WARNING: This book contains mature content. TW: Blood, Gore, Probably Sex, Death, Murder, Torture, Manipulation, Toxic Relationships, Drugs, Mental Illness. Y'all will get a TW if I decide to axe off likeable main characters. Not doing anything super crazy, but there are triggers.
Be advised.
(Honey Bennett's face claim is Ella Balinska)
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Chapter One:
Something About A Cuckoo's Nest
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Two little girls giggled as they chased each other around the sandy playground.
The slightly smaller one watched her big sister with large olive eyes of admiration. No older than five, in a short-sleeve pink cotton dress, Bonnie Bennett was an adorable child; all cherubic cheeks and sweet laughter.
The elder girl smiled down slyly at Bonnie as the smaller child rushed to go down the slide to escape from their impromptu game of tag.
"Come and get me, Honey! I bet you can't!" Bonnie squealed with a slight lisp, a new side effect of losing one of her front teeth last week.
The smaller girl laughed as she slid down the dark tunnel slide— that was, until she heard a loud thunk above her. There, at the light at the end of the tunnel, long, dark tendrils appeared and were quickly followed by the young face of Honey Bennett. Upside down, her sister smirked back at Bonnie victoriously, brown eyes glinting wickedly.
"Boo!" Honey laughed.
Bonnie screamed.
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The long white hallways of the mental facility were cold and lackluster, the type that people would feel a general unease standing in.
There were nurses in clean scrubs who occasionally walked through, sometimes with patients and sometimes just fretting to and fro with things to do and places to be. You could spot the rare doctor here, but it was Sunday, and there was usually only one available for medical emergencies on that day.
On the first floor of The Richmond Sanitarium were the basics: a reception desk to sign in the patients, a coffee machine, a general welcoming aura painted beige and reeking of window cleaner; but the floors above that where the patients were held was not quite as relaxed.
The second floor housed the short-term patients, the ones who were typically there for a detox, or just until they weren't suicidal. Third floor housed the people in recovery from addictions such as alcoholics, drug users, etc. The fourth floor contained those suffering from mild to moderate PTSD.
The fifth floor was an entirely different story.
This area was reserved for patients prone to episodes where they could hurt themselves or other people. Specifically speaking: the individuals with heavy withdrawal symptoms, psychosis, severe PTSD, and violent tendencies were housed there. Occasionally you'd see the rogue patient who'd continually try to commit suicide who had to be put up there, but basically this was where extreme traumas were revealed and treated.
On this floor, a soft, melodic voice could be heard at odd hours throughout the day. The songs always varied in genre and tone, but sing on the patient would. It was the same story this cold, lonesome night, the full moon her only company during the earliest hours of the day.
"There'd be new birds
Lots of nice and friendly howdy-do birds
Everyone would have a dozen bluebirds
Within that world of my own
I could listen to a babbling brook
And hear a song that I could understand
I keep wishing it could be that way
Because my world would be a Wonderland."
The voice carried eerily through the dark halls.
There, within a small white room, sat the patient Honey Bennett on her white, twin-sized mattress. Dark, glassed-over eyes continued to stare at the locked white door leading out of her room. Her mind felt blurred as she desperately held to the lyrics of the song— an unfortunate side effect of her recent medication change.
They might as well have just put her in a coma if they didn't want her to think properly.
I'm sure that Dr. Madison had that intention in mind, she grimly thought to herself.
Her matted black curly locks continued to bang lightly against the wall behind her boredly, eyes still fixated on the door. She knew it was no use, they had drugged the spit out of her. There was no way she could access her magic, just as it was every other night.
Just one of the many acidic qualities Honey's enclosure possessed.
In first place on that list would be the doctor, herself.
The fifty-three year-old woman was a sociopathic lover of the scientific method who used her facility to abuse— or in her words 'experiment'—on witches who'd gotten in trouble. The witches who needed a firm hand of correction, declared either insane, unstable, or criminals.
Witches like Honey.
For the last eight years, she had sat here placidly; long forgotten her days of active anger.
No. It had settled into a silent rage; the kind that was long-suffering and patient. She thought every day of the family that had abandoned her to this insufferable fate. How they denied her not only her magic, but her freedom. That wasn't what family did. The concept of family had never really been one Honey fully understood, but she knew her family wasn't the gold standard.
Honey's situation had always been different.
Honey Bennett knew from the time she was four years-old that her younger sister received a different kind of love than she did. While her family had smiled at the green-eyed Bonnie with unconditional love, they had never gazed at Honey with such warmth. It didn't bother her much. In her opinion, reliance on outside forces for stability was a sign of the weak and easily manipulated. However, even she had never really imagined the day her own parents would lock her away.
And, it was based purely on the accusation that their child had burned down a treehouse.
Honey had burned it down, of course— but, there hadn't been near enough evidence left over for her parents to have actually believed it. It's as if they wanted her to be the villain, the elder Bennett would often think.
They certainly made it much too easy.
What had been their wake-up call?
Honey often wondered if it was her darling Grandma who'd given her parents the final shove towards hospitalization. 'Grams' Bennett had never been on friendly terms with her older granddaughter. Ever since Honey could remember, Grams had been there with a scowl on her face each time she looked down at her— like she already knew something was wrong with Honey. Maybe the old woman's added disdain had been the straw to break the camel's back.
Either way, it didn't matter to Honey. She hated them all equally. Her generally blasé attitude towards the adults in her life had melted into something acidic and bitter, and she hated the taste.
It was the taste of failure. Of getting caught.
Hadn't that been what Abby had said again when the nurses were about to cart her away to the clinic?
Something like, "You don't care that you did it. You're angry you got caught."
Abby had always said that to Honey growing up. Maybe that should've been the first sign that something was wrong with Honey.
Honey realized for the first time that she wasn't quite like the other boys and girls when she was six.
She had recently received a pair of roller skates from her great-aunt. Quickly losing her balance, young Honey fell and skinned her knee on the rough sidewalk. The little girl felt the pain— but, instead of opening her small mouth to cry out, her curious brown gaze just watched her bleeding knee.
It was the first time Honey had ever seen blood, or even experienced a significant level of pain that she could remember, but all she could think of at that moment was how pretty it was. The way the skin got all red and irritated, the disturbing slash and tear of flesh, the swelling, the tears involuntarily misting behind her eyes— it made her curious.
It made her feel.
That had been the second time something made her feel something other than boredom. She had been yanked out of her thought process by her mother rushing to help her tidy up, but the idea had stuck.
People were boring, but pain was interesting.
And pain was even more interesting if you were the one inflicting it.
Honey learned that lesson at the tender age of seven, right around the same time a twelve year-old boy in Mystic Falls named Danny Matthias went missing.
It was a rather unfortunate incident, but Danny shouldn't have ripped up Honey's notebook. Honey didn't have near the self-control nor the patience in those days to hold back when she felt she'd been slighted. It wasn't her fault that he wasn't aware that the well had been emptied long ago. She had just told him about the treasure down there. Needless to say, Honey hadn't mentioned that the treasure was the ruined notebook tossed to the bottom.
Oh, well.
Ignorance to the potential consequences of his actions wasn't hers to correct.
Her slightly chapped lips hummed together briefly as Honey felt her brain swirl once more. It felt like anytime she got any bearing over herself, it was washed away in the drug cocktail, like waves on the sand, a constantly changing awareness of her environment. There was an empty thrumming in her brain like many voices echoing and distorting over each other in a large corridor. Practically unliveable.
That's when a familiar click from the very edges of Honey's consciousness ripples through her ears, causing the wave of numbness to recede as the clacking sound of high heels made their way down the hall. The witch knew the person just by the gait of her walk. Honey heard it almost every day— but then, why was she hearing it here so late?
Something was wrong.
What followed the doctor's footsteps were other heavy thuds. Honey's heart-shaped face tipped to the side in bleary confusion, squinting at the door just as a buzz rang from the other side of it. The lock disengaged as several male nurses filed into the room, quickly pinning Honey to the floor roughly and jabbing a sharp needle in her neck. It's contents were dispensed immediately after, and lulling her into even more of a stupor.
The hazel-eyed girl chuckled lightly as a red stiletto entered her field of vision.
The shoe tapped slowly, a voice above her tutting, "I'm happy to see that even you are not immune to the influence of this medication, Ms. Bennett. Greatly assists me in your treatment."
Dr. Madison smiled cheerfully down at her. Her pin-straight blonde hair was tied tightly in a bun, matching the cold, clinical look in the woman's eyes.
Honey laughed from the floor as the nurses hoisted her up by the shoulders, her brain rocking violently as they strapped her to a gurney right outside her cell.
"No one is really immune to influence. That's why it works so well," Honey replied lowly, slurring her words as a forehead strap restrained her head in place.
Dr. Madison scoffed, swirling her fingers around as to tell her assistants to round up and move out.
The nurses began to roll Honey down the dark hallway, moonlight streaming in at every window. The doctor began to whistle a light upbeat tune as they walked, but Honey's eyes stayed on the full moon outside. It was beautiful.
She hadn't seen it in a very long time.
The bound woman felt her eyes prickle with tears at the slightest tug from nature, the first in months. The sense of belonging, the sense of home was still there in the trace, pathetic trickles of magic in her veins.
"Did you know that it's only down this hallway that you display signs of genuine emotion? It's like ink on white paper. So starkly contrasting from your typical responses," Dr. Madison noted aloud, recalling Honey's scattered attention as they reach the end of the hall to a lone silver elevator.
Loud creaks sounded from the aged wires of the elevator once the button was pressed, old metal grinding against one another slowly up to the fleet of nurses, doctor, and patient. The doors opened allowing them all entrance, before closing properly and descending at the press of a button. Honey could be heard humming a low, slurred tune in the almost-silent elevator, the only other sound being the doctor's red heel tapping away in anticipation.
Honey's eyes fluttered closed, not only attempting to regain more cognitive thought but suppressing the urge to vomit at being restrained. She had always hated when things wouldn't release her when she wished. That had been how Honey had been caught in the first place. Her parents couldn't release their expectations for her and she could never stoop as low as to meet them. What were her parents' names again? Everything felt like it had been chucked in a giant blender, the drugs finally reaching their full high.
Blown pupils looked emptily at the light above the gurney, her wrists falling limply to the bed they were strapped to as Honey's breath became slower. The colors and lines of her vision blurred before her, then gradually took shape again as the gurney was moved once more. Blur. Sharpen. Blur. Sharpen.
The nurses all followed Dr. Madison, the four having been selected personally by the doctor for this particular medical trial. She had molded them early in their careers to be loyal, and that work had paid off, the doctor having the perfect team to assist her in her less-than-orthodox experiments.
The thin, harpy-like woman watched on with shrewd eyes as they moved Honey Bennett onto the examination table. She continued to observe as the girl on the table laid placidly, staring into nothing with eyes blown black as coal. Her eyelashes fluttered every now and again. Dr. Madison tutted to herself once more, grabbing her pen out of her coat and quickly making note of the fluttering if the girl's eyelids.
Ms. Bennett was trouble whether she was asleep or awake.
One of the male nurses pushed a new cart under the fluorescent light of the examination room, a small red stone sitting on a Petri dish with several medical tools scattered about the place mat beside it. The doctor tapped the end of a pen to her lips twice before turning to one of the nurses, thoughts fully organized and ready as they pushed an IV through Honey's thin forearm.
"Harris, would you mind putting a bit in her mouth so our little friend doesn't bite her tongue off?" The doctor asked one of the nurses sweetly.
There was a deadly edge to her voice that clearly meant 'hop to it.'
The mousy nurse quickly nodded, sliding on a pair of gloves before placing a rubber rectangle in the comatose girl's mouth, strapping it firmly in place without bothering to notice the sudden mist in the patient's eyes at the tightness.
Honey could say nothing. She couldn't even begin to remember how to say anything. Honey Bennett wished her mind would just shut off instead of just giving her static.
The doctor leaned in front of Honey's face, now wearing a mask.
"Now, Honey," Dr. Madison began coldly, "We are going to be doing something light. All you have to do is lie back and let them give you what's in this IV, and then we'll record how you respond to it. Nothing too invasive."
Today.
Honey could say nothing in response as the fluids began transferring into her bloodstream. She hadn't even felt the needle. Black eyes crossed slowly as her eyelids began to flutter much more quickly, her entire body beginning to convulse against the belted restraints of the examination table. Brutal, painful groans left the young woman's throat.
"Interesting.." Dr. Madison hummed as the other nurses rushed to administer lorazepam.
A sharp whistle halted the nurses.
Several pairs of eyes snapped to attention, looking back at their teacher, slight panic written on their young faces.
Why was she stopping them?
"We haven't finished our observation," the doctor explained coolly, peering at them above her thin black frames, "Ms. Bennett is a healthy, young patient. Her constitution will be able to tolerate the treatments a few moments longer."
Horror painted the faces of several of the employees.
The nurses only had a few moments to truly feel the bitterness of guilt swill in their stomachs when the table suddenly stilled. The monitors rang out in a long, bleeting tone as Honey Bennett laid there, almost peacefully, her dilated eyes staring at the ceiling.
The nurses' emergency training and sense of overwhelming panic at seeing the now-dead patient on the table sprung them into action as a small crease mussed the otherwise blank expression of Dr. Madison.
She had underestimated just how pathetic Ms. Bennett was— a shame. The witch could have provided many helpful test results.
That's when there was a rumble.
Rocking violently back and forth, the examination table lashed out violently as if the foundation burned its very legs. Lights began to flicker as the doctor's eyes narrowed on the patient, monitors going haywire with readings before bursting into a shower of sparks.
Had this been the key to a successful test all along?
One of the nurses let out a scream as he watched the patient begin to bleed out of her orifices: mouth, ears, and blank, lifeless eyes flooded with scarlet. The blood sputtered violently against the bit in the witch's mouth, the table continuing to rumble. All the nurses rushed to escape from the room— escape from the situation. Escape from what they'd done.
And as the world spun into chaos around her, the doctor just continued to observe, in awe of the speedy results unfolding before her.
She just could hardly believe that it had worked.
Perhaps that's why Dr. Madison hadn't noticed that the nurses couldn't leave the room. That they were screaming and crying for help. As the examination table removed it's feet from the confines of the sterile concrete flooring, a violent fluorescent red illuminated every vein on Honey Bennett. And all the doctor could do was smile.
A resounding success.
Dr. Madison's cold eyes filled with tears for the first time in a very long time, a manic laugh leaving her. She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
Too bad she would never get to do much else.
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Hey, all. Hope you've enjoyed the first chapter! Let me know what you think so far in the comments. (Yes, I'm well aware that I haven't updated my other stories but inspiration is scarce 2020. I apologize.)
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