Darkside Read Free Page B

It was a place for the long-term ill and the mentally disturbed: there was no Accident & Emergency ward here. Although the narrow corridors smelled of disinfectant just like every other hospital, the place was infused with a different, otherworldly atmosphere. Jonathan felt it as soon as the car passed under the arches and into the car park: a pervasive air of hopelessness.
    Evening was rapidly descending upon them, and as Jonathan got out of the car he felt a couple of raindrops patter on to his head. He headed through the automatic doors and into the hospital. There was no general reception area, and no one in view, but Jonathan immediately began striding down the nearest corridor. A left turn, and then a right . . . he passed under a flickering strip light and skirted round a cleaner polishing the floor. Behind him, Mrs Elwood was trotting furiously in an attempt to keep up.
    â€œAre you sure this is the right way?” she panted. “We’ve gone awfully far.”
    â€œI’m sure,” he said softly, without turning round.
    â€œOf course. I’m sorry. But can we at least slow down a bit? My legs are a teensy bit shorter than yours.”
    For the first time that day, Jonathan smiled. “Yeah. We can do that.”
    There was a heavy door at the end of the corridor, and suddenly they were outside again. They had come out on to a small courtyard, where benches clustered around an ornate wooden shelter. Thick green plants were dotted around in ceramic pots. Jonathan guessed that visitors were supposed to relax out here, but you could never escape the fact that you were in a hospital. Orderlies wheeled trolleys back and forth, their wheels rattling on the uneven surface, and in front of him a pair of surgical gloves lay discarded on the ground.
    In the corner of the courtyard there was a loading bay marked with yellow lines on the tarmac, and beyond, hidden from sight of the courtyard, there was a small, grimy wing of the hospital. The crumbling Victorian brickwork was coated with soot and grime, and the rows of windows were all barred. Water dripped down from the guttering, forming a small pool near the doorway. It had been over a year since Jonathan had last laid eyes on the wing where his dad now lay.
    Mrs Elwood watched Jonathan thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten how ugly it was,” she said.
    â€œI wish I had.”
    â€œDo you want me to go first?”
    He nodded.
    She went over to the door and pushed it open. Inside they had made an effort to modernize the reception area: there were plastic chairs and water coolers and a glass screen for the front desk. But a dingy atmosphere remained. There were three people sat waiting, flicking silently through magazines. None of them looked up as Mrs Elwood marched up to the reception desk and spoke to the nurse.
    â€œHello. We’re here to see Alain Starling.”
    The nurse pursed her lips and consulted her clipboard. “Yes . . . I’m afraid we’re not allowing any visitors into this wing at the moment. There have been some . . . disturbances.”
    â€œAre you sure? We’ve come a long way.”
    â€œI’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
    The nurse looked up, suddenly spotting Jonathan through the glass. “Oh, it’s you.”
    â€œI want to see my dad,” he said.
    The nurse paused, weighing up the situation. Eventually she relented. “You can go up, but only for ten minutes. He’s in Room Seven.”
    The upstairs corridors were even colder and gloomier than the reception. Jonathan passed through a large ward with a domed ceiling. The lights were on, but they were too weak to fill the entire room, and shadows bred in the corners and high up near the roof. Most of the patients lay in their beds, moaning quietly, but some wandered around in stained surgical gowns. A large man with a bristling, uncontrollable beard grabbed Jonathan’s arm as he went by and hissed into his