Flux

key from his pocket, he tried the lock. The key fitted.
    Iain swung open the door and carried on his way without looking back. Thinking it better to give the poor soul a small chance of freedom rather than leaving him to suffer behind bars.
    Unseen to Iain, who was already part way down the passage, the man was grateful and slowly dragged himself to the open door, pulling stumps and skeletal legs behind.
    Iain did the same at every cell he passed and if the prisoner inside were shackled, he would free them, finding that the manacles were held shut by means of a crude catch and didn’t require a key. The reactions of those he liberated varied wildly; most were stunned by the act of kindness, slowly shuffling like walking dead hesitant to leave their cells. But eventually they did emerge and soon the corridors were alive with the sound of scraping feet and tears of joy. Like the first man, those too incapacitated to stand dragged themselves across the floor in the most macabre of displays.
    Some of the captives, like the hag Iain had encountered on earlier excursions, driven out of their minds by torment, screamed like banshees and went running off down the corridors. Iain winced at the first couple of these, knowing that they’d draw unwanted attention from those he hoped not to come across. None of those he freed though made any attempt whatsoever of harm against Iain. In fact the opposite was true and they gazed upon him thankfully as their saviour.
    Before long, the consequences of Iain’s action became apparent as one of the ‘screamers’ got about fifty paces ahead and just as they passed beneath a torch a gargoyle pounced from the shadows. Manic laughter was cut short as his throat was torn out. Another gargoyle appeared on the scene, and then another. Iain pressed himself into the shadows and ducked into a side tunnel as they fought over the scraps. What have I done?
    He didn’t have enough time to grant himself the luxury of remorse, as the spider creatures made an appearance, no doubt attracted by the rapidly unravelling carnage. Picking off at will the dazed and confused wretches, they too feasted, ripping apart limbs with bloodied hands.
    Although he wished it to be less grisly, Iain found himself glad of the distraction and chaos. Keeping his wits about him he stayed in the dark places as much as he could; making steady but stealthy progress and opening up more cells as he went. The point did come though when Iain had no choice but to fight. A creature or demon, of similar form to that shown by Bert when he’d been unmasked only smaller, about the size of a large dog, lunged at him as he was making his way out of one of the cells. He was lucky; instinctively slamming shut the iron door with all the strength he could muster, he managed to trap the creature’s head between frame and door. The ironwork came into contact with each temple with crushing force and the demon's body went limp. Iain opened the door and slammed it again before the creature could recover, continuing the motion until its skull caved in, spilling dark red ooze onto the floor.

    Sometime prior to these events, roughly when Iain was about to be tortured, Doctor Goodman, sitting at her desk and trying not to make a start on her mountain of paperwork, received the call. The man on the other end of the line sounded desperate.
    “I just want to make you aware, Iain Andrews is going to be on his way to you shortly.”
    “Why, what’s happened?” She sat forwards in her seat, her interest aroused.
    “He’s completely comatose and having convulsions. We are at a loss and he’s not responding to any of the treatments we’re giving him.”
    “So, you want my help now do you?” She couldn’t help but let her annoyance at being shunned show itself
    “Pardon?” the voice on the other end sounding slightly bewildered.
    “Well, you didn’t want my help before. What’s changed?”
    “He’s your patient.”
    “Was my patient. Your words not mine.”
    “Sorry about that. I think you were right. There’s something else going on here, something physical.”
    “Ok, yes,” she said, remembering herself and pushing her petty irritation aside, once more adopting a professional stance. “What’s the ETA?”
    “The ambulance is yet to arrive. I’m guessing he’ll be in your ED in half an hour.”
    “OK. Thanks for letting me know, I’ll make sure I’m there.” She really was grateful for the call, if a little smug inside.