Trauma

         “Are…are we all here?” whimpered a small, squat man whilst dabbing his moist liver spotted forehead. 
“Indeed we are Mortimer, now can we begin!” barked a tall man from within the shadows of the dark office. Heavy grey clouds hung in the space between head and ceiling. Five men sat within the gloom, each puffed silently on their glowing cigars, each filling the room with more grey clouds.  The tall man sat behind the large mahogany desk, he moved, knocking the small light that fought to keep the desk within its warm rays. He moved his bony fingers around the spine of a thick cardboard folder; a spindly finger ran itself deftly over three type written words on the folders front. WAYNE EVELYN-ROSE.
The tall man rose from the high back green leather chair, “what are we going to do about are little situation?” expelling smoke from his nostrils as he spat the last two words.
A man in his early thirties, balanced small spectacles on his straight pointed nose, he folded his legs and moved his white doctors jacket over his knees.
“Evelyn is in”.  He stopped mid sentence, a loud high pitched whining alarm had caused each man to freeze, their eyes growing wider, slowly fear filled them to their sharp black pupils.  One of the men calmly rose from his chair and headed for the door, slowly he turned the handle. The thick oak door opened slowly, white light poured through the ever-growing crack.
         The room was filled with nervous anticipation, each man had is head facing the door, their eyes narrowed locking onto it.  An intensely surreal few seconds passed, but they dragged on, it was like the clocks were ticking but the hands were staying still.  Finally cold white light filled the room, flowing over the men’s bewildered faces.
         Noise. Nothing but loud penetrating noise.  It oozed into every pore sending each nerve into panic mode.
Outside the office ran a sparse white corridor; large metal lights had buried themselves into the high ceiling. Other doors and corridors led of it, into the bowels of the building.
It had originally been a stately home built in the 17th century by the Bradley’s, they had made their fortune in the coal and railroad businesses, The family had done excessively well but the suburbs of London had slowly crept upon their palatial home and now it sat within sight of the sprawling city, in the late 19th century the family had emigrated to Australia in the hope of a new, possibly wealthier life.
Today the building was one of the countries leading Mental Health Hospitals, St. Patrick’s. After the First World War there was a need for more of these hospitals, due to the horrific cases that had come back with the celebrated heroes.  And now with the whispers of tension between Germany and other European countries it was felt that more were needed, and St. Patrick’s was chosen to lead the way in using new techniques and medicines, all to be used on the most renowned patients. Some of these patients included murderers, rapists and sometimes even the rich and famous.  It was felt that 1930’s Britain was ready.
The man at the door turned round to face the others, his eyes filled with an animal like fear.  Voices were becoming audible over the incessant ringing of the alarm, Distant screams and yelling. A hand clasped itself around the edge of the doorframe, and heaved its body into the doorframe. There stood a nurse, here hair was pulled out of its tight bun, wisps of it were strung across her pale face. She was wearing a white and blue uniform, but dragged across the stark white of her piny was a maroon handprint, the fingers sliding down to the hem. It was blood.
“F…Fi…Fire!” she panted, her words were clumsy and quiet against the ringing bell and her voice was edged with panic.  Her hands trembled as she tried to sort out her hair.
“We…must….must leave” she gaped at the silent shocked men, glanced down the corridor, and ran for the main entrance.
Mortimer bolted for the door, his squat figure surprisingly fast.  Emerging into the corridor he stopped, smoke bellowed from underneath doors, the end of the corridor was fast becoming indistinguishable, the lights that hung silently in the panic became shrouded, their bulbs flickering on off on off.  He turned to his fellow colleges and began shouting at them, shouting for them to leave, to call the emergency services but it was no use, he dabbed frantically at his sweaty head. No one could hear anything, the alarms continued to sound, their ears too now rang, and on top of this, screams of pain and terror resounded through the cold heart of the hospital.  He beckoned them to join him, but they remained in the stunned stillness, he lunged forward and wrapped his podgy fingers around the arm of the man at the door, yanking him into the corridor. 
A shadowy figure was wallowing in the darkness of the smoke; slowly it emerged, the smoke drifting across it like a cobweb. 
         They stood stock still, waiting to see who or what was emerging from the bowels of the cooking corridors.
         It was man, his face was covered in ash, fresh salty tears rolled down his face, he stumbled about as he sobbed.  He was consumed within a straight jacket, burn marks spread across it.  He saw the two men and started to laugh, he ran forward towards them, tripped, fell over and started to cry.  Mortimer and the other man ran towards him, the patient wept into the cold hard floor, the other man dragged him up, a string of dribble ran from the floor to the patients mouth, breaking when he was back on his feet.  Mortimer took one side of him, the other man the other, quickly they shuffled him along the corridor and into the main lobby, sun streamed through the windows surrounding the open doors, a cool breeze blew softly around their faces, getting stronger the closer they got to the doors, natural cool air hit them when they emerged.  They stood at the top of two sets of steps; at the bottom huddled about were about fifty people, nurses, patients, visitors and the three men from the office.  Slowly they navigated the first set of steps; two nurses rushed up the second set and helped them with the patient. 
         Together they stood, silence booming around them, again time sat still, anticipation loomed over the crowd.  No one else burst through the doors, the ring of the alarm was now a faint whine in the distance, but the screams were louder than ever. 
A column of smoke rose far into the sky, a deep grey, but often black. Within the furnace paint bubbled on the walls, liquid metal dripped from the frying lights.  Patients screamed from their confines as flames tore at their padded cells, consuming the soft walls and the room’s occupant, helpless strapped into their straight jackets, or chained to the walls.  Each scream was louder and filled with more and more pain.  Strewn within the corridors lay choked bodies, some of nurses others of doctors. 
         Deep within the bowels of the hospital a body was twitching, flames licked its feet, the skin peeling to its touch.  The nurse uniform was now black and smeared with blood; her face was a mass of deep purple bruise and scratch marks, deep and red.  A charred hand lunged for her neck. The roasted fingers clinging onto the fork that protruded from it, she pulled. Blood spat sizzling as it hit the hot floor.  She screamed in blind pain.  Sticking her fingers over the hole that it had left, her fingers straying inside it. Another scream.  The flames licked closer to her now, slowly cooking the chunk of flesh embedded on the end of the fork. 
         Nearby a man was throwing himself into the door of his cell, wailing each time his flesh hit the singeing metal.  He was strapped within a facemask, metal bars covered his mouth, collapsed in defeat, he lay in a ball on the floor, flaming pieces of padding fell on and around his helpless being.  His eyes bubbled in the heat, he let out louder screams as the metal bars began to melt, spitting molten metal into and around his mouth. 
         Within this carnage a figure was running and scrabbling around, seemingly immune from the pain of the flames.
         It was a woman, dressed in a white flowing nightgown.  Her bare feet hissed on the floor with each step she took, but she never flinched.  She bounded along towards the heap of nurse, a broad smile spreading across her face, revealing black rotting teeth.  She picked up the fork that lay beside the twitching body, crouched over the nurse, ran the back of her hand over her cheek, and swept away some hair that covered her face. She brought the forked hand behind her and with a lunge stabbed it deep into the nurse’s forehead, she screamed, her feet flailing about, slowly the woman dragged it down, over her eye, her cheek and deep until it stood sunk into her chin.  Blood poured from the four deep cuts, bone visible beneath.  The woman, still crouched over the nurse, screamed excitedly and clapped her hands together, then ran a blooded hand through her black, wildly frizzy hair, her maddened eyes were wide, her pupils consuming any trace of iris.  Her smile spread further, she tilted her head back and released a loud all consuming cackle.
         Keeping hold of the fork she continued down through the smoke filled corridors, making her way to the main entrance.
         She skipped through the melting rat runs, running her fingers over the walls as she went, humming as she flew past the labs, the cells, the dining room and into the furnace of lobby.  Flames licked at every inch of her body, but still she smiled, still she hummed.  She stopped short of the double doors where the black smoke bellowed out to freedom. Her skin was peeling and melting in the heat, her feet began to char, her frizzy hair was gone; singed off.  She took the fork and stabbed it into her wrist, blood sprung from the wound, she dug the fork in deeper, wiggling it, tearing at muscle, skin and vein.  She chuckled to herself. Thrusting the fork into the other hand, she stabbed the other wrist; again, going deeper, making sure the act was done properly. 
         In those few moments the flames had gotten bigger, and hotter, they licked at the ceiling, the original chandelier, that added a sense of grandeur to the hospital was slipping from its rooted position, the pieces of crystal becoming liquid, falling like rain.  The woman was now alight.
         She took the few paces to the door quickly and lightly, leaving pieces of sizzling flesh where she had stood.  Emerging from the smoke she stood at the top of the steps.  Flames lapped across her, she raised her arms, blood gushed out of the wounds, streaming down them, and pooling on the cool marble below.  There she stood, the stance of a warrior. She grinned again, the biggest grin.  She let out a scream, this time of pain, but still she grinned.  She looked at the crowd below, her black eyes darted to each face.  Finally she raised her face toward the sky, and let out a wild, immense screaming cackle.
         Upon her now charred nightgown, sat a label, which read: WAYNE EVELYN-ROSE.