Bedlam Read Online Free PDF

“You won’t listen to me. Maybe you’ll listen to the shrink. I hear he’s very good. You have an appointment Monday morning. Don’t be drunk and don’t be late.”
    “And the investigation ...?” McNeil let the card fall to the table. “What has the girl said?”
    “I told you, you need to sort yourself out. I’m not prepared to discuss the case anymore until you do.”
    “Sure. So, basically, she’s said nothing and you’re no further forward.”
    “Something like that.”
    “But she is okay? I mean, physically, mentally. Is she able to communicate?” He recalled the state she was in when he’d first seen her. Some people weren’t meant to be dragged back.
    “You sound concerned.”
    “Shouldn’t I be?”
    “Like I said, I’m not prepared to discuss details. I will need a statement from you, though.”
    “A statement?” McNeil snorted derisively. “Like I performed CPR, and bingo, she revived. That’ll be an interesting read. Maybe I should add, 'And the guys all think I’m a fucking freak!' Do you want me to come down to the station to make it or shall I just write it on the back of an envelope and save some departmental time?”
    Dennis took a sip of coffee, twisted his face at the bitter taste and replaced the mug carefully on the table. “No, I mean a statement detailing your prior involvement with the victim.”
    McNeil paused, coffee in hand. “ My prior involvement with the victim? I never laid eyes on her before. What are you saying?”
    “I’m saying how come she’s asking for you by name?”
     

Chapter Six
     
    They tell me I’m lucky, a miracle, a medical conundrum. I know I am not. The nurses bustle about exchanging glances, discussing me in hushed whispers. They wonder how I survived amidst the butchery, though they refrain from divulging the details. I do not need their indiscretion. I know all there is to know about butchery and the evil which stalks the unwary. They giggle to each other when they think me asleep, swapping thoughts on the man responsible for my salvation. I listen despite my own caution, my curiosity playing Puck, against my better judgment. From their conversation, I gather he has fallen from grace, his unique talent unappreciated and viewed with suspicion by the narrow-minded. My fault entirely; just the first of many ways in which I will poison him, despite my best intentions.
    I know he has not yet returned. I would have sensed his presence even through the blackness of drug-induced sleep. I am not upset at his absence. He will come eventually. We have connected and there is only one way this can end.
    Confinement unsettles me. The clean white walls of my antiseptic prison dampen my senses. I feel a familiar anxiety ripple in my head. Although to the casual observer I remain calm, inside I fidget mercilessly. I yearn to be out, at one with the elements, and yet I restrain myself, as I am bound to do. The nurses have become silent. The white-coated doctor tuts and shakes his head at me.
    “You must try and eat something,” he says as he scans my chart.
    I have no appetite. I turn up my nose at the bland offerings. My senses are dull and it concerns me that I am not quite as I was. I know they are losing patience. They believe me to be awkward. I am not. I am simply waiting.
    They send in their interrogators, an inept succession shrouded in false concern. They do not care for me or the horrors I have endured. They care for their reputation, for the case that threatens to overwhelm resources and bring the gutter press down upon them. I stay silent in the face of their questions, their cajoling and implied threats. I stare blankly ahead when they amend their strategy, soften their approach and send in a female detective. I sense her inner turmoil. She is striving to get ahead, to beat the men at their own game. I too have suffered as a pawn to the whims of man, and as such I have some empathy with her, but not enough to alter my chosen course. There is