few days, then escape myself. Now go.”
    Nigel crawled out the window. Koestler closed it, relocked the bars, and went and sat on the bed. Reid entered.
    “Are you going to tell me where he’s gone?”
    “No.”
    Dr. Reid went to the door and called for Harry. He then turned and gazed at Koestler. His tone was resigned but firm. “Now we begin.”

VII

    Dr. Reid could see his reflection in the office window beside his desk as the sun set behind the hills. The trees had long since lost their leaves and the branches bent in the wind. He was updating his notes on Peter Koestler. Koestler had a powerful intellect. At times, Reid thought it might even be more powerful than his own. But Reid was in control of the environment. He set the parameters.
    Ms. Opel entered the office. “Excuse me, doctor.”
    “Yes?”
    “Sergeant Beale just called. They’ve located Mr. Tonn.”
    Reid put down his pen. “Where was he?”
    “He was camping out at Lake Myers. He refuses to say who was helping him.”
    “What are they going to do with him?”
    “They’ve agreed to return him here since there are no charges against him.”
    “Are they bringing him now?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Reid leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad that’s resolved.”
    “There’s one more thing,” said Ms. Opel.
    “Yes?”
    “Jack Dailey is in my office. He insists on seeing you.”
    Reid leaned forward and scowled. “I suppose you wouldn’t know what he wants to see me about.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Their attorney called me at home last night.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes, ‘oh’. Who authorized you to talk with him?”
    “Peter asked me to. They’re old friends.”
    “Peter is it? Since when are you on a first name basis with our patients?”
    “I just . . .” her words trailed off.
    “You just what? Frankly, Ms. Opel, your whole conduct has been unprofessional lately. You’ve spent so much time with Mr. Koestler that it has begun to affect your judgement. I admit he’s a very persuasive man, but he’s ill.”
    “Do you think the electrotherapy is helping him?”
    Reid felt his anger rise. “You stand there not three feet away from me and miss every word that comes out of my mouth. I’ll not have you questioning my medical decisions.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now send in Mr. Dailey.”
    Ms. Opel left the office. A moment later, Jack Dailey entered.
    “Hello, Mr. Dailey,” said Reid. “Please be seated.”
    Jack lowered himself into the chair across from Reid’s desk.
    “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time by coming here,” said Reid. “It’s like I told your attorney yesterday, it would be impossible to have your uncle released from here at this time.”
    “That’s not why I came,” said Dailey. “Maybe my uncle does need the treatments you’re giving him—I’m no doctor—but I want to know why we’re not allowed to see him.”
    “The success of these treatments depends upon his total isolation from any outside influence. If he were permitted to have contact with you or your mother, he might revert back to his former behavior patterns. We almost have him at the point where he can be helped, and I cannot risk contamination from the outside.”
    “You don’t understand,” said Dailey. “You can’t cut him off from my mother. It’s going to kill him. I didn’t have him committed here as a permanent condition. I just wanted you to declare him incompetent so that he could not squander his fortune. He just needs to be taken care of.”
    “When you had him committed here,” said Dr. Reid, “you made me responsible for him. No one leaves here while they’re still sick.”
    “I’m not asking that he leave here. All I’m asking is that you let us see him. Let Mother see him.”
    “Perhaps in a couple of weeks.”
    “We haven’t seen him in over a month.”
    “That’s my decision,” said Reid. “I’m sorry.” The intercom buzzed. Reid pressed the button. “Yes?”
    “Mr. Tonn is here.”
    “Have Harry bring him in when Mr. Dailey leaves.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Reid turned to Dailey. “Now if you will excuse me, I have to see a patient.”
    Dailey rose. “I’ll stay in touch.”
    “I assure you, there is nothing to be concerned about. The next time you see your uncle, you will be amazed at the change.”
    “Not too amazed, I trust.”
    Dailey exited.
    Harry entered, leading Nigel. Nigel was very frightened.
    “Hello, Nigel,” said Reid.
    “Please don’t hurt me.”
    “I won’t. Sit down. Relax. You know we’ve all been very worried about you, Nigel. You never should have run off like that.”
    “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Peter made me. He made me do it. He’s the one who messed up the machine and showed me how to get out of the straps.”
    “I am aware of Mr. Koestler’s role in all of this; however, each of us is responsible for our own actions. Mr. Koestler prompted you, but you should have refused.”
    “I didn’t mean it. I’ll do right. You’ll see. I won’t make any trouble anymore.”
    “I know you won’t,” said Reid, soothingly; he turned to Harry. “Take him to Room 103.” He looked back to Nigel. “I’m giving you your own room now. You’ll like that better, I think.” Then to Harry. “Send Ms. Opel in on your way out.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Reid wrote something on a slip of paper. Ms. Opel entered. Reid handed her the paper. “Give Nigel two capsules of this to make him sleep.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She started to leave.
    “Wait,” said Reid. She turned. “Ms. Opel. Sharon. I’m sorry I spoke harshly before. It’s just that their attorney gave me such a hard time, and I’ve been under a lot of stress with Nigel escaping and Koestler resisting treatment.”
    “I understand.”
    “How has Koestler been sleeping?”
    “Not very well. The night orderly said he paces for hours after lights out.”
    “That’s a shame. It’s so hard to get him to take any medication at all.”
    “I know.”
    “All right,” said Reid. “You’re excused.”

***

    Koestler paced the dimly lit room. His face was haggard and he looked a great deal older. He kept clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking.
    Harry entered carrying a tray of food. “Time to eat, Mr. Koestler,” he said, setting the tray on the table. “You better eat up. You’re beginning to lose weight.”
    He stood watching Koestler a moment, then left the room.
    “Can’t eat any of that,” said Koestler to himself. “Probably drugged.”
    He began pacing again. He grabbed a fork from the tray and used the bed frame to bend back one of the tines. He then went to the window to try and pick the lock on the bars, but his hand was shaking so badly he dropped the fork. He picked it up and began again. The trembling of his hands made the task hopeless. He became frustrated and threw the fork down.
    Reid entered. Koestler was frightened but tried to maintain his dignity.
    “Hello, Peter,” said Reid, quietly.
    Koestler sat on the bed, pulled his legs up to his chest, and stared straight ahead.
    “They found Nigel,” said Reid. Koestler turned abruptly. “I’ve put him in another room. You’re a bad influence on each other. . . . I promise you, everything will be all right once you stop fighting. It hurts for a long time while you’re struggling, but one day you’ll relax. Then you can begin to heal. . . . You know, the one thing I regret out of all this is that after you’re cured, you’ll hate me. I would have like to have known you before your illness. I think we might have been friends.”
    Reid slowly rose and left the room.
    Koestler stood up from the bed and began pacing again. Ms. Opel entered. Koestler rushed up to her.
    “Did you talk to Phil?” he said, quickly.
    “Yes.”
    “And? What?”
    “He said only Dr. Reid can authorize your release.”
    “Sharon, you’ve got to help me.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “I don’t know. You’ve got to get me out of here. I’ve tried to escape, but my hands aren’t steady enough to work the lock anymore.”
    “If you can just convince Dr. Reid that you’re better.”
    Koestler despaired. “It’s no use. I can’t say I’ve stopped believing I’m an angel, because he never believed that anyway.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Sharon, you’ve got to get me out of here. I’m ready to break. I know about brainwashing. I know what they want. There are certain steps they go through. Certain things they expect at each step. I’ve been trying to do things in the right order, each step of the process just ahead of him, but it’s getting hard for me to remember what comes next. If you don’t get me out of here soon, I’ll crack.”
    “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
    Koestler sat on the bed and clasped his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m about to go crazy here alone.” He looked up. “Why doesn’t Ann visit me? Why has she abandoned me here?”
    “She hasn’t. Dr. Reid refuses to allow her to visit.”
    “Of course,” said Koestler, cynically. “We can’t let her see what’s happening. She might do the humane thing.”
    “Don’t talk like that.”
    “Sorry,” said Koestler. “If I ever regain my sanity, maybe I’ll write a treatise on the direct correlation between torture and bitterness.”
“Are you bitter?”
    Koestler went to the window, gripped the bars, and rested his head wearily against them.
    “You shouldn’t be, you know,” she said. “Everyone is just trying to help you.”
    Koestler lifted his head slowly. “Say that again.”
    “I’m saying this as a friend. Maybe you have to be broken down before you can be rebuilt.”
    “Get out,” said Koestler, quietly.
    “Peter . . .”
    “Get out!”
    “If only you would—”
    “Get out!”
    Koestler grabbed her by her arm and by her shirt collar and forced her toward the door.
    “Peter! Wait!”
    “Am I going to have to hurt you?!” shouted Koestler. “Is that all you people understand?! What’s wrong with being an angel?! What’s wrong with being happy?!”
    Harry rushed in and pulled Koestler off Ms. Opel. She started to leave. Koestler shouted at her.
    “You tell Reid something for me! You tell him he won’t break me down! No matter what he does, he won’t break me down!”
    Ms. Opel left the room. Koestler pulled free from Harry. Harry stood staring at him. Convinced the crisis was over, he exited.
    Koestler paced again, then went and sat by the window.
    “I’m going to come through this,” he said. “I’ve just got to plan everything out. First I have to escape. Then I can . . .”
    He stopped talking as he seemed to realize something. He leaned toward the window. He strained as though listening carefully.
    “I can’t hear it anymore,” he said incredulously.
    Then louder, more frightened, he shouted, “I can’t hear it anymore!”
    He jumped up, grabbed the bars and shrieked—“I can’t hear it anymore!!!”

VIII

    The traffic on the turnpike was especially heavy. Jack Dailey was worn out by the time he got home. He entered through the front door. Too tired to go up to his room, he set his briefcase on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch.
    “Hard day?” said Ann.
    “The worst. Uncle Peter has been overloading us with work ever since he was released from the hospital. Says he has to make up for lost time. My department is way behind already. I’ll probably have to work straight through the weekend to get these books up to date. He wants them first thing Monday morning.”
    “Why don’t you ask Peter for more time?”
    “He’d never go for it. The only reason he’s let me get this far behind is because I’m your son. Anyone else would be long gone by now.”
    Koestler entered. He moved slowly, but his eyes were clear and alert. He was the picture of health. Dailey immediately opened his briefcase, pulled out a ledger, and began to work.
    “Hello, Peter,” said Ann. He grunted in reply. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
    “I’m not hungry,” said Koestler. “I have work to do.”
    “You’re going to have to stop pushing yourself so hard,” said Ann. “You’re liable to work yourself into a breakdown.”
    Koestler looked at her but said nothing.
    “You got some mail today,” said Ann. “It’s on your dresser.”
    Koestler exited through the archway.
    “Why did you say that about a breakdown?” said Dailey.
    “I wasn’t thinking.”
    “You’ve got to be careful what you say around him now. Anything can set him off. He fired Mr. Sheffield today.”
    “Nate Sheffield?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Why?”
    “No reason. Just came in today and told him to clean out his desk. Said it’s his company, and he’ll decide who works there and who doesn’t.”
    “Nate Sheffield has been with the company since the beginning.”
    “That’s not all. Nate just got through designing some new equipment for us. He wants to take the plans with him, but Uncle Peter won’t sign a release. Nate said he’s going to take legal action. It’s no use, though. He was working for us when he designed those plans, so they belong to the company. Still, it was an ugly scene. You wouldn’t believe how low morale is around that place.”
    There was a knock at the door. Dailey answered it.
    “Hello,” he said to the elderly gentleman who stood holding a leather briefcase.
    “Good evening. My name is Doug Stadler. Is Mr. Koestler at home?”
    “Come in,” said Dailey; he went to the archway.
    “Won’t you sit down?” said Ann.
    “Thank you.”
    Dailey called out: “Uncle Peter! Someone to see you!” He turned to Stadler. “He’ll be right down.”
    “Is my brother expecting you?” said Ann.
    “No, but we’ve done business before. Your brother is a very generous man.”
    Ann fidgeted uncomfortably. Koestler entered, carrying some letters.
    Mr. Stadler rose to greet him. “Ah, Mr. Koestler. I’m not sure if you will remember me.”
    “Mr. Stadler,” said Koestler. “What can I do for you?”
    “I’ve sent you several letters recently and gotten no reply.”
    “I’ve been ill.”
    “Ah. I expected it might be something like that. You must have made a good recovery. You’re looking very well.”
    “It’s kind of you to say so.”
    There was a brief, awkward pause, then—
    “Yes, well,” said Stadler, “what I dropped by for is, you remember when I came to see you a couple of months ago?”
    “I do.”
    “Well, there must have been an oversight, because we never received the check you promised us.”
    “There was no oversight. I don’t intend to give you a check.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I’m not giving you any money.”
    “But your money would help feed so many people.”
    “I’m no longer interested in feeding people.”
    “But the families we help—”
    “Are no concern of mine. Good day, Mr. Stadler.”
    Stadler hesitated as though considering what to say, then headed toward the door.
    “And stop clogging my mailbox with pleas for money,” said Koestler.
    Stadler exited. Koestler locked the door, then sat on the couch next to Ann. He opened a letter and began to read.
    “You were a little harsh,” said Ann.
    Koestler looked up.
    “I think he was right, though,” said Dailey. “If he kept giving money away, he’d go broke.”
    “Interesting you should say that,” said Koestler. He stared at Dailey. “I want you out of here by morning.”
    “Uncle Peter!”
    “Peter, don’t do this,” said Ann, desperately. “We’re sorry we sent you to that place. We didn’t know what would happen to you.”
    “He did,” said Koestler. “Didn’t you, Jack? Either way, this is your last night in this house. And you can leave your ledger behind. You won’t need it at your new company.”
    “Mother . . .” said Jack.
    “Don’t bring her into this!” Koestler barked. “You disgust me, Jack.”
    Ann spoke. “Peter, I can’t let you—”
    “Quiet! This is no concern of yours.”
    Dailey, his voice quaking slightly, said, “I guess I’d better go pack.”
    “Just be careful what you take,” said Koestler.
    Dailey looked at his mother, then left the room.
    Ann moved closer to Peter on the couch; she put her hand on his leg. “Peter, I want you to listen to me and try to understand. I love you. I always have. I loved you when you were crazy, and I even love you now, in spite of what you’re doing. But I’m going to have to go with Jack. I know we’ve hurt you badly, and I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about that now. Try and take care of yourself. Okay, Peter?”
    She kissed him on the cheek. He was virtually expressionless, but there were tears in his eyes. Ann’s eyes were also wet. She exited through the arch. Koestler sat in silence.
    Through the darkness of the night, Jim, the burglar, approached the house. He looked in the window and saw Koestler staring into the distance. He tried to catch his attention, but Koestler was oblivious. Jim tapped on the glass, but Koestler did not notice.
    Jim went around to the door, tried it, and discovered it was locked. He went back to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked as well. He pulled out a tool and tripped the latch, then slid the window open. He climbed through.
    “Hey, Peter, how come your door’s locked? It’s still early.”
    “I always lock my doors now.” Koestler rose and walked to the desk; he began looking through the drawers. Jim went to the bar and fixed himself a drink.
    “Where have you been?” he said. “I keep coming by, but you’re never here.”
    “I was in an asylum.”
    “Wow. That’s too bad. I’m glad you’re out.”
    Koestler pulled a gun from the desk and aimed it at Jim.
    “What are you doing?” said Jim.
    Koestler picked up the phone and dialed. “Hello, operator? Get me the police.”
    “Hey, what is this?” Jim moved toward Koestler.
    Koestler brandished the gun. “Hold it.”
    Jim stopped.
    “Hello, police? This is Peter Koestler of 1642 Meadowlawn. I have a prowler here. He came through my window. Please send a car right away.”
    He hung up.
    “What’s wrong with you?” said Jim.
    “They cured me.”
    “Oh, no,” said Jim, quietly, with complete comprehension. He started to move toward the door.
    “That’s far enough,” said Koestler. “Don’t make me shoot you. I will, you know.”
    “Peter, this is crazy.”
    “No. This is sane.”
    “Peter, step over to the window and listen. Your star is singing beautifully tonight.”
    “I never hear the stars anymore.”
    There was a long silence.
    “I wish I had known they had you in there,” said Jim, quietly.
    “It’s just as well this way,” said Koestler.
    Jim began looking around.
    “Don’t try anything,” said Koestler. “We’re going to wait quietly for the police.”
    “Peter, let’s go away from here. It’s your family that caused your troubles. Come with me and we’ll go camp out under the stars.” He looked into Koestler’s eyes. “They really did cure you, didn’t they? Well, there’s no way I could handle prison. If you’re going to shoot me, it will have to be in the back, because I’m walking out that door.”
    “Don’t do it,” said Koestler. “I swear, I’ll kill you.”
    Jim ignored the statement. “If you change your mind about coming with me, I’ll be at Ted’s over on Eighteenth Street.” He smiled. “Just ask for Jim. Everybody knows me.”
    He started toward the door. Koestler aimed at him, then his gun arm fell limply to his side. He reached with his other hand, palm up, as though he were a beggar seeking alms. His voice was very strained and quiet, like a moan of pain. “Jim . . .”
    His pained expression showed his inner struggle for just a moment before his face turned hard. Suddenly, he swung the gun up, aimed, and fired two loud blasts into Jim’s back. Jim fell dead to the floor.
    Koestler spoke, his voice hard, cruel: “When they cure you by torture, you stay cured.”
    He stood and watched as the body bled out. His expression never softened.

 

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