The Pale King - VIII

Part 1

Cramped and tired. The two words best to describe Thomas’ life in his little cell. His room, refashioned from an old closet, sat away from the rest of the patients in the blue and black wards. In fact it sat in the middle. Once it was confirmed that he wasn’t really meant to be in the sanitarium yet deeming it unnecessary to leave or attempt to be “rehabilitated” the old doctor, Dearing, made him his special room. He wasn’t afforded the same privileges as the staff, since on file he was still a patient, but he wasn’t subjected to the same things the patients were. He could live alone in his one cot room. It had enough room to move around and a little window on the door. Out the window he could see straight down the long passage that lead to the common room and up to the security office one floor above. He had time to marvel at the architecture of the building in his time, once even getting the plans from the old head doctor as a reward for good behavior. He had no plan to escape, he had nowhere to go even if he did. He simply had a joy for architecture and how people had used their hands to make such marvelous things. Once as a child he picked up a book that had French designs for buildings. His eyes drank up each image and he stored them in his head. In dreams he’d traverse the structures playing with their designs and forms. He’d even create his own.

                Seeing the designs for the sanitarium had the same effect on him. When he first arrived all he saw was the stone edifice and assumed it would be bleak and bland on the inside. He was pleasantly surprised at how intricate and well thought out the design was. A four quadrant layout with a second tier security room that could overlook the entire lower tier, all save the black ward which lead to the morgue. But Thomas understood that reasoning. The least worrisome of the bunch needed the least amount of attention.

                He looked through the window now and could see up into the security room. The lockdown had been going on for a few hours and he was bored sitting alone with the only book he was allotted from the library that week. Crime and Punishment sat laying up on his bed. The story of the murderer who believed he was better than any other man because he would rise above the atrocity to become something great like Napoleon made Thomas laugh. Atrocities don’t make men great. Overcoming them and keeping your sanity does.

                Thomas saw a commotion in the security room. Starcross, the new head doctor, who didn’t treat Thomas as well as Dearing did but fairly well all the same, looked frantic. Thomas clicked his teeth and stifled a cough.

                “That doesn’t look good.” As the words left his mouth the lights in the hall went out and were replaced by the backup red security lights. Thomas had seen them turn on once before during one of the longer lockdowns. He stepped away from the window and put on his coat. He didn’t know why he was inclined to put it on. It wasn’t that cold but all the same he put it on and tightened the rope around it.

                In the distance, from what he assumed was the security office, he heard raised voices. Closer to him thought he heard the stamping of wet footsteps. They came in a rush down the hall towards his door and down the hall towards the morgue. Thomas had surveyed all the nooks and crannies of this place and a switch was flipped in his head.

                “The breakers.” He heard a large door close, the door to the morgue stairwell, and waited. It would be a matter of minutes, perhaps not even that long until the power was back on. The morgue held the bodies, sure enough, but it was also where the power grid was congregated for the whole building. Secure and away from the patients, the live ones at least, it was safe. Thomas sat back down at his bed and tried to read by the faint red light coming from the window but it was no use. He could wait out the time it took to flip the breakers.

                A large click-clack echoed down the hallway. One door after another. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. Up and down blue and black wards the doors were opening. Thomas’ heart started to race as his door slowly swung open.

                “This isn’t good.” He didn’t want to try and walk the halls in the red darkness regardless of his connection to the men outside. He was best one on one with them, a silent guide into the light in his own little way. But with each door slowly opening he felt a sickness grow in his stomach. This wasn’t a mistake. This was done on purpose. And if these doors were opened that meant, the rest would be too. And the Yellow ward was no longer secure.

                “Survive this, and you’ll be a great man.” Thomas tucked the book into his shirt pocket and stepped outside. He would try to reach Starcross if he could, and if that was a loss then he’d make his way to the morgue. At least he could hopefully secure that way until help arrived. Until the next shift came in, until…

                Thomas just realized the flaw in that way of thinking. They were in a lockdown. No one would know, and no staff would be coming until Monday at the earliest. They were stuck in here all weekend. The colors would mix but one would be prominent if things went awry. Red would wash the walls, not unlike all those years ago.

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