SCENE SIX A 'treatment room' behind the main ward, Baltimore State Asylum
"Torry, Lie still, Torry. You will lie absolutely still, hearing and heeding only our voice. Torry, you will cease struggling and at once." Gideon Boudin demanded, frowning as his prisoner struggled and thrashed despite all physical and mesmeric restraints. That inmate lay on a scratchy canvas cot, coughing harshly. He lay face up, his head rigidly held back, his hands clenched, his features taut, while a voice cold enough to freeze a prairie fire filled his ears.
He was fighting with all his strength, pulling and pushing against thick, stiff leather restraints that held his ankles and wrists to the sides of the cot, while wider leather and canvas straps trapped his legs and held his torso to the cot, made him flinch as if they burned him. More than that, he was struggling against the decades old mesmeric cues the acrid fumes, the ice and silk voice and the freezing-burning bonds all held for him.
There was a sharpness in the air around him, a scent burning his eyes, filling his nose and turning his stomach, leaving him almost unable to move. The harsh odor surrounded him. He could hardly breathe as it grew stronger. The scent was somehow both exotic and all too familiar. He knew it and he didn't. He was suddenly afraid to remember how he could know the acrid scent. It was too bitter, too overwhelming. He thought he'd paSs out if he breathed in any more of that burning, peppery smell. He was nearly choking on bitter, burnt-pepper scented tobacco fumes.
He wasn't winning this fight. He was utterly alone except for his tormentor, and that by itself was terrifying. He couldn't recall a time he'd felt so isolated, so totally bereft. There was no help for it and no hope. He was already lost. Once the bitter smoke reached his lungs, he could hardly breathe. Once the icy voice reached his ears he could hear nothing else. He could barely move or think. Torry West as he'd been known half his life, James Torrance Kieran West as the world outside his Norfolk home knew him, was back in Gideon Alexander Remiel Boudin's control. And the Georgian fully intended his "Courier" would remain so.
"You will obey us. We command and you obey, remember, Torry? You must obey us perfectly as always, Torry. You have no choice, remember? There is no other way by which you may still walk the Faultless Path. Remember, Torry how desperately you need to walk that Faultless Path? Remember what Fate awaits you and all in your world, if you dast step one inch, one fraction of a milimeter from the Faultless Path we gave you, long years ago? You will remember now as we command you, Torry. Now, Torry, you will remember unerringly the Well of Fire!"
The captive jerked as if all his major muscles abruptly spasmed. Then he lay very still, his blind green eyes fixed on the nightmare image Boudin conjured. All his mind and memory allowed him to sense in this instant was that well of fire, blazing all around him, filling his diminished world with leaping flames, searing heat and choking fumes. He'd fallen off the edge of any world he ever knew into a flaring, dancing, gem-bright firestorm.
This was the Well of pure Fire the Nightmare invoked, and he was falling hopelessly into its depths. This was the oldest prison he knew, in which he was helplessly caught. The flames wholly enthralled him in an instant, capturing his beleagured spirit, his unswerving gaze, his whole imagination and his once more fragmenting mind. The fire swept over him in a bright, bizare tidal wave, filling his senses and his whole frame, drowning him in its raging, devouring, dismantling blaze. He lay cut off from everything but the fire and the silk and ice voice of his longest lived Nightmare.
Boudin watched his most important inmate closely. As he considered the matter, he knew the young man shivering on the cot beside him exceptionally well, better than anyone, the Georgian believed. Jimmy Randolph's namesake nephew had, after all, become the key to the Georgian's long term plans the moment they met, thirty two years ago, this very month. In December, 1841, Boudin found himself a guest at the Randolph family home outside Norfolk, along with his sister Beatrice. And while he'd expected the family to be making much of the recently widowed Jimmy, or his small son Paul, that was not the case. Instead a sunny haired, brightly smiling, green eyed, busily rushing "Babyboy" of sixteen months was the center of everyone's attention there.
We recall the scene, Torry, exactly as it occured. Boudin considered. We saw how eagerly everyone in and around your grandmother's home, indeed, everyone in your world cherished and doted on you, Torry. We saw how precious you were not only to your parents as their growing, thriving son, but to all your kin as well. One would have thought to see the way they cosseted and spoiled you, Torry, that none of the adults in that house had ever seen a lively, healthy toddler before. Even our own sister Beatrice Helene became thoroughly besotted with you, then. But most of all we saw how profoundly your namesake, our dear old Jimmy adored you, his beloved sister's son. One would have thought, to see the man with you, dandling you on his knee that he had no children of his own, much less a son and heir in your cousin Paul.
The way he doted upon you! The way he cajoled and spoiled you, dearest! And that was our answer, dearest. That exact instant gave us our key! In that precise moment we knew just how we would ultimately win! And we knew just who would help! It was only "icing on the cake" when we noted how much your lady mother cherished our dear Jimmy! It was only the last sweetest touch we needed, seeing how your "Poppa" still befriended that dejected wretch!
Then came our turn. We were gifted with your golden grin. And we were as enchanted as all the rest! You had no fear of strangers whatever, Torry dearest, we were glad to see. You were no shyer than a tamed puppy or a spoiled house cat's get. Indeed the only difficulty you had at that glorious first encounter was with Jimmy's fond, foolish old nickname for us. You were a precocious child to say the least, already delighting your entire kinship with your excursions into spoken language albeit of an unschooled kind.
You won't remember, that, rather than being at all reticent about the lack of a clear grasp of your consonants, you were quite well pleased with the result. You'd renamed us, and in a sense made us over as yours and yours alone. You immediately, and for a good five or six years afterwards called us us your "Wemee Dweewes'. And the piece de resistance came when your grandmother renamed you and in that same sense, made you over.
"This baby boy of Jessy-Anne's needs his own name, all the more now that our Jimmy's back home in N'folk. Two Jimmys would be one too many under my roof." The matriarch announced, wrapping her arms about the toddler to keep him still a moment. "And I have one in mind that belonged to my own dear grandfather, Padraich Micheal Torrance. His father, Kieran Daniel took his family to Manchester, during one of the famines in Eire. And Kieran Daniel wanted no son of his being known as "Paddy". So he called the lad 'torry" and that's what we'll call this little one. So, how do you like your new name, Torry-Little?"
"Towwee!" the little boy, who hadn't quite mastered his 'rs' shouted with laughter, hugging her in return. "Mees Towwee Wid… Widdal!"
The Georgian had been waiting a decade at that point, ever since he spent a miserable year on a scholarship to William and Mary College, and encountered Jimmy Randolph there. More than anything in his life, bitterly envious of the Virginian's gifts and his heritage, Boudin wanted to steal from Jimmy all the loving fondness, trust and faith his widespread family and many friends held for him The young Tidewater scion and his friends made things hard for the boy from Atlanta, deliberately, as Boudin perceived it. All the affronts, the slights, the snubs of that "hazing" lived on as open wounds in his spirit. He'd been insulted as a backwater bumpkin by some of the older boys there. He'd been scorned regarding his Haitian born father's reputation by some of the younger instructors. And he'd been offended profoundly by the College's failure to extend his special one year scholarship
Then came the worst offense of all, as the offended party saw it, just when young "Remy" Boudin thought he could at least make good his escape from the tormenting environs of Williamsburg. His seventeen year old sister Beatrice arrived to travel back to Atlanta with the angry, embittered youth. That was shameful enough, the idea that he needed an escort or a companion on his now longed for journey home. Then his always charming, always easy in company older sister "Bea" began making friends of the very collegians Remy despised. She especially charmed Jimmy Randolph, and was very much charmed in turn by him. Before Remy could even try to dissuade her, Beatrice declared she'd fallen in love with the young Virginian! Before the young Boudins left Williamsburg that spring, Jimmy Randolph openly admitted he was smitten with "Queen Bea"! Not seeming to realize for an instant how they were enraging and wounding Remy, Bea and Jimmy entered into a warm, life-long friendship that bordered on love-making, the Georgian believed.
That was his breaking point, his Rubicon, Remy declared. He would have nothing further to do with Jimmy Randolph, northern Virginia, the Tidewater aristocracy, the vaunted First Families, or anyone remotely connected to them. He would have nothing good to say about the "Upper South' for the next two decades and more. And he would spend that time seeking any and all means he could find, steal, compell, compromise, bribe, abduct, buy or otherwise acquire to take revenge on his 'true Enemy".
"And you gave us the best of all possible means to my long-awaited Day of Retribution, our dearest Torry. You, at all of sixteen months of age, showed us precisely how we would break our dear, old Jimmy's smug, self-satfisfied, hypocritical heart!" Boudin noted aloud, still watching his captive intently. The prisoner barely moved on the cot, except to shudder. He was wholly caught up in the mesmeric cues the Georgian invoked.
"And that Day is coming upon us, Torry, quite, quite soon. That Glorious Day will at last arrive, when Jimmy sees at last, when that old reprobate finally knows to his core the price you have paid for his infamy, for his betrayal, for his rejection of us, long years ago! So, Torry, in order to ensure the Triumph of all Our Great Work, we are here beside you once more. We are here to allow you the full recollection, the absolute understanding of all we have done to reach the Shining Hour of Our Transcendent Destiny! Once that is accomplished there will be no further obstacles or impediments on the Faultless Path you must tread. Torry, you do wish only to walk that Faultless Path at last, do you not?"
"I wish only to walk the Faultless Path." Torry/Jim stiffly replied, powerless to give any other response.
"Of course. Of course you do, dearest boy." Boudin purred, pleased to see his post hypnotic compulsions well in place. "Just as we taught you, beginning with your First Lessons from us, years ago, you were born and bred, and more than that, you were destined to be an authentic, classical Homeric hero. We knew that Truth of your Nature the moment we saw your golden smile, and heard your clear, lilting, lisping voice Torry. We knew your Shining Destiny the instant we saw your sturdy toddler's frame, and the gleam in your bright green eyes!
We will have you remember those First Lessons, Torry. We will have you recollect those early times, all the glorious secrets and all the high adventures we shared. Ah, Torry, what times those were! What treasure hunts we took you on! And what hidden, golden treasure was already there, only waiting for us to find! What fine long tramps about the countryside we went on, and what glorious carriage rides, what sailing excursions, what heroic horseback journeys we took. What daring explorers we became then, Torry, of attics, garrets and root cellars, pump houses, stables, tack rooms and summer kitchens.
" Such superb wonders you learned from us then Torry and such vast dreams we taught you to spin! Each and all of those glowing hours you will now reclaim. Each of our profoundly close moments, our days, our journeys together we decree you shall regain, just as we once decreed you would forget them for a time. Remember now, Torry: Remember how we brought you our wonderful, poignant, especially secret golden games, and how we kept those all for you, Torry, only for you and ourselves. Now, Torry, now!" Boudin ordered, sweeping one hand acroSshis prisoner's forehead in a long since implanted cue.
The captive shuddered harshly, almost convulsing for an instant. Then he lay motionless on the cot, as if the unyielding grip of a giant pushed him into the unraveling canvas. The Nightmare that had been all around and above him crashed down like a storm tide, fully equipped with the oldest terror he knew. He couldn't move, see, hear, think or speak. He couldn't make a single sound. His voice seemed harshly trapped in his throat. He couldn't make his arms, his legs or any part of his frame move. Abruptly, as the Nightmare that was also an horrific memory went on. In this memory he wasn't an adult at all. He was a tiny boy, pinned down by the weight of a viciously powerful giant.
"Yes, yes, that is correct. Torry. You are recalling precisely the First Lesson we gave you, the earliest instant in which we played our special private game." The Nightmare's voice told him. 'remember, dearest, we explained you needn't be afraid of us. We explained you were only awkward, only nervous, only just learning our secret game. It was just a game, remember, Torry? We told you time and again, you would soon learn to play the game, just as we once learned it. It is only a game, a special, secret, wondrous game we desired to teach you. Remember, Torry how you learned it from us? Answer."
" … mees …meemembers, mees does." the child-self ensnared along with his adult "brother" answered slowly. This was his oldest night-terror, almost his oldest memory, that held him entirely powerless, completely terrified as always.
"That is correct. Keep on then, keep on remembering the game as you learned it from us, Torry." The Nightmare's voice, Boudin's voice ordered. "Remember how the Lessons we gave you continued."
Hopeless to do anything but obey the Nightmare, the child nodded. In memory, freezing cold trapped him, as if the winter wind surrounded him in the form of a gigantic captor. The wind held him down with enough force to tear the child in pieces. The voice shifted into a crackling noise far over his head. The 'giant's' frame blocked all but the tiniest chinks letting light into his child struggled and cried out but couldn't make the giant "go "ways!"
"No, no, Torry. You can't learn the game that way. No, you must lie still for us, Torry. Lie still now and cease your wailing. Lie still and do not disobey us, ever. You must be a good boy for us, Torry, and learn the game. You must obey us, always. You will obey us, always and completely, Torry." The Nightmare laughingly insisted.
"Mees mee… mees 'meemembers mees … wessins." the child-self answered the Nightmare, too afraid and shocked by the memory/return of his worst night-terrors to do anything else. The Nightmare's hands were too strong to struggle against. He was too small to fight the Nightmare/giant. He was too shaken to understand anything but not wanting to hurt, and to young to realize the lies being woven against him. He was too sickened by the tobacco fumes and too panicked to know what was real.
"Now, now, come, come, Torry!" the Nightmare voice icily chuckled. "We've barely begun what another old friend of mine might call your 'memory Work". You truly must heed us and lie quietly. We must continue. We must reach our objective in a timely manner. Lie quietly, Torry. Lie quite still and remember how your Lessons proceeded. It is imperative that you reclaim these memories while we permit them to you, dearest. We cannot permit you to have them for an indefinite period. But as of this moment, you do recall how your Lessons went on from those mere beginnings, don't you? You do remember what more, what other fine, speical, secret games followed those earliest Lessons, don't you? Answer."
"Mees does. mees does meem… meemember… mores of … "pechul see"krit … gayms, mees does… wees does… " the child-self, one of the earliest to emerge responded, shaking with terror suddenly when he slipped and spoke of his brothers.
"Ah, now I know you are recalling our old, dear times, Torry." Boudin, the originator of all the child's nightmares beamed. "You often sought to flatter your old Remy by speaking in the way we often fall into. You remember wanting to be like your dearest old Remy, and we're quite well pleased to note it. Continue, Torry. We're on rather a strict schedule. Remember how we completed your earliest Lessons. Remember how we took you forward in the games. Remember!"
His worst memory rose around the child-self, leaving him almost paralyzed with shock and pain. It was a very bad, bad thing. So wasn't he a most awfully bad little boy if it was happening to him? Wasn't he somehow, despite the Nightmare's injunctions, disobeying? Fearing that made him shudder and the Nightmare's bitter cold shook him like a fever. The shadows were even more frightening, hiding the form and the name and the face of his tormentor. hiding the world, hiding him from that world. All he knew was being alone with the Nightmare and the roiling terror it inspired.
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