Page 91 of Beyond the Grave
Narrow-face, thinking his work done, turned to McIlroy. "You look familiar."
McIlroy giggled, an innocent, childish sound that made me want to pat his back.
I edged toward the bed where Buchanan lay sleeping. He and the other patients in the room must have been medicated because our ruckus didn't wake them. I took stock of his size, and the fact that he was shackled by his wrists to the bedposts, and swore under my breath.
I was about to call for McIlroy when a shadow emerged from the deeper shadows in the corner near the fireplace. "This is not going the way I planned."
"Lincoln! Oh, thank God." I raced around the foot of Buchanan's bed and threw myself at him. He caught me and breathed deeply before setting me aside. "I thought you were dead."
"I'm not," he said, as Seth's grunt had us turning to see that he was all right. He was, but he was fighting both orderlies on his own. McIlroy stood aside and watched, echoing the movements with his own fists punching thin air.
"There appears to have been a mix up," I said. "That'll teach me to ask dead madmen for assistance."
Narrow-face drew a knife from his sleeve, and the young orderly followed suit. Seth backed away before he too removed the knife he'd tucked into the waistband of his trousers.
"Explain later." Lincoln rushed low at Narrow-face. With his back to us, the orderly didn't see Lincoln coming. He toppled to the ground, taking his colleague with him in a loud crash and tangle of limbs.
Seth laughed as he stepped into the fray and grasped the young orderly's wrists. "You make that look so easy." He removed the knife as Lincoln jabbed his fingers into Narrow-face's throat. With a gurgling choke, he too relinquished his blade.
The nurse screamed again, so I went to her and covered her mouth. "You will not be harmed, but you must be quiet." She settled down to a whimper and nodded.
"Now, give me the keys to that man's bonds." I pointed at Buchanan.
She shook her head and I removed my hand. "I don't have the keys. The orderlies do."
By the time I turned, Seth and Lincoln were already searching their pockets.
"You want to free him?" Narrow-face said. "You're as mad as him. Maybe madder. You don't want to free any of 'em, especially those that got to be locked up at night. They're bloody dangerous."
Lincoln smashed his fist across the orderly's cheek. The nurse screamed, and I winced, both at the sound and Lincoln's lack of mercy. Sometimes, my ability to forget what he was like amazed even me.
An answering scream came from somewhere distant in the asylum. I heard pounding footsteps at the same time the others did. More orderlies, perhaps.
"Where's the damned keys?" Seth growled.
"We don't need a key," I said, stepping away from the nurse. "McIlroy, you're very strong now. Break open the shackles."
McIlroy loped over to Buchanan's bed. He lifted one of Buchanan's lifeless arms and shook it. The chain connecting the iron wrist band to the bed rattled.
"Break it apart," I urged him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. When he continued to hesitate, I added, "Hurry or more orderlies will be here. If they catch me, I cannot release your spirit. If I can't release you, you will be stuck here."
He wrenched open the wrist band with no more effort than pulling apart a loaf of bread, then followed suit with the other. Without instruction from me, he pulled back the blankets to reveal Buchanan, dressed in a nightshirt. He hefted the sleeping man onto his shoulder and, with a look of single-minded determination, walked steadily to the door.
"Bloody hell," the young orderly muttered, his wide gaze on McIlroy. "How'd he do that?"
"That fellow…he…" The nurse pointed a shaking finger at McIlroy then at the dead man I'd thought was Lincoln. His wrists were slashed, and a barber's razor lay in a patch of blood on the bed beside him. His spirit was nowhere to be seen. "He used to occupy that bed…until this afternoon."
"Can't be," said Narrow-face. "He's dead." He squinted, but McIlroy now had his back to us.
The other orderly began breathing heavily. He licked his lips and his eyes darted between us. "It's him," he whispered. "Oh God, oh God. I hate this place. Why'd I ever come here?"
Seth searched the now shaking man and finally found a set of keys in his inside pocket. "Which one for this room?"
But the orderly was no use. He was too busy praying.
"Tell us," Lincoln growled.
The nurse crawled over and, with a shaking hand, picked out a key.
