"Puzzle" Frank Tillier. Frank Tillier "Puzzle Frank Tillier puzzle read
Frank Tillier
Puzzle
© E. Klokova, translation, 2015
© Edition in Russian, design.
LLC Publishing Group Azbuka-Atticus, 2015
AZBUKA® publishing house
* * *But when from the ancient past
there won't be a trace
when people die and things crumble to dust,
the smell and taste will linger for a long time,
more fragile, but also more tenacious,
calm, faithful, they are like souls,
calling to each other, waiting and hoping,
that on the ruins of all things will be preserved,
even if it's just a tiny drop,
giant memory building.
Marcel Proust. towards SvanThe entire medical team that had taken care of Lucas Chardon gathered around his bed, they removed all the electrodes from the electroencephalograph. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices testified to the stability of the condition.
The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.
“I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave. Please…
The room was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but couldn't.
“Don't try,” Sandy Clore said. - You have been in a serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.
- Well, yes, and the belts are very handy, they will not let me fall or get hurt, right?
The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient's forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a gown: the hospital where Luka was lying was a hundred kilometers from the Department for difficult patientswhere she worked.
- Do not be ironic, Luke, this is for your own benefit, otherwise it is impossible.
- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want.
- How are you feeling?
He looked out the window, turned his head and looked directly into the eyes of his doctor, very beautiful dark blue eyes.
“Tell me, Dr. Cleor, how long did you try to treat me—before being transferred here?”
- Don't you remember?
“Ridiculous question…how can a madman remember something?” Reality and time are meaningless concepts to madmen, don't you know that?
Claire considered. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed to her coherent, perfectly logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.
- Four months. You spent four months in the OTB...
– Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? Can't do without it, can't replace it? Do you understand how much pain they caused me while they were “treated”? Do you know what it's like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? It seems to you that your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, and all the veins will explode. You should try at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.
Sandy Clore glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, swift as a cobra, he did it more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and devastating disease, patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by crazy ideas, most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.
“Electrotherapy has helped your memory push some memories of the past to the surface. No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think, she helped you.
- Come on, doctor! You fed my fear and exacerbated the suffering, thought that you were treating, but only worsened the situation.
The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart gave out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm himself.
- You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that lover of pipe tobacco, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was "in the absence." And I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.
- It's hard to understand - and even more so to believe.
He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face flushed with effort. Breathing, he asked:
How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still on her heels?
- Alas...
“And she still flays her skin if she doesn’t have a straitjacket?”
– Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.
- And it won't. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, to the waist. I have always loved looking at them, touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know it.
- Oh sure.
For a moment, Luca's eyes went blank, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation.
“Something happened while I was in a coma, Dr. Cleore, and that 'something' might call into question some of your barbaric methods.
The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was getting at, but, having experienced such conversations, she did not allow herself to be knocked out of a rut.
- I'd better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? To be cleansed of rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?
She shook her head.
“Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has consciously blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to walk this path on their own, they are hindered by the disease. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.
Luke caught Sandy's eye, wanting her to fully feel his words.
- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day on the twenty-second of December, doctor. I know who killed eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.
Sandy Clore straightened up. Her patient never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep a neutral tone, but the excitement was getting the better of her.
- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on the twenty-second of December?
Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging over the television.
“Get out your gray voice recorder, doctor, the one you trust with all these meager conclusions.
- I left it at the office.
- Very well. Drive before the road is covered with snow and go to my ward - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Take it out, take the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time, because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.
The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In such weather, it is good to put on snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what the ajudan chef, Pierre Bonifas, was going to do, if at the very end of the day he had not been told the terrible news. The caller, a mountain guide, was in a state of shock and could hardly explain what had happened.
The helicopter of the national gendarmerie, carrying Boniface and his assistant, flew over a huge larch forest. The first rays of the sun illuminated the mountains, their silky peaks stretching all the way to Switzerland on one side and to Italy on the other. All twenty-two years of police service, Bonifas did not get tired of enjoying this magnificent spectacle, every day new and varied, like colors on an artist's palette, but this morning he was not up to beauty, he was thinking about something else.
The white-and-blue helicopter flew over the lake and landed on a small clearing at an altitude of four thousand meters. The propeller blades lifted clouds of snow into the air. The non-commissioned officers got out, shivered shiveringly and, sticking their noses into the collars of their blue uniform jackets and holding snowshoes in their hands, ran at a trot towards a man dressed in a warm eiderdown overalls.
- You didn't touch anything? asked Bonifas.
The guide led them back on their own tracks. A strong, tall fellow strode so wide that Bonifas could hardly keep up with him. “Thank God that the rise in this section of the forest between the valley and the slopes stretching up is not too steep ...” he thought, puffing and puffing.
© E. Klokova, translation, 2015
© Edition in Russian, design.
LLC Publishing Group Azbuka-Atticus, 2015
AZBUKA® publishing house
But when from the ancient past
there won't be a trace
when people die and things crumble to dust,
the smell and taste will linger for a long time,
more fragile, but also more tenacious,
calm, faithful, they are like souls,
calling to each other, waiting and hoping,
that on the ruins of all things will be preserved,
even if it's just a tiny drop,
giant memory building.
Marcel Proust. towards Svan
The entire medical team that had taken care of Lucas Chardon gathered around his bed, they removed all the electrodes from the electroencephalograph. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices testified to the stability of the condition.
The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.
“I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave. Please…
The room was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but couldn't.
“Don't try,” Sandy Clore said. - You have been in a serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.
- Well, yes, and the belts are very handy, they will not let me fall or get hurt, right?
The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient's forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a gown: the hospital where Luka was lying was a hundred kilometers from the Department for difficult patients where she worked.
- Do not be ironic, Luke, this is for your own benefit, otherwise it is impossible.
- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want.
- How are you feeling?
He looked out the window, turned his head and looked directly into the eyes of his doctor, very beautiful dark blue eyes.
“Tell me, Dr. Cleor, how long did you try to treat me—before being transferred here?”
- Don't you remember?
“Ridiculous question…how can a madman remember something?” Reality and time are meaningless concepts to madmen, don't you know that?
Claire considered. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed to her coherent, perfectly logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.
- Four months. You spent four months in the OTB...
– Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? Can't do without it, can't replace it? Do you understand how much pain they caused me while they were “treated”? Do you know what it's like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? It seems to you that your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, and all the veins will explode. You should try at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.
Sandy Clore glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, swift as a cobra, he did it more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and devastating disease, patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by crazy ideas, most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.
“Electrotherapy has helped your memory push some memories of the past to the surface. No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think, she helped you.
- Come on, doctor! You fed my fear and exacerbated the suffering, thought that you were treating, but only worsened the situation.
The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart gave out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm himself.
- You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that lover of pipe tobacco, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was "in the absence." And I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.
- It's hard to understand - and even more so to believe.
He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face flushed with effort. Breathing, he asked:
How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still on her heels?
- Alas...
“And she still flays her skin if she doesn’t have a straitjacket?”
– Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.
- And it won't. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, to the waist. I have always loved looking at them, touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know it.
- Oh sure.
For a moment, Luca's eyes went blank, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation.
“Something happened while I was in a coma, Dr. Cleore, and that 'something' might call into question some of your barbaric methods.
The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was getting at, but, having experienced such conversations, she did not allow herself to be knocked out of a rut.
- I'd better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? To be cleansed of rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?
She shook her head.
“Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has consciously blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to walk this path on their own, they are hindered by the disease. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.
Luke caught Sandy's eye, wanting her to fully feel his words.
- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day on the twenty-second of December, doctor. I know who killed eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.
Sandy Clore straightened up. Her patient never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep a neutral tone, but the excitement was getting the better of her.
- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on the twenty-second of December?
Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging over the television.
“Get out your gray voice recorder, doctor, the one you trust with all these meager conclusions.
- I left it at the office.
- Very well. Drive before the road is covered with snow and go to my ward - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Take it out, take the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time, because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.
The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In such weather, it is good to put on snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what the ajudan chef, Pierre Bonifas, was going to do, if at the very end of the day he had not been told the terrible news. The caller, a mountain guide, was in a state of shock and could hardly explain what had happened.
The novel-thriller by Frank Tillier "Inside Out" will make you feel goosebumps and more than once wonder what is really happening. It's amazing how much people are willing to do for easy money. Many of them even risk their lives for profit and endure the most terrible situations imaginable.
Partners Zoe and Ilan are constantly looking for a way to get money, they hunt for treasure and participate wherever the main prize is money. This time they decided to take part in a project about which they really do not know anything. The name of the game is Paranoia. The tests themselves will take place high in the mountains in an old abandoned psychiatric hospital. At stake are three hundred thousand euros, for which the participants will have to risk their lives. None of the 8 players knows the rules. It is known that to win you need to get the key to the safe with money, and ten black swans made of crystal will help you find it. That's just the price of this discovery can be your own life.
The play area itself is already terrifying. Old hospital beds, shockers, strange objects, strange notes. It seems that somewhere the ghosts of people who died here are wandering, who cannot find peace in any way. The participants in the game are fighting not for life, but for death. At some point, it becomes clear that there is someone else here, not just the participants. What fears will the players have and will they be able to overcome them? What terrible secrets of the past can be revealed? And who will survive this fight? Who is leading this madness, and what is its purpose?
The story is divided into many small chapters, which, like pieces of a puzzle, are assembled into one picture at the end of the book. Everything falls into place ... As it seems. But the last words destroy everything that was built in the mind.
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Frank Tillier
Puzzle
But when from the ancient past
there won't be a trace
when people die and things crumble to dust,
the smell and taste will linger for a long time,
more fragile, but also more tenacious,
calm, faithful, they are like souls,
calling to each other, waiting and hoping,
that on the ruins of all things will be preserved,
even if it's just a tiny drop,
giant memory building.
Marcel Proust. towards Svan
The entire medical team that had taken care of Lucas Chardon gathered around his bed, they removed all the electrodes from the electroencephalograph. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices testified to the stability of the condition.
The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.
- I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave. Please…
The room was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but couldn't.
"Don't try," said Sandy Clore. - You have been in a serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.
- Well, yes, and the belts are very handy, they will not let me fall or get hurt, right?
The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient's forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a gown: the hospital where Luka was lying was a hundred kilometers from the Department for difficult patients [Mental hospital specializing in the maintenance and treatment of the mentally ill who pose a potential danger to themselves or others.] where she worked.
- Do not be ironic, Luke, it's for your own good, otherwise you can't.
- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want.
- How are you feeling?
He looked out the window, turned his head and looked directly into the eyes of his doctor, very beautiful dark blue eyes.
- Tell me, Dr. Cleor, how long did you try to treat me - before transferring here?
- Don't you remember?
- Ridiculous question... how can a madman remember something? Reality and time are meaningless concepts to madmen, don't you know that?
Claire considered. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed to her coherent, perfectly logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.
- Four months. You spent four months in the OTB...
- Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? Can't do without it, can't replace it? Do you understand how much pain they caused me while they were “treated”? Do you know what it's like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? It seems to you that your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, and all the veins will explode. You should try at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.
Sandy Clore glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, swift as a cobra, he did it more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and devastating disease, patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.
- Electrotherapy has helped your memory push some memories of the past to the surface. No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think, she helped you.
- Come on, doctor! You fed my fear and exacerbated the suffering, thought that you were treating, but only worsened the situation.
The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart gave out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm himself.
- You and Dr. Paul Gambier, this lover of pipe tobacco, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was "in the absence." And I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.
- It's hard to understand - and even more so to believe.
He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face flushed with effort. Breathing, he asked:
- How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still on her heels?
- Alas...
"And she still flays her skin when she's not in a straitjacket?"
- Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.
- And it won't. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, to the waist. I have always loved looking at them, touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know it.
- Oh sure.
For a moment, Luca's eyes went blank, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation.
“Something happened while I was in a coma, Dr. Cleore, and that 'something' might call into question some of your barbaric methods.
The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was getting at, but, having experienced such conversations, she did not allow herself to be knocked out of a rut.
- I'd better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? To be cleansed of rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?
She shook her head.
- Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has consciously blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to walk this path on their own, they are hindered by the disease. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.
Luca caught Sandy's eye, wanting her to fully feel his words.
- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day on the twenty-second of December, doctor. I know who killed eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.
Sandy Clore straightened up. Her patient never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep a neutral tone, but the excitement was getting the better of her.
- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on the twenty-second of December?
Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging over the television.
- Get out your gray recorder, doctor, the one you trust with all these penny conclusions.
- I left it at the office.
- Very well. Ride until the road is covered with snow, and go to my ward - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Take it out, take the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time, because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.
The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In such weather, it is good to put on snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what the chief ajudan [senior non-commissioned officer in the armed forces and police of France, roughly corresponds to the senior warrant officer in the Russian army.] Pierre Bonifas, was going to do, if at the very end of the day he had not been told the terrible news. The caller - a mountain guide - was in a state of shock and could hardly explain what had happened.
The helicopter of the national gendarmerie, carrying Boniface and his assistant, flew over a huge larch forest. The first rays of the sun illuminated the mountains, their silky peaks stretching all the way to Switzerland on one side and to Italy on the other. All twenty-two years of police service, Bonifas did not get tired of enjoying this magnificent spectacle, every day new and varied, like colors on an artist's palette, but this morning he was not up to beauty, he was thinking about something else.
The white-and-blue helicopter flew over the lake and landed on a small clearing at an altitude of four thousand meters. The propeller blades lifted clouds of snow into the air. The non-commissioned officers got out, shivered shiveringly and, sticking their noses into the collars of their blue uniform jackets and holding snowshoes in their hands, ran at a trot towards a man dressed in a warm eiderdown overalls.
Have you touched anything? asked Bonifas.
The guide led them back on their own tracks. A strong, tall fellow strode so wide that Bonifas could hardly keep up with him. “Thank God that the rise in this section of the forest between the valley and the slopes stretching upwards is not too steep ...” he thought, puffing and puffing.
No, I immediately called the gendarmerie.
You did the right thing. Now tell us exactly what happened.
The pilot of the helicopter turned off the engine, and the mountains fell silent again. The forest became thicker, the trees stood so close together that the light that penetrated through the foliage scattered into golden sparks. It seemed that this morning nature froze, held its breath.
As soon as we get on the trail, we will see the high mountain shelter "Grand Massif" [Association of five ski bases in the Northern Alps.]. Now it is owned by the city. This old house stands on an island in the middle of the lake, where you can rest, although there is no water or heating. The shelter accommodates ten people, no more, but protects from bad weather.
I know, - Boniface nodded, - I was here recently with my family. Wonderful place.
there won't be a trace
when people die and things crumble to dust,
the smell and taste will linger for a long time,
more fragile, but also more tenacious,
calm, faithful, they are like souls,
calling to each other, waiting and hoping,
that on the ruins of all things will be preserved,
even if it's just a tiny drop,
giant memory building.
The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.
I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave. Please…
The room was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but couldn't.
Don't try, Sandy Clore said. - You have been in a serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.
Well, yes, and the belts are very handy, they will not let me fall or get hurt, right?
The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient's forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a gown: the hospital where Luka was lying was a hundred kilometers from the Department for difficult patients in which she worked.
Don't be ironic, Luca, it's for your own good, otherwise you can't.
Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want.
How are you feeling?
He looked out the window, turned his head and looked directly into the eyes of his doctor, very beautiful dark blue eyes.
Tell me, Dr. Cleore, how long did you try to treat me - before being transferred here?
Don't you remember?
Ridiculous question...how can a madman remember something? Reality and time are meaningless concepts to madmen, don't you know that?
Claire considered. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed to her coherent, perfectly logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.
Four months. You spent four months in the OTB...
Do you think electric shock is an effective procedure? Can't do without it, can't replace it? Do you understand how much pain they caused me while they were “treated”? Do you know what it's like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? It seems to you that your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, and all the veins will explode. You should try at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.
Sandy Clore glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, swift as a cobra, he did it more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and devastating disease, patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.
Electrotherapy has helped your memory to resurface some memories of the past. No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think, she helped you.
Come on, doctor! You fed my fear and exacerbated the suffering, thought that you were treating, but only worsened the situation.
The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart gave out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm himself.
You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that lover of pipe tobacco, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was "in the absence." And I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.
It's hard to understand - and even more so to believe.
He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face flushed with effort.
