Dominion

Chapter Thirty-Four

FRANK WAS IN A PADDED CELL NOW, somewhere deep inside the asylum. The walls, and the floor too, were covered in a coarse, thick material; it was like being inside a huge, stifling mattress. There were nasty-looking stains on the padding, and the whole room smelt faintly of disinfectant and vomit.

Frank had blacked out after jumping off the chair. When he came round he was lying on the floor of the quiet room with a terrible pain in his throat, attendants gripping his arms and legs. I’m still here, he thought sorrowfully, offering no resistance as they put him in a strait-jacket and hauled him away, his feet dragging on the floor, people turning to look. They had taken off the straitjacket when they put him in the padded room, but told him he would be here for a while and if there was any trouble he’d be restrained again.

Dr Wilson had come to see him a couple of times. He seemed disappointed, as though Frank had let him down; annoyed, too. ‘I thought you were settling in,’ he said reproachfully. ‘What was so bad you wanted to end your life?’ Frank saw something calculating in Dr Wilson’s look, at variance with his manner. He also seemed, in an odd way, afraid. He guessed Wilson had put two and two together, connected his suicide attempt with the visits from his old friends and the police. Frank had already decided the only protection he had left was not to talk at all, maintain complete silence. He looked away. Dr Wilson was probably involved in the conspiracy too.

Wilson said, ‘You’ll have to stay in here if you won’t talk, Frank.’ Frank was tempted to co-operate for a moment, doing whatever was necessary to get out of this room. But he knew that even if they let him out of the padded cell they would be watching him, he wouldn’t have an easy chance to kill himself again. But he would do it; he would take the first opportunity that came. Wilson looked at the plastic beaker of iced water on a tray on the floor. He said, ‘Drink as much as you can. It’ll help your dry throat.’ Frank just looked at him blankly, feeling a strange perverse satisfaction in defying him. He was on a double dose of Largactil all the time now.

That had been days ago. They brought in all his meals on a tray and Frank had to knock on the door and wait whenever he wanted to go to the toilet.

The staff who brought his meals made sure that he took his pills. But as with the lower dose he found there was a period just before his next dose was due when the effects wore off and his mind was clear; too clear, because his head filled with images of jangling terror. But it was better, safer, to have a clear mind for part of the time. Along with silence it was the only weapon he had left, and he would use it as long as he could.

Ben brought his supper that night. Frank had been lying on the floor of the padded cell, dozing, his head on the pillow they had given him, when the door opened with its metallic creak. Ben came in with a tray balanced on one hand. There was something different in the way he looked at Frank, sharp and calculating. He smiled his usual cheerful smile, though, and said, ‘Wakey wakey, Frank, dinner time.’

Frank sat up. He wanted to ask the time but he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t speak. Ben was part of whatever conspiracy was going on, he must be; it was he who had brought David here. His watch been taken away and there were no windows in the cell, only a light in the ceiling protected by an iron grille, which dimmed during the night; apart from that meals were the only way Frank had of knowing the time of day. If it was dinner time it must be around six.

‘Another cauld night, at least you’re warm in here,’ Ben said. He laid the tray on the floor. Plastic tray, plastic plates and utensils, a chunk of grey fish among soggy vegetables, a bowl containing a bright yellow jelly and, in a plastic cup, next to another containing water, his pills. Frank noticed they were different, the same white colour but bigger.

Ben bent down on his haunches. ‘Come on, pal,’ he said encouragingly. ‘It’s me. Talk to me, Frankie.’

Frank looked at the pills again. They were definitely different. He remembered the stories among the patients about being given something to drink that would make them sterile. Or was it something else Ben was giving him? He couldn’t ask, he mustn’t speak. He stared up at Ben. The attendant sighed and shook his head. ‘Jesus, Frank,’ he said. ‘That’s some nasty look. It was better when you grinned.’ Frank reached over and picked up the glass of water. He put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them, then opened his mouth for Ben to inspect as usual. Ben frowned. ‘Okay, if that’s the way it is.’ Ben nodded at the tray. ‘Go on, get your dinner.’

Frank didn’t want it. He went and sat against the rear wall. Ben sighed heavily. ‘Look, Frank,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to eat. Wilson’ll get worried if you won’t eat on top of everything else.’ His look and words were gentle, but there was still something else in his face, too. Frank closed his eyes. After a moment he heard Ben leave. The smell of the fish on the tray made him feel sick. Soon he began to feel sleepy, and his head nodded.

He woke once and found the main light was off, only a faint glow in the padded cell. It must be night-time. The tray was gone, Ben must have come back and taken it away. How strange he had seemed tonight. Frank remembered David and Geoff coming, how pleased he had been to see David. But he was with the enemy now. He remembered that conversation about appeasement at university, how wonderful it had been to realize that David, that anyone, was actually interested in what he had to say. He felt tears at the corner of his eyes but he was too tired even to cry.

He slept again, deeply this time. He was jarred into sudden wake-fulness by the sound of the door opening. The light was switched on. Frank blinked, disoriented.

He felt himself hauled to his feet. ‘What’s—’

Strong arms twirled him round and Frank found himself looking into Ben’s face. The attendant’s expression was hard, the mouth below the broken nose a thin line. Ben spoke very quietly, but in a deadly serious tone. ‘You’ve tae to come with me, Frank, right now. I’m taking you somewhere safe. Come on. But don’t say anything, don’t pick now to start talkin’, please. Or I’ll have to knock ye oot. I don’t want tae, but I will.’

Frank blinked at him, still in a stupor. Ben took him firmly by the arm and led him out of the room, into the corridor. He blinked again, his mind swimming. The corridor was dark, only the nightlights on. He let Ben lead him away. He thought, this is it, he’s taking me to the Germans. But there was nothing he could do and nothing that could shift the muzziness in his head. It was the big pills, it must be, they had knocked him out. He let himself be led through the dim corridors, stumbling once or twice. They passed another attendant and he felt Ben’s grip on his arm tighten. The attendant, a young man, looked bored and tired. He gave Ben a curious glance.

‘Where are you taking him at this time of night?’

‘He’s no’ well. I’m taking him to the duty doctor.’

‘Good luck. Blackstone’s on duty tonight.’

‘Aye, he’ll be stocious by now.’ They passed by.

Ben led him on, past wards where rows of drugged men slept, each with an attendant sitting at his table, reading by the dim light of a lamp. Then Ben opened a side door and freezing cold air hit Frank, who was dressed only in a hospital pullover. He gasped.

‘It’s all right, we’ve just tae walk tae the gate.’ Ben started taking Frank down the path, quickening his pace. Frank stared muzzily round him. It was a clear, cold, moonlit night; frost sparkled on the grass. He began to shiver. They walked right down to the porter’s lodge, by the closed gates. Frank glanced through the little window of the lodge, which was open on the inner side. He caught a glimpse of a man lying sprawled on the floor, unmoving, and saw with horror that his arms were tied behind him with rope, and that there was a streak of blood on the man’s face. He jerked back, terrified. Ben said, ‘He’s okay, Frank. Honest, he’s okay. I’m getting you out of here, Frank, I’m helpin’ ye escape. For fuck’s sake, come on.’

Frank groaned, but let Ben lead him to the gate. His legs were shaking badly. He thought he might fall as Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, a big one, not one of those he carried on his chain. Still holding Frank with one arm, Ben opened the gate. Frank looked back at the dark, blank windows of the asylum.

Ben hauled him through the gate, into the roadway. Their breath steamed in front of them. It was very dark; the road seemed deserted.

Then, a few yards away, headlights came on and Frank saw a car, a big car. A door opened and a tall man in a hat and coat got out and started walking rapidly towards them. Another followed, then a woman. Frank thought, it’s the Germans, they’ve come to take me, I won’t be able to keep quiet. Then his legs did give way and he would have fallen to the ground if Ben hadn’t grabbed him and held him up.

The man halted a couple of feet away. Frank didn’t want to raise his head and look at him. It would be one of the policemen, the German perhaps. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice said, ‘It’s all right, Frank, it’s me. Geoff’s here too, we’ve come to help you.’

He looked up. ‘David?’

David smiled. His look was full of concern, as it had been when he came to visit. But there was something different about him. In the light lancing from the headlights his face looked years older.