Uncaging Alice
Chapter 1: William
The sun was finally set as I slowly paced the hallway of the damp asylum. The floor was a dirty off-white, as if it hadn't been properly cleaned in years, which was slightly amusing as the building was fairly new. At the end of the hall, past the line-up of doors, the wall-length window showed the remaining reds and purples as the sun gave in to the long hours of the day.
Now, it was time to rest. I wish I could.
I had seen many sunsets and sunrises in my years, so I knew basically what to expect. Still, though, twice a day it was as if a higher being showed me a new painting. They were never exactly the same… and this one would have been beautiful had it not been for the iron bars so closely huddled behind the glass.
A small sigh escaped me as I turned and headed back to my starting point: a small desk at the beginning of the wing. There was a small light that sat at the corner, and its radiance barely reached me.
If I had been going my normal speed, I could have worn a path into the floor. But, even though I was alone as usual, I kept the slow gait of a human.
Passing the doors, on my way back to the desk, I could easily check the patients without having to near them. It was simple to pick out the sounds of sleep: shallow breathing, slight snoring, slow heart beat. Everything was fine.
It was almost hard to believe what peaceful characters these humans were at night—because they were completely opposite during the day. I only worked the day during winter seasons when it was overcast outside, for reasons known only to myself.
The day shifts were filled with the chaos of patient's erratic behavior, doctors doing tests, schedules to keep and the wards that made them impossible to adhere to. Personally, I liked keeping the order. It gave me a source of concentration. Anything distracting was good and welcome.
The only thing I hated about the day shift was the company I kept. The nurses who knew everything, saw all, and liked to flaunt it. They mostly kept to themselves, seeing as I was a man, but they didn't know I could hear everything said. The part that truly made it unbearable was the way they smelled.
Ever since I'd been turned almost a century ago, I'd had the ability to smell someone's personality or intentions. When they lied or gossiped, the nauseating stench of mold filled the air. When they were nice to me because they needed something, it was as if someone had made me swallow a sack of sugar—sickly sweet, coating my tongue and throat. Needless to say, this ability was what made it possible for me to be around humans without desiring to drink them dry. If their intentions smelled so rank, what appeal would their tainted blood have for me?
None.
I sat down at the desk. Not tired, but weary of walking the same path over and over. There were papers detailing new patients being admitted in the morning; coming to fill the empty cells in the wing. Nothing exciting, only two, it was a regular occurrence. Too regular.
The asylum was supposed to be for the incurable, and the majority was admitted with the expectation that they were only here for a short time. No one bothered to tell them this was the last stop. Often times, family would return a few days or weeks later to reclaim whoever they had shut away. Most did not need to be here, anyway. They were merely seen as a "problem"… And the asylum was mistakenly seen as a dumping ground "solution". I felt badly for some of them—especially those who were well aware they were completely sane.
But I never got close to any of them. I would never dream of befriending a patient for two reasons: One, if they learned of my gift to smell who a person really was, they would realize I should be in the asylum, caged up in a cell along with them. And two, the innocent always smelled nicer, and I could not allow any chance of a slip-up during a moment of weakness.