A/N: All right people, here we go.
This idea's been floating around in my head for a little while, and for the first time in my seven years of writing, I have no actual outline or plan on how I want it to go. I'm just going to go where my mind and fingers take me.
Warning: This will be pretty graphic; strong language, mature themes, child in danger, psychological warfare, sexual subjects, etc. This story is definitely not for the faint of heart. Know that something you are opposed to will probably be exploited and displayed. I apologize in advance for my twisted mind. But simultaneously, I am powerless to the characters that invade and dominate it. I think some of you will understand.
A'right, on with the show.
. . . . .
Silence fell for the first time in a long time, interrupted by the singular lamp squeaking quietly as it swung back and forth over my head. The solitary beam of light flashed about the room as the lamp swung, illuminating the filthy room.
On the walls were smears of blood and stains of years past. The tile beneath my bared feet was grimy, squishing lightly between my toes as I walked around. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the room – a single desk with many dents, scratches, and divots in it, a wooden chair with wheels, and a small cot in the corner.
But it wasn't the furniture that interested me. It was what was on the floor chained to the desk that I cared about.
The child shook, his face turned away from me; as if not seeing me would make me somehow disappear.
How childish.
How perfect.
It was what I wanted after all. A child – an innocent, frightened child. Not for company, of course – but for an experiment.
The boy whimpered, his blond hair caked with the grime from the floor. What would be the trial today? Perhaps another fistfight? Pain resistance exercise? Starvation? Emotional abuse? Perhaps…introduce something new?
Damaging a child sexually was something I never delighted doing. I didn't like hurting them at all, really. But my insatiable curiosity was enough to drive me mad.
I just wanted to see…to know…
"Shh," I hissed, the sound flying out of my mouth before I could decide what to say. The child's whimpering was grating on my nerves.
"I w-wanna go h-h-home…" he said with a shaking voice.
I gave a gentle smile, beginning my torture. I touched his cheek with my fingertips carefully, smoothing some of the grime from his skin. "You'll go home soon; I promise." I said with a reassuring tone. "This will all go away…you won't be able to remember this. Things will be okay."
Liar.
My mind snarled at itself. The words were not my own, but were spoken to me a very long time ago.
He was a liar, too.
The boy looked up at me – Jesse, I think his name was. It didn't matter.
I smoothed some of his hair off of his forehead, and then stood. He watched me with wide eyes as I wandered to the other side of the desk, opening the drawer, sifting through it. The only contents of the desk were instruments of torture. I quirked my lips to the side as I contemplated which tool to use.
I finally selected a tongue-press. I spun the small handle on the side for my own brief amusement, before lifting it for the boy to see. He gasped, and then tried to scramble away.
"No!" he cried, new tears welling in his eyes from the fear of the inevitable pain.
"It is said that children are among the most resilient creatures upon the earth," I began, speaking more to myself rather than to the boy. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"
Of course, I had already tested it several times, but I had learned through trial and error that every child was different. Once I had my result, I let them go. The location of their release was my choice.
The boy screamed, kicking his feet at me. I only chuckled, shoving him down onto his back and sitting on his legs. He turned his head side-to-side, desperate to avoid the attachment I was trying to clasp onto his tongue. He screamed a high and piercing shriek.
I was in my zone – I was focused.
So focused, in fact, that I did not hear the door being kicked in behind me.
I was pulled from my concentration by a hand in my hair, pulling me roughly from my position. I let out a grunt of surprise, my hand flying up to grab the vice.
Radio garble filled the air, along with shouts from gruff-sounding men. A light blinded me – one of them had a beam shining me right in the face. I narrowed my eyes and tried to cover them.
At last, they found me.
I wondered if they were ever going to piece together my location. It had taken them long enough; I almost became sloppy just to give them more hints.
Finally…I can be stopped.
"We've got you, you piece of shit." The man holding my hair sneered. I didn't fight, I merely stared back.
"Jesus, she's just a kid." Another one across the room remarked.
I took offense to that statement. I was not a "kid"; I was a young lady – seventeen and old enough to make my own decisions.
Obviously.
"Get him out of here." The first voice said again. The little boy sobbed openly as he was taken from the room. "Were you going to kill him? Tell me, bitch."
I only smirked. Well, if he was going to be rude, he didn't deserve a response.
I was flipped violently onto my belly as my body was restrained in every way possible. I had to be carried out because I could not walk. My legs were bound together at the hip, knee, and ankle, and many straps and chains wrapped around my arms, binding me to myself like a pharaoh of old.
I didn't want to resist, anyway. I merely hoped that they wouldn't use excessive force if I did not fight.
I didn't take well to physicality. A simple "would you please?" would work fantastic, thank you.
Soon, I was masked – blind to the world. The hood they used smelled like the last unfortunate inhabitant. No doubt some slime ball from the prison being transported elsewhere. To their death, maybe? It stank of oral hygiene neglect and hate.
An engine roared to life beneath me, and my body jerked as it surged forward. Silence fell back down, soothing me. If you weren't going to fill the air with something constructive, then it was better to fill it with nothing. I loathed oxygen thieves.
I was not sure how much time had passed, but we soon came to a halt. The men lifted me and carried me roughly from the vehicle.
The hood muffled all of the sounds around me. There were voices, one deeper than the others.
"God, she must have put up a helluva fight…"
I rolled my eyes, but also smirked. This was entertaining.
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Put her in a holding cell for tonight, and then transport her to Chilton's facility in the morning."
"Not prison?"
"Hell, no. This bitch is insane. Besides, Chilton has dibs."
Ah. Dr. Frederick Chilton – the pompous psychiatrist that was always in the newspaper for something about his extremely controversial facility. It was said that he was incompetent, and that his facility was inhumane.
And the best part?
It was about to be my indefinite home.
. . . . .
Once the hood was removed, I was much calmer. I was even able to fall asleep on the stone floor of the holding cell. My temporary cell-mate hogged the cot. She had arrived before me, dressed like an inexperienced hooker. Her most noticeable trait was her smell – cheap bourbon and cigarette smoke.
Truth be told, she was welcome to the bench. I was content on the cool floor. The cold was bracing. It lulled me to sleep better than the cot back at my hideaway could. I'd made the perfect lair in the bathroom of an abandoned metro station. All of the stalls and porcelain products had been removed, leaving an open and tiled space.
She was still asleep when I awoke. My thoughts were clearer, and it struck me how idiotic it truly was to put me in a cell with another living person considering what I'd done. Either they didn't have another choice, or they didn't care about the misguided soul that slept next to me. They were lucky; I didn't care for anyone older than twelve.
For my experiments, anyway.
Shortly after, the door to my cell swung open, the high-pitched squeak of the metal stabbing at my nerves. I gritted my teeth.
"You. Come out now."
I obeyed, doing exactly as the officer said.
"To where am I being taken, officer?" I asked contritely, feigning ignorance.
He didn't answer me – instead, he cuffed my hands behind my back and grabbed my upper arm in a vice-tight grip. I pretended that it didn't hurt, but truth be told, it very well did. I'd be bruised by the afternoon.
He moved me through the county jail – in obvious need of additional funding – and outside to an armored van. Inside were two men with high-powered rifles.
A little extreme, don't you think? It is not as if I was a mass murderer. In fact, I hadn't killed a single child.
Once I secured back inside, the van began to move. The men watched me with unblinking eyes. I sat unthreateningly in my designated place, crossing my legs and resting my head back against the steel wall. I was tempted to suddenly twitch to frighten them, but laziness prevailed, and I kept my stillness.
There were no windows in the van, and no indication of where we were. I estimated that Chilton's facility was roughly forty-five minutes from the jail, but with the speed we were traveling at, it would be more like an hour.
I wasn't sure why I was playing this game with myself. I had no indicator of what time we left, nor of what time we arrived.
Just something to do, I suppose.
The van doors opened, revealing three men in white hospital scrubs. The two men on the outside were white and had surly looks on their faces. The one in the middle was black, but looked friendly. His name-tag read "Barney".
"Does she require sedatives?" The man on the right asked, brandishing a syringe from his pocket with a cap on the needle.
"She looks quite calm to me." Barney said, giving me a polite smile. "Are you ready to come inside with us?"
I blinked, hiding my surprise at his kindness. I gave a nod, moving when the officer behind me gripped my arm again in the same place and ushered me out.
The interior of the facility was crisp and clean, but there were no cells in sight. I doubted my padded cell would match the cleanliness of the lobby.
My suspicions were soon confirmed as we descended a few flights of stairs. With every passing level, my surroundings became more and more dark. The walls looked as though the paint was peeling stone, not the other way around.
Soon, I was led down a corridor with only a few overhanging lights, approaching a small lit cubicle at the end. The cubicle was surrounded by glass, and a man sat inside with unmistakable bilirubin and coifed hair.
Dr. Chilton lifted his head, and eyed me in surprise.
"Who is this lovely young specimen?"
"The one who's been torturing all those little kids. She didn't match the FBI profile like we thought."
So I was supposed to be some middle-aged white male with a bald spot and thin build? I chuckled inwardly to myself, keeping my face neutral.
"Really!" Dr. Chilton stood, setting his ballpoint pen down. He walked around to the door of the cubicle and came out, standing right in front of me. I thought this was rather foolish. He knew nothing about me. How did he know I wouldn't try to head-butt, spit, or attack him?
What an idiot. My opinion of this man was already mediocre.
"I cannot wait to get inside your head. We'll schedule our first session tomorrow." He grinned a cheeky sort of grin, not one that was reassuring or nice at all. I briefly noticed a little piece of parsley between his canine and incisor.
"Let's get you registered." Barney said from behind me, walking around to enter the cubicle. I was shoved to sit down in the chair across from the desk. Barney took out a manila folder and clicked a pen, looking up at me.
"Let's start with your name."
I didn't answer right away, looking behind me at the two men dressed in SWAT uniforms, the officer from the jail, and the two orderlies. Dr. Chilton leaned against the wall with a little smirk, his hands folded across himself with his palms in his armpits.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Barney asked, sounding genuine.
I narrowed my eyes in thought. Barney seemed harmless enough. Though I don't trust anyone, he seemed most likely to receive my compliance.
"Yes."
"What can I do to fix that?"
I didn't say anything, but instead, tapped the metal of the cuffs with my fingertips behind my back.
"Do you want to be uncuffed?"
Dr. Chilton spoke from behind me.
"Why don't we get her a pedicure and hot towel while we're at it?"
I narrowed my eyes in a flash of uncontrollable anger, Barney being the only one to see it.
"She doesn't appear to be a high-level threat, doctor. If she is, we can have her under control quickly." He said, gesturing to the men surrounding me. Dr. Chilton made a huffing sound, and I heard his clothing ruffle quietly.
"Yes, I would like to be uncuffed. A little girl like me couldn't possibly be a threat when she's at such a disadvantage, wouldn't you say?" I said evenly, turning slowly to look at Chilton. I made an effort to look straight into his eyes, hoping my blatant dislike for him would show.
"I think that would be all right. Do you have any objections, doctor?"
Dr. Chilton only tightened his lips. I hid a smile as my tactic worked.
I'd given a challenge, and he accepted it. He wanted to see if I could control myself. If I couldn't, it would give him an excuse to have me strait-jacketed for the rest of my life. He knew it, and so did I. I couldn't wait to show him up.
"Uncuff her."
The officer next to me scoffed, probably thinking that we were all idiots – and obviously missing the deeper meaning of everything that just happened – then inserted the key into the handcuffs, unlocking them. I slid my hands around myself and into my lap, twining my fingers together. Barney gave me a little smile.
"What is your name?"
"Magdalene, but I like to be called 'Maggie'."
"That's a pretty name."
"I hate it."
"Last name?"
"I don't know."
Barney scribbled down a note longer than what I'd said. I could feel Dr. Chilton getting more excited to interrogate me.
"Do you have a preferred last name?"
"Names are something our parents give us to be recognized by society and specify the receiver of an electrical bill in the mail, but otherwise, they hold no other value. They are not unique or valuable. A name can easily be washed away and replaced by something else such as a title or a reputation. To answer your query – no, I do not have a preferred last name."
Barney gave a hesitant little nod, not writing anything.
"Do you have a pre-existing criminal record?"
"No,"
"Do you have a next of kin?"
"No,"
"Do you have any outstanding medical conditions that we need to be aware of?"
I understood the point of the question, but I couldn't help but chuckle. The sound was rough against the back of my throat.
"Other than the fact that I'm sitting in the basement of a sanitarium? No."
"No asthma, allergies, digestive/breathing disorders, etc.?"
I was silent, implying yet another "no".
Barney scribbled down words on the chart, closing the folder.
"You'll be scheduled for a physical over the next few days. If you are taking medications, we need to know. I suppose you are not…?"
I gave a little smile, giving another silent "no".
Barney stood, tucking the file folder away into the front desk drawer.
"All right, I think we're ready to move you in. Let's go."
He took a ring of keys out of his pocket, and then walked out of the office. He walked straight past me, and down the corridor opposite of the stairs. The officer next to me looked at me with daggers in his eyes. I stood obediently, walking calmly and steadily down the corridor after Barney. Barney reached the end long before I did, unlocking a barred cell door and holding it open. I looked to my left, seeing a row of cells.
The first one looked to be under construction; plastic blocked the doorway. The second one held a silent, older man. He looked at me sullenly from above his filthy, straggly beard. He muttered to himself as I passed. The third cell held a younger man with dark hair, scrambling around like a monkey in its tree-cage at the zoo. He pressed himself up against the bars and hissed at me, then thrusted his pelvis toward me, letting out a whorish moan.
It startled me, but I was otherwise unshaken. Sex never held any appeal for me.
The cell right before mine wasn't barred, like the others. It had Plexiglas in front of it, with holes drilled at the top. The man inside was in stark contrast from the rest. His blue jumpsuit was clean and pressed, and the inside of his cell was cleaner than the entire facility. He sat on the edge of his bed, with his ankles crossed, holding a sketch pad and piece of charcoal. As I entered into his sightline, he lifted his head, turning it slowly, as if rehearsed. His eyes were what caught my attention.
They were maroon.
My pace slowed as I looked at the bizarre man. I was drawn to him like one would be drawn to an intricate painting, rather than a freakish five-legged dog like the other cells.
The man gave me a smile, one that made his eyes glimmer.
A sharp jab in the back caused me to stumble forward. Apparently, I was walking too slowly for the officer. Or perhaps I stopped completely, I couldn't be sure.
The man watched me as I walked away, until I could see him no longer. I walked straight into the cell, and heard the door close behind me. I looked to my left, seeing a window.
I paused, surprised that there was an actual window in my cell. It was linked with the man next to me. It was Plexiglas, and had no holes in it.
The rest of my cell was minimal. A metal sink, toilet, tiny cabinet, and a cot, strikingly similar to the one back in my tiled lair. The walls were bare, and cold.
"If you need anything, just shout. I'm here all the time." Barney said behind me. I turned my head only to give him a look of acknowledgement, before turning away to look at the bared walls again. I heard the men walking away, the telltale sound of their ridiculous SWAT armor clanging against themselves being a good indicator. The door of the class cubicle closed, leaving me finally – and resoundingly – alone.
Well…somewhat.
I turned my head to the window again, and saw the maroon-eyed man looking at me through our adjoined window. I stood still for several moments, trying to decide how to approach him. Try to intimidate? Downplay my intelligence? Seek a companion? Or make him my bitch?
Just before I opened my mouth to speak, he spoke instead.
"Good morning."
All right, he's polite.
"Good morning." I replied, matching his tone. "I must say, I'm surprised that we have a little connecting space, here." I walked toward the Plexiglas window, tapping it with my fingernail. "I would think it a security hazard."
"One would think that – but it was an architectural flaw. They did not plan to have this here, I do not think. Then again…my cell was the last one on the row for many years. I assumed a new patient would be moved into the furthermost cell from me. The one undergoing repairs."
Mmm. I digested the information, looking at the man with contemplative eyes.
"Forgive me for being rude; my name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter." He stood from his bed then, walking toward the glass in a way that did not sway his body, like a normal person walking down the street. It was almost as if he was on something that moved, like a skateboard. He came to a stop in front of the glass. "And your name?"
"Maggie." I replied automatically. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Under such circumstances, I shall say the same. I usually do not get an intelligent neighbor."
"I'm only glad that you're not a sexual deviant like capuchin monkey on your other side."
He chortled quietly. "Oh, yes; I think we will be great friends."
I gave a little smile, my eyes going to the walls of his cell. They were covered in sketches, and they were beautiful works of art.
He noticed me looking at them, and he spoke without looking away from me. "Do you like my drawings?"
"They're lovely. I wish I could draw."
"Can you not?"
"Oh, no; I label my stick figures. My talent lies in writing and analytic thought."
"We shall have to have a discussion, then." He gave a little smirk, looking almost childlike.
Silence descended upon the room, making the situation slightly awkward. "So…doctor, eh?"
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"Psychology."
Oh, great.
He read the look of dread on my face, and then chuckled. "You needn't worry; I will not use your weaknesses against you."
I scoffed. "I don't have any weaknesses."
Liar.
His lips curled into an austere smile. He knew I was lying.
Shit.
There was an unspoken conversation between us then. He knew that he was superior to me, and that he had me somewhat figured out. Who knew what kind of things he had inferred? The thought was frightening.
I knew, in that moment, that I'd met my match.
A/N: All right…so there we go. I felt surprisingly lost during the entire thing, but I think it turned out okay. Right? Let me know, please.
Loves,
Dani Jones