Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Forty-Four: Bedlam

TW// Injuries, mentions of human waste... generally unpleasant aspects about a "hospital" for those with mental illnesses

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The second we step through the gates of Bedlam, I know I have passed into the depths of Tartarus.

The entire place reeks of blood and excrement from hundreds of people forced to live in their own filth, wounded and harmed further with each passing day. With each cell that we pass I find myself staring into empty eyes. They lost their lives long ago. Now only husks remain. Hollow.

Their screams are the only lifelike things about them, now. Even those are more like the cries of wild animals than human beings.

A hand catches onto my wrist as I pass by. The arm it is attached to looks like nothing more than bone, fitting easily through the cell bars. I am struck by the icy touch of the person inside — just a girl, once dun-haired and young, now grey. All she has to cover her is a dirty tunic which she huddles into for what little warmth it provides, despite the hellish blazing of the torches.

She is slapped away by the warden, a burly man who has clearly not been so starved or abused like the people he is paid to mistreat. He shows no hesitance in producing a leather strap from his belt, lashing at her weakly retreating form.

In an instant, I have the strap grasped in one fist, his collar in the other. His back hits the stone wall and he makes an unbecoming squeak of surprise. It isn't hard for me to lift him until his feet dangle helplessly above the ground. His beady eyes pass through surprise and embarrassment, only to fill with anger.

Before he can try a thing, gentle hands pry me away, rubbing my back and hair. Soothing words brush against my ear. Still, I can only hear the screams around me and the whimpers of the girl. My stomach turns violently and I almost fail to keep it down, lungs burning with each gasp for air.

"Apologies, sir," Shakespeare's voice barely reaches my ears, strained and hurried. "We did warn her. This is no such place for a woman; their senses are so easily overcome, as I am sure you know."

"'Course," he roughly grunts. "'Course they are. Just you, uh, make sure she doesn't go upsetting the patients."

Just the use of that word sickens me again and I have an overwhelming urge to feel my fingers around his throat again. The others indeed warned me but I was so sure that I'd be able to manage it after everything else I have witnessed. This is just too far, though. Too evil.

Then he laughs, a grating sound, and it is so much worse. "Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits? I can whip these mad men, they'll put on a good show for you — mad dog in Bedlam!"

"No. I don't." His voice grows harsher than before but he keeps an arm around me, guiding me as I stumble through a haze of horror and nausea.

"Wait here, my lords, while I... make him decent for the ladies."

The second the warden is out of sight, his eyes shift back down to my stooped frame and his gaze immediately softens again. I have to steady myself against the wall, holding my breath until I am mostly sure that I won't be sick. Tears burn my eyes. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry. It's not too late if you want to go."

At that, I straighten up. My hand jumps up to wipe the corner of my mouth just in case and I shake my head. The smile I offer him is shaky at best. "I'll be all right. I'm a big girl."