Free Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2) by Mark C. King Page A

what the match sound represented was clear – pain.
     
    The flame was slowly brought closer to her arm, evidently giving her as much time as possible to change her mind. However, the slowness served only as torturous anticipation. She kept thinking, certainly hoping, that he would extinguish the match before it reached the oil.
     
    And then it happened.
     
    The oil on her forearm ignited. She was on fire.
     
    Her initial reaction was panic followed quickly by confusion as there was no immediate pain. Evidently the nerves took a moment to transfer the heat, for the pain came suddenly and sharply. She tried to bat her arm with her hand to put out the flame, but the oil did not extinguish. The pain was intense and the batting actually splashed a little of the oil and small drops of flame fell to the floor and on to her dress. Beyond the white hot hurt, her terror grew as the fire not only wasn’t going out, but seemed to be spreading. She started to scream.
     
    “Admit it!” screamed the orderly. “Admit it! You are faking!”
     
    The door to the room opened, Charlotte hardly noticed, and a new individual yelled, “What is going on in here?” Then, when this new person saw the situation, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to smother the flame on her arm and put out any drops of fire that her flailing caused.
     
    “Mr. Pegg!” the new person said angrily. “Doctor Madfyre has strictly forbidden these tests of yours! Step outside the room now!”
     
    “Yes, Mr. Thursby,” said the orderly with no hint of remorse. “But you know as well as I do that we get people looking for free room and board in this kind of weather.”
     
    “I shall report you to the Queen!” Charlotte yelled with true anger but also trying to stay in character. “This is no way to treat a lady!”
     
    “That is true,” the orderly commented on his way out. “But you are no lady. You’re crazy.”
     
    “That is enough, Mr. Pegg!” said Thursby, the new individual. “Now, where did she come from?”
     
    “A constable brought her here. He said that he believed her to have escaped.”
     
    “That seems unlikely.” commented Thursby. “I’m assuming you have not checked with Doctor Madfyre or Mrs. Rathbone?”
     
    “No. This looney was just delivered. I can take her to Mrs. Rathbone now if you like.”
     
    “No thank you, Mr. Pegg. I’ll take her myself. You can go.”
     
    Charlotte did not look up during this conversation. She stayed seated and rocked back and forth with her hand over her wound. It was hard to notice anything beyond the pain.
     
    When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped in surprise, and a voice said, “Miss, please come with me. I need to take you to the infirmary.”
     
    Without looking at him, she stood up and followed wordlessly. He walked to one of the double set of closed doors off the lobby and unlocked them. What Charlotte saw on the other side made her forget her arm for a moment. There was a long hallway with doors all along the right side of it; but it was the people, the patients, that had her attention. There were men sitting in chairs, some talking, some staring off into nothing, others walking around in an apparent haze, patients interacting, some to other patients, some to no one – this was her second experience of the actual insides of an insane asylum.
     
    “This way, miss.” the orderly said as he directed her into the first door of the hallway, interrupting her observations. As she walked into the room, what looked like a small doctor’s office, the distractions stopped keeping her arm pain at bay. The fire may have been out, but it did not feel like it.
     
    “Doctor Exton,” said the orderly. “I have a patient for you.”
     
    An older man sat in the corner, he had white hair and a thick white mustache, and looked up from the paper he was reading. He took the spectacles that were resting on his head and put them in place on his nose. “What have