This chapter is kind of a filler. It serves as a transition for the next plot point, which I am working on as we speak. Also, thank you to all of those who have reviewed, followed, favorited, and PM'd me. It's great getting to talk to readers one-on-one. :)

I do not own Mount Massive Asylum, Doctor Trager, Father Martin, or The Brothers. They belong to Red Barrels. I do, however, own Simon and Sebastian. Enjoy!


Simon wasn't exactly sure when the fog in his head began to clear. He figured it was some time in between his conversation with the crooked-nosed man—whose name he had discovered was Sebastian—about his stay at Mount Massive and the somewhat humorous talk of clothing preferences of the asylum's inmates. Or rather lack thereof. Simon was just glad that he could now fully enjoy and interpret what the other man was saying. He couldn't remember the last time he had a conversation with another person who viewed him as an equal, let alone a conversation that spanned more than a few sentences.

". . . tastes like horseshit. Hey guy, you listenin'? Hello? Anybody home?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. What were you saying?" responded Simon. Maybe he wasn't quite as lucid as he thought.

"Man, you really are crazy. Although, I prefer you over ninety-five percent of the other guys in here," said Sebastian.

Simon didn't know whether to be insulted or elated that he had found a companion who thought so highly of him. He decided not to think on it too much; there were plenty of other things to think about now that he had some time to himself. Time to himself . . . Simon figured he should consider this a grace from God, but in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn't—couldn't—last. Things just didn't go that way for him anymore.

"So, mind tellin' me how that happened?" Sebastian asked, nudging Simon's right arm. Simon looked down and realized that he was talking about his hand.

"Oh," he said. "That."

"Yeah, what caused that? From what you've told me, you've only been here a couple a weeks. Much too soon for the white coats to get a hold of ya."

Simon thought for a moment before responding. "Do you . . . I mean," he began. "Have you heard of a man by the name of Trager?"

The man next to him kept his face neutral, much to Simon's surprise. He must not have heard of the mad doctor, for surely if he had, he would not be so straight-faced.

"You mean the doctor?"

Oh. So he had heard of him.

Simon nodded and continued. "Yeah, that's him."

"He did that to you? That's all he did?" Sebastian asked incredulously. "Damn, man, you are lucky. That maniac is fucked up in the head, 'cept he's much worse than that. He's fucked in the head and he's got smarts. I heard from a guy that he pulled a man's intestines out through his own nose."

From his short time spent with the man, Simon could not recall him ever doing something like that. However, from what he had seen, he wouldn't doubt the rumor's credibility.

"Yeah," said Simon, answering Sebastian's question.

"How'd you escape? Surely he didn't just fuck your hand up and let you go," said Sebastian.

Simon wasn't quite comfortable with the turn this conversation had taken. For one, he didn't like digging up memories of the horrible time spent with the madman, and two, he wasn't sure how another inmate would take it if he confessed to his involvement with the doctor. He chose to be tactful with his answer.

"I suppose I just got lucky, like you said," Simon said evasively. That was the most he was going to divulge to his new acquaintance. Sebastian took note of his purposely vague answer, and, to Simon's relief, did not press the matter further. Instead, he just muttered a short "Hm," and turned away. As Simon watched the man, his relief was swiftly replaced with guilt. The last thing he wanted to do was to tick off the other man, and now he worried he might have done just that.

"How did you end up here?" asked Simon, wishing to remain on the other man's good side but still steer the conversation away from himself.

"You mean, how I ended up with this lot?" Sebastian said, turning back to Simon. Simon nodded, and Sebastian turned away from him yet again and looked at the other men in the pews, as he seemed to do when he was in thought.

"The priest . . . you've met 'im, right? Father Martin?" Simon gave another small nod, prompting him to continue. "Well, he recruited me. He does that, you know? Goes around, picking up random guys and brings 'em here. Thinks he's 'saving' us, or some religious shit like that." Sebastian paused for several seconds, before turning back to Simon. "I guess, in a way he is saving us. Don't get me wrong—I don't buy into this bullshit, but in a place like this, numbers matter."

Simon had to agree there. He noticed that, oddly enough, the inmates in the asylum seemed to have formed cliques. There were the men in the Pit. There were Father Martin's men. Several other less prominent groups scrounged around the asylum, and if someone didn't belong in a group, they just partnered up with another loner. The only exceptions to the "group rule" were the burlier and more violent patients that no one in their right mind would mess with . . . and of course, the doctor.

Not knowing how to continue, both men refrained from further talk. While Sebastian seemed to stare off into space, Simon began listening to separate conversations going on in the square. His ears settled on one between two men in the pew to his left.

"When's the last time you got some, Jerry?"

"What d'you mean?" asked a grotesquely scarred man.

"A girl. When were you last with a girl?" the other man, a similarly scarred and shirtless one, asked the fully clothed man next to him. "And for heaven's sake, don't say it was yer mommy." The shirtless man, along with another who was listening in on the clothed one's left, began to chuckle. Simon could see the middle man become flustered as he began to speak up in protest.

"I'll have you assholes know I had a girlfriend before coming here," the man replied angrily. This shut the other two up. But not for long.

The man on the left him reached an arm around his shoulder in a playful manner. "Ah, was she pre-mortem or post?" he asked, smiling grimly. The other man shrugged out of his hold.

"What the fuck, man? That's disgusting!" he spat distastefully.

"What? I took you for the type that liked 'em still," teased the other man.

"Actually," spoke the shirtless man to the left, "I don't think he's ever had a girly-friend."

"Oh, my my, you're right," the other man cut in. "It's okay, friend. We don't judge if you swing that way," he spoke humorously into the middle man's ear. The three men continued to go back and forth, the one in the middle fighting a losing battle.

Simon watched the altercation with mild interest, feeling sorry for the man sandwiched between the two taunting men. He turned back to Sebastian and got the man's attention by hesitantly tapping his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"So, is this all you do? Just . . . sit here, talking?" asked Simon. He had to admit, he was rather bored, but this was way much better than what he had been doing the past several days.

"Pretty much. We're free to leave if we want, supposedly, but I don't know why anyone would," said Sebastian.

"So, you do nothing else?" Simon highly doubted Father Martin would abduct men just to let them sit about, doing nothing. That seemed far too mundane for a man like him and a place like this.

Sebastian let out a sigh and folded his arms. "Well, the Father does send some of the more higher-ups out to, uh, persuade people into joining his cult. And we also have to sit through his little 'speeches' about spiritual mumbo jumbo."

"You don't seem like you fully agree with what the group does," stated Simon.

"Really? How'd you fuckin' guess?" retorted the other man. Both men gave small smiles at this. Once again, Simon was thankful he had found a companion that was not only kind to him, but was also not brainwashed or brain-dead like many other inmates he'd come across.

"You said this is a cult. What do they worship?" asked Simon, nodding towards the other men.

"You know, I'm not exactly certain myself. Like I said, I don't buy the bullshit. But this guy—the priest—claims to have seen something," Sebastian divulged cryptically. Simon raised an eyebrow. His attention was captured and he waited to hear the rest.

"Y'see, even before the breakout, Martin was always a religious nut. Believin' in some higher power or another. But when he saw this thing, he found somethin' solid to worship. It's sketchy, but from what I hear this 'thing' is a ghost. Or a demon. Well, I mean, the Father calls it a god, but I dunno what to believe."

Simon's eyes squinted slightly at this new information. A ghost? A crazy priest-wannabe saw a demonic ghost in this place? Simon supposed it explained some things, but really, a ghost? And these men, minus Sebastian, believed in it too, apparently.

Seeing the skepticism on Simon's face, Sebastian continued his tale. "I know, sounds crazy right? He calls it—damn . . . what was it again? 'The Walrunner' or somethin'. Anyway, he says it's the most powerful being ever to be seen by human eyes. Even more powerful than Jesus Christ himself."

"Do you believe him? That there is a . . . a ghost?" questioned Simon.

"Ah, that's a toughie," said Sebastian. "Under any other circumstances, I'd say hell no. But . . ."

Simon gave Sebastian a scrutinizing look.

"Hey, don't give me that look. I don't know if I believe in it or not. But I did see something," he said defensively. "It was dark, and it was storming. Coulda' been shadows for all I know." Shadows. Now that was something tangible that Simon could make logical sense of.

Realizing he was slouching, Simon moved to straighten out his back. He winced slightly as the movement jostled his ribs, but once he was in an upright position, he settled back down in the pew. He had almost forgotten about his ribs. Damn that brute . . .

"You okay? What, did you get beat up on the way here or somethin'?" asked Sebastian. He eyed the other man questioningly, awaiting an answer.

"I'm all right. Just . . . banged up a bit is all." Simon was about to say more, when he noticed that someone was watching him intently. Across from him was a patient. He looked like many of the others, scarred and shirtless. On the left side of his skull, there was a mass of deformed tissue. He was leaned forward with his arms ramrod straight as his claw-like hands gripped the seat of the pew. His eyes were on Simon.

Keeping his gaze on the man across from him, Simon turned slightly to address Sebastian. "Hey, who is that man?"

Sebastian looked around for the aforementioned man before Simon reiterated, "The one directly across from us."

Sebastian looked at the opposite pew and gave the man a quick once-over. "Him? No, I don't know 'im. All I know is he's a part of this group. Why?"

"He's been looking at me," answered Simon. He gave the man another quick glance before looking back to Sebastian.

"Eh, I wouldn't worry too much. If the worst he's doing is just starin', then I think you'll be fine," Sebastian said reproachfully.

"I . . . Yes, I guess you're right. I'm just uptight. I haven't exactly had a great day," sighed Simon.

"None of us have," Sebastian said with a shrug. "Shit, have you seen these guys we're with? Next to them, you're as swell as the fucking Queen."

It was true, Simon admitted. Things could be much worse for him. But that still didn't mean that the man that was staring at him didn't mean any harm. After a few moments, Simon decided it was best to just ignore the man's glares. He and Sebastian continued to talk about mundane things such as favorite foods, hobbies, and strangely enough, politics. It was quite interesting to hear his new friend's, ah, opinions about the topic. As the conversation continued on, Simon still felt the growing sensation in his stomach that things were not all right. When he glanced over to the man across from him, his suspicions were confirmed. The scarred man was still staring at him, and when both of their eyes met, the other hastily leaned over and whispered something into another man's ear. Simon could feel his heart rate climb and his muscles tense as he watched on.

He knows something. He recognizes me. He knows who I am.

"Shit."

"Hmm?" asked Sebastian.

Simon didn't respond. Instead, he watched as the man who had been staring at him, along with his friend, stood up from the pew.

"I know you," hissed the man, pointing an accusing finger at Simon. The men in the pews began to quiet down and were now watching the hyperventilating man as he continued to address Simon.

"I-I know you!" he shouted again. "You son of a bitch! Motherfucker!" Without much warning, he lunged at the frightened Simon, only to be held back by Sebastian. The man was thrashing around like a cat trying to avoid taking a bath. It was a wonder how Sebastian could even hold him back.

"Hey man, what the fuck is your problem, huh?" Sebastian demanded. His hand was gripping the other man's arm as he used his own shoulder to keep him at bay. By this point, Simon had climbed over the back of the pew and had backed away from the altercation.

"He's a fucking traitor is what he is!" screamed the irate patient as he struggled against Sebastian's hold. "I oughta kill you! I'll kill you, I'll kill you. YOU HEAR ME?"

"Hey, hey! Calm the fuck—oomf!" Sebastian was knocked to the side by a sharp punch to his ear, courtesy of the shirtless man's friend. Preoccupied with the new threat, Sebastian was forced to release his hold on the enraged patient, who scrambled away from the bigger man and ran towards Simon.

"You fucking piece of shit!" he shrieked as he threw a punch at the other man. Simon managed to deflect the first blow, but was caught off guard by the second. The hit landed on his ribcage, causing him to cry out before he crumpled to the ground. The deranged man clambered on top of him.

"Kick his ass!" came a shout from the group. This was followed by several other hoots and hollers from the other patients. Whom they were rooting for was a mystery, for now there were four men engaged in a fight; Simon with his attacker, and Sebastian with his. Currently, Sebastian was winning his fight. He had managed to knee the other man in the gut and was taking advantage of the other man's momentary stun by smashing the man's face against the floor.

Simon on the other hand . . .

The man on top of him was throwing punches left and right. Luckily, he was so blinded by fury that the punches were badly aimed, and he was quickly wearing himself out. Simon held out his arms, deflecting some of the damage off of his forearms, but he himself was also tiring. It seemed that no one would come to his rescue, and if they did, it would be too late.

The man, having finally figured out that it was no use continually punching Simon's arms, managed to yank one out of the way and delivered a punch to Simon's nose. Simon yelped as pain exploded from his entire face. He felt warm liquid pooling down from his nose, coating his mouth and chin. For the third time tonight, Simon was face to face with death, and this time, Simon felt that this would finally do him in.

"What is this?"

"It appears to be a scuffle."

"Oh really? I never would have guessed."

Through his squinted and tear-bleared eyes, Simon saw his attacker cease his punching and look up towards something unseen. He also noticed that all of the shouting in the room had stopped.

With a short gasp, the man on top of him quickly stood and backed away towards the now-silent group. Simon remained where he was on the ground, confused, beaten, and terrified at whoever had caused the once rowdy room full of crazed men to fall quiet. When he heard footsteps coming towards him, he didn't dare move. From above him, there appeared two faces; both of them looking quite similar to the other, except one had hair while the other did not. Simon couldn't help but gasp at their cold appearances.

"Who's this? Someone new?"

"Yes. I have not seen him before."

"He looks...worried."

"That he does. Perhaps we should help him up?"

"Perhaps."

And with that, Simon felt both his arms being gripped and he was pulled up to a standing position. Had the two men not been holding him at each side, he was sure his legs would have given out from underneath him.

"Will anyone care to explain what is going on here?" came a raspy voice to Simon's right, much too close for comfort.

The men in the pews looked away and didn't say a word.

"I'll tell you what happened," someone—Sebastian, Simon noticed—spoke out from the group. "We had a bit of a misunderstanding. Y'see, this asshole jumped him," he motioned towards the shirtless man, and then to Simon, "and his buddy jumped me."

"With good fuckin' reason, too," spat the shirtless man. "Do any of you's know who that son of a bitch is? Huh? Do you?" he asked, pointing vigorously at Simon.

"There is no need for that kind of language in this place of worship," said the twin on Simon's left.

The man lowered his hand and bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I-I forgot my place, is all," he apologized.

"Quite."

"Should we tell the Father?" asked the balding twin to the other.

At the mention of Father Martin, the man's head snapped up and he held his hands out in a pleading gesture. "No-no! Don't tell him! I'm begging you, please!" he groveled. Some of the men in the room started to snicker, clearly wanting to see this man be put in his place.

"He will be here shortly. I think he should hear about this disobedience," said the twin with hair.

"I agree."

"Of course you do."

"And you," said the twin on Simon's right. Simon stiffened when he realized he was being addressed. "Take a seat."

The two brothers began walking, half-dragging Simon, over to the pews. Simon was then unceremoniously dropped down into the seat. Immediately he began to rub his swollen and bloodied nose, trying to alleviate the pain. Sebastian made his way over and sat down in the spot next to him, looking as calm as ever.

No words were spoken between the two as the twin brothers addressed the whole congregation. It was then that Simon noticed that they, like many of the others, were completely nude. By this point, he honestly wasn't surprised.

"The preacher will be with us in just a moment," said the one with hair. The man who attacked Simon had now gotten on his knees and had his eyes cast to the ground.

"And when he gets here," began the bald brother, "he will decide what to do with you ruffians." Both brothers looked reproachfully at Simon and Sebastian. Still cupping his nose, Simon looked to the ground.

Fantastic job, Simon. You've managed to get yourself into even more trouble, he thought despairingly. And you may have brought your new friend down with you.


Simon just cannot catch a break. Sorry to say, but this won't be changing any time soon. I am going for realism, and realism dictates that being a patient in an asylum overrun by bloodthirsty lunatics, mad priests and doctors, and ghosts will not bode well for anyone. Also, my updates are going to become a bit irregular. Sorry! Real world stuff and all that jazz...