Wields Ill Rats
By: TrSolarCat / RocketSolarCat
Chapter 3: Metaphysical Genius (Escaping the Asylum)
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Wake up.
Cathryn threw her arms around him, tears still falling from her radiant face, she softly said, "Willard! Oh, god! I thought you weren't going to…I mean…"
"You left me." He told her, but he truly wanted deep inside of his secluded heart to say that he had missed her. "I was going to die."
Can't you hear it? Wake up!
She pressed into him further, her crying more bitter now, she told him, "Willard, I was scared! I didn't want to leave you—you just looked so horrible in that house. I didn't know what to do! You k-killed Martin!"
He jerked at that name, it brought such memories back, he didn't want to hear it anymore. She felt his twitch under her gentle hands and let him go. Leaning back onto the cold stained walls he stared into her eyes with malice.
"Don't say his name." He was hostile at the sound of it. But her eyes revealed something in that moment—it wasn't fear or hate it was—
Wake up!
"I don't want to die in here!" He yelled suddenly hysteria swept into his voice, as he seen that odd look in her eyes, "He wanted to kill me! He took everything I had from me—don't you know that?"
"I know." She still had that peculiar look in her eyes—it was something he'd never known before now. Then she leaned over to him calmly, her hand went to his sweating forehead going idly among his coarse hair, "But this is your chance, Willard. Help these people—and maybe they will take you out of this place."
Wake up. It's so loud, how can you not hear it?
She held out the folder in her hands, reluctantly he took it from her letting his own hand slide across hers—she was so warm he didn't want to let go. With his heart aching, he took the manila folder allowing her fingers to slowly slip away from his own and the sense of peace in his mind escaped him—the cold was all he had left now.
"Miss. Miller." The detectives came in, it was the young one whom spoke first (Willard was beginning to detest this young man now). Willard instinctively resumed his unruffled face but as he watched Cathryn move away unhurried in her pace, he wanted to tell her anything—yet knew he didn't dare or the detectives would know he was indifferent to his company. They might begin to think he would eventually talk to them as well—which would not ever happen.
As he watched her slim form disappear through the open door accompanied by the investigators he remained deathly still until she slipped away from his view.
Away from his life. Again.
Wake up! Can't you hear it—its so close to you—One, two, three—! CLANK! CLANK! BAN—K!
It was deafening; the noise filled his ears. A wailing high-pitched tone that pieced his ears—his eyes opened with a sharp snap.
It was the fire alarm. Moaning he pulled himself into a tight ball within the sheets, this was not the first time they had a fire drill. Normally it would be midday before they would test such things.
"Odd." He groaned as he brushed a hand across his face as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. A red glaring light was shining out in the corridor of the asylum, giving Willard enough light to see the manila folder floor. Its contents scattered there as a reminder: Yes, Cathryn was there, yes—she had touched his face and cried for him. But that was not today. It was sometime ago—a week perhaps, time is irrelevant here.
When the noise had not stopped in several intervals of time, Willard began to worry; crawling out of the he stealthy crept to the door. The red glow lit up against his face—it was the Panic Buttons. These were designed in every room for the inmates to call the orderly on duty to their aid. Giving a tilt of his head, he realized in the deadly silent halls—all the lights were cherry lights were on, save his own.
Willard leaned against the door further, standing on the ends of his feet he caught a glance of the Orderly's Station, near the end of the hall. His hand fell against the door handle groping for a better view he pushed against the handle until—the handgrip was down with a sudden jerk.
Unlocked. The fire alarm must have tripped the emergency mechanism—the doors are all unlocked.
Pulling the door open, as it creaked tediously—Willard pushed his head out discreetly—his mind was whirling. Further still, he came out, glancing at the red lights all through the foyer—why was anyone else not coming out?
His feet were cold against the floor, as he turned away from the Orderly's Station, he saw there was no exit in the opposite direction—he'd have to sneak past the Orderly. If the pathetic Orderly was even still there, all he could make out was that it was empty.
Quietly he went down the hall—feet sliding against the flattened linoleum flooring, as he neared the station a scratching noise occupied his ears. First it was near-silence, but as he neared the location near the end of the hall, it grew gradually louder.
Like nails against a chalkboard—like tiny claws against the walls—like rats.
There are rats in here. He told himself, as he finally reached the station, as his eyes edged towards it—almost as if he wanted to see the Orderly. The television was in the background—static across its screen giving a hissing sound it tinted the room in blue still no sign of the guard.
Scratch, scrap…
The noise was so much louder in here. Delicately stepping in the doorway his eyes were drawn to the food on the table—spilling down the flank of it.
A loud creaking noise, Willard turned to it—the Orderly was there. His face was ghastly pale; blood was seeping on his clothes—torn and falling from his body. Willard's first instinct was to run—but the Orderly had stepped into the door's jamb blocking it.
The guard's eyes stretched into a panicked trembling look as he backed away. "You!"
"Where are they?" Fearfully he whispered, trembling himself. Shaking from the sight of the badly mangled (yet, miraculously living) Orderly.
Giving a nervous shaking of his head, the Orderly stepped further away.
It was just like Cathryn—refusing to assist him.
"Where are they?" He grew louder with sudden infuriation—"Tell me!"
"They are—." Began to whisper the Orderly still shaking from fright, blood poured from his hairline and flowed into the crevices of his features. Dripping to the floor as he spoke, "Behind…"
He whispered alarmed, as he rose a quaking finger.
Distressed Willard rotated on his heels—as a blur of white jumped at his from the corner of his eyes. Frozen he felt a warm pair of feet hit his back, he couldn't move fast enough—he waited for the needle-like teeth to sink in—
Nothing.
Willard's eyes were shut harshly, he was expecting the piercing skewer to invade his skin at any moment, but when there was none he reopened his eyes slowly. Instead an itching pair of whiskers pressed against his neck, then a writhing nose sensitively along his shoulders.
"Socrates?" He breathed, as he reached for the tiny vermin, pulling the rats claws from the material of his hospital gown. The ivory rat's pink nose sniffed at his face as he held it out to him—"Did you find Ben? Is he here?"
The Orderly, the whole time, had been standing in pained awe, when Willard at last turned his eyes back to the guard he said, "Are you going to kill me?"
"If you don't help me escape, I will." Willard smoothly lied, he didn't truly even know where these rats were, "I want something to wear."
"Hell, man! Whatever you want!" Wailed the Orderly, as he pointed a shaken finger, "There—go—third locker to the left is mine. Take anything you want!"
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When he returned to the entrance of the door, wearing a deep blue sweater and a pair of chestnut pants, Willard stared at the shaking Orderly who was giving a nervous watch at the door.
"Can't you hear them?" He told Willard, "They are all over the place."
"I want to leave. They will follow me." He assured the Orderly, though in his mind he hoped for a rat to tear at the Orderly's neck until he was dead.
Its funny—he was enjoying this so much, though he was scared himself. Watching the Orderly squeamishly twist his head to the sides listening to the scratching of the rats running free somewhere in the asylum—ready to spring out at either of them at any second.
Through the corridors they went, until they were at the last hall's end, Willard could see the red Exit sign flaring at the top through the last room—a broad room of tables. It must be the Visitor's room, no wonder he didn't know what it was at first glance. No one would visit him—the Rat-Man. Several games lay strung out across the tables as well as the floors.
At last he was free.
He hugged Socrates to his warm body gently before he quicken his pace into the Visitor's Room, his eyes hopefully set on the Exit sign.
Then he saw them. Pouring through a vent by the door—spilling like liquid onto the floors. A giant mass, flooding out only to shrink to the outer walls of the room. Climbing up lamp cords so they could sit hastily on the tables (there were so many—they ended up falling to the floor—as a new one climbed up). One giant body of rats!
Willard's heart sank—but his pace did not slow—he watched as the Orderly behind him did not follow but instead fell into a run for the corridor they had just left.
Rats surrounded his feet, slipping around him as he neared the exit. He was expecting the nips of their teeth or the stabbing of their claws at any second—as he did when Socrates had flung onto his back—but nothing was happening.
Ben must have wanted him alive. The rats paid him hardly any mind at all—as he finally reached the exit—giving the doors a push.
He was free—he thought as he watched the door close behind him—leaving behind him the horrid prison. He held Socrates tight in his sweating palms bringing him closer he kissed the rat sweetly on the bridge of its nose—"Free Socrates, free."
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Authoritrix Notes: Thank you all for reviewing last time!
