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Moments later, it swung open. A scowling, swarthy man with beefy arms towered in the opening. "Bug-heads get dropped off durin' the day." He gripped the door and started to slam it shut.
Ian shoved the door open so hard, the guard staggered backward. In concerted motion, he and Johann slipped inside.
The stench of unwashed bodies hit him in the face. Ian almost staggered at the force of it. For a terrifying moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Voices echoed in the shadowy hallway. A droning, maddening buzz.
The guard surged forward. "Now, wait a damn minute?"
Johann stuck out a booted foot and tripped the man, who fell flat on his face. "Oh. Did I do that?" Johann plastered a hand to his throat and clicked his tongue. "So sorry."
The guard clambered to his knees. "You ain't sorry yet, you two-bit bugger, but you will be."
Johann held out a hand. "I should introduce my .. . employer. This is Dr. Ian Carrick."
The guard froze in his tracks. Slowly he turned to Ian. His face tightened into a squinty frown. "You're Dr. Carrick?"
Ian had seen that look a thousand times in the old days, a dawning realization that the object of so many rumors had appeared in the flesh. A curiosity, then a slow-building fear.
The guard took a step backward?also a standard response. "Dr. Wellsby said you was comin'. I din't believe it."
"No doubt it was intellect that secured you this job," Johann drawled, making a great show of crossing his arms. "Now, take us to your superintendent."
The guard rushed past them and slammed the door shut, then almost fell over himself in his haste to leave.
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He spun around. "Third door on the right. You can follow me. I'll... hurry ahead and tell Dr. Wellsby you're here." He was gone before the echo of his words had faded. The rapid thudding of his footsteps disappeared in the shadowy corridor.
"Do people always treat you like that?" Johann asked.
Ian felt inexpressibly old and tired. "This is a mistake."
"Then follow my lead, Ian. I make them all the time." Turning, Johann began walking down the hallway.
Ian stood there, in the sprawling, shadowy darkness, feeling utterly alone. Sounds battered his ears: the echoing vibrations of a woman's scream, the dull shuffle of feet going in circles, the magpie chatter of nonsensical conversation.
It was so like before, so sickeningly the same. The same smell, the same incredible roar of voices in pain. For a second, Ian couldn't move. He stood rooted to the spot.
It smells here, Ian. I'm afraid.
He shivered, drew his cape more tightly across his body. The air was fetid and motionless, thick with the smells of death and dying and disuse.
I'm sorry, Ian. Whatever I did ... I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here. Oh, God ... please, Ian ...
Somewhere, a door slammed shut, and the noise drew Ian from the morass of his memories. Up ahead, Johann stopped, turned back to face him.
"This place releases all the demons, doesn't it?" Johann's voice was shaky.
Ian didn't respond. He forced himself to keep walking, through the darkness, into a different hallway where the shadows were invaded by gaslight sconces on the uppermost rim of the wall.
They turned a corner and suddenly there were people everywhere, clustered around the puddles of light. Des-
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perate fireflies hurling themselves against the golden warmth. They spoke to one another and themselves in low, droning voices devoid of emotion.
Ian kept moving, past a man hitting his head on the plaster wall, past a weary-faced woman who sat curled in a shadowy corner, slowly pulling her hair out by the roots, past a man in a straitjacket who chewed his tongue so vigorously that blood eased down his stubble-coated chin and splashed on the dirty gray linen of his pants.
Don't leave me here, Ian. Please .. .
