Flux

stinking of shit and still dripping blood from the tubes in his arms. Iain let out a small feminine squeal and jumped once more. “What in Christ’s name are you doing here?” he asked, almost shouting although he wasn’t at all surprised to see the old man and was even a little, but not too much, relieved simply to see a familiar face.
    “Don’t mention that name to me,” said Bert.
    “What name?”
    “You know, the martyr, the forgiver.” Bert spat on the ground. “So, how have you been then?” Iain could almost see mocking laughter in his eyes.
    “Shit. You?”
    “Me? Never better Sonny Jim.” He glanced around the room. “Told you not to fuck with me,” lowering his voice menacingly.
    “You killed him!”
    “Who?”
    “Gary; who the fucking hell did you think I meant?”
    “The priest?”
    “Did you kill him too?”
    Bert rolled his eyes and feigned an exaggerated hurt.
    “Cunt!” Iain’s response. Then, “so what are you doing here anyway?”
    “Just thought I’d pop in and see how my old mate’s getting along, that’s all,” his grin becoming a sneer.
    Iain was becoming angrier by the second, although given recent events he was more than a little wary of the old man. Then he thought to ask; “So, who’s the chap outside?” He glanced around. Still the man stood there, striking terror deep into his heart through the sheer act of doing nothing. Iain may have thought him a mannequin, or puppet, if it weren’t for the occasional blink of dark, soulless eyes. He looked away again, back to Bert still perched on the bed.
    “The last person to piss me off!”
    “So why is he staring?”
    “Does it bother you?”
    “Yes, it’d bother anyone.”
    “Do you want him to stop?”
    “Yes.”
    Bert gestured towards the door with his arm and Iain turned his head to follow. The man, still only partially in view through the grill, raised his hands with palms upwards and thumbs extended. He pressed them to his eyes, pushing hard. Iain saw the eyes redden and start to bleed from the edges, near where the tear ducts are.
    “Stop!” Iain shouted, horrified and turning away.
    Bert jumped up with surprising agility and grasped Iain’s head from behind with both hands, forcing him to watch the unfolding self-mutilation. “You told me to make him stop staring, now reap what you sow bitch!”
    The man pressed harder, and harder until finally the left eye burst, leaking down his face like bloody tears, closely followed by the right. Still he uttered no sound and the inane grin continued to decorate his face. Iain was crying himself now, unwilling to look but unable to stop watching the horror unfolding in front of his very eyes. The man still pushed with his thumbs, deeper and deeper until buried to the knuckle and yet he continued to smile as his hands pressed against his face. Brain matter joined the mess rolling down the unknown man’s face and he collapsed in a heap on the ground, out of sight behind the grey steel of the door.
    “Ta-ta for now,” Bert chirped, casually opening the cell door and stepping out over the body before slamming it closed behind him. Iain went to follow, wanting nothing more than to beat the old man to a pulp and teach him a lesson, thinking nothing of his own safety. He found it to be firmly locked. Putting his back to the cold metal, he slid down to the floor, sobbing.

    Somebody was pushing at the door, trying to open it from the outside. Iain froze, not knowing who, or what it was.
    “Let me in Iain. Please move away from the door?” The voice sounded normal enough, if Iain still knew what normal was. He rolled across the floor to let whoever it was enter.
    To his relief, it was yet another doctor. Although the new arrival did introduce himself, Iain paid no attention to his name; he was too busy staring at the wart on the mans left cheek.
    “I’m glad to see you awake and lucid,” the doctor said, “that’s good.”
    Iain grunted. He didn’t know what lucid was, he didn’t even know what real was anymore. He just stared, numb.
    With any preamble over and done with, the doctor asked, “So, what can you tell me about those people you killed; Tim and Gary was it?” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, understandable given the nature of the question.
    “I didn’t do it!” Iain’s plain, defensive response.
    “Forensics say you did!” The doctor appeared sympathetic and compassionate.
    “Forensics? What forensics?” Iain was sitting bolt