A Change of Heart (An Asylum Tale)

The small aquarium rested on a side counter in one of the labs. Inside, the kidney-shaped creature lay still. Its white tail flickered occasionally and one green stalk lazily waved, the only signs it was alive.

‘This little fellow caused all that trouble?’ Thomas Harris asked.

‘We think it passed from host to host,’ said Andrea Buchannan. ‘I honestly wouldn't have captured it without Jordan's help.’

Harris turned his calculated gaze on Jordan Deakes. ‘You look like you’ve been through the mill,’ he said.

‘Not my finest hour,’ Deakes admitted. ‘But it’s shown me another aspect of your work here.’

‘And you want in?’ Andrea said hopefully.

Deakes looked at her, feeling his cheeks flush. He was still embarrassed at having been caught in flagrante with Sandra Young, though Andrea had assured him they had been at the mercy of the creature which had possessed her.

‘How can I go back to my life knowing things like this exist?’

‘You’ve seen behind the curtain and want to know what else there may be to behold,’ Harris said with a sage nod.

‘It’s less that I want to and more that I need to.’

Harris sighed. ‘This puts me in a tricky situation. While you were out with Andrea, I looked into your past.’

Deakes stifled his irritation. Performing a background check was the first action he would take when considering a new employee, but to do so without the subject’s permission was an invasion of privacy.

‘You appear to be a good fit for our operation,’ Harris continued. ‘Military training, financially secure, no extreme political affiliations. But there are, as you now know, some encounters that your previous experience cannot prepare you for.’

‘What are you saying? There’s a training course that covers this stuff?’

Andrea smirked at Deakes’s comment, but Harris’s face remained stern.

‘If only it were that simple,’ he said.

Deakes stood in the comfortable interview room and looked through the expansive window. Some of the younger members of the Asylum were kicking around a football, reminding him of his own youth, playing in the park with his friends. The difference was that his group of friends did not include beings with wings, horns or tails.

Harris entered, followed by a Chinese man carrying a tray bearing two cups, bowls of spices and a metal jug from which steam rose. As the man set the tray on a coffee table, Harris introduced him.

‘Jordan, this is Dr Zhu Jing.’

Deakes nodded him a greeting and asked, ‘What are you a doctor of?’

‘Suǒyǒu qíguài de shìqíng,’ Zhu replied.

‘Although Dr Zhu understands English,’ Harris said, ‘he chooses not to speak it.’

Zhu beamed and said, ‘Quèshí rúcǐ.’

He leaned over and poured water into the cups then carefully added specific amounts of the assorted herbs – a half-spoon of green powder, a generous measure of what smelled like chamomile, some lemon shavings and two cloves. Finished, he stood, bowed his head to the men and left the room.

Harris slid a small container from his breast pocket and passed it to Deakes.

‘This drink is an acquired taste,’ he said. ‘You may want to sweeten yours.’

Deakes lifted the nearest cup to his nose and inhaled. The sharp lemon overrode the pleasant aroma of the chamomile.

‘I think I’ll give it a miss,’ he said, resting the cup back on the tray. ‘I’m more of a coffee guy.’

‘I have to insist,’ Harris said. ‘It’s part of the process.’

Deakes cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘You want to see if I blindly follow orders?’

‘Not at all.’ Harris picked up his own drink and took a sip. His face creased momentarily at the taste. ‘We both know what it’s like in an interview. You lie your arse off to get the job. It’s not a criticism; everybody does. This combination of thyme and lemon and whatnot relaxes the inhibitions and makes it easier to talk honestly.’

‘You mean it acts as a truth serum?’

Harris grinned. ‘If only such a thing existed. It would make our lives so much easier. No, this just lets us have a frank conversation. As you can see, I’m also drinking so you can be sure I’ll not mislead you.’ He took another sip, grimaced and added, ‘But I highly recommend the sweeteners.’

The Asylum for Relocated Cryptids was one of several worldwide, Deakes learned. Funded by The Horatio Foundation, the Asylums had been set up to home and protect creatures and peoples once considered only myth. As human population expanded across the globe and encroached on the cryptids’ natural habitats, new places were required to save the various species from eradication.

Keeping the residents sequestered away was not a permanent fix, Harris had realised. As the world grew smaller, with satellites having the ability to photograph the Earth with incredible resolution and private drones reaching places inaccessible to humans, it was only a matter of time before one of the ARCs was discovered.

To prepare for this eventuality, Harris launched a programme to teach the cryptids how to survive in the twenty-first century. Of course, each species offered its own unique challenges and, to better deal with these potential obstacles, study of the races was required. To date, Harris’s team had learned, among other things, why phoenixes are associated with flame and how merfolk transition between breathing air through their mouths and water through their gills.

For his own part, having heard these incredible facts, Deakes was content to open himself to Harris’s questioning. He was not sure if this was down to the bitter tea, which the sweeteners made only barely palatable, or Harris’s amiable nature.

‘You already know I was in the armed forces,’ he said. ‘Six years, stationed between Germany, Belize and Kenya.’

Harris’s eyes widened and he asked, ‘There are British Army bases in Belize and Kenya?’

‘Training areas,’ Deakes said. ‘I was a training officer, that’s why I was lucky enough not to see any combat.’

‘Is that why you left?’

Deakes took a sip of the tea. It left a dryness in his throat.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘I fell in love and got married.’

Harris looked shocked at the revelation. ‘I didn’t find a spouse in your background check.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. Eight months later we were divorced. The marriage lasted less time than it took to pay off the wedding.’

‘And now?’ Harris asked. ‘Do you have a girlfriend or significant other?’

‘I can’t see how that’s a relevant question for a job interview.’

‘The work we do here can sometimes be dangerous.’ Harris leaned forward and placed his empty cup on the tray between them. ‘When assigning jobs, it’s good to have an understanding of any dependants my team has.’

‘That’s fair,’ Deakes said. ‘Currently no, there is no girlfriend.’

Harris nodded, paused, then said, ‘Which leads me to my next potentially awkward question. Do you have an issue working with Andrea?’

Deakes drained his cup as he considered the woman. He and Andrea were roughly the same age. She was attractive and intelligent, and she had saved his bacon back in the Youngs’ kitchen.

‘I don’t mix work and my personal life,’ he answered. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, feeling too dry from the sweetened herbal tea.

‘A work ethic I admire,’ Harris replied with a smile. ‘I have one last question. Why the change of heart? What makes you now want to work for ARC?’

‘Over the past few days, I’ve seen impossible things – more than I could ever have guessed were real. The change to my worldview is irrevocable. There’s no going back. The question isn’t why do I want to work with you; the question is, knowing what I now know, how can I not?’

Harris leaned forward to scoop up the sweetener dispenser, dropped it back in his pocket then held his hand out to Deakes.

‘Thank you for your honesty, Jordan. Welcome to the team.’

After Harris had left, Andrea entered with a broad grin.

‘So that’s it?’ she asked. ‘You’re one of us now?’

Deakes couldn’t resist a smile of his own. ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me,’ he croaked. ‘Where can I get some water? Those sweeteners Harris uses have parched my throat.’

‘What sweeteners?’ Andrea asked, then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll get you a drink on the way out. We’ve got another job.’

Author's note:

'Suǒyǒu qíguài de shìqíng,' translates as, 'All weird things.'

'Quèshí rúcǐ,' translates as, 'That is true.'