Chapter 18 - Love Quarantine

“Please, Bartleby, you must eat,” Nurse Wretched whispers.

The lunatic clown gazes at her with dull, unblinking eyes. Drool runs from his lips down his chin, but try as she might, she can’t get him to chew. Not even a mouthful of these delicious lady fingers prepared by the Pastry Chef.

“Look how pretty they are,” she says, holding up the lady finger. “See the bright red nails? Aren’t they nice, Bartholemew?”

“Preeeeetttyyyy,” the clown repeats slowly. Lightning flashes through the window bars, revealing rats scurrying through the cellar. “Pretttyy,” he repeats, rustling his chains. He reaches for the treat—and suddenly his hand darts out, clamping over her wrist.

“Pretty,” he whispers, his eyes suddenly sharp and cunning.

“Let me go, Bartholemew.”

“I want to see your bunny.”

“What?” She tries to draw away, but his grip is too strong. A flicker of fear rises inside her as the clown peels his cracked lips back over yellow teeth. He’s looking at her like she’s the treat.

“Let’s cut it out of you, bitch,” he leers.

She is suddenly, acutely aware that they are alone in this dungeon. It doesn’t take her long to realize that the lobotomy had failed. This man’s sick mind had not been pacified by the icepick of Doctor Sciaticus. It had all been a ruse.

Now it’s too late. Bartleby is wrestling with her, yanking her off her feet. In a flash, he’s on top of her, pressing his shackles against her throat.

“Are you ready?” he giggles. “Ready for my next trick?”

She can no longer speak. Her head is spinning as the pressure tightens on her throat. Her thin, bony fingers scratch helplessly against the clown’s slick, creamy skin.

Somewhere in the distance—miles and miles away—she hears the heavy metal door of the dungeon scrap open. A gruff voice shouts, “Get off of her!” and she hears the familiar slither of Timotheee’s belly dragging its way across the floor.

There’s a scuffle. Suddenly the weight is off her chest, and the clown is gone. She sees Timotheee cowering beneath the maniacal fists of Bartleby. Even though the sweet orderly is three times the size of the clown, she knows Timotheee is incapable of violence.

“Ooof! Stop! Settle down!” Timotheee moans, between the wet-meat slap of fists on his skin. “Hey, stop it, clown!”

Who knows what horrid bloodshed might have ensued, had they not been saved by the hospital staff. A retinue of orderlies burst into the chamber dressed in black plastic leather. From their hermetically sealed gimp suits, she recognizes these interlopers as the Kinky Boots Brigade, the perverted enforcers of quarantine in the House of Yog.

“Faces down, asses up!” they shout. Boots clack sharply across the floor. There is a cacophony of loud voices and firm hands grabbing her, throwing her to the ground.

“Wait!” she sputters.

A black sack cloth slips over her face. Prickly handcuffs snap over her wrist, gnawing her skin with tiny thorny teeth.

“Nurse Wretched! You are hereby placed under quarantine by orders of the Administrative Lich!” one of the Kinky Boots screams in her ear.

“Why?” she manages to gasp.

“You have been exposed to Love!”

“That’s ridiculous…” Timotheee protests from somewhere nearby. His own voice is muffled by a sackcloth. “She isn’t sick with Love.”

“Timotheee Gargantuan, you are also hereby placed under quarantine! Do not resist! Do not attempt to love us!”

“He would never love you,” says Nurse Wretched. “There’s been some kind of mistake. We aren’t—” Her words are cut off as she is dragged suddenly to her feet. She cannot see a thing, but she is shoved forward along the dungeon.

“What about the clown?” one of the Kinky Boots asks aloud.

“Nurse Wretched, did you love on this clown?” A voice screams in her ear.

“He attacked me.”

“Impossible. The clown is lobotomized. His brain is pudding.”

“It is not! He’s just pretending!”

“I assure you, he isn’t. This patient was miraculously cured by Doctor Sciaticus—and now you’ve gone and contaminated him with love.”

“Please, if I can just explain…”

“Don’t make me ball-gag you, Nurse Wretched. You’re going into quarantine. Now let’s go.”

What else can she do? She allows herself to be escorted blindly out of the dungeon by the Kinky Boots Brigade, all the while fighting the dark shame inside of her.

Love, she wonders? Could it possibly be true? Do these crazy orderlies know something she doesn’t?

She doesn’t think so.

But she is worried about Timotheee—and that fact that she is worried worries her.