Free Visitor in Lunacy by Stephen Curran Page B

I?”
    “What a fatuous question.”
    Stepping forward he reveals himself to be tall and richly attired, dressed in the finest of broadcloth with a broad-folded tie of a design I fancy I recognise.
    “Thank you,” says the stranger to the attendant in the corridor. “There is no reason for you to accompany me farther.” He extends his hand to me: “Doctor Seward.”
    It has been so long since anyone has introduced themselves in this way I am unsure how to respond and remain where I am.
    He continues: “I am the new Superintendent. I will be overseeing your treatment from now on.”
    “What happened to Carey?”
    “Doctor Carey has taken a post elsewhere.” He gestures to my chair. “Do you mind if I sit?”
    Placing himself in the centre of the room he straightens his trousers, a gesture both energetic and precise.
    “I have been looking through your records. Your case intrigues me.”
    “Is that so?”
    I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and face my visitor. His skin is smooth and his countenance boyish, making it difficult to guess his age, although a Superintendent must at the very least be in his third decade.
    “My predecessor was under the impression you are harbouring a great secret. It was his opinion that you have fixed on some mysterious plan that you are determinedly following, although he could only speculate on what it might be. He left me reams of notes on the topic, folders full of them.”
    I am beginning to think I may have underestimated this young man at first sight. The point he makes strikes me as worth pondering. Am I busy working towards some goal, the nature of which is a mystery even to me? It is a riveting concept and one which stimulates my scientific mind.
    “Is there something in this claim, do you think?” the doctor continues.
    I deliberate over my reply: “Perhaps.”
    “Tell me, do you know why you are here?”
    “I have my suspicions.”
    “What have you been told? Did Doctor Carey address the issue?”
    “I'm here for my own safety; for the safety of others. It all depends on to whom I am speaking when I ask the question.”
    “What do can remember of the events which brought you to this place?”
    “I remember being shackled in a landau with a shivering young man who reeked of mothballs. I remember winding country roads, tall hedges and livestock. I remember a steep hill, and being taken through two gates, one green and one black. I remember guards and heavily barred windows.”
    “Very good, but you misunderstand me. What do you recall of the circumstances which led to your incarceration?”
    I shake my head.
    “You attacked someone in the street, yes? Did you know that?”
    “That is what I have been told.”
    “The gentleman in question was passing through his garden gate when you ran across the road and struck him over the head with a length of pipe. You had been missing from your home for a number of days and had, it appears, been hiding in an alleyway. Once he fell to the ground you continued to beat him until three bystanders intervened and wrestled you away. They are convinced you would have killed him otherwise. Does any of this make sense to you?”
    “Of course it makes sense to me. Whether I accept it as the truth is another matter.”
    “Your victim is yet to recover and is completely unable to speak. What do you think about that? It appears your actions were unprovoked. Had the jury not considered you to be of unsound mind you would have undoubtedly been found guilty of attempted murder. As it is, you are detained in Carfax until Her Majesty's pleasure be known. How does that make you feel?”
    “That the truth must be uncovered.”
    Sitting back in the chair Seward notices my open window: “There are flies on your sill.”
    Three bluebottles skitter on the rotting meat, great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings. I raise my hand, gesturing for the doctor to remain perfectly still. Taking care to keep from making any