A drop of water fell from the ceiling. It rolled down the man’s forehead and nose, nestling on his bottom lip. The man blinked. Matthis blinked. Another drop of water followed the first. Matthis watched it, fascinated.

This one seems unusual.

“My good man, are you set on taking the world’s slowest shower?”

No response. Another drop of water. Another blink. The eye lashes were damp with moisture now. Behind them the eyes were distant, vacant.

Another blink. Matthis returned it with one of his own. The exchange went on for some time, blink following blink, before Matthis hammered the floor with his foot. Park View. Home of the insane. How had Matthis found himself here? He hammered the hard floor again.

Still, the man opposite didn’t move. Water from a hole in the stoney ceiling continued to drip onto his cellmate’s face and yet there was no reaction. Nothing. Just a blank, unnerving stare.

“This is completely unacceptable!” Matthis declared, springing to his feet. “I demand to be let out at once!” He wrapped his fists around the bars, shaking them back and forth.

Nobody came.

I can’t believe that didn’t work. Perhaps you should try stamping your foot again?

“Eurghhh!” Matthis cried in frustration, his voice echoed down stale corridors.

“Eurghhh!” came a reply.

Matthis paused. “Erm, hello?”

“Hello?” The voice mimicked back. A woman’s voice.

“I’m Matthis. Matthis Albion. Who are you?”

“I’m Matthis. Matthis Albion. Who are you?” The voice replied.

I suspect this one might be just as mad as the others.

“Fucking shitwagons!” came the woman’s voice.

“Fucking shitwagons?” Matthis asked back.

Silence.

Matthis waited some more, before leaning back against the cell bars and sinking to the floor.

He returned his attention to his cellmate, who stared at an unseen spot on the wall. A bubble of drool had begun to form at one corner of his mouth.

Matthis chuckled. “In this light, he looks just like that kid. What was his name? The one whose head Three Silver used to smooth out the bumps in his club.”

Terran.

“That’s it! Smart kid. Drooled just like that by the time Three Silver had finished with him,” Matthis sighed. “Good times.”

Have you ever considered that maybe you belong in here, among the crazies?

Matthis hissed air through his lips. “Nobody belongs in here.”

“Shitting Fuckwagons!” The woman’s voice echoed down the stone corridor, bouncing off each of the cells.

“Except maybe her,” Matthis added, rising to his feet he strolled over to his halcyon cellmate.

He has a hole in his skull. Several of them in fact.

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The light in the cell was dim. Windowless and damp, it was lit only by a line of torches that sat out of reach of the cell’s inhabitants.

“How do you do that?”

What?

“We use the same eyes. Same mind. So how do you always see better than I do?”

I don’t waste my time looking for reflective surfaces in which to admire myself.

Matthis leaned in. Sure enough, several open holes pierced the man’s head.

He jerked back, suddenly feeling very queasy “We have to get out of here!” He spun around the small cell, looking for anything that might help him escape.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, steadily growing louder. He began to hear voices. Somebody laughed. A group, shadowed in black, paused outside his cell. Matthis felt his own fingernails dig into the palm of his hand.

Let me take them.

“No! I’ll rip their damn throats out,” Matthis growled.

A face emerged from the black. A jingle of keys and the cell door started to open outwards.

Matthis lunged. “I’ll rip your damn throa—oof!” He fell to the ground, head ringing from whatever had struck him.

“Not too hard you idiot,” a voice, soft and slippery, said from somewhere above him. “I need his head in one piece. Relatively speaking. Pick him up and follow me.”

Shaking away the grogginess, Matthis felt himself being hoisted by the arms and dragged along the rough floor. He struggled, but the hands held him like vices. “Now would be a good time for you to intervene,” he mumbled.

No answer came.

In the gloom he could just make out the two figures that held him. Two more in front and, judging by the footsteps, there were at least another two behind.

“All this for me? I’m flattered.”

He was yanked into a brightly lit room. The light hit his eyes and he squeezed shut his eyelids. When he finally opened them again he was sitting in a straight-backed chair. All around him stood towering men, faces impassive.

Opposite, sat a wiry man thumbing an elaborately styled yellow moustache. “Matthis Albion. My name is Doctor Lapis. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

Matthis coughed and rubbed the corners of his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “I have not.” He had, of course. Most of Vermasse knew of the mad doctor.

The moustache bounced slightly, a suggestion of a smile. “Well, nevertheless you will soon become familiar with my work. I treat the afflicted, Mr Albion. Men and women like you.”

“Oh, thank heavens. I have this bunion on my foot, it’s terribly painful. If you wouldn’t mind taking a look at it that would be marvellous.”

Another moustache bounce. “I’m glad those bangs to the head didn’t remove that famous sense of humour of yours. Tell me, where is the other one?”

Matthis tilted his head slightly and frowned.

The doctor sighed. “The other personality, Mr Albion.”

“Ah, I see you’ve heard of my jongleuring. I wouldn’t call it another personality, but I do like a good song and dance when drunk. If you could fetch me some alcohol and a hat I’d be glad to—” his words were cut short as something heavy struck him in the stomach. He doubled over in his chair.

“Well,” he hawked and spat “I guess I could sing a song for you now if you really insist. Oh, he swings and he sings and he fights all day! He strides and he rides and he leads the way! He mucks and he fu—oof!” Another punch to the stomach.

He spluttered, hanging his head as he fought for air. “Difficult crowd,” he said between gasps. “I told you, it sounds better if I’m drunk.”

A fist raise once more, but the Doctor gave a slight shake of his head. Matthis forced a grin at the large man who clearly so wanted to punch him. Seeing a flash of hate in the small grey eyes, Matthis shot back a wink.

The doctor pushed his face uncomfortably close to Matthis’. “You know, if you don’t give me what I want, I will be forced to use… different methods.”

“Well, you’re not my usual type. But if you buy me some pretty jewellery maybe we can reach a compromise?”

“Very good, Mr Albion. I look forward to seeing how long you can keep up this facade. Tell me, how do you like your new cellmate? Not my most successful operation, I have to say. Still, maybe with you the outcome will be different. I do so look forward to peering inside that skull of yours.”

Matthis felt a thrill of fear run through him. Before he could say anything, Lapis turned to the guards. “Take him back to his cell.” Light from a flickering torch reflected off the doctor’s bald head.

Where are you? Matthis demanded internally as the men picked him up by the arms and carried him roughly back to the small, shared cell. They threw him onto the hard cot of the shared cell

“You fucking shitwagons!” Matthis called after them. When nobody answered he let out a cry of frustration. “Where are you, damn you!"

It was not the time, the voice said at last.

“What do you mean?”

There is something wrong here. Something dark. The doctor wanted you to fight. He wanted to see me. I could see it in his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re a soul-reader too now?” Matthis mocked.

No. But do you not sense it? There is something greatly wrong about this place.

Matthis stared at the man with the holes in his head. He hadn’t moved in all the time Matthis had been gone. “Wrong? Really? Whatever gives you that idea?”

Silence once more.

In the corner of the room, Matthis’ cellmate slowly dribbled onto the floor.