A Warrant of Wyverns by Michael Angel

Author:Michael Angel
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-08-28T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

I caught a brief glimpse of the Pacific Ocean as I took the first freeway off-ramp into San Pedro’s residential district. Off in the distance, huge cranes worked ceaselessly to load up container ships at the port. I turned away from them and headed along a large avenue lined with brownstone and stucco duplexes.

The psychiatric hospital soon came up on my right. Parking under the shade of a barrel-trunked date palm, I forced myself to walk, not run, to the receptionist desk. A quick flash of my badge was rewarded with a call to refer me further up the chain of command. Within a few minutes, a male orderly with a gleaming bald head and a refrigerator-sized torso escorted me inside. We walked down a hallway that glittered snowy white under the flicker of fluorescent tubes.

“Mister Clarke is under what we call ‘five-point’ restraint,” he said, in a voice that was deep enough for a full-grown centaur. “That means physical restraints for each limb, plus low-level sedation if the patient gets agitated.”

“Gotcha. What does ‘agitated’ mean, exactly?”

“Any movement that could lead to difficulty in patient medication, self-harm, or harm to others.” The orderly must have seen my expression, so he quickly clarified things. “He hasn’t been violent since his initial arrival here, if that’s what you’re worried about. But the words coming out of that mouth of his are downright strange. Spooky.”

“I’ve heard cursing before.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve cared for people with Tourette’s Syndrome. Some of the stuff they say can make your hair fall out.” He rubbed his shiny pate meaningfully. “No one knows what he’s saying. It just sounds…I don’t know. Bad. Filthy.”

I nodded. “I need to speak with your patient alone, please.”

The orderly’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t object. “Okay, I’ll let you in. Just bang on the door if you need help. And…like I said, he hasn’t been violent since he got here, but we got word from the higher-ups at the LAPD that you might be here this afternoon, so he’s not sedated. Keep your fingers away from his face.”

On that happy note, the orderly stopped at a door to our right. He tapped in a six-digit code for the lock, opened it, and gestured for me to enter. I stepped through into the dimly lit space and heard the snick of well-fitted hinges close immediately behind me.

Instead of eggshell white, everything inside this room had been painted a creamy blue. It would have been soothing, except for the strong smell of industrial disinfectant and the rusty grid of steel bars outside the window.

A single bed stood against the wall, flanked by a small table on one side and an IV drip stand on the other. I took a few steps forward, my nerves jumpy in the sudden silence.

It didn’t last long.

Ronald Clarke was a weedy-looking man with the complexion of wallpaper paste. His eyes remained closed, but they roved restlessly under the lids as if in a dream. His thin

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