The screams started again that night, echoing through the walls like a haunting melody. She didn't even bother jog knowing that what she'd find would be no different from what it was yesterday or what it will be tomorrow, nerve wracking sure, but it was her job.
When she finally made it to the corridor, the shouting stopped; as if the patient had sensed her presence, but she was too experienced to fall for the calm, silence that usually precedes the storm. She was right. A moment later, patients from different rooms started communicating through an identical sourceless rhythm of shouts.
The sounds were never something to frighten Nurse Fitch, ever. It was the silence that always did. She continued her pace through the patients' rooms, finding comfort in the noise, the doors were locked on bed time and it was strictly forbidden to open any of them only in the case of a Monday, which would be tomorrow: the day of suicides. The suicides gave her another reason to hate Mondays. Dead bodies left and right was definitely not a highlight for Nurse Fitch.
When she finally reached the first cell, where all the shouting started -and was now strangely calm- her hand dared to the small window on the top, trying to see. Midnight and a second was still Monday, she had the right to peek in. Not that she didn't do that on any other day of the week, she even talked to some patients until they fell asleep; when it became too dark to see, she always made sure there was someone they could listen to, and could listen to them in return.
Her hand was hesitating and before it opened in a definitive gesture she realised that a strange calmness had suddenly reigned without her taking notice, the shouting stopped and her breathing did as well.
"Shh" a voice whispered from the other side of the door, too close to where the nurse was standing, she couldn't help but flinch a bit.
"don't be afraid," he followed, tonelessly. "I'm just trying to... eat you face"
The words echoed down the halls, the doors and the walls. She thought running for her life before whoever that was put his threat into action or simply-
Her hand reacted in courage unlike her trembling body as she opened the window in one firm act, the rusty metal made a sound that also echoed revealing to her some kind of horror.
Two brown eyes pierced into her own, wide with surprise that he was caught off guard. He was waiting for her to react but she was too paralysed with shock to do so. With that, the patient decided she didn't deserve his attention and instead banged something that made a heavy impact against the metal door causing her to jump before realizing that she was initially safe, and that it was the patient's poor roommate that she had to worry about. And that's when she decided to move.
That night, Oliver was put under the institution's five points restraint system, and so he was every night because he tried eating his roommate's face -as he claimed- arguing that it was delicious, just like his nails. The victim, miraculously saved never became his roommate or anyone's ever again, since he ended up... hanging like a ragdoll, feet dangling limbs flailing and neck stuck to the ceiling.
In one word: Dead.
._._._.
As the rule goes in Eichen House (one that patients don't know about) every patient who starts showing signs of -some long word pronounced- supernaturalness can and will be questioned by the institution's therapist: Marin Morrell, then with her permission is moved to the 'other part' of the institution, where he would be kept in an individual cell and uhm- well, run a few tests, survive a few torture sessions and... the usual for any creature that was forsaken enough to end up in that finely designed hell hole.
So as the rule says we apply, our patient had to run the test of doom, and if Oliver noticed the slightly out of context, subtly weird questions, he didn't say anything about it.
"Any strange urges lately?" He blinks "biting, hurting people, blood lust?"
"No." Oliver lies, even though the question is a little foreign to him, he's never being really violent... except maybe last night's slip up (which was really uncalled for) oh or the first night! the first night was really bad...
"Dental problems?" she continues, he laughs.
"I brush my teeth three times a day."
"Just making sure." she smiled tightly, checking NO. "Anything new with the sketchbook?" And there, we're back to normal again, Oliver has a sketchbook, he uses it to sketch, very rarely, when he doesn't sketch he glares at the ceiling, since the restraint system, he cannot sketch at night, but he's free when it's day, so Oliver takes advantage and doesn't sketch either.
"wow, you almost finished it!" Morrell exclaims, turning the blackened papers with smudged ink.
Oh.
"wow" he repeats "when?" this seems to catch her attention:
"You don't know." she tilts her head to the side, not waiting for an answer.
"No." And that's when she ticks YES, but eight NOs against one YES won't hurt, he's not a monster after all.
Not yet
._._._.
All the days that follow, Oliver spends them begging for company, even Dan -who thinks he's Jesus- doesn't want to talk to him; he gets sad and desperate.
So he seeks help, from nurse Fitch, who only shoots an understanding sympathetic smile and gives empty promises, she talks to him sometimes and that feels good, but he needs more than just the company of her voice at night, or her reassuring smiles in the morning.
"Miss Morrell?" he stops her at a corridor, she turns around and calmly replies:
"Yes Oliver."
"I was wondering, since, my last roommate uh, killed himself." she nods "could I maybe, get another roommate?"
"A roommate?" she echoes curiously.
"Yes, a roommate" he smiles, hoping really hard for the answer to be a yes.
"I'm not sure they'll-"
"Please I'll do anything!" He cuts off, because he knows all too well how rejections start, and that one statement could only end in a negation "please" he begs, willing the words he's spent all night rehearsing to come out, they do in a look when she studies his face for a moment.
That moment was everything.
Morell nods and walks away, Oliver dances in excitement because he knows that's a yes.
._._._.
That night, Oliver is happy for once, and he hasn't been happy since forever:
"I will have a roommate, I will have a roommate..." Repeatedly and incessantly in that annoying tune kids use to mock each other, as if he's mocking fate for both doubting him and making him miserable, even just for a little while, and that is the song that echoes down the halls and jumps all over the walls for the rest of the night.
Oliver laughs and laughs until he runs out of breath then eventually chokes for a few minutes; as always happiness turns to misfortune, and somehow a small targeted fly got caught up in the middle of it.
._._._.
The following day is plain, and the main reason Oliver doesn't complain is because he's waiting, night comes fast and he doesn't even struggle against his restrainers. Finally: the door opens, light seeps in, he looks up when someone walks in.
"I'm Oliver." He rushes.
"Stiles."
He doesn't sleep and doesn't talk much but he's Oliver's new roommate. He has to show him around tomorrow...