“We’ll start with immersion therapy,” Dr. Carmichael said.
“Immersion therapy?” Beckett asked.
“Yes.” Dr. Carmichael nodded. “The patient is fully immersed in a tank of water for as long as he can hold his breath. The process is repeated multiple times until a state of calm is reached. Water and the sensation of floating is believed to have curative properties.”
Noah exchanged an uncertain glance with Beckett. “I do know how to swim,” he said. “I like the water. I grew up by the sea, remember.”
“Good,” Dr. Carmichael interrupted before Beckett could reply. “In addition to immersion therapy, Bloomingdale Asylum has recently acquired a spinning machine.”
“I beg your pardon?” Beckett asked, blinking rapidly.
“A spinning machine,” Dr. Carmichael repeated. “The patient is strapped into it, and the entire device rotates, spinning the patient until his brain is thoroughly disoriented. The process forces the brain to recalibrate to a state of normalcy.”
“But won’t that much spinning just make me dizzy?” Noah asked, deep uncertainty making his whole body tingle with the urge to run. “Won’t it make me sick?”
“The treatment sometimes causes vomiting, yes,” Dr. Carmichael said. “But that is a small price to pay to restore your brain to order.”
Noah glanced uncertainly to Beckett. Surely, Beckett didn’t want this for him.
“If all else fails, we will resort to electroshock therapy,” Dr. Carmichael went on.
Pure dread spilled through Noah. “I…I’m not sure….”
“Electroshock therapy is the very pinnacle of modern medical research, Mr. Cheevers,” Dr. Carmichael interrupted him. “By forcing the body to have seizures, the mind is quieted and restored. The stronger the convulsions, the better the results, or so I have discovered.”
Noah looked desperately to Beckett. “Beckett?” he asked, fighting to keep his panic in check.
Beckett took his hand. “Perhaps it won’t be necessary,” he said with a strained smile. “I would be willing to bet that the immersion therapy will do the trick.”
“There is, of course, the matter of payment,” Dr. Carmichael said.
Beckett frowned at the man before saying, “I can assure you, doctor, we will pay whatever price is necessary to cure my friend.”
That only made Noah’s spirits sink further. He couldn’t allow Beckett—and likely Mr. Smith—spend the sort of money on him that these treatments must cost. He didn’t want to be treated in such a manner anyhow.
“I don’t think I want—”
Dr. Carmichael cut him off with, “Good. I’ll have Mr. Cheevers scheduled for a full course of treatments beginning as soon as possible. I have been quite eager to attempt some of the newer treatments myself as a means of furthering medical knowledge in general.”
Noah snapped his mouth shut. They wanted to use him to test medical treatments?
“Thank you, Dr. Carmichael,” Beckett said, grasping Noah’s hand a little tighter. “Is there someone we should schedule these treatments with?”
“The registrar will be able to help you,” Dr. Carmichael replied.
A few more pleasantries were exchanged, but Noah was too panicked to pay any attention to them. He barely listened when Beckett took him out of the room to make appointments for first thing on Monday with the pale man sitting behind a desk that was protected by a wall. He felt as though he was being pushed into a pit that he wouldn’t be able to climb out of.
It wasn’t until they were out on the street in front of the asylum that he managed to find the breath to say, “I don’t want to do it, Beckett. I don’t want to do any of it.”
He shuffled and fidgeted, glancing desperately around for ways to flee. That only brought his attention to some of the windows of the asylum and the bars that covered him. He gulped in fright and tried to run from the place.
Beckett caught him, of course, and held him as still as he could with so many people moving around them.
“Shh, Noah, it’s going to be alright,” he said, though he didn’t look as if things would be alright at all. “Dr. Carmichael knows what he’s doing. Cures are often worse than the disease, but once you’ve been through a course of treatment, you’ll feel so much better.”
“I won’t,” Noah wailed, in severe danger of bursting into tears. “I really think I won’t.”
“But we have to do something,” Beckett said, venting his frustration in a loud sigh. “You cannot go on like this forever, Noah. It isn’t healthy.”