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  "What do you want?" she asks.

  I pause. "Do you really hear voices?" I ask.

  "Just the once voice," she replies. "Just sometimes."

  I smile, trying to make things a little less tense. "Are you hearing it now?"

  She stares at me. "Yes," she says eventually.

  "What's it saying?" I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  "Okay," I say, glancing down at my notebook. "The reason I'm here, Annie, is that something was discovered in the basement. A human body. Now, at the moment we don't know how long it's been there, or how it died. All we know is that it's a woman's body, and it was in a very bad state. Have you ever seen an Egyptian mummy when they've had all their bandages taken off?"

  She narrows her eyes for a moment. "Yes," she says. It's hard not to be a little creeped out by the idea that while she's staring at me, she thinks she's hearing voices in her head.

  "Well, it was like that," I say, trying to help her engage with what I'm telling her. "Obviously, as a police officer, my job is to try to find out who that woman was, and how she got down in the basement. Have you ever been to the basement, Annie?"

  She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but then she pauses for a moment. "Yes," she says eventually.

  "You have, huh?" I say, surprised by her answer. I was kind of under the impression that not much happened down in the basement, so it's a little strange to find that the patients have been going down there. "Was it a supervised trip, or did you just pick a lock and go exploring?"

  She pauses again. It's as if she has to think really, really hard about every answer she gives. "You have to go down to the basement if you're going to have special treatment," she says. "That's where they do it."

  "Uh-huh," I say, jotting the words 'special treatment' down in my notebook. "And can you tell me what this special treatment involves, Annie?"

  Another pause. I wait, but it seems like maybe this time she isn't going to answer at all.

  "Can you tell me, Annie?" I ask.

  "Not really," she replies. "You should ask someone else about that."

  "Okay," I say, "I'll do that. But when you went down to the basement for special treatment, did you go to lots of different rooms, or was it -"

  "Just one room," she says. "Special treatment is in one room."

  "So you didn't go exploring, huh?" I say, smiling. "I guess all the doors are routinely locked, are they?"

  She shrugs.

  "And you've never heard anyone talking about going down to the basement?" I ask.

  She bites her lip for a moment. "No," she says finally, "but I've heard people down there."

  "You have?" I ask.

  She nods. "Late at night, when I'm in bed, sometimes I hear people down there. The floors are thin, so if someone's right beneath your room, you can sometimes hear something."

  "Voices?" I ask. "Do you hear voices talking?"

  She shakes her head.

  "What do you hear?" I ask.

  "Scratching," she says. "Like giant insects scratching from under the floorboards, trying to get up into my room." For the first time, she smiles. "I mean, I know that's not what it is really, but it's what it sounds like. Is that nuts enough for you?"

  "Yes, Annie," I say, smiling as I make a few more notes, "that's definitely nuts enough for me. But you're serious, right? You really do hear sounds from the basement?"

  "Sometimes," she says.

  "And your room..." I pause for a moment, before grabbing a bundle of papers and searching through them. Eventually I find what I'm looking for: a map of Lakehurst, with all the rooms marked out. I pass it over to Annie. "Can you show me where on this map your room is located?"

  She stares at the map for a moment before pointing at one particular spot. I double-check, and realize that the corresponding point in the basement is far from any entrances. When I started looking around at Lakehurst, it became clear that most of the basement was off-limits and not used, but if Annie's to be believed, someone has been regularly going down into the parts that are supposed to have been abandoned. "Annie," I say eventually, "can I ask you an important question?"

  She stares at me.

  "This is kind of not something I should bring up," I continue, "and I'll totally understand if you feel insulted, or if you don't want to answer, but I need to ask. I'm a firm believer in the idea that sometimes it's best to just be direct and open. That's the kind of approach that gets the best results. So I'm just going to ask you, Annie." I pause, taking a deep breath. "The sounds you say you hear in the basement beneath your room. Is this like the voices in your head? Or is this something that you really hear, like you're hearing me at the moment?"

  She keeps staring at me. Part of me would love to know what she's thinking, though part of me thinks the answer might be terrifying. "It's real," she says eventually. "I hear it."

  I sigh. "That's good enough for me," I say eventually. "You've been very helpful, Annie. I'll get the nurse to come and take you back to your room." Standing up, I reach out a hand for her to shake. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Annie Radford, and you've given me a lot to think about."

  She stares up at me. "Aren't you afraid?" she asks, frowning.

  "Afraid of what?" I ask.

  She seems puzzled. "The storm."

  "What storm?" I ask, but my question becomes obsolete as I hear a huge clap of thunder from outside. Turning, I see that the sky has turned dark. Annie's right: it looks like there's a big storm on the way. "I see," I say, turning back to her. "I'm not afraid of that, no. Are you?"

  She stands up. "I'm not afraid of the storm," she says, "but maybe I'm afraid of what the storm will do."

  At that moment, Nurse Perry approaches tentatively. "How's it going in here?" she asks. "Sorry to interrupt, but it's time for Annie's medication and we have to be very strict on the timings." She steps over to Annie and holds out her hand, revealing two pills: a small pink tablet, and a larger blue lozenge.

  Annie reaches out for the pills. Fixing me with a dark stare, she swallows first one and then the other. "I always take my medicine," she says. "It's good for me."

  "That's great, Annie," I say, smiling. "That's really great."

  "Are you done here?" Nurse Perry asks.

  "Yes," I say. "Do you know where Nurse Winter is?"

  "I think she's somewhere upstairs," Nurse Perry says, guiding Annie over toward the door, "I'll tell her you're looking for her."

  "No," I say, "that's not necessary. I just need a key to the basement. There are a few things I want to check down there."

  Nurse Perry looks a little surprised by my suggestions. "You want to go down to the basement again?" she asks.

  "Yes," I reply. "Do you have a key?"

  She pauses. "Come with me," she says. "I'll see what I can do." She leads Annie out of the room, and I follow. As we go, Annie glances back at me, and for a moment I think she's about to say something to me. Finally, though, she looks away again. Whatever's going on in Annie Radford's head, I guess most of it stays locked up in there.

  Nurse Winter

  1999

  "The Devil came to Lakehurst last night," says Tom Henderson as I settle him into bed. Tom's always been prone to making dramatic statements, so I've learned to tune him out a little.

  "What's that?" I say, barely even listening. It's late, and after a long day I'm keen to finish my shift and go to bed. All I have to do is get Tom and a few others settled for the night and then I'll finally be able to have some time to myself.

  "The Devil came to Lakehurst last night," he says again, staring straight ahead.

  "And what does that mean?" I ask as I plump up his pillow.

  "I saw him," Tom says. "I heard his car coming up the driveway, and when I looked out the window, I saw him being carried out and wheeled to the door. He was so... old."

  "The Devil's in a wheelchair, is he?" I ask.

  "He wants men to think he's sick and old, like the rest of us, but he's not."r />
  I pause. Normally, a man like Tom could be counted on to talk gibberish, but on this occasion I'm not so sure. A new arrival did come to Lakehurst last night, spirited away to seclusion in a distant part of the building. No-one's supposed to know that he's here. He's not a patient, and he's not a member of staff: he's a guest, invited by Dr. Campbell to observe the new procedures that we're going to be running over the next few weeks. As for whether he's a devil? Well, that's another question entirely. I can certainly understand how that interpretation could be reached, at least if some of the rumors about the visitor are true.

  "You know I don't make stuff up," Tom says, fixing me with an earnest stare.

  "Do I?" I say, trying to keep the conversation unspecific.

  "Yes," he replies. "You do." He sounds so sure of himself, as if he's determined to prove to me that he's not imagining things.

  I sigh. Tom's one of my favorite patients, an old man with a big white beard and a penchant for napping through most of the day. Usually, putting Tom to bed is one of the easiest parts of the day, and it's rare for him to start babbling like this. I certainly know better than to simply dismiss everything he says, although I have to remember that he does have certain mental problems and his interpretation of the things he's seen might not necessarily be accurate. "Is that a fact?" I say eventually, figuring that my best option is to just keep the conversation bumping along until I can get out of the room.

  "He's come for Julia," Tom says.

  I look at him, and I can see the fear in his eyes. "What makes you say that?" I ask.

  "He's come for her," he replies, "and he's gonna get her. I heard the others talking. They're gonna take a saw to her skull and pull out her brain, just like the bastard used to do back in the day. That's what he's here for. He's gonna do his experiments on Julia, the same experiments he was doing during the Second World War before his side got beat."

  "Is that right?" I reply.

  "It is," he says, taking a deep breath. "I've met him before."

  "You've met the Devil?" I ask. As I finish arranging the bed, I smile, trying to help Tom to relax. "It's time to go to sleep, Tom. Aren't you tired?"

  "I was in Dresden," he continues. "I saw him. During the war. I saw his face. He was younger then, but a man's face doesn't change that much. Everyone knew who he was. He struck fear into the hearts and souls of everyone in that whole god-damned city. Some of them even thought the bombing was God's way of punishing us for allowing that man to live in our midst. Even the other Germans were scared of him. When the bombs came, some people saw it as a way of cleansing the streets, of making sure he was gone, but I always knew that somehow he'd got out of there before the fire came. People like Langheim, they always manage to survive, but I never thought I'd see him again. Last night, I saw him. The same face. He's here."

  "Goodnight," I say firmly, hoping to end the conversation.

  "If I was a younger man," he continues, "do you know what I'd do? I'd go up to his room and I'd wrap my hands around his neck and I'd throttle the life out of him. I'd be doing the world a service."

  "I'm sure you would," I say.

  "You don't believe me, do you?" he replies. "You think I'm some old guy who's got the wrong end of the stick, and you think you can just ignore me. Well, that's fine. Look at me." He holds up his hands. Old and covered with liver spots, they're the hands of an eighty-year-old man who has lived a long and hard life. "His hands might look the same as mine, but they're not. I can't do shit with my hands no more, I can barely even wipe my own ass, but even though he looks old, like a broken old husk, you can't ignore him. He's as dangerous today as he ever was."

  "It's time to go to sleep," I say.

  "If you're so sure he's safe," Tom continues, "why don't you go up there and introduce yourself to him? Why don't you go and say hello? There's nothing stopping you, is there?"

  "I'm far too busy to do that," I say. "If I go running around looking for visitors who may or may not be here, how will I find time to put you to bed each night?"

  "You'll go up there eventually," he replies. "You know he's there and you know you'll have to go and see him. You're an interesting one. He'll hear about you, and he'll want to see you. The Devil has come to Lakehurst and he's here for a reason. Poor Julia. She'll only be the first, but I won't let him do it to me. I'll cut my own throat first. I've seen what he does. If he sends for me, I'll take a knife and I'll open up my own neck."

  "No-one's going to be cutting anyone's throat," I say.

  "You don't know what he does. Even the others, even the ones like him, thought he went too far. He was a freak. But everyone was scared of him, so they -"

  "Goodnight, Tom" I say, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead.

  "Just saying," he replies. "You don't believe me. I know that."

  "Goodnight," I say again, turning and heading over to the door. I pause, wondering whether it would be wise to pay too much attention to Tom's words. After all, despite his apparent sanity, Tom is a patient here and it's far from impossible that he might have slowly slipped over the line that divides those who can manage their problems from those who are suffering from a complete mental collapse. Obviously the Devil couldn't possibly be real, but a man who seems to be the Devil is certainly a possibility, and Dr. Rudolf Langheim might fit that description. The thought of a man like that being in this building makes me feel uneasy, but I guess I don't have a say in the matter. For whatever reason, Dr. Campbell has decided to allow Langheim to come to Lakehurst. There's probably money changing hands. All I can do is suck it up and hope that Langheim's gone soon, and that there are as few victims of his experiments as possible.

  Detective Thompson

  Today.

  My heart almost leaps out of my chest as the elevator bangs to a halt and the lights flicker. There's a moment of inertia before a heavy clanging sound heralds the resumption of the descent. To be honest, nothing in this building inspires much confidence, and I have a horrible feeling that I might end up getting stuck in the elevator forever, with no-one able to hear my shouts for help. As the chamber grinds down the shaft, I find that - even though I'm not superstitious - I cross my fingers and hope for luck. Every few meters, something seems to momentarily catch in the mechanism, causing a small jolt, and sometimes the lights flicker again. I swear, this elevator seems like it's from another age entirely, but finally it clunks to a halt and the doors open, revealing a large concrete room.

  I smile as I step out. So this is the famous Lakehurst basement. It's almost as if I've emerged on the surface of an interior moon: everything's gray and dusty, and the air is still.

  The first thing I notice is that it's definitely not abandoned. There's plenty of equipment stacked against the walls. Still, I guess it makes sense that the area around the elevator would be in use. I take a look at the map. The basement of Lakehurst is huge, divided into maybe forty or fifty rooms. It's like a whole world down here, and I've been told that most of the rooms are completely empty and disused. A small red dot marks the spot where the dead body was found, and it's not hard to see how something could go unnoticed down here for so long. If I was sent down to fetch something from storage, I'd make damn sure that I got in and out as quickly as possible. I'm not a superstitious man, and I don't believe in ghosts or the paranormal, but this basement is creepy as hell.

  Stepping through to the next room, I find more equipment, but this time it looks like it's set up to be used. There's a chair at one end of the room, hooked up to wires. Frankly, it looks like an electric chair, the kind they use to execute condemned prisoners. The wires lead over to a bank of old computers, and it's clear that this must be where the 'special treatment' takes place. I need to find out what 'special treatment' actually involves, but for now it just looks like some system they use to deliver shocks. Hell, I'm no scientist, so I'm guessing most of this, but it looks harmless enough. I can't help wondering, though, why they keep it all down here in the basement.

  "Jesus!"
shouts a voice behind me. I turn to find a youngish guy, wearing a white medical coat, standing in a doorway on the other side of the room. "Sorry," he says, "I didn't expect anyone to be in here. Fuck." He walks over to the computers.

  "I didn't mean to startle you," I say. "I didn't think anyone was around."

  The guy glances at me, with a suspicious look in his eyes. "I'm not," he says. "I mean, I am, obviously, but I'm not usually down here. I was just replacing a broken wire." He starts working on the equipment. "Well, okay, I am down here a lot. This is where I work."

  "My name's Detective Scott Thompson," I say, after watching him for a moment. "I'm here because of the body that was found down here."

  "Yeah," the guy says, "I heard about that. Fucking horrible. To think there was a dead guy in one of the other rooms, all those times I was down here by myself. Gives me the fucking creeps." He pauses. "I'm Jerry. Jeremiah, really, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd call me Jerry. And yes, I fucking hate my name."

  "Okay, Jerry," I say, watching as he pulls a cable out from one of the computers and replaces it with one from his pocket. "Are you a doctor here?"

  "Yep," he says, smiling.

  I pull out my notebook and search through for the list of staff I printed off earlier. Checking all the names, I find no mention of anyone named Jerry. "Well," I say cautiously, "I have a list of staff here and -"

  "Not a medical doctor," he says, "a tech doctor." He holds up some of the wires. "I work on the metal bodies."

  "You're a technician?" I ask.

  "I'm a doctor of non-organic lifeforms," he continues. "My patients have wires and circuits and metal casings, but they're just as temperamental as the patients upstairs. Did you know that a computer can go mad, just like a person?"

  "It can?"

  He nods. "A computer can have memory problems, or memory access problems. There's loads of stuff that can go wrong, and then they start spewing out incomprehensible gibberish that makes total sense to them. Just like the psych jobs upstairs."