Doctor Nola Armstrong made her way down the empty hallway; with the only sound being her high heels clicking against the tiled floor. From behind their cell doors, inmates watched her with hard, staring eyes.
"Ah, Doctor Armstrong!" A European-accented voice called out.
Nola could see a stout, bearded gentleman approaching her. She recognized him as Doctor George Schmidt, her colleague and the very man who asked her to come to the San Fransisco Institute for Mental Health.
"Doctor Schmidt, it's wonderful to see you." Nola extended her hand to Doctor Schmidt.
Doctor Schmidt took Nola's hand and shook it gently. "The feeling is mutual, my dear. I'm sorry to call you on short notice. I trust that I'm not taking you away from anything important."
Nola shrugged slightly. "Not at all. Doctor Smith is caring for my patients while I'm away, and he is one of the finest psychiatrist at my practice."
Nola ran a large practice for recovering mental patients and victims of severe mental trauma, just on the outskirts of San Fransisco. Over the last few months, the practice had waves of patients rolling in ever since a bomb had gone off in New York, killing millions and leaving thousands traumatized and injured. Because all the hospitals were destroyed, the survivors of the bombing were scattered all over the country to receive both physical and mental treatment.
"Well, I wouldn't have sent for you without good cause. Please follow me."
Nola followed Doctor Schmidt to one of the cell doors. She had to stand on her tiptoes to peek through the small window; sitting inside the cell was a redheaded man, clothed in white. He seemed to be drawing something, but Nola couldn't make out what it was.
"How long has he been here?" Nola asked, planting her feet back on the ground.
"Only two weeks. He was found walking naked around the streets, with some sort of mask in his hand. He was shouting about the bomb in New York and Adrian Veidt."
"Adrian Veidt? The founder of Veidt Industries?" Nola asked.
"The very same. I'm sure you've heard that Mr. Veidt has been missing for sometime?" Doctor Schmidt said, and Nola nodded in response. "We have tried to explain to the patient that Mr. Veidt has been missing and his disappearance around the timing of the bombing is nothing but coincidence." Doctor Schmidt continued.
"But he still insists." Nola said.
"Yes. What else is concerning is the mask that he was carrying with him. When the orderlies attempted to take it from him, he began screaming that they were taking his face. It was like something one would see out of a horror movie."
Nola sighed and folded her arms. "Perhaps he is like my own patients at my practice. He might be suffering from post-traumatic-stress disorder. I know it's a recent illness, only six years old, but many suffer from it. Not just the bombing victims are diagnosed...Soldiers from 'Nam, children even who have seen all the chaos on the evening news."
Doctor Schmidt ran a hand through his graying hair. "You're right, it could possibly be post-traumatic stress. However, I do have a theory."
"Which is?"
"Schizophrenia." Doctor Schmidt said simply.
Nola felt her eyes widened. "Schizophrenia?" She repeated. "Are you sure you aren't jumping to conclusions?"
"I hope that I am, Doctor Armstrong. That is why I was hoping you would help me with this case. The patient is not willing to speak to us, believing that we only want to strap him into a straitjacket. Help us to earn his trust, observe him and see what you can find. You're a very good psychiatrist, Nola, and I'm sure you can see what we missed."
"Do you have the patient's file?"
"Yes, right here."
Doctor Schmidt handed Nola a small file that he kept tucked under his arm. Nola opened it and read the first page:
PATIENT'S SURNAME: KOVACS. MIDDLE INITIAL: J. PATIENT'S FIRST NAME: WALTER