The Incredible Demented Adventures of Doctor Zed, part 2

Before lapsing into phantasmagoria, Dr. Zed giggled convulsively, reached for the pipe and sucked another deep toke of opium. "They're coming, they're coming ... I knew they would," the doctor whispered.

              Christine and her feckless supervisor entered the elevator. Ellen pressed the "Down"" button and they felt lighter as the cage began to fall beneath them.

              "How far down does this elevator go?" Christine asked.

              "About a quarter mile. Hospital Gray Skull used to be a mine. Some of the shafts and passageways seem to snake on for miles. These tunnels are known only to the things that crawl beneath the earth."

              "But what about the patients?"

              "I don't think these patients mind."

              A little man wearing a raincoat greeted Christine and Ellen as the elevator door opened. Christine sucked in her breath quickly as Ellen spoke: "Where's Dr. Zed?" The man beckoned them with a shrivelled hand, then lurched off into the dark.

              The air seemed still and cool. Yet there were sounds in the distance: geeks, lowlifes, android practitioners and somnambulists shuffling towards eternal doom.

              "I feel creepy, Ellen. You know, like you've been swept over by a venomous rain of crawling micro-slugs. I think that Zed is sort of at an advantage down here; like, I'm not too assertive right now. If he were to leap out in front of us, his oppressive masculine presence would evoke images of virile pessimism, existential..." 

              "No it won't."

              "Why not?"

              "Dr. Zed is a woman."

              They continued in silence, in the dark behind, behind the scuffling of the little man.

              A door appeared, with a sign, Dr. Zed, MD (tutti non fanno niente...) Ellen knocked. Dr. Zed opened it. Christine looked in. White lab coat, prescription goggles... no, there was more: grey hair, cruel thin lips, stethoscope, scalpel... were they interrupting anything?

              "Come in," she said softly; "please sit down. So good of you to come. We receive so few visitors down here." She stared at Christine: "My dear, what a tremendous head you have... and just the right size... how fortuitous. I like heads, you see. To get inside them..."

              Her remark had a literal air that made Christine cringe.

              "Where's Ernie Wilkie?" she said, suddenly. "I'm not sure it's good for him down here... ah, it's so damp. Isn't it damp down here Ellen."

              "Enough, child," Zed raised a chastening finger. "You will see him soon enough. First we must talk.

              You must know that I am a doctor, but before that, many years back, a social worker. You look surprised; that is good; no one knows this and no one will. I was poorly treated, abused by medical staff who felt that I was less than a minion, someone to work with the unworkable while the psychiatrists killed time behind their couches.

              I left social work, changed my name. I studied medicine, then neurology, surgery, psychiatry. You see, I am quite bright, a genius, and quite mad."

              "You mean angry..." Christine interjected hopefully. Ellen looked away, Zed smiled.

              "No, I mean insane. And, dear, someone among the sleeping flocks realized that a few years ago, when I was "retired" from my last research post. They suggested in an anonymous letter that my experiments were becoming somewhat bizarre, my subjects seemed drained of their life force. They said I was dangerous. Now tell me, do I look dangerous?"

              Dr. Zed's eyes were aglow with an evil light. Christine felt herself becoming incontinent.

              "No, not at all," she said.

              "You are wrong. I am the most dangerous person you have ever met. I can, in fact, remove someone's life force - capture the essence of what makes us unique. It looks like this." Zed extracted from her pocket a vial filled with green liquid. "This is Peter Crawford's life force."

              "Peter," Ellen said unexpectedly; "you know." Christine's eyes never left Dr. Zed, who now produced another vial. An empty vial.

              "Christine, I call the green liquid Life Force - Male Social Worker." She smiled. "Guess what the contents of this vial will be called?"

              Christine's eyes widened with horror. "You're insane!"

              "Accurate empathy, I like that," said Dr. Zed. "I like you. You are intelligent, assertive, caring. Ellen has raved about you. I have Ellen's life force in the lab, by the way. I told her she could have it back if she brought you down.

              Life force is difficult to extract, but relatively easy to reproduce in large quantities. Put distillate of male and female life force in a city's drinking water and you have millions of people with the same drive, thoughts and inclinations. You have, in short, millions of social workers.

              They will be grateful to me alone, as the city's problems dwindle under the impact of appropriate psycho-social relations. I will be looked upon as a messiah who..."

              "But who will drive the buses, run the businesses, fix refrigerators?" Christine exclaimed.

              "Enough," said Zed, brushing her aside. "We must concentrate the life force. Come to the lab. If you try to fight me, Ernie Wilkie will die. You will all die."

              "Do as she says," Ellen pleaded with Christine. "She means it. She'll do what she says. She's a fiend..."

              "You're a nasty piece yourself," Christine snapped.

              "Come!" Zed commanded. Christine reluctantly followed.

              Zed's workshop had been decorated in traditional laboratory gothic, complete with bubbling beakers connected by a web of tubing. Two gurneys say by themselves. Open handcuffs were positioned at each end and a wired concave dish lay poised to slip down over Christine's head.

              Zed ordered Christine to strip and put on a white hospital gown. Ellen then strapped her firmly onto the table.

              Christine looked about frantically. To her surprise, Ernie Wilkie had been strapped in beside her.

              "You are a social worker and so you must be engaged in Social Work when the life force is extracted. Please interview Mr. Wilkie." Zed pulled a switch. Christine and Ernie were slowly raised and turned until they were vertical and facing each other. Another button was pressed, the wired dishes sank ruthlessly onto their skulls.

              "How are you today, Ernie?" Christine asked. A rivulet of drool appeared at the corner of Ernie's mouth. "You've looked better."

              What have they done to you Ernie?" Ernie's body began to jerk about spasmodically.

              "Do you hear me?"

              Zed looked pleased. "How are you feeling, my dear. What are you aware of?"

              Christine paused. She did feel a little strange, perhaps a little disembodied...sleepy... things were slipping away...

To be continued

Richard Schwindt is author of Social Work for Fun and Profit and

Kingston: Confidential