Bill sat in his classroom, staring at the clock and wishing for it to hurry up so he could get a head start on the research paper he would have to write for his favorite class. He was nearly jumping up and down in his chair with complete excitement. Psychology was something that Bill was absolutely fascinated with, even more so, criminal psychology. He always wanted to know what made those people tick and had determined that for this project, he was going to. He was going to earn that damn A+ if it was the last thing he did.
Bill wasn't your average high school senior. He was 18 years old, his favorite color was black, even if it wasn't a true color, his favorite animal was a dog, and his favorite school subject was Criminal Psychology. His feminine face was framed by thick dyed-black hair that hung neatly around his face, his bangs shorter and falling just over his right eye. He wasn't popular, but somewhere in the middle. He was also interested in men. Sure, he was normal in some ways, but he was fascinated by the disturbed.
He was sometimes even more than fascinated by the disturbed. He was verging on being obsessed with them. For his Criminal Psychology paper, he had called ahead to the Irrensburg Lunatic Asylum in the next town over and had asked if he could interview one of their patients. He wanted to be as close as possible to the mentally disturbed.
Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. The clock seemed to move as slowly as possible. Bill could not contain his excitement as his eyes remained glued to the clock. Just five more minutes and he would be able to go to Irrensburg and meet his patient, or rather, his study subject.
"Five. Four. Three. Two. One!" Bill counted down the minutes in a whisper, jumping up the second the bell rang. He grabbed his backpack that he had packed up ahead of time and ran out of the school building to his car, throwing his bag in the backseat and hopping behind the steering wheel.
Within a minute, Bill was on the main road, following the street signs to his destination. He had checked the place out many times, having practically begged for a glimpse of the inside to satisfy his addiction for the mentally-ill. His foot pressed the gas pedal with more pressure than he normally would, sending him speeding to his destination.
Upon entering the nearly-deserted parking lot, Bill quickly parked his car up front and hopped out, locking his car after he grabbed a notebook. He had practically jogged to the door, a bright smile plastered on his nearly perfect face. He pushed the front door open as his eyes scanned the premises, spotting the visitor's desk.
"Uhm, hello. My name is Bill T-" He started before he was cut off by the receptionist.
"The kid with the paper, right?" She asked him.
"Yes, that's me." Bill laughed softly to hide his excitement, pretending he was just nervous.
"Sign here please." She handed him a book with one other signature in it, from three years before.
"Am I the first visitor in three years?" Bill asked in curiosity, signing his name quickly before handing the book back to the receptionist.
"Actually six years. One of the patients got a hold of the book and thought it'd be funny to check himself in. Don't ask me why they still keep me on the payroll." She huffed.
Bill was frantically writing down all that the receptionist had said in his notebook. These people had been truly abandoned by their families. They had been cast aside like they were spoiled leftovers. Bill had opened his mouth to ask more, before a male nurse had walked up to him.
"You're that paper kid, right? B…Bob? Brenan?"
"Bill." He smiled and held his hand out.
"Oh, sorry. My name's Georg. I'm one of the nurses here. Well, I'm not just a nurse. I'm also the sedater…and the restrainer." He laughed softly.
"Uh-huh…and how old are you?" Bill asked him, quickly writing everything down in his notebook.
"Well I'm 24 now, but in a few months I'll be 25." Georg smiled warmly. "Who's supposed to assign you a patient?"
"Uhm, I think they said his name was Gustav." Bill smiled warmly, noticing another figure come up to him.
"Hair…it's black. My fur is black. Isn't it pretty?" A female patient had smiled at Bill. Her hair was greasy and tangled, her eyes dark and sunken in.
"I think we best get you back to bed, little lady." Georg sighed softly at the woman, touching her arm.
In a flash, the lady's once calm composure had changed and she backed away from Georg's arm, hissing as if she was a cat. She proceeded to meow at him and hiss, even growling. The female patient leaned forward and scratched at Georg, slapping him hard across the face. In a quick flash, Georg had gripped the lady's arms with one hand, his walkie-talkie in the other.
"Assistance needed in the lobby, we have a code 604. I repeat, code 604 in the lobby."
It wasn't much longer before two other men hand come down, one of them helping Georg restrain the lady while the other gave the lady a sedative in the form of a shot. The lady slowly fell asleep in their arms and was carried away by one of the two men that had assisted Georg.
Meanwhile, Bill had been furiously scribbling down all that was happening, his eyes lit up with excitement. He couldn't believe how lucky he had been to see such a freak out. Bill quickly finished scribbling down what had unfolded before his eyes and closed his notebook. As he looked up, a rather stoic looking man had approached him.
"Your name is Bill?" He asked.
"Yeah, that's me." Bill smiled and held out his hand.
"What kind of patient do you need to research?" The man looked down at Bill's hand coldly, before looking back up at Bill.
"Oh, well I'd love the most insane criminal you've got." Bill grinned brightly, seemingly not fazed by the fact that the man had ignored his handshake.
"What about Ward F, Gustav?" Georg had approached them, a small grin on his face.
"Yeah, as if he could handle it." Gustav responded rather emotionlessly.
"Please, take me there! Is that the worst part of the asylum? I need the most fucked up person you've got!" Bill looked almost desperate.
"Ward F it is, then." Gustav responded. "Follow me."
Bill nodded and followed Gustav when he had started to walk. His eyes wandered around the big building, taking in all of the sights and sounds, the moans and groans from the patients, and the way the paint chipped from the walls. Gustav led him to a staircase and Bill followed. They climbed the stairs until the fourth floor, where Bill had noticed a severe difference in the layout. As opposed to the freedom to move around on the first floor, the fourth floor patients were all housed in seclusion cells, some of them even chained to the walls in their rooms.
Gustav looked around, his eyes darting to the darker places within the ward. Ward F, where the most violent and insane patients were kept, was known for murders. The patients sometimes would escape and lurk around; waiting for someone to come so they could attack them. The last thing that Gustav wanted was to die, especially since his favorite show was on later that night.
"You said you wanted the most fucked up one we got?" Gustav asked Bill.
"The worst of the worst." Bill grinned with a nod.
"Stay four feet away from the cell door. That's how the last guy died." Gustav responded firmly.
"Wait…he killed someone in here?"
"Sure did. One of the staff members took a liking to him. He bought him a guitar so he could keep his hands busy and channel his aggression somewhere else. The fucker pretended something was wrong with his guitar and lured the staff member close enough to the bars. He had taken off one of his guitar strings earlier, so when the staff member came, he reached his hands around the bars and ended up strangling him to death with the guitar string. So much for a thank you for the gift." Gustav huffed.
"That's so sad." Bill responded as he wrote down Gustav's words.
"Not really. If he hadn't died, I wouldn't have gotten his job." Gustav shrugged before he grabbed a chair. "Stay here."
Bill nodded as he watched Gustav walk to the end of the hallway and place the chair a good distance from the cell. Gustav had begun to speak in a low whisper to whoever was inside of the cell, in a warning tone. Bill wished he could make out what Gustav was saying, but he just couldn't. When Gustav had come back, his eyes had a rather threatening look to them.
"Four feet." He nearly growled to Bill.
"Four feet." Bill nodded.
"Bill," Gustav motioned for Bill to follow him, leading him to the last cell. "Meet Tom Kaulitz."