Author's Note: Hello again, kids! Angel of Shadow and Snow, here. I know I've promised this one again and again but FINALLY here it is.
This is the CreepyPasta challenge fic as posed to me by Miss Mollie Cross.
Just again, as per the terms of the challenge:
- This fic will involve romance between a canon pasta character and an OC, (because this is supposedly impossible to do well XD )
-The fic will contain at least one scene of smut, (because you're a pervert, Mollie).
As always, you guys know my writing style. Don't expect it to be cutesy.
This is an 18 and overs fic. Expect swearing, references to nasty things and scenes of a sexual nature.
ALSO, this is a CreepyPasta fic and fittingly, it's going to get scary.
The universe that this is set in, was originally created by the utterly amazing and very talented Mr David Near: [link]. Please check him out!
This fantastic scene of his [link], inspired the fic. It's incredibly good and I definitely guarantee giving it a listen before you read this piece.
Just as David does, I'll be using the surname "Keaton" instead of "Woods" for Liu and Jeff. If you don't like this canon, you don't have to read it.
Other than that, enjoy!
Prelude
Christine McKellan was the girl who chased the clouds above her head, despite being bound to the cold concrete that stretched beneath her feet.
Her eyes would hungrily seek the slivers of wispy white and grey that marred the burning cerulean sky and with lungs, heavy with envy and exhaustion- the child of the earth would run.
It didn't matter how fast or how far she'd have to run; she'd chase them anyway.
She'd chase them until her legs ached and her heart was ready to give out.
The sad thing about Christine McKellan was that if, one fateful day, she managed to catch a cloud- feeling the soft sinews of suspended water brushing against her fingertips- she would only realise that her chasing had been in vain.
She would realise that the cloud was nothing more than a hazy blend of water, light and air and that it would disappear as soon as it met with her earth-shackled skin.
Disappointment and despair would wash over her in a dual wave, causing her body to tremble.
And then the hollow realisation would come upon her.
Why was she so disappointed?
Why had she been chasing clouds in the first place?
Would she really have known what to do with one, should she have caught one?
Part One: The Doctor
It had been just about two years since Doctor Taylor's death and still, tension reigned amongst the staff members.
The last one had only lasted about four days and he had supposedly been an expert.
In fact, Greene had been nationally revered for his work in the field of Dissociative Personality Disorder and had come through those fateful beige and silver-lined doors with high recommendations behind his name.
"He made a fatal mistake. The fatal mistake," Doctor Eustace Johnson had decided, after three days of filing new police reports and filling out new medical prescriptions. "He focused too much on the dominant personality. The biased personality. We need evidence and testimonies based on the patient's lifelong experience...not the hate-fuelled opinions of an ephemeral defence mechanism…"
With this theory in mind, Johnson had made the decision to send the new one in.
Many of the staff thought that it was too early- especially the orderlies who had catered for the patient in question for the last three years. They had seen the fitful attacks of terror that forced him from sleep at night. They had watched him sit, solitary, by the only window in his bedroom- a book in his trembling hands but his eyes firmly latched on world outside.
They had felt the brunt of his rage.
The rage that had for so many years, sat untested, unsatisfied and unmatched by any other patient at Smyth's Grove.
The higher-ups firmly disagreed.
They thought that things were moving along far too slowly.
There were other reasons- greater reasons- why the patient's progress had to be furthered.
There were murmurs in and out of the board room that SCP had gotten involved.
They knew very little about SCP and its inner-workings- but what they did know for certain was that if SCP gave an order, it was in your best interests to comply with whatever they wanted.
There had been exactly seven doctors since Taylor.
The luckier ones had refused to speak to the patient again after just one session while the gravely unlucky ones had been persistent enough to meet their end at his hands.
Johnson was sick of arranging and attending funerals.
One lone patient out of over two hundred was managing to single-handedly soil the name and reputation of the mental healthcare facility that he had spent just about three decades trying to build up.
Deciding to try a new strategy, the head practitioner picked up the phone and scheduled the next session.
Starting afresh was going to be difficult but with the number of important people breathing down his neck, it had to be done.
The "fresh start" was set to commence on the following Monday morning.
Local weather services had predicted showers and low temperatures.
As far as most of the security staff at Smyth's Grove were concerned, local weather services had made a fucking understatement.
"Son of a bitch," Mike Ainsely grunted, pulling the front-door entrance shut and wincing. "Fucking rain's going to fucking keep pouring all day and we're not going to be able to take 'em into the yard this afternoon."
His eyes narrowed as he looked out at the verifiable typhoon that raged against the walls of the facility.
"Is that such a tragedy?" Lee Rhodes snorted, throwing the security monitor an absent-minded glance. "I didn't think you took such pleasure in taking maniacs for a walk…"
Ainsely opened the door a fraction, flicking his cigarette-butt out into the squall before slamming it shut again. "You lazy shits down here on the ground floor don't know what those fucking freaks are like when they don't get their daily dose of fresh air. They get fucking weirder than usual. Some spit. Some bite. All of 'em threaten…and we're not allowed to jab 'em or restrain 'em anymore. Gotta use words. Gotta talk. Apparently it's "infringing their human rights" to do it any other way…fucking hippies…"
"What are you doing down here anyway?" Rhodes queried, cocking an eyebrow. "Down amongst us, ground-floor-shits? Shouldn't you be wiping some schizophrenic's ass right now?"
"New doctor is coming in today," Ainsely muttered, checking his clipboard. "I've gotta escort him upstairs. Make sure that he heads straight to the briefing room without any detours. Johnson's orders."
"New doctor?"
A question hung in the air between them.
Rhodes looked up at Ainsely from where he sat, his eyebrows slowly raising up into a thick crop of copper-coloured hair.
Asking.
Ainsley gave the faintest trace of a nod, barely inclining his chin.
Answering.
This wasn't just a new doctor.
This was the new doctor.
Rhodes coughed in understanding, breaking their gaze and looking out into the rain with a grimace.
"Well, I wouldn't trade places with whoever this poor bastard is. That's getting heavier out there…"
Ainsely waited with thawing patience for another ten minutes or so as the storm raged and the winds shrieked through the bars of the outer gates and just when he was about to swear, slouch and slink his way back to his daily duties, the front-entrance door swung shakily open.
A woman stumbled over the threshold, partly skidding on the tiles in a pair of imitation Armani heels.
Her plum-streaked and red tinged hands scrabbled to find purchase along the sides of the fibre-glass doors, trying to force them shut.
Sacrificing her black leather briefcase and letting it fall to the floor, she managed to coerce the entrance into closing. She coughed up a mouthful of her own unrestrained, ropey hair, shuddering as the freed tendrils suddenly clung to her slickened neck.
Gathering herself, she straightened up slowly and pivoted on the spot to face the two, rather high-browed men at her back.
"H-Hello," she spluttered, making the best attempt at a smile that she could manage despite her rapidly running make-up. "I'm here to see Doctor Johnson…if you could point me in his direction…I'd be, uh, I'd be pretty grateful…"
Rhodes was in the process of looking her up and down, eyeing the darkened rat's tails that now formed her hair- all the way down to the splattered black-felt heels on her feet. He made a noise that could have either been a snort of mirth or a cough and nodded towards Ainsely.
"That's your department, Mike."
"Got an ID card?" the appointed orderly asked the half-drowned woman with unashamed, widened eyes.
"Ah…yes, I do…"
She stooped, once again amidst Rhode's ambiguous chuckling/coughing, clumsily fumbling around in her briefcase.
Rhodes tilted his head to the side, his lips still curled in amusement.
"So, did you just forget to shower this morning and figured a little run in the rain could do the job for free or-?"
"Well, I had to park around the corner from here. The car-park entrance has a barrier and I don't know the code for it yet…"
"Ah, I see. Too bad for you, I suppose."
After just about five silent minutes of her scrabbling, Ainsely was fast becoming impatient.
"Just what are you hear to see Johnson about? Visitation of staff isn't allowed outside of lunch-hours."
"Oh…ah, I'm not here to visit," the young woman informed him, wobbling violently in her squatting position and drawing herself back up to full height, laminated card in hand. "I'm here as a member of part-time staff."
Without missing a beat, Ainsely took the card from her, his eyes instantly zipping down to the area of the facility that she'd be working in.
The woman wiped a hanging clot of mascara from her eye, wincing as she did so and the orderly took that as an opportunity to exchange a quick but knowing look with Rhodes.
"Yeah. This is the one, alright."
She coughed slightly, straightening her sleeves and adding, (seemingly mistaking the men's silence for confusion): "I'm Liu Keaton's new psychiatrist..."
Completely unaware that such an occupation at Smyth's Grove was considered synonymous with the words "corpse-to-be", the woman took her card back from Ainsely and let him lead her upstairs.
"On wet days, you'll wanna take the fucking elevator," he told her gruffly, not bothering to wait for her to stagger up the tiled steps in her heels. "The rain makes'em fucking weird. Even the quiet ones go a little batshit."
He showed her to the aforementioned lift, pressing the appropriate buttons but not following her into the small compartment.
"Uh…my area of placement is floor number seven…" she stammered, noticing the illuminated figure five on the button panel.
"Yeah but Johnson's office is on the fifth floor. You've gotta fucking check in with him, ain't ya?"
The woman nodded, leaning against the railing behind her and feeling the moisture of her own palms cloud the metal. She felt childish for flinching but it had been quite a while since anyone had spoken to her with such coarse language.
"Feels like freshman year," she couldn't help but think as the doors started to close, only to be stopped sharply by Ainsely's hand.
The orderly stared at her for a moment, eliciting a quizzical look from woman in return.
He marked the unmarred glint in her eyes.
Surrounded by clouds of smudged mascara and streaks of eye-liner, the soft, azure irises were unassuming…unperturbed…innocent, even.
She hadn't seen enough yet.
She didn't know enough yet.
"Is something wrong?" she asked him, her tone polite but her voice stilted by confusion.
Ainsely paused for a moment, his tongue roaming his mouth as he considered what he was going to tell her before he simply said: "There's a bathroom at the end of the hall on the fifth floor. You're gonna wanna stop in there to clean yourself up a bit before you go anywhere near Johnson's office…the fucker's a sticker for appearances…"
Before she could offer any kind of gratitude in return for the impromptu "advice", Ainsely allowed the doors to shut and was gone from her line of sight.
Christine McKellan jumped slightly as the elevator whirred to life, starting to move upward.
She placed a hand over her chest, over the damp, white, cotton of her blouse and tried to steady herself.
"Relax Chris, you're not even halfway through this yet…"
Her eyes found themselves locking on to the metallic doors in front of her, staring at her own blurry reflection as she tried to retain some form of composure.
How had she even gotten there?
As the doors slowly opened, revealing a hallway –partially bleached in the whites of fluorescent lighting, she slowly walked out of the elevator.
The phone call had been completely out of the blue.
She found the bathroom that Ainsely had mentioned and had to do a double-take when she saw the absolutely dire state of the woman in the mirror in front of her.
Boyce Reddin had apparently been the one who recommended her to Johnson.
She hadn't spoken to Reddin in over two years.
She had no idea why he would have given Johnson her name.
She hastily rootled through her briefcase for her powder compact, plastic hairbrush and bottle of foundation make-up, taking note of the time on her phone. Technically she wasn't late.
Technically, she had three more minutes before she had to meet the head of the facility.
She wasn't a criminologist and her brushes with abnormal psychology were fairly minimal. Sure, she had worked with troubled kids before but…none of them had ever murdered any of their previous doctors.
Her face (somewhat) reassembled and her hair brushed into submission once more, McKellan looked into the soap-spattered mirror, giving herself the usual mental pep-talk that she treated herself to before every new job.
Before every new patient.
He promised her that the pay would be good. He had also promised her that her safety would be prioritised.
How was she supposed to say no? Travis had been particularly insistent that she take the job.
This was all part of the plan, after all.
"All part of the plan," McKellan reminded herself aloud, shutting the bathroom door behind her. "This is all part of the plan…"
She had never been stationed at such a large mental health facility before, nor one as prestigious.
She could only guess that the hallway she currently walked was a reserved area for administrative staff.
McKellan was willing to put money on the notion that this was the area for the highest ranking members of staff.
You could always tell what degree of residence was in an area by the noise-level.
The lowest levels of employment made lots of noise.
Lots of chatter.
Lots of laughing.
Lots of shouting.
The highest levels always sat in corridors and offices that were stony silent.
Why was there any need to chat or to laugh? Humans socialise for the contact of other humans. Human contact leads to self-confidence. Self-confidence leads to tenacity. Tenacity leads to personal gain.
These ones had gained everything that they needed to gain.
Dr Johnson's office wasn't particularly hard to find.
Her knuckles had barely grazed the surface of the door when it suddenly swung open, Eustace Johnson's ashen face greeting her on the other side.
"Ah, Dr McKellan, I presume?"
She nodded, offering her hand and shaking his.
His skin reminded her of thrift shop leather- weather-beaten, wrinkled and cold to the touch.
His fingertips were also calloused; he'd probably been doing a lot of typing lately.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, at long last."
"The pleasure's all mine. Please come inside. Have a seat. Would you like me to send for coffee? Tea?"
"No…no, thank you. I'm fine."
McKellan desperately tried to hold back a shiver, reminded of the media flurry the last doctor's death had caused. She could only imagine the amount of paperwork that Johnson had been forced to trudge through following the event.
The death of a staff member could hardly be considered something that could easily be swept under the rug.
If he had been either very busy or frantic in the last few days, however, his office did not quite betray this fact. Quite to the contrary, the room was both neat and organised and a lot warmer than McKellan would have initially guessed.
"So you've read all the paperwork then? You know what you'll be dealing with?"
"Yes, I've gone through all the files. I've worked with patients who suffer from Dissociative Personality Disorder before. Granted, they've been much younger than the patient in question and their trauma has been a lot less…physical, in its manifestations but I don't think that's going to be an issue…if…the safety precautions you mentioned have been implemented."
"The patient will be restrained at all times. The room will be monitored by a live guard with camera surveillance at all times. Help is just the press of a button away." Johnson folded his hands. "I'll also be observing your first three sessions…just as another precaution…" He pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Not every doctor is suited to this type of work and this type of patient, so don't take it too personally if you…for some reason or another…must be dismissed. At the end of the day, it's all for your safety and…as your original contract stated, you will be paid in full, regardless."
McKellan nodded slowly. "Uh…how many sessions in total will I be taking with the patient? Assuming that I'm…suited."
"The standard for all part time staff is seven sessions…and anything after that will be considered surplus and paid for accordingly." Johnson appeared to be searching for something in the drawers of his desk. "Dr McKellan…you are aware that we're working towards a sort of goal with this patient, yes?"
"A goal?" McKellan blinked, sitting back into the seat and racking her brains for any allusions that Reddin may have made to such a thing. "Well…at the end of the day…I know that the priority is always the patient's well-being and restoring Liu Keaton to higher-order functioning is-…"
"Liu Keaton, at this time, is not actually our primary figure of interest," Johnson told her sharply, pulling a sheet of paper forth from the files by his lap. "As unusual as it sounds, Liu's therapy at this point in time is actually part of an ongoing investigation into the motivations of an entirely different figure."
She had already guessed the identity of the individual before his name left Johnson's lips.
"Dr McKellan?" Johnson looked at her over the rim of his glasses. "You've, no doubt, heard of Liu's younger brother Jeffrey Keaton? If you've read Liu's files, you know that the reason he's currently being held in a maximum security prison facility…is the same reason that Liu is currently in our care here in Smyth's Grove."
There were only a small few people in the town Sylton Parkes who didn't know all about the infamous Jeff Keaton and had occurred in the Keaton household on that fateful night.
"So…if the figure of interest is actually Liu's brother…what exactly is the goal that we're working towards with Liu, himself?"
"We've been probing Liu about his brother's motivations for years, ironically only discovering that the older brother has a similar psychosis to the younger- particularly in terms of aggression. Our current hypothesis maintains that there is some form of hereditary psychopathy at play but the extended Keaton family have denied all access to medical records, genetic sampling, family history…and thanks to a team of lawyers, they're virtually untouchable…"
Johnson removed his glasses, polishing them on the lapel of his shirt and speaking as casually as one discussing the outcome of a recent baseball game. "An organisation of interest to us, wishes to identify whether or not Liu is the…" He clicked his tongue against his teeth, briefly musing on his choice of words before speaking again. "…natural killer…that his brother is. If Liu proves to have the same decision-making, reflection and recall priorities as his brother…we may quite possibly have the best case of nature over nurture that the world of psychology has ever seen, at our disposal."
McKellan listened, only partially comprehending what she was being told.
"S-So…I'm providing therapy sessions to this patient…to Liu…so that you can see how similar he is to…Jeffery?"
"In essence, yes," Johnson said smoothly, placing the sheet of paper out on to his desk and producing a pen from the top pocket of his suit jacket. "You'll do this by presenting him with and facilitating various tasks to study his thought processes…similar to the ones you've used with your previous patients…" His gaze flickered to hers, his hazel eyes briefly holding her denim ones. "And our board here would see it necessary that you attempt to establish a kind of rapport with Liu. Boyce Reddin spoke highly of you in that respect, Dr McKellan. He said that you're good at getting patients to… "open up"?"
McKellan's head was already swimming but she managed to nod dumbly, shrugging and adding in a voice that was a little more breathless than she would have like: "Yeah, I guess I am…if Mr Reddin says so."
She cursed herself internally for how childish she became whenever slightly flustered.
Professionalism was difficult enough to feign without drastic slips in the appearance of her maturity.
"And at the end of it all," Johnson declared with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "As you mentioned before, Liu's mental health and its improvements are among our constant motivations behind this research. We view Liu's full recovery as a certain by-product of our investigations into his behavioural similarity to his brother."
"They're using Liu as tool to study Jeffery because one is easier to talk to than the other," McKellan thought, her heart-sinking slightly. "And I'm only a facilitator for your experiments. A glorified moderator."
Johnson pushed the silver-cased pen towards McKellan.
"Mr Keaton is expecting you at eleven but before we go anywhere , I'm going to need to sign something for me. It's just a standard health and safety waiver that we issue all part-time members of staff. Just affirming that you know your rights and responsibilities here, that Smyth's Grove isn't forcing you to do anything against your will, just some legal matters here and there…"
McKellan's eyes traced the page that was placed before her, only barely reading each line of printed text.
Hardly comprehending a single word of what she was agreeing with, she took the pen into her hand and scrawled out a signature underneath.
Her signature was childish, she thought to herself as she scanned back over the page.
From the printed loop of the tallest "K" and the wobbly cross of the "t", it was childish.
Johnson smiled faintly, taking the papers up with speed that McKellan would later recall as being a little unsettling.
"Well now that that's out of the way, Dr McKellan. Shall we head down to the main room?"
She followed in his wake, realising very quickly that it was going to take about five little heeled totters from her to keep up with her newest employer's sweeping strides.
He led her up two flights of stairs, eventually reaching the turn-off to a long, narrow corridor.
It was quite secluded, McKellan quickly noted.
In fact, without having been shown it- she might have walked straight past it.
The corridor was also virtually empty.
Again, McKellan could not see nor hear any other employees or patients of the facility.
"The main dormitories are located on the second, third, fourth and ninth floors of the building," Johnson told her aloud, as though he could sense the question what she was about to ask. "Though one or two of our more…difficult patients are housed in separate rooms in the twelfth floor corridor. Though Smyth's Grove no longer uses solitary confinement techniques, this is the closest thing that we have to that kind of treatment…"
The walls of the corridor were sparsely decorated, white and bare, with almost no adorning furnishings aside from the occasional framed reminder of what floor you were on.
"Your key-card will open any of these doors and each time you use one of the doors here, where and when you used the card will be logged on to our main system," Johnson explained as he swiped his own laminated card across a nearby door handle, an illuminating green light indicating its unlocking. "This is the door that you'll be heading up to every morning. Of course you're welcome to visit the staff canteen on the first floor whenever you'd like but tea and lunch can be ordered up to this lounge too."
He beckoned for her to follow him into a large and surprisingly comfy room with a few couches, tables, a countertop, television and entertainment console.
He directed her to look at a set of flat panel screens on the far wall. "That's where myself and two of the senior practitioners will be monitoring your sessions."
McKellan nodded, swallowing back loudly.
Or at least it must have been a particularly loud swallow because Johnson immediately turned to her with a very forcibly reassuring smile. "It's mainly for your safety. Don't worry. No one is judging your techniques…trust me when I say that you wouldn't be here if your presence wasn't approved. Though, as I said before, this position is not for everyone so any decisions that are made regarding your employment are made for your benefit, Doctor McKellan…"
She tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear, coercing her own lips into a tightly-pressed smile. "I'm absolutely certain of that, Doctor Johnson."
It was practitioners' etiquette to use formal titles upon first meeting- as a kind of mutual acknowledgment of educational achievement- but McKellan had still never felt so awkward in her entire life.
Try as she might, even when Johnson was ushering her to a sofa, offering to bring her tea and constantly reassuring her that there was nothing to be anxious about- the man radiated a kind of aura that McKellan's better judgement could not allow herself to trust.
Sitting back against the leather of the couch, McKellan's eyes found a clock on the wall.
She watched every second tick by with a growing lump in her throat, her fingers constantly running along the seam of her briefcase.
Would it look unprofessional to go through her notes just one more time?
She had memorised them over the last two weeks, spending countless nights awake until the early hours of the morning listening to the tapes of previous sessions. She had planned out this first session numerous times, consulting virtually every other professional source that she could access.
Johnson left her alone, telling her that he needed to make a few last minute arrangements.
With nothing but her thoughts to keep her company, McKellan could feel the nerves that she had tried so hard to suppress starting to come forth from the furthest recesses of her mind.
Warbling fears, writhing and waning, started to crawl from the pit of her stomach, up through her throat and they festered in her barren-dry mouth…
She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her forehead resting upon her hands.
Her thoughts began to dart and discourse like distant voices.
"It's almost eleven. In less than five minutes, I'll be sitting in a room with him…Are they going to bring him in here? Is this where the session is going to be? No, it can't be. The seats are too comfy…I'd be fit to fall asleep in here…and why would they need these screens to watch me on, if I was going to be in here with them? Is he already in here somewhere? Is Johnson watching me right now?"
"You look like you could use a tea, sweetie. Maybe of the Long Island variety?"
McKellan looked up with a start, to see a tall, rather portly man standing over her. He wore an oversized mint-green t-shirt and a bemused smile.
"That was a joke, by the way," he added quickly, winking. "Alcohol on the premises is strictly banned…" He pretended to look around, lowering his voice. "Unless you know all the right people…"
He chuckled.
His voice was nothing short of melodic and it made her want to smile as widely as him.
"Well hopefully I'll get to know some of them soon," McKellan said with a shrug, sitting up slightly. She couldn't help but find the quaver in her own voice embarrassing.
"You're the new doctor, right? You from around here? You sound kinda upper-east side…"
"Yeah, guilty as charged on all accounts. I was actually born and raised here in Sylton but both my parents are from Massachusetts originally…"
"I'm Jarrod," the man told her, handing her a small laminated card from his pocket. "I'm one of the orderlies here. I work the third and twelfth floor. Doctor Johnson sent me up here to give you your staff card and also to give you your safety briefing. So, if you could follow me?"
McKellan nodded and stood up, smoothing out the folds of her skirt and taking up her briefcase.
"Ah…it's nice to talk to a friendly face and it's certainly nice to meet you, Jarrod…I'm-…"
"Sorry but I, uh, I don't wanna know," Jarrod said quickly, walking over to a door near the screens at the far end of the room that McKellan wouldn't have noticed at all if he hadn't drawn her attention to it. "I'm not trying to be rude, sweetie. It's just a policy I have with the new doctors…" He pushed the door open and gestured for her to walk ahead of him. "I don't learn names unless they're still here after the first three sessions. Makes me less sentimental, y'know? When they leave…"
McKellan tried to ignore the rather grim note that entered his voice as he walked in her shadow. The door led to another narrow corridor. Like the one before, it was near-completely devoid of décor.
Unlike the one before, however, it was only lit by two flickering ceiling lights, shadows draped across the hall and stretching down to the single wooden door at the end.
"Damn electricity. The storm last week managed to fry a few of the circuits in here so don't be surprised if some of the lights get a little funny from time to time. Real atmospheric mood lighting, huh?"
"I've got to agree with you there…it's looking like the bad weather isn't going to let up either. Last night's forecast pretty much said to expect nothing but rain for the rest of the week…maybe some thunder and lightning too, around Thursday."
"Ugh…that's the last thing I need. One of my kids at home hates lightning. She'll be up crying again and daddy and mommy aren't going to get a wink of sleep…"
"Tell her that the angels are bowling…"
"Bowling? Huh?"
"That's what my older sister used to tell me whenever there was lightning out. That it was just the angels in Heaven, having their bi-annual bowling tournament. I used to be afraid of stormy weather too." McKellan shrugged, suddenly aware that her hands had slipped into her pockets and hastily moving them to her sides. "Now whenever there's a thunder storm, I just start laughing hysterically at the sound of thunder because I can still hear my sister shouting "strike!" at the top of her lungs…"
Jarrod chuckled. "That's pretty cute…"
"Cute?" McKellan cocked an eyebrow. "My friends think that I'm demented. Lightning flashes, they're all hiding behind the sofa and I'm hugging my sides trying not to fall over laughing…are you always this nice to all of the new doctors when you're talking to them?"
"Just the ones that decide to talk back to me…and maybe the interesting ones."
"I'm flattered that I'm interesting enough to keep talking to, then."
"So, if you don't mind me saying," Jarrod said slowly, pausing at the door. "You seem pretty young to me for a job like this. Like, how old are you? I mean, don't take that the wrong way…it's just for the last few years or so, I've been bring big-wigs of forty to fifty down this hall…you're the first young-looking face…and the first lady actually…not that there's anything wrong with that…it's just new to me…" He swiped the card across the door handle and opened it, his tongue briefly swiping across his front teeth. "And I'm kinda curious about the strange and new. You kinda have to, to work here."
McKellan shook her head, smiling up at him. "I can imagine so. Well, I'm not offended. I actually get that a lot. I'm not really that young though…not really…I mean, I'm twenty seven but that's not odd in this field. I qualified about two years ago…I've been told that it's kinda rare to get your doctorate in your mid-twenties but it's not impossible. You've just got to have the right opportunities and the right drive, I guess."
"Uh-huh…"
He led her into an office-like room with no windows.
At the head of the room was a desk, set with a leather-lined seat while a long, velvet lined comforter was pushed against the wall at the far side.
"This is the therapy room. Usually, Liu will be waiting for you in here when you arrive for your sessions. Things are just moving a little slower than usual this morning…change-overs with staff because of the weather and all…"
Jarrod tapped the edge of the desk. "This is your seat and as I'm sure you've guessed, the other one down there is Liu's. He'll be sitting down there…in restraints…" The man gave a briefly distasteful snort, casting his eyes upward before drawing her attention to the centre of the room. "See that line there? The white line in the carpet? Goes from one side of the room to the other. Wall to wall. This is your side of the room. That is his side of the room. If either of you cross over to the wrong side, an orderly will be summoned straight away, no questions asked. Just a heads up…" Jarrod pointed to a small, circular, black device on the wall by the door. "You'll be watched from that camera there. Doctor Johnson probably already told you that the first two or three sessions are watched by a surveillance team. Everything else gets looked at by a security guard. Image-only feedback so if there's any trouble, you need to make it clear as day that you need help 'cause he won't hear you shouting."
"Or screaming," McKellan thought, feeling queasy as Jarrod showed her to the backside of the desk, guiding her to run her hand along the rim.
"You've got two panic buttons. Feel 'em? One here…and one here. The slightest touch on either of those and help will come running. You shouldn't need it though. Like I said, Liu will be restrained..." His eyes slid sideways.
"Sorry, uh…I was wondering about that, actually. When you and Doctor Johnson say restrained…do you mean that he'll be…cuffed or-?"
"We legally can't use the term "strait jacket" but effectively for his safety and for yours, Liu's going to have his arms kept secured to the lounge-seat. Even if for some reason, you do have to walk over to his side of the room, he's not going to be able to get anywhere near you…" Jarrod sighed. "I've worked in this business for fifteen years and I can say with experience that this isn't supposed to be the place where restraints are used…" He shot a glance over at the camera. "This isn't exactly supposed to be a spectator sport either…but Liu's really made his bed…and I guess now he has to sleep in it."
"You've worked with Liu before?" McKellan guessed aloud, sitting down at the desk, putting her briefcase aside.
"Mhmm. I have. I've been one of his orderlies for the last three years…and let me tell you, that kid alone? He wouldn't hurt a fly. Troubled? Sure. He's nervous all the time. Heartbroken, even. Kills you inside to look at him. He's like living proof that life isn't damn fair…" Jarrod looked to her with a kind of earnest that she had to admire. "…and it really wasn't to him." His features suddenly took on a shadowed countenance. "But that other one…Sully…you know about him, right?"
McKellan nodded, clasping her hands together to stop them from quivering as she spoke. "I've listened to the tapes of his past sessions …I've read all the files too…Dissociative Identity Disorder is one of the most bizarre of all conditions, I mean…I…I really wouldn't have guessed that it's even the same person on the track-…"
"It isn't the same person," Jarrod told her, shaking his head. "They're different as night and day…and Sully used to be really hard to draw out. I could go weeks, months…without seeing him. Now, whenever Liu feels the slightest bit upset, scared, angry…out pops Sully to his rescue…" He looked to her, his brown eyes full of seriousness. "Watch it around him. Don't push him. Don't test him. That's how most of the others…"
His voice trailed off and McKellan didn't need him to finish the sentence.
Truthfully, she didn't want him to.
According to her wrist watch, it was just turning eleven when Jarrod was about to leave.
He froze at the door for a moment, turning back to face her.
His voice was gravelly when he spoke, quite a bit lower than before.
"You're easier to talk to than the other doctors, y'know?"
McKellan shifted in her seat, a small smile flickering to her lips. "I guess that's because I'm new to this. It's easier to be new when you've got people who aren't new on your side. I've got to be friendly and ready to listen…or at least that's what my mom always said. Worked in kindergarten anyway…"
Jarrod did not smile in return.
If anything, his brow grew quite heavy with apparent concern.
"What's your speciality? As a doctor, I mean. Like what kind of work do you do that got you brought in here?"
Honestly speaking, McKellan felt as though by answering this question aloud, she was reminding herself of why exactly she had gotten this position.
"I mainly specialise in adolescent psychosis and PTSD in relation to family tragedy. I've had four similar patients to Liu before this- all with survivor's guilt and one with the beginnings of manic depression. Even though Liu is now technically and legally an adult, Doctor Johnson thinks that his mental growth may have been stunted by a lack of social contact while he was interned here so following this hypothesis-…"
"Got any books on the market?"
The abrupt question took her by surprise but she answered anyway.
"…No. Well, not yet. I mean I've always thought about-…"
"Got any family in this area? Or in law? In finance?"
"No, but I can't see why that-…"
"Ever been on television? Ever worked anywhere high-profile like this before? Ever headed some ground-breaking study?"
"I…no. No, I haven't but again, I don't really understand wh-…"
"Can I…be frank with you, Doctor?"
Doctor.
Not "sweetie."
Doctor.
"Y-yes…Jarrod…I'd really rather that you were. Your experience is invaluable to me, naturally."
Once again, she offered a smile that he did not choose to return.
"You're not here because of any of that experience you have. You're here because you're expendable."
"…come again?"
"The uppers need to show some kind of progress but if they lose any more of their golden boys, they're going to be in hot water. Most of the professionals are turning them down and they need to find a doctor who can take Liu Keaton on and give them the results that they want…until they find that doctor, you are their filler. A substitute. An expendable substitute. You'll keep everyone distracted, make it look like they're not biding their time, give Liu a reason not to break his morning routines…but at the end of the day…you're…not really anybody here. You're…nobody. You're not even full-time staff…"
McKellan opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, realising that she did not have anything to say in response. Try as she might, her voice seemed to have completely left her.
"I'm saying this because you seem like a really nice girl," Jarrod went on, holding up his hands. "And I like you. I really do…but someone has to say it to you. You're expendable and Johnson knows it…and he'll use that to his advantage…you're as much of a test subject here as Liu is…" He squirmed uncomfortably, shaking his head as he pulled the door open to leave. "I wasn't going to say it to you. I told myself I wasn't going to say it to you…but…you don't seem like the sort that deserves to be thrown to the sharks without knowing what she's really up against…"
McKellan looked downward.
She didn't see Jarrod leave but she did hear what had to say as he left the room.
"Just resign. The money doesn't mean shit. Just walk out while you've still got the chance…"
If Christine McKellan had wanted to hear someone say something to her before undergoing what she was about to, that was certainly not it.
Expendable?
Was that it?
Was that why Johnson really wanted her there?
The worst part was that in an utterly perverse way, it made complete sense to her. In fact, what Jarrod had said- morbid, crude and upsetting at it was- successfully answered every question that had been pervading her mind since she had arrived at Smyth's Grove.
She could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage, almost threatening to break the bone and her breath was starting to restrict itself to short, sharp gasps as her eyes began to sting.
"No. No. No. No tears. Jarrod was friendly and maybe he's seen some bad things happen here before…but you've trained for this. Reddin wouldn't have sent you here if he didn't think that you ready for this. His reputation is as much on the line as yours is. Pull yourself together. That orderly meant well but don't let him infantalise you…he doesn't know you…"
She busied herself by pulling her notes from her briefcase and attempting to read through them one last time.
Her fingers delicately pulled the transcript of Liu's first session with Doctor C. Taylor from the bundle.
"You have to do this. This is part of the plan."
Taylor had lasted less than fifteen minutes with him.
And he was supposedly an expert.
She was supposed to last forty minutes with him.
He wasn't restrained when Taylor was talking to him.
Her mind drifted back to the first time that she'd listened to the tape of that session.
Taylor had his skull caved in with a Newton's Cradle.
Apparently Doctor Taylor had been eager to talk to Sully again and had gotten too close to Liu in his efforts.
According to the newspaper report, the post-mortem officers had to use dental records to legally identify Taylor as his face was beyond recognition following the attack.
McKellan noted with a mixture of relief and disdain that the desk in front of her was completely bare.
She reviewed the transcript, trying to stick to her training, to focus on what the triggers for Liu's second personality were and to make sure nothing in her repertoire would provoke him.
But as the distant echoes of footsteps in the corridor began to near, soon accompanied by an undertone of metallic clinking, McKellan's eyes could only find one line of dialogue on the page.
The final printed line of text.
And as she read it and as the door of the room slowly opened, McKellan could hear the voice from the tape ringing in her ears. That voice. His voice.
The voice that brought a cold sweat to her brow and a tremble to her lower lip.
"Be careful what you wish for, Doc…"