Busy day at the asylum. Ten new admissions, all rather unusual cases, at that. But I am getting ahead of myself. Ever a bad habit when starting in on a new journal now that my old one can no longer encompass my digressive notes.
My name is Edwin Caligari, and I am the director of the Nibelheim Sanatorium. Immured within our walls are patients deemed to be a threat either to themselves or to those around them. Here, we do our utmost to offer the care and attention that these troubled souls require in order to help them find peace. At any rate, that is the euphemistic wording chosen by outsiders to describe this place. In truth, it is a dumping ground for those the world has given up on. Those considered by the outside world to be better off locked away somewhere and forgotten about. And that is how most people view places such as this.
I, however, am of a different mind. It is my solemn belief that there is no malady of the body or the mind which, given time and the correct treatment, may not be cured. As such, I have made it my mission in life to try to guide these wayward souls away from their own personal hells and back into the light, and I pride myself on claiming, without fear of contradiction, that our establishment boasts a success rate unequalled by any other in the world where that aim is concerned.
...Which leads me to our newest set of inmates. These cases are difficult and troubling, and it is little wonder that they have found their way here. For reasons which I am, regrettably, not permitted to go into, I cannot refer to any of these patients by name, or reveal too many specifics regarding the circumstances by which they found themselves here. Being that is the case, I have decided to refer to them here by number, going by their order of admission.
Given the amount of work ahead of me and my staff, a full and proper clinical diagnosis will have to wait until a later, more opportune moment. Let these proemial scribblings suffice for the time being.
Now, without further ado, let us begin..
Patient Zero
That the poor man is afflicted with a fascination with fire, and the destructive tendencies that inevitably follow, is obvious. What is less so is how the patient became so disconnected from his former self, as though his personality has been usurped by another, wholly alien one.
The subject is in good health, of tall and athletic build. 'Mens sana in corpore sano', as the saying goes (Or perhaps that should be 'mens rea in corpore sano'. Well, we are halfway there, I suppose). All in all, I can find no problems with Zero's physical state. The patient's mind, however, is another matter entirely. When left to himself, Zero will often be found pacing his cell, ranting and raving, going on about "traitors", "heritage" and things like that, in displays that border on malignant narcissism. Other times, he may be observed talking quietly to some unseen party, muttering what appears to be random nonsense.
These passionate outbursts aside, Zero exhibits occasional moments of lucidity, even geniality, during our interview sessions. When I asked him why he did what he did, he merely shrugged, claiming that he was fascinated by fire. I don't doubt it. Yet this fascination, I expect, is but the expression of a more profound dysfunction.
There is no history of mental illness in Zero's family, and the man himself seems to have exhibited no warning signs up until the night of the fire. The patient simply woke up in the middle of the night, walked downstairs into the study, and then calmly set about gathering the materials with which to set his family's residence on fire, incinerating the rest of his family as they slept.
I can detect little remorse in him regarding the deed in question, and the way it has been described to me all but rules out any notions of premeditation. Furthermore, the patient seems to lack any recollection of the event, and has had to be reminded of it several times. When I first related the details of the incident to him, he smiled and chuckled softly, as though mildly amused by the news of his family's demise. Otherwise, I have observed little or no reaction from him regarding their deaths.
As I have mentioned before, the subject is physically gifted, and yet he seems strangely weak-willed. Such a mind as his may be open to suggestion or influence by outside agency, though I shudder to think what it was that he saw in his mind's eye that brought him to this state.
Although not violent, there is a look in his eyes of casual hostility, one that tells me that given the chance, he would likely do something just as drastic all over again. As such, I am hesitant to release Zero into the general population at this time. It may be a long while before he is ready to rejoin the population at large, if he ever will be. I will have to observe the patient further, and select a proper course of treatment in accordance with his condition. I do believe there is a conscience lurking in there somewhere, though it lies buried deep beneath this callous veneer, and I shall do all I can to unearth it.
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Diagnosis: Borderline personality disorder and resultant dysphoria; Pyromania (co-morbid).
Rate of recidivism: High.
Outlook for recovery: Poor.
Recommended course of treatment: Undecided.
Conclusion: Patient still not fit for release into the general population. Movement to solitary confinement may be necessary in order to prevent harm to self and others.
Addendum:
Last night, I observed Zero in his cell, leaning against the far corner of the room, looking up towards the moon. He was whispering to someone, occasionally addressing the unseen party as 'mother'.
A sign of guilt, perhaps?
Author's notes
A somewhat abstract story, I know, but it was one of those pesky ideas that won't leave you alone until you commit it to the page. It shouldn't be too hard to guess who our first inmate is. So, who's up for psychoanalysis next? We'll see.