Chapter 8 - The School of Obedience
My name is Anthony Sky. All my life I was fascinated by the human body, biology and psychology. I have done hundreds of secret experiments on patients during my medical practice which have proven to be inadequate and, at times, very risky. I want to learn about human physical and psychological abilities as much as possible - but this cannot be done without medical experiments which, in most people's opinion, are unethical.
That's why I started my new project called The School of Obedience. The aim of this project is to go beyond the physical and psychological abilities of my carefully selected subjects, to completely break and analyse their personality and then make a new person out of them. A puppet that would, without hesitation, fulfil all my orders.
Using carefully selected medical experiments and psychological torture, I have achieved incredible results with some individuals. Unfortunately, most of my experiments end in failure.
I firmly hope that my new subject will prove to be the first complete success and becomes a breakthrough in my research.
Experiment 46 (James Moriarty)
Jim woke up in panic. He was desperately trying to draw breath into his lungs, but it felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest, his head was spinning and the whole body screamed: Oxygen!
As he opened his eyes wide and looked ahead, his oxygen-deprived brain immediately recognized the person from the previous day - Dr Sky was standing above him, pinching his nose. Jim shook his head and the doctor let him go. There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by desperate raspy breaths, as Jim tried to breathe through his nose and calm his instinct to take a deep breath.
"It was about time," the other man said conversationally. Jim's eyes narrowed, his breath still laboured. It wouldn't be that bad if his mouth wasn't covered with a muzzle and a gag. His whole body was shaking with a fading adrenaline.
The doctor gave him a cold-eyed stare. "I was originally planning to do this while you were unconscious, but it wouldn't be fair to you if I was the only one enjoying it."
Jim continued staring at the man above him. The doctor was walking around the lab and preparing some medical tools.
"It might feel unpleasant for the first time, but I firmly believe you'll soon get used to it."
Jim tried desperately to lift his head to see what the older man was preparing on the table in front of him. After a moment, the doctor walked over to where Jim was lying strapped to the metal table, released one of his legs and pinned it to the edge of the table, the same thing he did with the other one, then turned around and took a small inflatable pad and put it under Jim's butt – the lower part of his body was now a little higher than the upper part, his legs slightly spread apart which gave the doctor an unrestricted view of his genitals. Jim jerked a little nervously - he knew the drugs in his bloodstream were slowing him down, not allowing him to move too much. He felt like a helpless rag doll.
"Take a deep breath now," Dr Sky whispered almost inaudibly, and then, without any further warning, inserted a nozzle of some thin tube into his anus. Jim yelped with surprise.
"Shush. Breathe slowly and try to relax, the more you fight, the more unpleasant it will be."
Jim tried to relax - he closed his eyes and counted to ten, but before he got to five, a warm fluid started filling his belly. His eyes widened in surprise, and yanked athis bonds again. The doctor frowned and squeezed the fluid bag hanging on a metal hanger. The growing pressure in his abdomen only intensified.
He closed his eyes firmly again, trying to count, but it did not take long and the pressure started to be really unpleasant, and then the first cramps came. Jim moaned with pain.
"I know it's uncomfortable," the doctor said with false regret. Jim continued to moan, breathing heavily. The older man reached out and started rubbing his bare stomach. The younger man was in such a pain that he didn't even notice.
"Just a little more - three litres, Jimmy. It's not that bad ... yet."
Jim felt a drop of sweat running down his forehead. He was breathing hard through his nose, trying to make himself relax. This wasn't the first time he underwent an enema.
"That was the last drop, now you'll hold it in for a while, and after I tell you, you're going to let it all out - do you understand?" The doctor stated, removing an empty fluid bag. Jim lay motionless, trying to calm down. Every now and then a cramp shot through his stomach, but he bravely tried to appear as if nothing was happening. He clenched his fists and waited.
The doctor was walking around the room, watching him and sometimes moving some other tools on the table. After some time, he walked over to the suffering Jim, and with a loud, false sigh took out the inflatable pad from under his back, and pulled out the tube.
"Now you can let it out– don't worry, there are built-in drains in the table, just like in the morgue tables – I had them in mind while constructing this one."
Jim knew the whole procedure was designed just to humiliate him, but the good doctor would have to try harder. There are not many things that could humiliate Jim - and even Mycroft made some effort. A grin flickered on his face, taking last deep breath, Jim relaxed all his muscles and released every last drop of the fluid he had in his gut. It felt amazing until the warm fluid began to gather around his calves and thighs. The doctor tsk-tsked and pulled out a shower hose - the same one the pathologists used on corpses in the morgue. But before he turned the water on, he noticed a big grin behind the muzzle Jim had on his face.
"Something's funny?" He asked, irritated.
Jim continued staring up at him, meeting doctor's eyes with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. This guy wasn't an amateur, but sometimes he was acting like one.
Jim shifted his gaze to the hose held by the other man and raised his eyebrows, then glanced back at the doctor and winked lasciviously. He saw the other man's hand tighten on the handle of the shower head. Clenching his lips, the doctor turned on water that hit Jim directly in the stomach. The water was freezing. He also didn't forget to spray it on his face, which resulted in another coughing and feeling like drowning.
When the younger man was clean, the doctor turned off the shower, put it aside, and then positioned the shivering man into semi-sitting position. His movements were jerky and irritated. Finally, he pulled up a metal chair and sat down beside the table facing Jim.
"Now, I'm going to remove the muzzle, and I want you to stay silent and answer only direct questions. I'll give you something to eat - remember, I don't know when you will be fed again – that depends on your behaviour. I'm sure you must be hungry - there is no need to waste your energy fighting for the sake of some pride."
Jim nodded. Not that he had any desire to eat anything from this monster, but he could use the additional energy.
The older man carefully removed his muzzle. Jim immediately licked his cracked lips and worked his jaw again. Then he smiled at the doctor, who gave him a warning look.
As if on a call, the door burst open and a young tall man came in, carrying a tray with a bowl of some soup. He silently handed it over to the doctor, and quickly left the room.
Jim was pointedly not looking at the bowl, instead he kept looking straight into the blue eyes of his captor.
"You will open your mouth when the spoon approaches. You will eat in normal, civilised way, and I might even give you something to drink later. Do you understand? Answer!" The doctor snapped.
"Yes, master."
"Good," the older man muttered, reaching out toward Jim he loosened the belt around his neck which had been holding his head immobile. Then he picked up the first spoonful and gently offered it to Jim who swallowed a mouthful of not very strong vegetable broth and grimaced.
"Is something wrong?" The doctor asked caustically, picking up another spoonful.
Jim tried to look thoughtful. "Well, I'm no Gordon Ramsay, and I don't want to carp on this, really… but I think a broth is supposed have some taste, right?"
"You have no idea what I'm capable of, Jimmy," the doctor whispered dangerously. "I can't wait to see that fire in your eyes flicker and fade."
Jim grinned at him, and as soon as he caught a sight of the other man's hand from the corner of his eye, he shot out and bit into his fleshy palm. The doctor cried out, dropping the spoon, which landed directly on Jim's neck. Then, with constant swearing and screaming, the older man tried to free his hand from Jim's vicious grip. The criminal just clamped his jaws tighter, breaking the skin, and soon he could taste a hot blood pouring into his mouth.
"You fucking bastard!" The older man shouted, pinching Jim's nose firmly, until the younger man let go. Clutching his bleeding hand, he ran out of the room, leaving the other man alone in the lab.
Jim licked his lips, smiling widely. Much better.
The doctor stumbled into the hallway, angrily mumbling under his moustache. That little shit will pay for this! He burst into a small room where he found one of his assistants, who as soon as she saw him shot out of her chair and ran towards him, eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my God! What happened?" She asked incredulously, placing a clean cloth on the wound and applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding.
"Subject 46," the older man murmured. As soon as his assistant wiped most of the blood away from the wound, the doctor could see the outline of Jim's teeth, and anger darkened his eyes.
"Thirty lashes, after that I want him to be put in the Dark Room – throw him to our smallest cage so he cannot move. No water or food. Leave him there for exactly three days. Until then I don't want to hear about him."
The assistant merely nodded, disinfecting the doctor's still bleeding bite.
"It needs stitches," the younger woman murmured.
"I know!" Dr Sky retorted.
The room filled with deafening silence as the young assistant finished injecting the analgesic and threaded a needle, preparing to sew the doctor's deep wound.
"This one will be a challenge. He's a complicated case."
There was a faint flicker of a smile on her face. "Nothing you couldn't manage. He has a great potential. It's important not to give up," she fell silent for a moment. "Don't forget to wash your hand with clean water when I'm finished. And you'd better get a tetanus shot."
"All I have to do is infect his Memory Palace - find out what it is, and how to get there without him knowing. I have to weaken his body, his mind…Then I will completely destroy it and build my own Palace inside his head. And his mind will be mine."
Sherlock studied the psychiatrist's notes of Doctor Sky's sessions. In addition to the typical notes like at what time did the session begin and what the topic of the conversation was, the psychiatrist had also written down some of his personal observations and assumptions.
They met only a few times, and then the sessions were cancelled on Mr Sky's request. Sherlock frowned, reading the first session. At first, it seemed that Sky was actually mourning - he didn't want to talk that much, showed signs of depression, insomnia, and perhaps even some suicidal tendencies. However, the second session, which was held a week later, was completely different. According to the psychiatrist's records, a confident, composed man without any worries entered the room. He was still talking about his wife, and how he missed her, and what they were doing together, what plans they had - but it seemed that whenever the therapist introduced the subject of his wife, Sky always somehow ended up talking about himself.
During the last session – there were four in total - the doctor had finished the last page with a short note: Diagnosis - Psychopath; I recommend outpatient treatment and further psychiatric evaluation. The rest of the page was blank.
Sally Donovan always claimed that he was a psychopath. That was, however, far from the truth. Psychopaths are hard to identify; usually they're very charming, successful, have many friends, have a family, and then something snaps inside them and the fantasies become an urge, and they start to provoke conflicts, control, and sometimes hurt or murder other people. Their egocentric personality and the complete absence of empathy toward others make it impossible for them to see or feel what they are causing.
Jim Moriarty was one of those.
Sherlock sighed and handed over the notes to John, trying to get the criminal consultant out of his head.
"He's a pathological liar and a manipulator," John said suddenly, after a few minutes of silence. The younger man jumped up as he had forgotten that he was not alone in the apartment.
"He likes to talk about himself and his achievements, it seems to me that he doesn't truly care that someone close to him has died," John continued. Sherlock just stood quietly near the window, his head full of thoughts.
"He lacks empathy – simply doesn't feel the pain of others." That sounds exactly like you, Jim - Sherlock thought while listening to his friend.
"Psychopath," John concluded. "This Sky might be our murderer."
Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat.
"Yes. We need to find the psychiatrist and have a little chat with him - he might not have written there everything," the detective said as he walked over to a desk, opened his notebook and turned it on.
"What's his name - is it in the file?" He shouted over his shoulder while entering his password.
John flipped the file back to the first page. "Her name. Helen Hartnett. The address isn't written here."
"Here I found it. Helen Hartnett lives in ... Scotland? A city called Inverness. That's hundreds of miles away."
"I should probably take a few days off at work, right?" John sighed with a smile.
Hello everyone!
Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter... I'm a terrible procrastinator :D
I hope you liked this new chapter and thanks for all the favs and reviews! ;)
See you next time!