Mindgame by Anthony Horowitz

me.
    STYLER: The lunatics taking over the asylum!
    PLIMPTON: Yes.
    STYLER: What happened?
    PLIMPTON: They killed all the staff. Some faster than others. The ones they particularly hated…you don’t want to know. Easterman toyed with Dr Farquhar for a week. He was quite mad by the end. Delirious. And unrecognisable. It was horrible. Horrible. And even when he finally died, even then it wasn’t over.
    STYLER: What do you mean?
    PLIMPTON: Easterman boiled him down and then…maybe it was revenge or maybe it was just some sort of horrible game. He reassembled him. The bones.
    STYLER turns and gazes at the skeleton.
    STYLER: No.
    PLIMPTON: Yes. That’s Dr Farquhar, standing there, what’s left of him.
    STYLER: Oh my God!
    PLIMPTON: They’ve kept parts of him in the freezer. They’re still eating him.
    STYLER: What parts?
    PLIMPTON: Pieces of flesh. His heart. His liver…
    STYLER: ( Gagging .) Oh God…
    PLIMPTON: What is it?
    STYLER: The waste-bin!
    PLIMPTON: What?
    STYLER: The waste-bin! Quick!
    PLIMPTON snatches up the dustbin just in time for STYLER to be sick in it.
    His liver. Oh God!
    PLIMPTON: I tried to warn you.
    STYLER: Why didn’t you just tell me, for God’s sake? Why didn’t you just tell me to go?
    PLIMPTON: I tried to. I gave you that note.
    STYLER: He burned it.
    PLIMPTON: It set off the alarm.
    STYLER: Yes, I know.
    PLIMPTON: If I’d told you the truth, he’d never have let you leave. I did the best I could.
    STYLER struggles to get out of the jacket.
    What are we going to do?
    STYLER: What do you mean, what are we going to do? Can’t you get this thing off me?
    PLIMPTON: The straps are too tight. ( Struggling with the straps .) You have to get me out of here. I’m the only one left alive. Do you have any idea what they’ve been doing to me for the past three weeks? It’s been so terrible. Everything they wanted. I couldn’t say no. I tried but…
    PLIMPTON breaks down. STYLER wants to comfort her but he can’t — not while he’s in the strait-jacket.
    STYLER: Not now. Not here.
    PLIMPTON: ( Sobbing .) You have no idea!
    STYLER: ( Desperate .) You can tell me about this later.
    PLIMPTON: They played with me. So sick! They made me dress like this. They…
    STYLER: We’ll get out. We’ll leave together.
    PLIMPTON: ( Pulling herself together .) It’s not as easy as you think. They’re everywhere. The whole asylum. And the gates. They’re electronic. They control the gates.
    STYLER: Can’t we telephone?
    PLIMPTON: They cut the wires. Easterman took charge of everything. The master of Fairfields…that’s what he called himself. I don’t know what he was planning. Somebody must have noticed something was wrong sooner or later. But I don’t think he cared…
    STYLER: Can’t you get this thing off?
    PLIMPTON: I can’t. Why did you let him put it on?
    STYLER: I was humouring him. ( Pause .) He had a scalpel. He must have dropped it when you hit him.
    PLIMPTON searches for the scalpel.
    PLIMPTON: I can’t see it.
    STYLER: It’s got to be there somewhere. Please, Nurse Plimpton…
    PLIMPTON: Dr Ennis.
    STYLER: Yes.
    PLIMPTON: ( Finding the scalpel .) Here it is. Here…
    PLIMPTON turns back towards STYLER but at that moment, FARQUHAR’s hand suddenly jerks upwards, grabbing hold of her wrist.
    FARQUHAR: That’s mine I think.
    STYLER: ( A shout .) No!
    PLIMPTON: Help me!
    FARQUHAR stands up. He and PLIMPTON are locked in a sort of terrible, frozen dance. He throws her back onto the desk and her body lands on the alarm button. At once there’s a repeat of the smoke alarm, bells ringing and lights flashing, adding a further nightmarish dimension to the events on stage.
    STYLER: Let her go, you bastard! Let her go!
    But FARQUHAR can barely hear STYLER who is still helpless, squirming in the strait-jacket. FARQUHAR smashes PLIMPTON’s hand against the desk,