Witnesses Read online

  He would feel truly sorry when he destroyed it all.

  He stood in front of a huge oak table, which itself stood in the middle of the ground floor of the library. Trays of paperwork were neatly placed on its surface, alongside a small table lamp. Dreschler placed the book he was holding on the table on its spine and let it fall open.

  The Bible was huge and the clattering sound it made as its covers hit the desktop echoed around the huge emptiness of the library. Dreschler leaned over to examine the sheets of calligraphy and medieval illustrations that were on display. The book had fallen open at Revelations.

  Dreschler smiled.

  He checked his pocket watch. By now his soldiers should be long gone. Indeed, the relative quiet from outside the library would support this. As planned, he was alone now in the city. The men had served their purpose, and had served well. They were now on their way back to the units they had originally been chosen from, back to fight in the war, their destinies, their fates in the hands of others.

  Unlike himself. His destiny was soon to be fulfilled, the endgame approaching.

  He sighed deeply, relishing the moment. The calm before the storm he thought, though that wasn’t an entirely fitting metaphor, given the death and destruction amid which he now stood. He smiled and withdrew a cigarette lighter from his pocket.

  He smiled again and replaced the lighter. Such an act, he thought, deserves a little more style, a little more panache! He leant over the open bible, bent down as if to kiss the book, but stopped short of the ancient pages. A flame leapt from his mouth and scorched the ancient manuscript, blackness spreading across the paper. Another breath, another flame, and this time the page caught alight, red flames erupting from the bible, accompanied by dark, black smoke.

  Dreschler stood back, admiring his handiwork. The pages of the bible curled into themselves as they burned. As one page shrivelled the one below burst into flames. Within seconds the whole book was alight, casting a plume of smoke into the air.

  Dreschler laughed, relishing the sight of the burning book, enjoying the symbolism of it. The fire intensified as the flames found the covers of the book, throwing out embers that landed on the polished surface of the desk. Soon it too began to smoulder.

  A heat filled Dreschler, one that burned as hot as the bible in front of him. An energy flowed through him, filling every part of him, erupting as a wild scream that drowned out the crackling of the flames. He turned and sprinted across the floor to the staircase that led to the upper floor of the library. Reaching the top of the stairs, he opened his mouth wide and belched out another plume of flame. The books, and the shelves on which they sat directly in front of him, erupted into flames, and he laughed maniacally at the sight. Spurred on, he ran the length of the upstairs hallway, igniting the bookcases as he passed them with the fire spewing from his mouth.

  A full circuit of the upper floor brought him back to the head of the stairs. The fires were well established by now here, and he had to shield himself from the heat of them as he edged towards the staircase. Once safely on the top step, he ran down the stairs, felt the heat of the fire on his back. Ahead of him, the oak desk had caught alight, flames licked its surface, smoke rose from it to drift up to the high ceiling, where it combined with that generated by the fires raging above on the upper floor.

  A calmness returned to him as he watched the library burn around him.

  * * *

  “You can’t go in there! Dr Ball is very busy. He’s not to be disturbed!”

  Chris ignored the appeals of the secretary sitting behind the desk and strode across to the door that bore a sign identifying the room beyond as the doctor’s office. The woman got up, began to move towards Chris as if, somehow, she could physically prevent him from opening the door.

  “Please! You need to make an appointment!”

  Chris turned to look at the woman, glaring at her. The look was enough to stop her in her tracks, to shut her up too. She visibly blanched under his malevolent gaze, the colour draining from her face.

  “I’m going in,” Chris said, and turned back to the door, pulling sharply on the handle and pushing the door inwards with such force that it slammed against the inside wall of the office. He strode into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  In front of him, a bald man with spectacles perched on the end of his nose and wearing a white coat sat staring at him from behind a desk. Surprise and anger etched his features and he had both hands placed on the desk, as if preparing to push himself away from it. Whether this would be to confront Chris, or make a quick getaway, was at that precise moment unclear.

  “Dr Ball, I presume,” Chris said.

  “Who the hell are you?” the bald man shouted. “And what the hell is with barging into my office like that?” His face was flushed with anger, his eyes bulging behind the glass of his spectacles.

  “I’m Dilly Chambers’ boyfriend, and I want to see her.” Chris took half a step towards the seated man, little more than a rocking forward on the balls of his feet, but the movement was enough for Dr Ball to push his chair away from the desk. He stood up, raised his arms out towards Chris. “You just stay there, young man. There’s no need for any aggression.”

  Chris did take a step forward, balling his hands into fists as he did so. “Where is she? Take me to her now.”

  “I can’t. I mean, you can’t just barge in here unannounced, making demands. Anyway, our residents aren’t allowed visitors. Whoever told you you could come here was sorely mistaken.”

  Chris spoke through tight lips. “Just take me to see her.”

  “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s talk and I can explain why we do what we do. Any questions about—”

  “Dilly. Dilly Chambers.”

  “Dilly. I’ll be more than happy to answer.”

  Chris approached the desk, watched Dr Ball retreat even further back. “Why can’t I see her? What kind of place is this anyway?”

  “Please Mr… Mr?”

  “Dean.”

  “Please, Mr Dean, I can tell you’re upset and all, but we’re looking after… um… Dilly the best we can. Like we do all our residents. Part of the treatment they get is to take them away from the stresses and strains of modern day living. There’s plenty of those, am I right?”

  Chris made no response.

  “It would do her no good at all to be reminded of the outside world, no good at all, not this early in her treatment. She hasn’t been here that long, has she?”

  “You asking me or telling me? You’re supposed to be in charge here. I get the impression you don’t even know who it is we’re talking about.”

  Dr Ball sighed. “Forgive me, Mr Dean. We have so many residents here it would be impossible for me to keep track of each and every one of them. What I’m saying is true, though. It’s a general principle we apply to all our residents. Perhaps if you’d phoned ahead, made an appointment, I would have been better prepared.”

  Again, no response.

  “Here, take a seat. I’ll get Shirley to bring Dilly’s notes through. We can talk properly then.” He gestured to the seat on Chris’ side of the desk. Begrudgingly, Chris sat down, never taking his eyes off the doctor.

  Ball bent down to a small intercom on the desk and pressed a button. A buzz sounded from the adjoining room. “Shirley, could you bring in Dilly Chambers’ notes please? Yes. Thank you.” Noticeably more relaxed than when Chris had stormed into the room, Dr Ball sat down in his chair. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr Dean? Some lemonade, perhaps?”

  “I’m okay. I don’t need anything from you other than information.”

  “As you wish. Just trying to be hospitable. I can see you’re a little… tense.”

  “I just want to know what’s happening to Dilly, and when I can take her home.”

  Dr Ball looked nonplussed at this. “Oh, it’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to take her home. I may not know the exact details of her case, not yet anyway, but I do know she’ll n
ot be leaving us for some time yet. It’s for her own good.” This last was added quickly, in response to the look of anger he saw crossing Chris’ face.

  Chris was about to speak when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Enter,” Ball said, and the door swung open. His secretary walked in, a manila folder under her arm. Ignoring Chris completely, she made her way over to the desk and placed the folder in front of the doctor. “The notes for Dilly Chambers, Dr Ball. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, Shirley. That’s all for now, thank you.” He picked the folder up and opened it. Still not looking at Chris, the secretary made her way out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “Now then, let’s see.” Ball riffled through the small number of sheets of paper inside the folder. His eyes scanned quickly side to side as he looked at each sheet. “Ah yes, Dilly was admitted by her mother… very concerned about her mental well-being… nervous disposition. Oh, it says here she was convinced she could see dead people? Is this something you knew about, Mr Dean?”

  Chris didn’t like the doctor’s tone. It suggested he felt he had the upper hand in the situation. “What are you doing with her?” he asked. “How much longer does she have to be in here?”

  Ball ignored him, carried on flicking through Dilly’s notes. He reached the last sheet, and Chris noticed a brief flicker in the smug expression on his face, a slight widening of the eyes.

  “Seen something interesting, doctor?”

  Ball quickly closed the folder and replaced it on the desk top. When he began speaking again, his voice was hesitant, lacking confidence. “Miss Chambers is to undergo some specialised treatment. Don’t worry, it’s very effective, but it means you definitely won’t be able to see her.”

  “What kind of specialised treatment?” Chris leant forward and took some small delight in seeing the other man flinch as he did so. “What are you going to do?”

  “That, I’m afraid, falls within patient/doctor confidentiality. I can’t tell you because you have no right – or need for that matter – to know.”

  “I’m her boyfriend…”

  “And you still have no right to see her private records!” Ball shouted the words at Chris, his face flushing as he did so. “Now, I would ask you to leave, Mr Dean. I think we’ve discussed all we can at this juncture.” He gestured towards the office door with his palm upraised. “If you’d be so kind?”

  Anger flared in Chris, writhing and contorting within him like a wild beast fighting against the chains restraining it. It would be so easy to kill the man right here, right now, and, for a brief instant he almost did, almost gave in to the impulses that filled him. This was not the time, though. Much as he would enjoy killing the doctor, would enjoy making him suffer before he killed him, to do so now would be foolhardy, reckless. Time was running short. However gratifying the murder would be, it would lead to complications and delays that could prove disastrous.

  Chris pushed the chair back as he stood, heard it scrape across the floor before toppling over to crash onto the hard surface. Ball flinched again at the sound. “I’m going,” he snarled at the doctor, “but I’ll be back – you can count on that!” He turned away from the table and strode across the room towards the door, covering the distance in three steps.

  “Goodbye, Mr Dean.” The words from behind him dripped with sarcasm and Chris had to once again stifle the urge to kill the man. Instead, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the reception area.

  Shirley looked up from the paperwork she had been busy with as Chris slammed the office door shut behind him. She peered at him over the tops of her horn-rimmed spectacles.

  “You get what you wanted?” she asked, more out of duty than any real interest in the answer.

  “N—“ Chris stopped his response before the secretary heard it. “Yes,” he said, modulating his voice to hide the rage burning inside him, projecting an image of calmness. “Dr Ball was very helpful. Told me all about Dilly’s treatment.”

  Shirley’s eyebrows shot up. “He did?”

  Chris approached the secretary’s desk slowly. “Yes, he explained the… procedure to me, reassured me, you know?”

  She smiled. “Oh yes. He’s a good man, very caring.” A dreamy glaze filled her eyes and Chris was suddenly aware that her relationship with the doctor was more than just a professional one. Seizing the moment, he continued, “He’s not just saying that, though, is he? I mean, just to make me feel better? He’s not just fobbing me off?”

  “Oh no, he wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t mislead you, not about something as important as this.”

  “So, the treatment is safe then? It’s not risky?”

  Shirley settled back into her seat. “I can assure you that Dr Ball has performed this operation hundreds of times already, and has never had any problems.”

  Operation?

  Chris’ mind whirled. The bastard was going to cut Dilly open? For what? This was a home for the feeble-minded, what possible operation could he perform to treat a psychological problem? He composed himself before speaking again.

  “I know,” he said. “But I’m still worried. It’s a complicated operation, isn’t it?”

  “Well, darling, it ain’t like shelling peas, but a hysterectomy’s not rocket science, either, and I speak from personal experience on that one, if you know what I mean.”

  She actually winked at him as she said this, and Chris shuddered. He’d preferred the woman when she’d been hostile to him. “On account of them, whatdyacall ‘em, fibroids, that’s it, fibroids. Made my life a whole lot easier, I can tell you. ‘Specially around that time of the month, if you know what I mean?” She winked again.

  He would kill her too, he decided. A hysterectomy? Why would they be doing a hysterectomy? He was aware that an awkward silence had developed. “So, when she’s had the operation, she can come home?”

  Shirley laughed, a shrill noise that only served to increase his agitation, strengthen his murderous resolve. “Not right away, darlin’. She’s gonna be laid up for six months or so. Like I said, it ain’t like shelling peas!”

  Six months? Unacceptable. Such a delay could not be allowed to happen. The operation, necessary or not, could not be allowed to happen. Dilly could not be incapacitated for that long. Time was running short enough already.

  “When is she having the operation?” he asked.

  A suspicious look replaced the smile on the secretary’s face. “Didn’t Dr Ball tell you?”

  “No, he… um…”

  “If he didn’t, then I don’t think it’s my place to tell you either.” Frustratingly, some form of professional demeanour had apparently returned to the woman. “I think you should go now, Mr Dean.”

  “But…” Chris stopped once again mid-flow. There would be no point in arguing the case with the woman. Better to withdraw now, determine a way to deal with this new information. Without another word to the secretary, he spun on his heels and left the room.

  “And goodbye to you, too!” she shouted as the door slammed shut behind him. What a nasty man, she thought, relieved that he’d finally gone. The door to Ball’s office opened and she looked up to see the doctor standing in the doorway.

  “I think we need to do some re-scheduling,” he said, and walked across to the desk to place Dilly’s notes on it.

  * * *

  A day of mixed emotions.

  The words seem trite, even to me, but they are, in their own way, a true and fair reflection of the day’s events.

  The day began well. We were all of us eager, excited even, to get things started. We were confident that today would bring an end to the terror that had been sweeping through this part of Belgium. The intelligence we had was good, and today would be the day we confronted the evil perpetrators of those malicious, repellent acts of murder.

  As dawn broke we began the last ten miles towards Leuven. So near and yet so far. We had made camp the night before, close to midnight, having marched over twenty mil
es. To continue the journey would have been foolhardy. Another ten miles in the dark would have rendered the men useless as a fighting unit, so I made the decision to stop and rest, to prepare for the final push towards the city. Three or four hours sleep was better than none, and the men did indeed seem refreshed as we set off along the meandering country roads. Though I imagine adrenalin and anticipation had a part to play in the men’s demeanour.

  A number of the men were surrounded by those ghastly black auras, and yet, as I write this, despite the day’s events none have lost their lives. I have too many other pressing matters on my mind to analyse this properly, but I am confused by it. I know the auras are a predictor of death. Before, I had assumed this to be imminent death, but it would seem that their appearance gives no real indication of when it will happen. Sooner rather than later, is the best I can surmise.

  Our confidence was riding high as we began the march to Leuven, and remained so for a good few miles, until we saw the first plume of smoke rising from the horizon. The despondent mood that fell over us was soon replaced, however, by a renewed determination and impetus. We were late, that was for certain, but not necessarily too late. If we made haste we could still potentially catch the perpetrators in the act. Press on we did, at an even greater pace than we had thus far achieved.

  A day of mixed emotions, indeed.

  It was immediately apparent that we had arrived too late to prevent further slaughter. The nearer we drew to the city, the more obvious it became. We discovered the first bodies in the outskirts, again women and children amongst them. It was, or so it seemed at that time, to be another day of failure, another day of arriving too late.

  Our slow march through the ravaged city did much to increase the air of despondency that had fallen upon us. The scenes were all too familiar, and yet were no easier to stomach. Repeated exposure had not dulled the impact of seeing such terrible sights.