Page 27 of Antihero
I don't watch for long. He’s reaching across the small table more than he needs to—which isn’t at all—patting her hand, squeezing her arm, and Paige is nodding, smiling, giving him her full attention.
He’s next.
I should watch for longer, but when she laughs, I leave.
She's turning me into the jealous type.
But I’ll be seeing her again soon. After all, I owe her one.
***
Wraith
The wife is out, just as I knew she’d be. On a shopping trip to Tregam, Harry tells me. Sheer coincidence, I'm sure. But it works towards my goals.
If I had any doubt of his intentions, they’re whisked away when, within a minute of me arriving at his manor overlooking Feston, Harry directs me to a cosy room at the front of the huge old house. We take a seat on the green felt couch to conduct the rest of the interview; me organising my notes while he pours two short glasses of whisky on the low oak coffee table. An impressive library stretches along the back wall of the room, wasted on this cretin.
I'm wearing a skirt with full stockings, and a garter with my cord hidden on the inside of my thigh. Because he's going to die before he gets that far. I set the pad on my knees and smile demurely at him as he sits closer than needed beside me.
"So, Eternal Light,” I begin, reminding him of what he thinks I’m here for. “As you know, I'm doing a history for my uni project on the progression of treatments carried out in asylums over the last three decades."
"Mm," he sips his whisky and smiles, eyes drifting to my tight shirt. My coat is hanging on a hook by the door. I resist the urge to get this over with faster. Frank had been fat, strugglingto breathe, even without my assistance in stopping. But this one is still spritely, so I need to be patient, to pick the moment and diminish the risks.
"You were the lead surgeon at Eternal Light up until around nine years ago, right?"
"Yes, for five years.”
“And you had a controversial favoured method of treatment, I heard?”
“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head from side to side as though the word ‘controversial’ is up for debate. It’s not. “Lobotomisation.”
I feel my shoulders draw together involuntarily and have to force myself to outwardly relax. He says the word so casually, like it's nothing more than a blood test.
“I performed the most in the country during that time period. I treated over three hundred patients.” He’s proud of it, the bastard. He probably would’ve performed three hundred more if he hadn’t been stopped, forced into early retirement with a fat paycheck and his reputation intact. Instead of being thrown into jail, as would’ve been right.
“But results varied, didn’t they?”
Again, that consideration. Like that’s not a fact. “Results could be… unexpected,” he says lightly. “Some took to the treatment better than others. Some went on to live very full and fruitful lives. Others… needed further care.”
“There were deaths?” my voice hitches on the word slightly. I clear my throat, and take a sip of whisky to cover it up. My hand shakes slightly.
“Oh, occasionally.” My grip tightens on the glass. I worry it might crack. “You must understand, dear, many who came to us were… not salvable. It’s my belief that deaths during lobotomy merely signified a mind that couldn’t be saved, no matter the treatment.”
I manage a smile, even though my stomach wants to turn at the look on his face. He’s thin, not quite gaunt, his eyes active, cheekbones prominent and jaw strong. An attractive man, even for his age. But all I can see is a man who’s always been sick. “You have heard the criticisms, though? Many saw lobotomy as a method that should’ve been a last resort, after other options were exhausted. Not, well, not quite so easily done as you subscribed them, especially to female patients. So the younger ones…”
“Of course, people always criticise what they don’t understand. Violent tendencies wracked many of the girls and women who came through the asylum, and they couldn’t control their emotions. Lobotomy cured their hysterics.”
"And you were good at it?" I ask lightly. “At identifying a hysterical woman, and… lobotomising her?”
He smiles, again. It’s an effort not to snarl back. "Oh, yes."
“Terrific,” I say. Itisterrific to get it from the horse’s mouth. I’ll enjoy this.
I smile again, making it linger. He's looking hopeful, and he’s sitting closer now.
The knocking, more like thumping, is loud enough to make me jump. Harry looks surprised, then a brief flash of anger passes over his features as he looks towards the front door just outside this room.
“Ah, expecting someone?” I ask.
