Chapter One
What Ever Happened to Artemis Fowl?
The one thing they never anticipated would come out of this final mindwipe was the one thing that did. For the last four years, Artemis had lived and breathed the fairy world – everything else was simply mundane necessity. Presenting an oral report in biology class, his mind would be working out the kinks in his latest plan to help Holly with some underworld problem. Having dinner with his parents and their guests, he'd stare into the candle flames while excited, champagne-fueled chatter bounced around him, and perusing the fairy law books stored in his memory, hoping to determine whether, with his new-found magic, he could still be legally termed only a "mudman." Once in a while, and never often enough for Artemis' liking, Holly would visit late at night, and they'd walk deep in his family's gardens, while she told him about all the latest happenings in Haven – even the confidential things she wasn't supposed to share with anyone, and especially not with Artemis, of all people. Lying in bed, his long, black lashes would finally close in sleep, and he'd dream dreams like Waterhouse paintings, and redheaded Holly would feature in every one of them.
For four years, he'dhad no life outside of the fairy world – take that away, and he was like a 12-year-old boy again, but with such a voracious sense of loneliness and loss that it hurt to live. Which was why he'd tried very hard not to. And that was why he'd ended up in a mental hospital – his parents just couldn't deal with the pain of watching him die before their eyes, and they couldn't deal with the mess when he tried to speed the process along. And worst of all, they couldn't understand what had happened to him. They asked him, but if he spoke at all, he'd tell them that nothing had.
Butler stood outside Artemis' room, looking in through the double-paned glass panel on the door, and felt a pain stab through his chest. His breath stopped in his throat.
"Is it really necessary to restrain him like that?" he choked out, every muscle yearning to knock this stupid doctor out, rush in there, and free his best and most faithful friend.
"I'm afraid so," said the doctor, uncomfortably. "We tried simply sedating him heavily, but he managed to swap the dose with bleach somehow – we're still not sure how he managed it – but the night nurse found him white as a sheet not half-an-hour later" – here Butler winced – "so we can't take the risk of leaving him unrestrained anymore."
Butler was somehow red and white all at once – red with rage, white with shock. "How did he get his hands on bleach?" he glowered. He was easily a foot taller than the doctor, and three times his breadth. The doctor took an involuntary step backwards.
"Ah – we're terribly sorry about that, sir," stuttered the doctor, "but we have no idea where he got it from. We've interrogated most of the staff, but they're all as baffled as I am. You know how smart he is – he'd have managed to kill himself long ago if he wasn't so constantly lethargic and unmotivated. And if we don't take precautions, he'll manage it eventually. I've got to tell you, I've never encountered a case quite like this Fowl boy's. From all the accounts of his parents, teachers, and classmates, he'd been completely happy, by all appearances, until the morning of April 11th. Something must have happened that night, because I've never seen anyone experience such a sudden transition. Frankly – and I've seen a lot of really terrible cases, let me tell you – I've never seen anyone so utterly miserable. It's like he has only one thought in his head – to stop living."
The doctor glanced back through the glass of the door, to where Artemis was lying in exactly the same position as before, thick straps pinning down his wrists and ankles, his empty gaze fixed permanently on the ceiling. "I've seen his files," said the doctor, almost in a whisper. "It's such a tragic waste – he would have done amazing things, you can be sure of that. For some reason, it always seems to strike the brilliant ones the worst."
Butler was staring at Artemis, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Can I see him?" he rasped.
"I suppose so, but I doubt he'll even notice you're there," answered the doctor. "At least, he won't show it."
Butler nodded. The doctor tapped a code into the panel, and the door clicked open softly. He held the it open for Butler. "Knock when you want out."
Butler advanced almost reluctantly into the room. He barely noticed the door closing behind him. Every nerve in his body was on full alert, and he felt desperate to be away from here – he couldn't stand to see Artemis so changed. The doctor must be right – something had to have happened to bring about such a stark alteration, but if Artemis knew what it was, he wouldn't, or couldn't, say.
He was beside Artemis's bed now, taking in the tautness of the restraints, the bones which protruded through the blankets, the chalky whiteness of his skin – paler than he'd ever been before, and a paleness of a different sort. He still hadn't looked at Artemis's face yet. He was working himself up to it. Butler was aware that it was going to be a much more acute pain than he'd ever felt – worse even than when he'd took that bullet for Artemis so long ago now. Gradually, purposefully, teeth clenched, he forced his gaze to travel up to Artemis's face – and instantly the tears began to course down Butler's face. He sunk down onto the hard, one-piece plastic chair beside the bed, his massive frame shaking with sobs. He gripped Artemis arm, but would not look into his eyes again. Still, he couldn't get them out of his mind – such emptiness he'd never seen before, not even in the dead bodies of conquered opponents.
"Oh, Artemis," he wept into the tight, stark white sheet covering the boy. "Whathappened to you Artemis? Why can't you tell me?"
He hadn't for an instant believed Artemis was conscious of his presence, but at that moment, Artemis blinked and turned his vacant blue gaze on Butler. "They don't have a right, Butler," he said hoarsely.
Butler's head snapped up in shock. "Artemis?" he gasped. "What…"
"They don't have a right," Artemis repeated, face expressionless.
"Don't have a right to do what?" stammered Butler, hoping to keep him talking.
"To keep me alive when I want to die. They don't have a right. Help me die, Butler?"
Butler gaped at him, horrified. Artemis eyes were boring into his, but there was still no emotion to be found in them. "Artemis…why do you want to die? If you told me, I might be able to help you."
"You'd help me kill myself?" Artemis's gaze was becoming intent, and Butler was becoming alarmed. He had the sudden, chilling feeling that this boy lying before him, speaking calmly of suicide, was not Artemis at all.
"Artemis, I can't…" Butler trailed off, helplessly.
Artemis' expression slowly morphed into one of rage. His eyes blazed and his chest heaved against the restraint. "HELP ME!!!!" he shrieked, madly.
Butler got up from his chair unsteadily. "No, Artemis, I don't –"
"GET OUT!" screamed Artemis, straining against his restraints, screeching wildly at that top of his lungs. "YOU BASTARD! I HATE YOU!! YOU WERE NEVER MY FRIEND! I HATE YOU!!"
Butler stumbled backwards, watching in horror as Artemis managed to extricate one arm from its restraint and used it tear out clumps of his hair and drag his nails down his face, leaving cuts that instantly began to bleed, all the while shrieking madly. Butler watched in a daze as a team of doctors and nurses came rushing past him into the room, and he backed out the door as quickly as his shaking legs would carry him.
In the hall, he brushed past another doctor who was racing to Artemis' room, syringe case in hand.
Butler leant against the wall. He wept bitterly for some time.