Birth date – 24/10/1985
Number – 1624311
Room – 1327
This is a file I am compiling on patient 1624311. This is an accurate report of the interactions with this individual and the events surrounding the above said patient.
I walked up and down the white corridors, waiting for the Chief Director to arrive. He was conducting the necessary routine checks that came with his position; these were essential to keep this place in good condition. He was coming to check on the maximum-security ward I was in charge of. Having only worked here a couple of months I worried, but the squeaking of leather shoes on laminate ruptured my bout of anxiety. I stood up a little straighter and took a deep breath. This was it. I swiped my identity card through the slot, drew back the numerous bolts and pushed the steel door open; we stepped into the single corridor that was reserved for the only most violent, psychotic killers who'd never see the light of day again. We named them the Damned. If God made mistakes, these human beings were at the top of the list. I ushered him down the corridor, to the last door on the right. A simple strip of paper indicated the name of the "patient" and their number. Khun and 1624311. It seemed ill fitting, like a coat that was several sizes too small, it was too normal. I looked in the single circular glass window to see the figure of a man slumped in one of the corners. He wore a straightjacket to prevent him from harming himself or others. The padded room seemed too large for such a small figure, like a cathedral built for a single preacher.
I swiped my card again and opened the door. He didn't move, he probably couldn't considering the amount of sedatives in his medication. I gestured to the Chief Director to enter. He walked slowly up to patient and just when he was about to touch his shoulder, when Ryan Khun burst into life. He jumped to his unsteady feet before falling as the blood rushed to his head. He bounded away on his knees in a desperate flurry into the opposite corner. He stared not at us but through us, with violent anger and a gut-wrenching fear in his eyes. He curled up with his knees as close to his chest as the jacket allowed and he hid his head behind them. He never once made eye contact with his light-green eyes, which, at close inspection were flecked with yellow; his hair was brown and brushed into his eyes if he kept his head still. The chief shook his head as if disappointed and made to leave. I looked back once and met the gaze of Ryan, righteous anger filled his eyes as if his very soul was rebelling against his condition, and he redirected it to the Chief Director as he left and he spat out two words with as much venom as his cracked lips could muster " Cyrus Kriticos".
The Director stopped and spun round, hate obvious in his eyes, his upper lip curled in disgust. I thought he was going to hit him and I readied myself to stop him, but no. He just turned again and left the room. I walked out of the room feeling the burning gaze of one of the Damned returned to my back as I crossed the threshold. We walked back along the corridor and I shut the massive door, re-bolted it and followed the Chief back out of the basement in which the maximum-security unit was situated. I jogged slightly to keep up with his determined stride. I went with him until he reached his office and he went in, slamming the door in my face. I wandered away back to my own office; there was no work to be done so I decided to take a detour to the archives. I reached them and flipped the switch on the main computer. I had a notion and typed in the name Ryan Khun. There were 2 hits, one for 2006 and one for 1901. I went onto the older one and watched as a list of symptoms, conditions and his Doctors logbook. They were identical to the man's record I was familiar with. The treatments were horrific to say the least; electrocution, flogging, beatings, starvation and even a solid iron cage was placed on his head permanently.
It was horrific to read, trying to imagine what it must feel like to go through that. Finally he died in a fire that ravaged the old asylum, his body was never found. I stood and walked the length of the room; this seemed too much of a coincidence. Was resurrection possible?
I think the lack of coffee and sleep was affecting my mind, conspiracies involving resurrection, tortured patients and my boss! I think it was definitely affecting my head. I decided to pay Ryan an unscheduled visit anyway.
I walked down and reopened the door for the second time that night and hurried to 1327, opened it and slid inside. Ryan was sitting in the corner rocking back and forward staring at the ceiling with a yearning expression on his face, I sometimes wished they could see the stars at night but then I remember what they'd done to deserve this and my conscious shuts up.
He didn't acknowledge my presence until I coughed; he turned his head and stared at me sadly instead. His mood thoroughly disturbed me, on his file it said he was aggressive, volatile and not to be approached unarmed, which was exactly what I was. Damn the coffee to hell.
His eyes changed, it was like someone else was moulded inside him and it kept flicking back and forth between them. They had been green, now they were more of a grey and his face almost cracked as a leering grin spread across his face. He stared at me and almost jumped to his feet but something stopped him, grounded him there. His whole face fuzzed slightly and turned back to the sad expression and solemn green eyes. His whole frame shook, his eyes squeezed together and perspiration broke out along his forehead, he was in obvious pain. Suddenly, scars opened up across his face and what had once been his fingers, now more like claws, cut through the material of his straightjacket. Every fibre in my body was screaming to escape but I was fascinated by this surreal transformation, it was like a modern day Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The spell of enchantment was broken when he made a move to fly at me, I got the hell out of there and slammed the door behind me just in time to hear him smash into it. I hurried away and tried to forget what I'd seen. Maybe I needed a room of my own here.
The next day I sat in my office, contemplating whether to start my awaiting paperwork or not, when the phone rang, its ring a continuous and high tone annoyed the hell out of me but when I did eventually answer it, it was replaced by an even more annoying shrill nasal voice, I almost hung up before I heard the message. The Chief Director wanted to see me in his office, immediately.
I walked briskly up the stairs, trying hard not to worry as my mind created various scenarios each more disturbing than the last.
I shuffled to the glass-panelled door, knocked sharply rapping my knuckles against the glass before opening the door, walking through and closing it behind me. What greeted me still manages to chill me to the core. My boss, Mr Kriticos, the most feared man in the entire asylum including all the patients, stood holding a young man by the throat. The man's face donned glasses, which reminded me of a scientist in a clean room, he wore a black suit, a crimson shirt and his blue eyes were almost yelling at me as they turned red, his blood splattered lips remained pursed in effort but silent, yet I heard a sentence echo through the air. "I've been looking for a reason to like myself for a long time". I inhaled, ready to scream but as soon as I was ready the whole scene changed. The young man had disappeared and Cyrus was sitting behind his oak desk scratching away at his paperwork, the work I'd been neglecting. I stood gaping until he looked and coughed, snapping me out of my horrified trance. I managed to splutter out an excuse of feeling unwell before the room spun and everything turned to black.
I awoke in a hospital bed with a concerned looking nurse hovering at my bedside. She began to explain what had happened but before she could finish I felt the sick rising in my throat. She rushed over and took my hand, pain exploded in my head and I snatched it away before vomiting onto the linoleum floor. The last thing I remember before passing out again is Cyrus standing in the doorway with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
I awoke once more in the same bed but minus the nurse. Cyrus, a man I was beginning to loathe in every way possible for very few reasons, replaced her. He stood with a thin coat of concern masking his monumental greed, but for what I'm unsure. He seemed to be talking but I couldn't understand a word of it, all I could hear was a low buzz as if a radio had been tuned between two stations and plugged into my ears.