CitPC Chapter VI, part 3.
Another part of another chapter in my saga is complete. Hope you likey :D
Rating: R, for some amount of gore, cursing, and violence.
Chapter VI: The Coils of Death, part 3.
A/N: Just for Tanya (well, everyone really), this next part contains more M-M-M-Mike. Oh yes! Feel the burn! Though, I’ll have to admit that this particular section of material will go off the main subject of the story a tad bit. Having said that, sometimes it’s nice to get away from the interrogations and the murders and the cannibalism for once, and to move on to a mental hospital full of deranged, murderous and suicidal patients, which could suggest a possible follow-up fic to CitPC (This is uncertain, so don’t get your hopes up xD).
Ah, it’s all good family fun…
Thursday, February 17th, 5:27pm. Broadmoor Hospital.
It had just gone past teatime, and our lovely American midget-- sorry, Terry Gilliam had finally arrived at Broadmoor. Once parked, he strolled across a thin, gravelled path, which climbed a sharp hill to the entrance. Stood at the main gates were two security guards; one bald, the other blond and overweight, who were watching Gil with daunting stares. Gil didn’t take much notice of this and quickly approached them.
“Excuse me, erm, i-is there a Mr Palin stayin’ here?” Gil asked the less frightening looking of the two guards (the baldie) to his left.
“Yes, there is,” came the answer, sounding very Mancunian.
“Well, I’d like to see him.”
“Sorry mate, authorized personnel only.”
Gil let out an inaudible sigh, as he was clearly shocked by this. He was Mike’s friend, so he was almost certain they’d let him in. Eric was right about the place being hard to get into. However, this was a hospital, not Area 51, so why couldn’t he enter?
“But I thought--”
“I know,” The man cut in, “But ever since he’s arrived here, we’ve had to stiffen up security quite considerably. Now, authorized staff members and policemen, among others, are the only ones permitted into this building, until further notice.”
“Dammit,” Gil mumbled.
Admitting defeat, Gil tottered back down the path and to his car; however, out of pure curiosity, he had stopped beside a lamppost and laid his eyes upon a silver Aston Martin that had just parked up beside him. Who would pop out but a strange bearded man in a navy coloured suit. Gil received the same daunting look from the man as with the guards.
“Excuse me, may I ask what you’re doing here?” Enquired the man, thinking Gil was some sleazy tramp hanging round the hospital for no good reason.
“Erm, well,” Gil hesitated, “I wanted to see, urm, somebody, but those idiot guards won’t let me.”
“What somebody?” the man said with some hint of scepticism.
“Er, a certain somebody--”
“You don’t know his name?”
“Of course! Mike… Michael Palin.”
“Ah, I see, as a matter of fact I’m going to see him too,” the man said.
Gil raised an eyebrow in confusion and looked to the floor. Why was this chump here to see Mike? What’s he got to do with him?
“It’s Mr Gilliam, is it?”
Gil quickly looked up.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he answered, very surprised.
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Iain Steele, head of the ‘Snake’ investigation.” (I’ve just found out that his name is actually spelt ‘Iain’, as supposed to ‘Ian’)
“Cool,” Gil said, trying to sound the least bit enthusiastic.
Steele smiled briefly then brushed past him and towards the two guards. That was, until he stopped and flicked his head back round.
“So, are you coming?” he asked Gil.
“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed.”
“Of course you are. You’re with me, right?” Steele grinned at him, and proceeded back down the hill. He came right up to Gil, and whispered, “Play along with this, and you’ll be in there in no time.”
Gil furrowed his brow. He had no clue what the guy was talking about. Steele mused over his thoughts for a moment, then he suddenly struck an idea. He went to his car and pulled out a policeman’s jacket from his boot. He told Gil what he was planning to do. Since Gil wasn’t able to get in because he wasn’t authorized to do so, Steele remembered what the ‘Citroen’ man had told him over the phone.
So, a few minutes later, Steele and Gil, now dressed in policeman coat and his hair in an unattractive ponytail just to make sure the guards didn’t recognise him, approached the security gates.
“Excuse me sir, DCI Iain Steele and DS Vance Gilmer here,” Steele told the two men, holding up his badge. “We would like to see Mr Michael Palin please.”
“Why doesn’t ‘e have some identification?” asked the Mancunian bloke, pointing to Gil.
“Ah, I forgot to mention that he’s an apprentice detective. I’m training him, you see,” Steele replied.
“I’m afraid that still doesn’t explain why ‘e hasn’t brought any identification with ‘im, sir.”
“Look old chap, I really don’t have the time to discuss this with you,” Steele retorted, “If you really must know, he dropped it whilst on foot-patrol late one evening, and he’s waiting to be issued another. Does that help?”
None of the guards offered a reply and both looked as if they weren’t bothered.
“Good, fine, now let us in, if you please,” Steele replied hurriedly.
“You sure he’ll be alright in there?” asked the blond one, “This place isn’t for the faint-hearted, especially with that guy in there tearin’ up the place.”
What guy? Gil thought.
“I know that, I’ve been here enough times. I’ll look after Vance, don’t worry.”
The two guards exchanged glances then looked back at Steele.
“As you wish, Inspector,” said the baldie.
As the two men entered the main gates, they were greeted to an eerie silence. The nasty looking and fairly uninviting wire-topped fences that surrounded the complex overlooked the aged, but beautiful Victorian style buildings of the hospital. Into the hospital courtyard they went, this time they were greeted to the unfamiliar sound of birds tweeting. It was laden with trees and shrubs of various sizes and around the snaking, gravelled paths were hard wooden benches clearly at the end of their tether, which could give you a nasty splinter in the backside if you were to sit on one. In front of were the courtyard lay, there was a large arch of the entrance to the old lunatic asylum, now the main hospital department. It was constructed from red bricks, and was rather grand looking, complete with hanging clock. Gil was apprehensive to enter at first, but he was adamant to see his friend again. So Steele held the door, and once Gil was through, shut the door behind and both men walked off down the corridor…
A little later…
Along the way, Steele had come into contact with a little lady nurse person and had gotten into a little discussion about how to find where Mike was being held. Section 5B, Ward 43, the lady had said. He had also asked what condition Mike was in. The lady shot Steele a worried look and frowned when he asked this.
“He’s been diagnosed with PTSD and Anti-social Personality Disorder,” said the woman, with one of those horrible Welsh accents, which are almost as bad as Northern Irish ones, “We have reason to believe that he could also be a borderline psychopath.”
“That’s crazy,” Gil muttered to himself.
Once they had arrived at Section 5B, Ward 43, or whatever technical term I’ve used, the nice lady with the horrid accent stopped outside Mike’s door. It was a grey steel door, with a small viewing window, and about 20 million locks that had been heavily bolted.
“I must forewarn you gentlemen that Mr Palin is in quite a state. He’s been very violent towards our staff, from spitting abuse at them, to kicking them to biting them. He hasn’t eaten anything since he arrived, seeing as whatever we give him he either vomits back up or throws at us. We haven’t been able to treat him properly for ages.”
“I’m sorry to here that Ms,” murmured Steele apologetically.
“He is considered extremely dangerous. You enter at your own risk. Any problems you press the panic button by the wall as you walk in and someone will take you out immediately.”
“Thank you,” Steele said, and both he and Gil watched as the lady unbolted the locks and pushed the door so that it was slightly ajar.
“Inspector,” the lady spoke softly, “You might be the only one who can get him to calm down. If we’re going to make any progress, we need him to cool down and cooperate with us. We’re only trying to help.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Steele said and made his way inside.
“So, erm, has he been violent to you at all?” Gil spoke to the woman, deciding not to follow Steele just yet.
“I was afraid you might ask that,” the lady sighed, “Yes, he has attacked me.”
She began to recall what had happened to her on the morning Mike was brought in. She told Gil all about it - early Wednesday morning, around one, she claimed. He looked very worn out that night, and wasn’t considered much of a threat, but how she and the others were fooled. When she had gone to give him some painkillers for his wounded leg, as soon as she made eye-contact with him, within seconds she was flung several metres into the air, and when she tried to come round she was pinned the ground. As she went on, Gil could tell that her palms were becoming sweaty and there was some amount of trembling and anxiety in her voice.
“He was hunched over me like some roaring lion. He was hissing and growling at me,” she described to Gil, getting all the more stressed as the chat went on, “I could see the blazing fire in his eyes. I was scared. I felt like I was going to die right there and then. When suddenly he retracted back and curled up into a ball and began to repeat the words, ‘I never killed ‘em, I good guy, I nice guy, I never killed ‘em…’ etc.”
Is this lady havin’ a laugh? There’s no way she’s talkin’ about Mike!
As Terry entered the room, he spotted Mike on the bed. Gil felt a cold rush of sadness sail through him, as he looked on at this manic person lying on a soiled bed sheet. He felt so distant; it was like Mike was some alien species from a dying planet. It didn’t look like him at all. He was wired up to some scary machines, and there were dried bloodstains on the pillow. He looked grubby, like he hadn’t shaved for at least 2 weeks. Also, his left wrist was manacled to one of the bed rails, and…
Wait, what the hell is he doing?
Terry raised both eyebrows in surprise. Mike’s jaw was wrapped tightly around the left bed rail, like he was biting into a Big Mac, and Gil could see tiny drips of saliva protruding from his mouth and dropping to the floor. Mike’s head and upper body were hunched over it too. His eyes were moist and were of a very dark coffee colour, and he was making deep snarling noises. He was wearing half a hospital gown since the top half appeared to have been ripped off by some mysterious force.
Upon hearing Mr Steele’s affable voice, Mike quickly sat up with a jolt. He looked straight into Iain’s eyes with a tired, but nasty glare and starting to hiss like a snake. Steele thought that he had disturbed him, and this was Mike’s threatening noise for him to back off, so he did, very cautiously. But really, Mike was only trying to pronounce Steele’s name, but for some odd reason he couldn’t manage it.
“Mr P-Palin?” Steele repeated himself, only this time with a lot more apprehension.
“S-s-s… ssss … S-Ste-Ste,” Mike said in his Ken Pile impression.
“My God, what have they done to you?” Steele sighed, shaking his head.
“Y-you… you… ca-ca-came.”
“Yeah, by the skin of my teeth, mind you.”
Gil, after undoing his ponytail, slowly strolled over to the end of the bed and wrapped his hands round the bottom rail.
“Mike?” he asked softly, leaning forward.
Mike slowly turned his head to face Gil standing at the end of the bed.
“Mike! Are you al--” Gil smartly stopped himself from asking this rather worthless question, to his amazement, and quickly replaced it with a sheepish “I’m so glad to see you!”
Mike simply glared at him in silence. Gil cocked his head to the side. It wasn’t a threatening sort of glare; it just made Mike’s face look unnaturally dull and chilling. Gil frowned and thought to himself. He thought that he’d better keep silent for the moment due to his friend’s surprisingly cross reaction, and since Mike had been through so much as of late, whatever Gil would say wouldn’t improve his situation anyway, so he remained quiet for a while to let Steele do most of the talking.
“So, Mr Palin, how are you?”
Anyone could tell by the look on Gil’s face the moment Steele said that that he looked marginally ticked off. What a useless thing to say! It made Gil either want to run out the building as fast as possible with embarrassment and/or with terror of how Mike would react, or to kick the DCI in the twig and berries for being such a blithering idiot of a detective.
“I… I-I feel… f-feel terrible, sir,” Mike stammered, as if he was about to start crying again.
Gil’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He thought for sure that Mr Steele was going to receive a verbal battering from Mike for asking that. He never expected that reply.
“Hmm, care to explain why?”
“I dunno, sir. I just… I dunno w-what’s wrong with me. I’m- I’m going mad.”
“Well, at least you’re fully aware of why you’re in this dump.”
Steele took a chair from the side, brought it over and sat down on it, whilst Gil strolled up to where the two men were and remained standing.
“Bastards,” Mike murmured.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Steele said, with slight sarcasm.
“I said… doctors,” Mike began, his eyebrows beginning to arch, “The… doctors… ARE ALL BLOODY BASTARDS!”
Gil jumped back in shock as he watched Mike squeal and shake like mad and pull at his handcuff, which was starting to cut into his flesh.
“Hey, hey, watch it,” Steele exclaimed, coming over to the bed and grabbing both of Mike’s arms, “Don’t even go there, mister!”
Mike growled in defeat and slumped back down.
“Look, you need to learn to control your temper,” Steele explained, “If the nurses see you behaving like this, there bound to act up.”
Mike sighed heavily and pouted his lip.
“Yeah, c’mon Mikey, just keep your cool, a’right?” Gil told him.
“What the hell?” Mike snarled, lifting himself back up again, “You tellin’ me to CALM DOWN?!”
Gil once again leapt back as Mike screamed and thrashed around on his bed, almost like he was possessed.
“Mr Palin, please don’t!”
Steele had to come over and restrain him again. Mike soon calmed down, as he looked up at Steele with a shameful face and lowered his head. Gil heard Mike growl and soon he could see Mike arch his back and slowly raise his head. He remained silent, scowling at Gil with a most frightful expression.
“Oh my God,” Gil muttered.
“I’m surprised,” Steele said, “You’re his mate, but he’s being very snappy with you.”
“Why is he like this with me, and not with you?”
Steele glanced at Mike, and saw his barred teeth and sinister eyes stare angrily at Gil.
“I’m not sure,” Steele muttered, turning back to Gil, “He shouldn’t be like this, especially to one of his friends. Having said that, I’m the one who’s been by his side since the start of his harrowing journey and, well, I guess he just treats me as a best friend - someone he can trust, someone to lend a hand in times of need, and at the moment it seems, he doesn’t trust anyone else.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Gil frowned, “I should’ve been there for him. I feel so ashamed.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault he’s ended up this way.”
Mike meanwhile had gotten bored of staring at Gil all bleedin’ day, so he sat up and rested his back against the wall.
“How long,” They heard Mike say hoarsely to Steele, “will I be cooped up ‘ere for, sir?”
“I don’t know, Mr Palin,” Steele answered.
“Please, sir, call me Mike.”
“Only if you stop calling me ‘Steele’ and ‘sir’ and start calling me ‘Iain’,” The DCI told him firmly, “I’m not some strict no-nonsense detective anymore. I’m your buddy, got that?”
Mike remained silent for a few moments, until he finally said, “Alright, Iain.” and gave Steele a warm smile that the detective hadn’t seen for a long time. Steele's face lit up.
“Excuse me,” interrupted the nice lady person, poking her head through the door, “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave the premises now. We’re taking Mr Palin in for surgery on his leg, as we found pieces of steel from the knife blade still inside his wound, which we must take out to stop potential infection.”
“Of course,” Steele said, as both he and Gil started to walk out.
Mike’s smile soon withered away as he caught a glimpse of the nurse. That nurse. His breathing became faster and his body tensed up with rage.
“Wait til I get my hands on you, you LITTLE BITCH!!”
The nurse shrieked with terror and hid behind the door. The two men stopped instantly and quickly turned round. Mike was bawling and screaming and clawing at the bed covers. He jumped up and let out a terrifying cold-blooded roar that shook the ward.
“BAAAAAAASTAAAAAAARDS!!!” Mike spluttered.
He began to completely freak out and lose control. He pulled and yanked at his manacle as hard as he could whilst shaking his head round and round almost making himself dizzy.
“Mike!” Steele called to him, “MIKE!! CALM DOWN FOR GOD’S SAKE!!”
Steele’s voice was drowned out by Mike’s high-pitched screams. He screamed and howled like a mad monkey and shook the bed rail violently - So violently in fact, the thing ripped off. Because his left wrist was still firmly attached to that rail, Mike tumbled onto the laminate floor beneath but quickly got up. Both Steele and Gil backed up against the wall in terror. They saw the new Mike, stood erect and panting heavily with a irrepressible rage - an aggressive, ape-like terror of his former self, with only a pair of blue boxers to cover whatever amount of decency he had left. Without warning, Mike let out another loud cry and swung his left arm round and round sending the torn off bed rail bashing and colliding with the machines and equipment. Gil ran for the door, but the nice lady nurse had it firmly locked.
“HELP US!!” Gil shouted, knocking the door with all his might.
Steele had no other option but to press the panic button. So he did… and stuff happened.
No, wait, that’s wrong… This is what happened:
Mike stopped momentarily and his eyes looked around wildly. He suddenly ran at full speed towards Gil and kicked him to the ground. Gil banged his head on the steel door and was feeling too light-headed to get up, but Mike offered him a helping hand by clutching his collar, lifting him up and throwing him against the door, pinning him there.
“Gimme back my kids, YOU UGLY SHIT!” Mike screamed in Gil’s ear.
Gil wailed in fright and protested of him to let go. Steele saw this, so he clenched his teeth and ran up to the two Pythons. Then, quick as a cheetah, he balled up his fist and punched Mike in the face. Mike staggered back, trying to find his feet. Gil fell to the ground in exhaustion.
“What… w-what have I done!?” Mike stammered.
Just then, they heard several small clinking noises of a door unlocking. Steele widened his eyes and made a move towards Mike, but was grabbed by Gil who carried him out the now unlocked door, and immediately shut it.
“Iain… Ter-Terry… I’m-I’m so sorry!!” Mike cried from inside the room.
Steele and Gil leant up against the wall outside panting heavily. They peered over to their right and saw a huge group of men race up to the door. Steele told them not to go in, but did they listen? Did they heck!
The steel door opened, and Mike was about to make his ‘escape’ when about 7 beefy security guards literally jumped on top of Mike, not to form a gangbang, but as to pin him down. Gil saw Mike being punched, beaten, and held down by the guards and he shook with anguish. Steele hissed with anger and wanted to go back in, but was held back by another guard.
“This is inhumane!!” Steele exclaimed in protest.
“I’m sorry, it’s the only way!” the guard shouted back, “You’ll just have to leave!!”
Steele let out a soft cry feeling completely helpless. He shut his eyes and shot off down the corridor, followed by a bemused Gil. As the two men ran down the corridor, Steele thought he overheard a muffled cry from behind him.
Iain… come back… cooooome baaaaaack… They’re hurting… meeeeeee…
6:13pm. Broadmoor Hospital Car Park.
Once they had made it outside the security gates, Steele turned his attention to Gil standing a couple of feet away, who was looking at the ground.
“That was… that was horrifying,” Steele said, his voice shaking.
Gil simply nodded miserably, and didn’t reply.
“Sorry you had to see that. I… I shouldn’t have let you come in,” Steele said awkwardly, full of regret and sadness.
“Nah, forget it man, it’s fine,” Gil reassured him, refusing to look up. He glanced at his watch, and muttered quietly, “I’d… best be gettin’ back.”
“Same here,” Steele replied, “It was nice to meet you, Mr Gilliam. Goodnight.” He gave a short wave and walked down the path to his car.
Gil slowly gazed up and waved back sadly. He sat on a warm patch of grass, and contemplated for a minute. He sat and went over his thoughts; The fuzzy memories of snogging Eric’s wife and seeing her murdered right in front of him was just one of his weird thoughts. When he’d seen Eric at the other hospital, he didn’t think anything of it, but when he saw Mike, something triggered in his head that made him remember that night. As he went over it, he let out a heavy sigh. Also, seeing Mike lash at him and the doctors like that was so upsetting for him. He had never seen anyone act that way ever in his entire life. He flinched as a small tear trickled down his cheek.
Poor Mikey, he kept thinking, wiping the tear away, Poor Mikey…
He only stopped and stood back up when he heard his stomach rumble.
Gah, best nip over to Sanji’s Curry House before I go home, Gil mused sadly to himself, as he moseyed on down the hill back to the car park…
(And you thought that was the end of part 3 :-) Haha, think again.)
Chapter VI: The Coils of Death, part 3 ½ (This bit was meant to be part 4, but it’s too small, so it’s now part of part 3 :D)
Thursday, February 17th. Time: Unknown. Place: Unknown.
“Great, I’ve spent bloody ages tryin’ to find that stuck up poof,” John moaned to himself, in his usual grumpy manner, “Now the stupid prat’s managed to get away. I really need a word with him.”
John had wandered into some weird, dreary building whilst on his travels to find his gay associate partner, and was about to give up totally, when he heard a faint shuffling noise.
“Hang on… what’s that over there?”
Beyond this grey and damp place, John had spotted something - Something sitting or standing or whatever, about 20 yards (18 metres) away from where John stood. In his mind (John’s), it looked like two humans, from what he could make out considering the distance. One was hunched over the other’s horizontal body. He had no idea how or why they were there, or why person number 1 was bent over person number 2’s body, or even why there was red spots leading from his feet and trailing off into the distance, then into a red pool that surrounded person number 2. John could hear munching. As he got closer, the image became clearer. It was two people as John thought, although what he was witnessing was… well, alarming. Person number 1 was cloaked in a dark coat with a hood covering his head, and had his back towards John. Person number 2 was cloaked fully in red with a large mane of hair covering his entire face, and had saliva oozing from his gaping mouth. His stomach had been ripped open to reveal a broken ribcage harvesting some slimy looking organs, which person number 1 was rather enjoying… Because person number 1 was in fact a cannibal, though that’s fairly obvious.
“Jesus Christ!” John shrieked, half with shock, half with disgust.
Person number 1 heard John’s girly cries, lifted himself up from the ground and slowly turned to face John.
“You bastard,” John whispered, glaring at the tall figure standing before him. He heard the figure chuckle evilly to himself.
“WHAT THE HELL’S SO FUNNY?!” snapped John.
“Shhhh,” said the eerie voice coming from the dark man.
“Don’t you ‘Shhhh’ me!” John spat, very offended.
“Snake… hates noise.”
“Shit,” John spoke softly. His eyebrows shot up with shock. He had come face-to-face with the quadruple murderer who is ‘Snake’. “So you’re the slimy bastard at the heart of these brutal murders, huh?”
The figure only smiled in reply.
John snorted and shook his head in disgust. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“Snake… knows you.”
“Oh wow, I’m so honoured,” John sneered with much anger, “Now could you take off that hood of yours, please?” he suddenly ordered.
“You’re… John Cleese.”
“Yes, yes, nice one Captain Obvious, now could you just--”
“You… funny guy,” the man remarked as if he really was intending to piss John off on purpose.
“For God’s sake!” John rolled his eyes and frowned, with frustration written all over. “You know, it really pisses me off when people don’t know their place.”
“What place… John?”
“There we go again, actin’ all innocent. Well I’ve got news for you,” John paused for a split second, before raising his arm, pointing straight at the man, and shouting with triumph, saying, “I’ve caught you red handed, buddy!”
“Yes… you have,” came the defeated answer. “Congratulations… Mr Cleese.”
The man removed his hood with such a grand flourish. John looked curiously over at the man’s face. It was rather slim, and contained some thin lips, a large nose, deep black eyes, and equally deep patch of neatly combed black hair to boot. John thought to himself that it was like looking into a mirror. The resemblance to him was pretty remarkable. Was this John’s long lost twin brother?
“What the f…” John began, before he was cut off.
“Hello. My name is John Cleese,” proclaimed the dark man in front, his accent suddenly changing from downright creepy to relatively pleasant.
“No, I’m John Cleese, you freak!”
“Oh, you’re so funny,” quipped the man, with a sly grin.
“Are you mentally disturbed or something? I’M JOHN CLEESE!” the other man shouted, now red in the face.
It seemed like the strange man had been successful in his mission to get John to blow up. He began to snigger quietly to himself.
“Right, right you got me, fine,” the man said, enjoying every second of the conversation, “I’m not John Cleese.”
“Pfft, no shit!” John snorted, giving the man another one of his trademark pissed-off expressions. “So? Who are you then? Get rid of that stupid disguise already and show yourself!”
The man gave a short groan, but complied regardless. He proceeded to lift his arm and whip off his black wig, then brought a finger up to his right eye and his pupil changed from black to blue. On his finger sat a thin, curved plastic of a circular shape with a black dot in the middle - A contact lens, to be precise. John raised an internal eyebrow as he tried to work out how the man had gotten these strange lenses (Since they had just been made available to the US market in 1971, but not the UK market, at least I don’t think so), but didn’t dwell on it for too long. What really bothered him was the identity of the irritating and somewhat campish man standing in front of him. John wasn’t scared of the guy, but was pretty upset when he recognized who it was.
“I knew it,” John spoke grimly.
As the man removed the other contact lens in silence, John saw his crafty grin grow wider. Obviously, John’s realisation seemed somewhat amusing to him.
“It really was you all along… Graham.”