Page 84 of Beyond the Grave
"The cells are just along here, if you'd like to take a look. One is currently occupied—" He was cut off by a high-pitched shriek that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "Ah, yes, that would be the patient now. It must be time for his medication."
Two orderlies and a nurse rushed past us. One of the orderlies unlocked the door, but was shoved backward as soon as he opened it. A man dressed in a white gown flew out, pushing the other orderly into the nurse. She screamed, fell back, and curled herself into a ball. The syringe she'd been holding rolled away, and the patient snatched it up.
"Get him!" Fourner shouted.
But the two orderlies, while big men, were too slow. They lumbered after the patient, but he had a head start and long legs. He streaked toward us, his tangled blonde hair streaming behind him. His wide, wild eyes were fixed on Fourner, who stood in his way, blocking the stairs.
The patient bared his teeth and raised the syringe like a dagger. Fourner threw his arms across his face and spun away. The patient plunged the syringe, aiming for Fourner's exposed neck.
Lincoln leapt and tackled him to the ground. The syringe fell out of his hand and rolled into the corner, out of reach. The patient thrashed, his screech splitting the air. He pounded his fists against Lincoln's back, at the same time bucking and twisting in an attempt to get free.
"Be still!" Lincoln growled.
But the patient either couldn't hear him over his own caterwauling or didn't want to obey. He continued to thrash and punch. Lincoln sat on him but had a devil of a time trying to grasp both the man's hands to subdue him. The orderlies hung back, shouting for reinforcements, while the nurse and Fourner were both cowering messes.
I picked up the syringe and, in the same moment that Lincoln finally pinned the man's hands to the floor, I stabbed it into the man's neck. His eyes dulled, the ridges of muscles in his shoulders subsided and he became nothing more than an empty vessel, much like a body in the moment of death when the spirit exits. Except this man wasn't dead.
I looked down at the syringe in my hand. Whatever had been in it was powerful.
"Remove him at once," Fourner snapped at the orderlies. More had joined us upon hearing the shouts and screams, and two picked up the patient like a bolt of cloth and carried him to the cell. "This is outrageous! I do apologize, sir, madam. This sort of thing does not happen very often."
"Is that the medicine you spoke of?" I asked, nodding at the nurse now bustling past us with the syringe.
"It is. Good stuff. Don't know where we'd be without it."
"Is that what you used on my cousin to subdue him?" Lincoln asked.
"In the first two days, yes. After that, he showed signs of compliance so we decreased the dose. He now has some consciousness and is very content during the day. At night, the doctors administer more to help him sleep peacefully." Fourner tugged on his cuffs and eyed the door to the cell warily as the orderly locked it. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Buchanan. I do hope you are unharmed."
Only Lincoln's tie seemed to have suffered from the ordeal. I straightened it for him, locking my gaze onto his. It wasn't until he closed his hand over mine at his chest that I realized I was shaking.
"Perhaps Mrs. Buchanan would like to settle her nerves with a cup of tea." Fourner directed us toward the staircase.
Lincoln settled my hand on his arm once again, and we descended the stairs like a companionable married couple. I hardly heard Fourner's next words. He continued with the tour, making particular note of the safety measures in place to stop the more volatile patients from hurting themselves and others.
When we reached the second floor once more, I realized we still hadn't seen Buchanan. Either he was outside in the garden or asleep on one of the beds.
"May we have another look into the cells where the patients sleep?" I asked.
Fourner stopped mid-sentence and looked to Lincoln, as if asking why he was allowing me to speak. "Sir?"
"My wife has requested another tour of this floor, and I would appreciate your compliance."
"Yes, of course. Come this way." Fourner stepped lightly along the carpeted gallery to the first door. Lincoln entered and I followed. He must have had the same idea as me, because he strolled down the aisle between the beds and glanced at the faces of the men lying on them. Only half of the beds were occupied, none by Buchanan.
We looked in the next room and the next, and finally found him in the fourth. I sucked in a breath at the change in him. He lay on his side, staring at the unlit fireplace with the same vacant eyes as the mad patient after his injection. Lips that I'd only ever seen curled into a sneer, moved silently, uttering something I couldn't hear. A trickle of drool dampened the pillow and his fingers clutched the blanket as if it were an anchor. His fair hair was a greasy, knotty mess and every now and again a tremble wracked him.
I didn't like Buchanan. I'd found him to be cynical to the point of rudeness, as well as lazy. But seeing the handsome, strong man reduced to a pathetic, drooling idiot sickened me.
"Your cousin, I believe." Fourner regarded Buchanan with detached professionalism.
"Is that what you refer to ascalmer?" I asked.
"As you can see, he's very amenable now. Our doctors work wonders with their new drugs. Would you like to meet one?"
"We've seen enough," Lincoln said.
Fourner's bristly brows lifted. "I do hope the incident upstairs didn't alarm you." He chuckled and rocked back on his heels. "But I did warn you that a lady's sensibilities are too delicate for such things, didn't I, Mrs. Buchanan?"
