Parmigiolate, CMLangdon, Chris. P.C., Tammy Fray, deviousflower, DinahRay, and guest...thank you so so much, very sorry for the long absence.
The Devil's Workshop
Stepping off the bus two blocks from Dr. Arden's house, Violet looked like any other young girl out for a night to meet her friends for an innocent night out on the town.
She'd been watching the other nurses, how they behaved, how their biggest worry was if the guy they liked called, or if they made enough to get whatever outfit was in that week.
Violet tried to copy the lightness in their step, the carefree movements as they passed through this world oblivious to the despair that surrounded them in the dank dark rooms of the asylum.
She pictured clean cut college boyfriends, and the stable families that were always available to them whenever there was a need.
The classic nurturing mother who dutifully cooked their meals, and did their laundry, when not at her part time job that was essentially to keep her from getting bored, or outside caring for her prize winning roses.
The doting father who came home from work at six on the dot, who liked to play chess and work his magic on the grill on the weekends, but always had time for a heart to heart talk with daddy's little girl.
The annoying but beloved younger brother or sister who secretly idolized them.
Forcing a smile, Violet mimicked the breezy nature of those nurses, hoping no one would notice she wasn't one of them.
Praying she'd at the very least pass as normal, adequately well adjusted, someone without a thirst for revenge or the bright red blood that came along with it.
A girl who hadn't smiled at the sight of her father's twisted face from a broken neck, lying at the bottom of a staircase, someone who wasn't about to break into the house of a Nazi war criminal psychotic surgeon.
Dressed in faded jeans, ripped at the knees, her favorite Nirvana over sized tee shirt, untied laces spilled from her dirty converse sneakers smacking the cement in a confident rhythm as she walked down the street.
Dirty blonde hair flowed out around her, silky ends snapping aggressively in the wind like some kind of brave superhero off to save the day as she blasted Pink Floyd's 'Comfortably Numb' into her ears.
Walking with long purposeful strides, she had to keep reminding herself to not stare at the ground, or nervously look around her, but to casually gaze straight ahead as though she had nothing to hide.
Luck had finally sided with her when a medical conference Dr. Arden was attending to in Boston, conceded with her night off, it was kismet, definitely meant to be.
With the threat of Sister Jude hanging over her head, and her beloved light haired angel running out of time, there was no choice, she had to go to the source if she was going to find the proof needed to set him free.
She was careful, crossing over to side streets, cutting into backyards, anything to stay off the main street so as not to be noticed.
Violet was smart, both street and book, which was odd since most possessed one or the other, in many ways it was what had pulled her through more than one life altering harry situation.
She was a survivor in this world, one of violence, and the many shades of abuse she endured in her young life.
The myth of course is that these people who somehow managed to pull themselves through unimaginable adversity were are hard, steel on the inside, unbreakable.
The truth is quite the opposite, especially where Violet is concerned.
She is anything but, in the light of day, the darkest hour of night she found herself holding on by her nails, her fingers bone white, her stomach churning as pain ripped like the sharp edge of scissors cutting into her flesh.
Survivors are constantly reminded of the demons they escaped, never letting themselves be lulled under the falseness that they are protected, somehow shielded from life's most brutal assaults.
It never goes away, that fear, the pain.
It ebbs and flows, becoming only a mere hazy grey cloud overhead at times, while other days a destructive, terrifying title wave, drowning them in the blackest sea of hopelessness, stealing what little faith they have of ever coming out from beneath that familiar dark abyss.
Violet is a girl who lived to tell the tale, an instead of being closed off and guarded she has chosen to love fiercely, blindly with all that was left of her fragile broken heart.
Recklessly willing to give her life without thought or hesitation to a boy who was forgotten, thrown to a wolf whose intention was to torture and maim his precious soul.
Clutching her small flashlight, too nervous to use it just yet, she made her way to the towering brick mansion, the residence of one Dr. Arden.
Breathless from running, she finally found herself perched at his basement door, covered in vines, appearing as if it had not been used in ages, she figured it was her best shot of not be wired with an alarm.
Taking her trusty metal picks, the same ones she used to break into his office, she got to work, minding very carefully not to disturb the overgrown foliage stuck to the small warped wooden door.
The lock nearly crumbled as soon as she started, damaged by the harsh New England winters and the garden variety of destructive termites.
Her thin frame slipped through the small opening easily without stretching the vines to the point of detection, it was all going just as planned.
Shoving the picks in her back pocket, she shone her flashlight across the expansive room before her.
Gasping she froze, staring out over rows and rows of grey metal shelves containing glass jars of all sizes and shapes.
Floating suspended in a clouded yellow fluid was everything from various organs to body parts.
The shocking display was one of pride, like a athlete exhibiting an array of trophies.
Freakishly grotesque faces stared back at her as she shakily scanned the thin beam of light across the room.
Malformed limbs, peering colorful irises vacantly stared frozen in place, fleshy hearts forever trapped, brains of all sizes labeled and tagged like captured prey, it was a sight straight out of a horror movie.
Her jaw clenched tight remembering her goal, the tender beautiful boy depending on her back at the asylum, trapped in a horrific forever cycle of heinous torture and drugged slumber.
Waving away hanging cobwebs that clung to her hair from above, she continued on, forcing her feet to walk towards a narrow staircase.
Taking long shuddered breaths, she gripped the clear diamond like doorknob leading out of the macabre grisly basement as she entered the first floor.
Quietly making her way down a long narrow hallway, she aimed her torch over rows of framed black and white pictures, most depicting the same mysterious blonde found in his office.
Either in the background, or in the forefront with her arms wrapped around a young doctor Arden, she was always there, clearly a source of someone endearing to him.
For some reason Violet felt this woman was the key to everything, only she didn't know how or what exactly.
Knowing Sister Jude's only care was hard indisputable proof of his Nazi past, Violet continued on already missing her time with Tate.
The old house was like a museum, spotless, everything having a place as only a psycho would have it, full of antiques, reminders of a time when he was powerful and young with a life full of possibilities still ahead, she presumed.
After searching the rooms on the first floor, kitchen, living room, etc, she bravely made her way upstairs to an extremely disturbing master bedroom.
Standing in the doorway she shone her flashlight on a massive boar's head with long pointed tusks posed over a large king sized bed.
More expensive elaborate jars were proudly placed upon exquisitely carved tables, she guessed these were special to him, more than experimental parts like the ones in the basement.
Peering through his closet she shuddered at the rows of suits he wore under his long white lab coat as the distinct odor of cigar smoke and an offensive cologne wafted out towards her.
Turning away, feeling dizzy from the stench her hazel eyes widened as her stream of light caught a large oval shaped glass jar that was separated from the rest.
Set on an etched mahogany wooden block of flowers it was placed upon a pedestal of marble, eye level, obviously to be admired and adorned for his eyes only.
Stepping closer, Violet illuminated the figure that was clouded by what looked like a cluster of light colored strings, or strips of cloth floating about.
Violet's body went rigid, her muscles tensed with terror as it became more clear that she was peering at the head of the blonde, the woman in the endless rows of photographs displayed with care upon his walls.
Catching the woman's vacant blue eyes through a haze of flaxen hair, Violet covered her mouth as her dinner rushed up into her mouth.
Dashing out of the room she ran right into a long cord from above that led to the attic.
Wanting nothing more than to leave, she paused to catch her breath and calm her racing pulse, remembering that this was the same man that held Tate's life in his hands night after night.
Reluctantly she pulled down the folded stairs as quickly as possible desperate for the proof needed to satisfy Sister Jude.
The attic was a chaotic mess, a vast difference than the pristine organized floors underneath.
Rifling through boxes and drawers of old furniture with shaky hands, Violet finally came upon a rack of wardrobe covers that unlike everything else was void of not even a speck of dust or a single cobweb, as if they had been opened and used recently and often.
Unzipping the largest one she nearly fell back as she peered up at the horrifying uniform with all the Nazi symbols and honorable metals she had seen in his pictures.
Even the military hat was hanging above the collar, the bill shiny, as if brand new.
It was clear someone like to delve into a past as dark as his mind more often than not as she caught a full length mirror wedged up against a large tall box.
Directly underneath the rack she found a box containing the mother load of everything she needed to appease Jude.
Getting to work she went through it all, taking pictures with her phone of anything with German writing or Nazi symbols, including the intimidating uniform that had taken her by surprise.
More than ready to get the hell out of there she put everything back in it's place before something that caught her attention in the corner of the room.
Nearly hidden by a large dusty dresser, there was an old fashion Television with a VCR build into it, resting on a small child size desk.
Beside it was piles and piles of VHS tapes, stakes even on the floor in sloppy rows.
Anxious to get the hell out of there, she thought about just leaving knowing she had the proof she was looking for, but something pulled her closer, a feeling, a curiosity that was nagging at her to the point that eclipsed her fear.
Pressing the 'on' button she watched intensely as black and white soundless snow soon flickered clear revealing Tate's room from the asylum.
Dropping the flashlight on the ground, she fell to her knees as the ceiling downward view of the entire room came into view.
Immediately her eye went to the time that was scrolling second to minute and hour in the corner of the small screen, before the door opened and she lost the air from her lungs completely.
It was her, walking into his room, giving him the serum, the two of them talking, embracing, making love, the very last time she had seen Tate.
Reaching for the flashlight, she clamored through each tape reading each label that displayed the hurried messy penmanship of Dr. Arden himself.
Violet, July 4, 2015 - session 46
Violet, July 2, 2015 - session 45
Violet, July 1, 2015 - session 44
Violet, June 30, 2015 - session 43
On and on going back to the very first time she walked into his room, there was a tape, he knew everything, recorded every moment, he had been watching them this entire time.
Shutting off the TV, Violet thought for a moment, it was Sister Jude who told her of the conference out of town, prompting her to take this opportunity to get her evidence.
Running as fast as she could through the house, down the narrow dark staircase into basement of horrors, Violet squeezed through the small door gasping as she took a deep breath of the cool night air.
Taking off again she ran down to the closest driveway checking each car she came upon for an open door.
Finally finding one, the perfect one to steal, a classic seventy Chevelle, she pulled out the wires beneath the steering column sparking the ignition.
Having a strong feeling that this was all a set up, Violet sped towards the mental hospital as fast as she could with only one thing on her mind.
Ditching the car a half a mile from the asylum she ran through a barren field, and the parking lot of a closed factory before finally reaching the asylum.
Ignoring the kind greeting of the night security guard, Freddy, a seventy two year old nearly blind and deaf white haired sweet guy, her hazel eyes stung with tears as she bolted up the winding staircase.
Breathless, she stumbled down the dark corridors until she reached the twisting desolate wing set apart from the rest of the buildings.
Bracing her hands on the damp stone walls, she dragged her aching legs towards his room fumbling with her keys before falling through the brightly lit room.
She connected with his eyes first, big soulful, black as night, full of fear, tearing up with worry for her, and only her, Tate, clearly unable to speak, directed his gaze towards the corner of the room.
Standing with a sinister grin plastered across his wrinkled face, Dr. Arden clapped his hands together laughing joyfully, proud of his accomplishment.
"Oh young love… first love… may I be so bold as to assume, so fierce in its loyalty, so predictably pathetic, lacking such crucial qualities as logic and reason."
Rushing towards Tate, Violet brushed his blonde waves from his forehead lovingly, hating herself for being so gullible for falling for his trap, even worse for believing anything Sister Jude had told her.
"Are you ok? Did he hurt you?"
Tate's expression was one of heart breaking desperation, he did his best to beg her with love struck eyes to escape while she still could.
Using all his strength he slowly edged his chin towards the door as he mouthed the words, 'go now, please Violet.'
Sighing hard, Dr. Arden sauntered over towards the door securing the locks one by one as Tate helplessly looked on.
"Honestly my dear Tate, how could you possibly think our sweet Violet would abandon you at your hour of need, she loves you, that much is clear. I've seen it with my own two eyes. I must say I haven't seen passion displayed on a level of such blissful abandon as yours in all of my days. You two are truly a sight to behold when you are in the throws of it all, quite entertaining to say the least."
Pointing at the camera hidden from view in the corner of the room, Tate's breathing escalated realizing that he had been watching them since the beginning.
Sounds, heartbreaking, throaty hoarse whispers began to force their way from Tate's shaky lips.
"P-Please… let … her … go."
Tilting his head to the side, watching as Violet stood protectively, fearlessly in front of Tate, her arms spread outward, her small body barely covering him, Dr. Arden let out a horrifying belly laugh.
"Oh my, this is going to be much more enjoyable than I could have ever imagined."
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