Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [88]
Joe Bartholomew stepped nervously through the corridors of the Retreat. He did not count himself a superstitious man, someone who gave much thought to intuitive matters, or to concerns of the heart. But even he could feel that something was wrong.
For a start, most of the corridors were deserted and quiet, the usual and continual bustle replaced by a disturbing, echoing stillness. Worse than that was an almost palpable apprehension; although the heating was on, Joe kept shivering, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He’d read stories about the concentration camps, and how, decades later, you would never hear birdsong there; he’d thought them nonsense before, but for the first time he understood how such a place might feel.
It was like standing on the edge of Armageddon, looking down on the end of the world.
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Overlaid on this sombre terror was a paradoxical thrill, an excitement that spoke of liberation from moral shackles. Anything goes, when the world’s about to end. Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die. . .
In this state of dreaming uncertainty, Joe stumbled across Susannah. He wasn’t sure if he felt drawn to her – or if some other influence were actively propelling him forward.
She was pacing one of the corridors, checking on the bedrooms that led off from it. Joe watched her for a moment; as she opened every door she seemed to steel herself, as if expecting something terrible beyond.
‘All right?’ said Joe, strolling towards her.
Susannah’s smile was genuine and warm. ‘God I’m glad to see you!’
‘What’s been going on?’
‘One patient’s died, another has killed himself. The staff are going crazy with worry, and the phones are down.’
‘I had noticed that,’ said Joe, before adding, as if to explain his presence,
‘I was expecting Liz over an hour ago. Thought I’d better find out what was holding her up.’
Susannah glanced at her watch. ‘My shift’s over, but we’re not allowed home yet. Not until all this is sorted out.’
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ said Joe. ‘Might help us both clear our heads.’
‘I’m supposed to be checking on all the patients.’
‘You can’t keep forty-odd people on suicide watch!’ exclaimed Joe. ‘Anyway, by rights, you shouldn’t even be here.’
Susannah looked uncertain. ‘I suppose. . . ’
‘Go on,’ urged Joe. ‘It’s not like you’re going to get paid for overtime.’
‘Yeah,’ said Susannah, dropping the folder to the floor with sudden defiance.
‘Sod ’em!’
Dr Smith, far from proposing any plan of action, stated that he was still at the information-gathering stage. Although he had finished with the diaries, he needed to sort through the additional material retrieved by Laska and Fitz; within moments his head had returned to ancient pages, leaving Liz and the others to shrug, wondering what to do.
Liz strolled over to the dining-room window; she’d been sitting there that morning when Fitz told her that Mr Farrell had been murdered. In that moment her world had started to change beyond all recognition.
She wondered, if she gave it long enough, whether she’d wake up soon and find everything back to normal.
Darkness was flowing over the grounds, enveloping trees and gardens; a deeper darkness already had hold of the Retreat, its corridors, its rooms. Liz had lost control. She simply did not know what to do next.
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‘You all right?’ said Laska, who’d walked over from the table where Smith and the others sat with the documents.
Liz managed a brave smile. ‘Just wish I knew what was going on. Just wish. . . Just wish I knew where Thomson and Oldfield have got to. I wish Joe was here, too. He must be going out of his mind with worry!’
Liz saw Laska almost flinch at this, though – whatever was the matter – she covered it expertly. ‘Well, the Doctor said we should stay put. After our close encounter with the hound, I’m inclined to agree with him. You were right to order everyone to stay put until we know what’s going on.’
‘You seem to be taking all this rather well.’
‘I thought I was going mad!’ said Laska. ‘Now at least I know that, whatever other garbage I’ve got going