In Rutledge Asylum, Dr. James Halden, an American psychiatrist, stepped out of the bright sun and into the dark, old main building. He had come to meet a patient they were reportedly having trouble with. She wasn't responding to them, as she had not done for almost seven years, since she became an inmate.
He walked down the hall, and came to the front desk, with a large, frosted amber window barring any view of inside. Seeing no one, he started walking to the row of cells. "Credentials," came a voice from behind him, at the desk. He jumped.
"I'm Doctor James Halden," he said, startled. He couldn't see any movement behind the glass.
"Credentials," the voice repeated flatly. It was a woman's voice, mid to upper forties, he guessed. Not a pleasant voice.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not quite sure where..."
"You're American? Put your medical licence, some form of identification, and your visa through the slot," she said. Reluctantly, he took out the three items she asked for and slid them through a small slot about halfway up the glass. Finally he saw movement from behind the glass, and caught a glance at a well-manicured hand taking them. The now-noticeable figure peered at them closely, and slid them back through without waiting for him to get his hands up. His licence fell to the floor. As he bent down to pick it up, he felt his dislike for the woman grow with each passing moment. Calmly she told him that he could go on to Dr. Reynald's office. He thanked her curtly and stalked off down the hall.
Dr. Reynald's office was immaculate. White walls, light grey carpeting and black furniture were the only colours. The bookcase held many thick leather-bound books on everything from anatomy to patient records to criminal psychology. Several diplomas hung on the walls, from high-degree universities such as Oxford, and, less recently, from Harvard back in America. The guest chairs were simple, with padded seats and backs. The desk occupied the centre of the room. Both it and the chair behind it were large, ornate, and old fashioned.
A man sat at this desk. He was tall and thin and as imposing as Rutledge itself, with narrow cheekbones and iron-grey hair that was cut closely around his head. His eyes were ice blue and cold. He didn't look old, though his medical records said that he was fifty-six. Rather, he looked to be only in his forties. Dr. Halden was surprised. He had thought of him to be a kindly old Englishman, not the type of person who could have frozen his blood with one glance. When he spoke, his voice was about as cold as his appearance, though not as deep as Dr. Halden expected it to be.
"Enter," he said. Dr. Halden walked in. "Good afternoon, Doctor. I am pleased to meet you."
Halden noticed he rather smirked at his salutations. "Good afternoon. You are here to see Faith Maras, are you not?"
"Yes I am. I was wondering if I could perhaps see her records first, though." Dr. Reynald nodded and gestured to the bookcase. "You will find her in the L-M notebook. Mind you don't tear anything. Those documents go as far back as the early-mid 1800s, when they began storing the records and recopying them."
Carefully, Dr. Halden flipped through. Laughlin, Laurence, LaWare... Liarea, Liberman, Liddell... and so on. He finally found Maras, Faith and began reading. Her chart was something like this:
Name: Maras, Faith............... Birth-date: 10/31/1984
Admitted: 11/2/1994
Medical History: broken arm at age three
[Great Great Grandmother, Alice Liddell, was admitted in mid to late 1800s (precise date unknown).]
Circumstances of Admission: Fire at home (10/30/1994). Only survivor. Admitted after stay in St. George's Hospital for smoke inhalation. Supposedly tried to save brother but failed. Fire fighters found brother's body in hidden stone cavern. She has not recovered and is a danger to herself and others.
Past suicide attempts: 1 failed, year 1997
Response to medication: none
Behavioural Record:
Dr. Hamilton- 9:24 AM, 1999- Was awakened at approx. 4:30 AM by one of the patients (Faith) having some sort of fit, in which she continually screamed for up to an hour, depriving us of a good night's sleep! Nothing would stop that infernal screaming, and of course the other inmates picked up on it, too, so I personally went to check up on her. As I neared her cell, her words became more intelligible- she was screaming for something to leave her alone, but when I looked into her cell there was nobody there but her. She was curled into a foetal position in the centre of the room, back to the door. I entered and her head shot up, at almost an unnatural angle, but the receptionist had warned me of her flexibility. I asked her what was wrong, but she would not speak to me, other than to say a sullen, "Nothing." I asked if she was certain and she flew into a rage and scratched my face with her nails, making it bleed. I have just ordered her nails to be kept short, and cannot wait until Dr. Reynald gets back from his seminar.
Dr. Jacobson- 11-2-1997- This has been a most interesting day. I was in the office, going through the current files when the nurse Emelia came in, screaming that Faith Maras had tried to kill her. I asked her how and she replied that Faith had tackled her and held her to the floor with her arm, by the throat and pushed into her diaphragm. Some bruising on Miss Emelia's throat and... front, confirm this allegation. I went to Faith's cell and was very stern with her, and deservedly so. I have been informed that she has never been reprimanded for her foul treatment of the staff. She slapped me, and I threatened to take away several items in her cell. The look she gave me was damn frightening, and I left the room. Later, the nurse Hilda yelled for my assistance while I was reading the post. I rushed over and found that it was Faith, again, that was giving the trouble. Apparently Hilda was accustomed to the practise of medicating Faith's food with sedatives directly in front of her. Faith stole the bottle and Hilda was now trying to keep it away from her mouth. I grabbed for it, lost my footing and fell atop her. The shock of my weight must have made her release the bottle, because before I knew, we were both chasing it underneath the bed. I reached it first, but she grabbed a letter-opener that I had mistakenly left in my pocket and plunged it into her wrist. I had her wrists bandaged and all sharp or dangerous items in her room were removed. God, I hope Doctor Reynald gets back soon.
Response to Dr. Reynald: none; Dr. Hamilton: none; Dr. Farush: none; Dr. Davidson: none.
Comments: 9/8/98: Faith is incredibly clever- she leads me on, making me think that I am making headway. She told me about her family, her friends, a little about the drawings on the walls, and then all of a sudden, when I thought that she had warmed up to me, she hit me back, hard, quite putting me off of my high horse. About six months into therapy, she grew listless, bored even, and started talking to no one in particular. Then she turned to me and said, quite calmly, "You can leave now." This is very discouraging. If a doctor of Reynald's esteem hasn't gotten anything done, then I foresee nothing but the walls of this asylum for her.
Dr. Alan Davidson
And so on. There had obviously been many doctors, he realised. So why should he stand a chance? And he did not like the sound of that... when you think that she's warmed up to you, she hits you back, hard. He sighed and thought about how he could help - he doubted Reynald thought about things like helping. After a moment, he skimmed through the article again, and remembered seeing something about Liddell back in the book. Yes, there it was, right after Liberman. He flipped through to it, aware of Dr. Reynald's smirk, and somehow managed to ignore him.
Name: Liddell, Alice (No Middle Name)........... Birth-date: N/A
Admitted: N/A, Age 8
Medical History: none
Circumstances of Admission: At age 7, talked about fictional place of 'Wonderland' and short while after, talking about going through a looking-glass. Fire at home. All but she were killed. Has not recovered and is a danger to herself.
Past suicide attempts: 1; failed, year 18-
Response to Medication: none
Has not responded to any doctors.
Release Date: 11/18/18-
Age upon release: 17 years
Comments: Sixth of June, year eighteen --. I simply do not know what to do with her. She has not responded at all, and when she does, it is complete and utter nonsense. Tea parties that never end, a Cheshire cat... croquet with the Queen of Hearts! Once she burst into song, startling me to no small degree. I do not know what to make of her. Only time will tell at this point whether or not she will be released.
Eighth of November, year eighteen --. I went to her room today to check up on her, but it turns out that the hypnosis that I placed on her Wednesday has completely worn off. Stronger methods may be in necessary. Wait, I hear noises. I shall continue in a moment, after I have checked on it.
Damn that girl! She has just attacked one of the nurses! Marie was apparently trying to get that shabby stuffed rabbit away from her, and before the girl could blink, Alice was upon her. How can she reject the hypnosis like this??? I have ordered Alice put in a straitjacket, though I doubt that it will do much good. She doesn't respond to that sort of thing. Doctor Elliot
And that was all; the other dates were missing. Halden's brow furrowed. Has not responded to any doctors, yet she was released suddenly... after ten years of being committed. That made no sense. Now, as for Faith... she was in a strangely different, yet almost eerily similar, situation. She had been there for seven years, committed at age ten. Alice nine through ten, after being committed at seven or eight. Both had two parents and one sibling. Both families were killed in a fire, in the same manor. Now they were both committed to the same asylum.
"How old would Faith be, now? Seventeen?"
"Yes, or thereabouts. She was in shock when she answered my questions." The voice was cool, mocking.
"Please take me to her now," Halden said, wondering about these parallels that Dr. Reynald had clearly missed, and also wondering if there was a good reason that Faith had not responded to his treatments. He began to see why hardly anyone left the asylum: the staff was more interested in tormenting the inmates than in curing them.
Dr. Reynald gestured calmly, and Halden followed him down the line of cells. There were the usual cases, simple mental disorders that could be treated. One of them had a doctor in there, calming a patient. Halden followed the other doctor into a long hall with a heading on the door: 'Criminally Insane'.
"You're keeping her here?" he asked, disgusted.
"Of course not," Reynald said, smirking. "Only problem is that the stairs are on this end of the building. See?" he gestured casually, evidently to show his superior knowledge of the layout of the asylum. Halden contemplated hitting him. Strange, he had been taught not to hate, but already he hated the doctor's condescending superiority that he exerted over the whole asylum. All the same, he followed him, doing his best to keep civil, up the long, black-marble spiral staircase. He stared at it, amazed at the opulence this place had. A story up, he noticed a crystal chandelier and scoffed. Half of this money could have gone to the patients.
He quieted his anger, realising that he was lagging behind, and hurried to catch up. Meanwhile, in the farthest cell, a patient sat, waiting.
She hated her cell. She hated the doctors, and the nurses. But she mostly hated herself. The turmoil that raged within her fragile mind was getting unbearable. She had to find some way to relieve it. But how?
"It's your fault. You weren't fast enough. You didn't listen. You tripped. Idiot," she said. It wasn't the first or the last time that she had mercilessly disparaged herself like this. "If you had showed the cave to him when you found it he'd still be alive, he wouldn't have died. You couldn't even take the time to point him down the right tunnel. You had to go into hysterics. Get all heroic and try to save the other corpses. You idiot! You let Jeremy die, and for nothing! NOTHING!!" she screamed the last word, startling an old crow that was perched on her high window. It squawked disapprovingly at her, and settled.
Suddenly, it glanced warily at the door, as it always did when she was getting company, more specifically, doctor's company. She looked up, her dark hair partially hiding her face, a feral look in her eyes. She grimaced as the light from the opening door hit her eyes, which were generally adjusted to the dark.
Dr. Halden stepped in, looking concerned. He'd apparently heard the shriek. She had never met the man, but she recognized him from news clippings that Dr. Reynald carelessly dropped every now and then. Halden was fairly well known for his advances in psychological meds, and was widely respected for his kind treatment of patients, no matter what was wrong. Still, she did not trust him. He was probably just another smug, superior doctor who paid people to say they had been ill and he had been the best thing that had happened to them. That was what all of the other doctors had been.
Meanwhile, the objects of her dislike studied her. When she had arrived at Rutledge's, she had been 55cm (4'7) when she had arrived, and fairly healthy looking. Things were different now. She had grown only four inches since then, having (quite unintentionally) quit growing at fourteen. The constantly dim light had permanently darkened all brown out of her hair, leaving it thoroughly black. It had been hacked off fairly unevenly some time ago, and now reached about halfway down her shoulder blades. Her skin was dead white, with circles under her eyes that stood out painfully. Her eyes were large and staring, and he had heard from one of the nurses that she had not slept since arriving. Halden watched for any signs of her changing her demeanour. Reynald watched for signs that she was going to bite him again.
It had been another useless session, and Reynald had been getting frustrated, and had snapped out about something... either Jeremy or "those voices," she couldn't remember which. But something inside her head snapped, and she had attacked him. He'd got away, she thought ruefully, but she had bitten his forearm hard enough that it had bled. She felt his eyes on her, and gave him a smug glance, particularly in the direction of his arm. Then she faced the window again, leaving him to glare at her back. Halden watched the exchange and shrugged, not really knowing the circumstances behind it. Then, he stepped forward, ushering the doctor out of the room. Whatever he did, he knew that it would be at least a little better if Reynald wasn't there.
He studied her for a moment, noting the jaded, hopeless slump of her back, and felt a small surge of pity, followed by suspicion, remembering the other doctors.
"You're Faith Maras?" he asked. She nodded, still not watching him. She was sitting - no - she was perched on the bed. There was almost nothing in the room, save some drawings on the walls and an old stuffed rabbit. He studied it for a moment.
Faith watched his reflection in the glass, saw him study the rabbit. "It was my brother's." He started, hearing her speak.
"It was one of his only things they were able to save... They saved a ring that belonged to him as well; don't ask me how. I think he was wearing it. I gave it to him as a birthday present," then, feeling that she had said too much, went silent again.
"Go on," Halden urged gently. She snuck a glance at him, uncomfortable. A line from Ethan Frome popped into his head suddenly. "He looks as if he was dead and in hell now!"
Her eyes were haunted, almost dead. Nevertheless, she continued in her quiet voice,
"Jeremy always loved knick-knacks, punky jewellery, things like that. So I was shopping for him, and I found his ring. It's a cobra that wraps around a finger about three times - reaches up to the first knuckle. It's silver, but it's got a greenish tint, and emerald eyes. He wore it most every day. He got me a pendant to match the next year. The firemen were able to rescue that, too - he borrowed it that night. I was wearing my other favourite necklace... a shark's tooth, the one I'm wearing now. The drawings on the walls..." here she gestured lamely to them "are Jeremy's and mine," she said, regarding them sadly.
"I lost my brother at a young age too, when I was about fourteen. He was a year older than I was, and I loved him deeply. After he was gone, I was angry, sad, frightened... pretty much everything ran through my mind, not just that I was going to miss him, but mostly that I felt that I had caused it," Halden admitted. "My parents were also angry. They were worried about me."
"Your parents weren't killed that same day," she pointed out.
"Much less the same hour," he agreed.
"I lost everything that night. My parents, my home, family, friends, my brother, everything's gone. Last I heard - when I was ten - my best friend June was in an orphanage, waiting for her grandmother to come and get her because she was sick the night of the fire and wasn't there. Her grandmother is in Montreal, Canada, so I'll never see her again," she said coldly. Then, bitterly, "even if I ever get out of here."
"I'm sorry," Halden said quietly. Somehow... somehow, she didn't strike him as being terribly insane. And that left him at a loss for words.
"Can we talk about other things?" Faith asked wearily. She found a small rip in her sheet and absently started picking at it. He noticed jagged scars running across her wrists and torn nails.
"Your great, great, grandmother was here," he said, after a moment of tense silence.
"She was? Alice?" Faith asked, immediately interested. She'd known already, but she was interested enough, and humouring his efforts at conversation couldn't hurt anything.
"Yes. I have the file here," he said, and produced the file he had lifted from Reynald's office. Faith eyed it, slightly suspicious.
"He never lets any files out of his office," she said. "I know," he shrugged. "My wife would be torn between laughing and killing me if she knew."
"Wife?" she asked curiously. "I didn't think that psychopathologists got married."
Halden laughed. "We only just got married a few months ago," he told her. "I'm also a psychologist, not a psychopathologist." He noticed that she hardly changed expressions, even when he had mentioned Alice. At least her eyes hadn't changed much.