Asylum
A/N- Ahh, finally…hope you like this! Thanks to all reviewers!!
Oliver- God, Im getting tired of just sitting around here molding.
Yeah, yeah yeah. On with the story!!!
Chapter 3, Enigma
It had been days since the dream. Every night Oliver would try to sleep, but would be attacked by different horrors in his mind. One dream that particularly scared him was the night he heard yells and then had a searing pain through his arm, only to wake up and clutch his arm. But there was only a scar. The scars were everywhere, he had found….. not only on his arms, but on his legs, torso, even back and stomach. All deep and red and of an unknown origin. So with his questions building and his dreams haunting, he found it difficult to sleep, despite the smaller, but still effective dosages of medication. Most of the time he just laid awake in bed trying to remember, and listening to the faint screams coming from different corridors. He continued inspecting himself in the mirror on his trips to the bathroom.
He felt like a vegetable. Charlotte would come in, usually once a day, and try to get closer to him. She would ask him about what his favorite color or sound or smell was…nothing concrete enough to really get to know him. Nothing personal or even general enough to know what he was all about. He'd try to mumble out answers. Try to say the magic words that could take him back home. But mostly, all he could do was lie there in his own comforts, daydreaming.
But one day something a little different happened.
After the usual round of interrogations, Charlotte said, "You know, Oliver, I'm pleased with your progress. And I was thinking, if you're ready, maybe," she paused, "maybe we could try and go see Dr. Jones again."
It was more of a question than a statement. Oliver didn't know who Dr. Jones was. He didn't even know where he was.
"Who's that?" he finally said after mulling it over.
Charlotte looked disappointed and sighed. "Please don't lie to me, Oliver. I'm not here to judge you or think you're bad."
"Then what are you here for?"
"Please, Oliver. We're going to see Dr. Jones in the morning."
And then it was over. She was out the door and left Oliver alone. Again. He didn't want to go to sleep, but it was beckoning. He had gotten a full 5 hours of sleep in the last 3 days. So with a final long stare at the ceiling, he was off in sleep.
There were two people. A dark haired, tall man and a blonde, slender woman. Scared for their lives, and trembling with tears. They repeatedly sobbed "Why?" Oliver could feel his own tears stream down his hot face. He watched someone hold a wand up to them, a smirk on his face. "Crucio" he said happily, and watched the people curl up into fetal positions, and writhe around the floor, screaming. When they finally stopped, gasping for breath, he held the wand up again. Oliver wanted to scream out to them, to stop the man…but he couldn't move. His feet were nailed to the ground, forbidding him movement. He just let the tears fall. "Avada…." The man pulled the woman closer and held her tightly…. "Kedavra." And they were dead. The man only laughed, and walked away. Oliver fell to his knees, staring at the corpses of his own parents.
He couldn't remember the dream the next morning. He remembered faint screams, but other than that had a comfortable sleep for the first time in almost a week. After his morning trip to the bathroom and a shower (supervised by Diane, as always) he was greeted by Charlotte.
"Let's go, Oliver. Just like before"
He really didn't like her.
They stepped out onto the tile, Charlotte in her bone colored heels and Oliver once again bare footed. He followed her down the hallway the opposite way from the bathrooms. She slowly reached into her pocket, pulled out a key and went through the task of unlocking the door. She was moving terribly slow. Slow enough to make Oliver want to reach up and do it himself. But she finally got it unlocked and opened the double doors. Much to his dismay, it was just another hallway. Eggshell white with cold white tiles. But there were a few rooms. They walked on.
Charlotte's heels echoed in the hallway and Oliver curiously glanced in the rooms. There were people in them, wearing the same clothes as he was, lying on their beds. Dead, for all he could see. It went on like that for a while until they got to the second door. This time, when she opened it, a flood of color poured into his eyes. True it was only a regular dark brownish, reddish, greenish room, mildly furnished, but it beat the eggshell for sure.
There were televisions in the room. Bookshelves, a few staircases leading up to somewhere unknown, and a receptionist's booth. Most importantly, there were people. Half-alive people, at that. They were wearing the same clothes as he was, blue cotton. Oliver was excited at first, but then realized these people were quiet, secluded and staring. A few were playing checkers, but barely looked like they had enough strength to move the pieces.
"Please have a seat, Oliver," Charlotte said for what must have been a second or third time, as she sounded impatient.
He looked around quickly and sat in a cushioned chair by the receptionist's booth.
"I'll be right back…the receptionist will watch you. Please behave yourself," Charlotte said. She hesitantly walked into a room in a different hallway, looking back at him at least 3 times.
Oliver took another look around him. Everyone was pale and their eyes were all gray and lifeless. He sighed and sunk deeper into his chair and closed his eyes.
"Hi," someone next to him said.
He looked over to see a girl about his age. Equally pale with stringy dark brown hair, but with a happy smile.
"Hi," he said slowly.
"What's your name?"
"Er…Oliver,"
"Oh, I like that. My name is Clara. It's strange here, isn't it?"
He looked at her strangely.
"Where is this?" he said.
"Oh, its called the Redwood Place," she said nonchalantly. "Ive just come here this morning. What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!"
"Oh," she glanced at his scarred arms. "I understand."
"I didn't do anything…." He said again, more so trying to convince himself than her.
"It's okay."
"What…What did you do?" he was almost afraid to ask.
"Im just a little too sane to be anywhere else, that's all."
Suddenly, it hit him. "We're in a nut house."
She looked quizzical.
"I'm in a fucking nut house," he said with a maniacal laugh and hung his head.
"It's an asylum, Oliver," she said it in the same tone as Charlotte would have. "But if you're in here for the same reason I am, it's not because you're crazy. Its because youre too sane. These people..the doctors, that Charlotte woman…they think I've lost my grip on reality. But really, Im holding it tighter than ever, and most people cant comprehend that kind of stability."
The metaphors were making his headache worse.
"Come on, Oliver," Charlotte said from out of nowhere. "Dr. Jones would like to see you now."
He reluctantly stood up.
"Bye Oliver…" Clara said sadly.
He started walking and looked back, startled to realize her eyes were a brilliant shade of turqoise. Maybe the monotony hadn't hit her yet. "She'll go soon," Oliver thought. "And she is crazy."
Dr. Jones's room was warm; the carpet instantly soothed his feet, sore and cracked from the cold. It smelled like coffee, maybe hazelnut or French vanilla. It was brightly lit, with a window behind the desk. There were two cushiony cherry wood chairs, a bean bag like chair in the corner, two sets of shelves with countless books on them, a filing cabinet, and a small stand in the corner with a glass carousel on it.
"Bye, bye, now, Oliver," Charlotte said quickly, seemingly glad to get away from him, and shut the door behind her.
"Long time, no see, Oliver," the man who was Dr. Jones said nicely. He was a tall man, you could tell even though he was sitting down. He was tanned and with dark hair and eyes. He was a handsome man, although his cheek had a recent scar lingering on it, and his top lip was recovering from a large crack.
"Er…wish I could say the same," Oliver said.
"Please, have a seat."
Oliver didn't sit. "What did I do?"
Dr. Jones looked startled. "What?"
"Why am I in here? I didn't do anything."
"Well, I don't know how to answer that, Oliver."
"You tell me what I did to get in this fucking place and then we'll all have a tea party. I don't care. Just tell me why I'm here."
"Oliver, if you…"
"And WHY do you people keep saying my name like that? I know what it is, you don't have to keep reminding me!" Oliver was still standing up, but hadn't moved from the doorway.
"Okay. If you truly believe you can't remember what you've done, we'll talk about it. But now is not the time. Instead, I'd like to ask you about how things are going for you since we last talked."
"We never talked!"
"Ol-…..Please. Have a seat."
Oliver hesitated, and then gave up. He sat down, defeated.
"I'm interested in how you feel about seeing me again."
Pause.
"How do you feel about the medications your on?"
Pause.
"How does it make you feel to be back with the other patients in the lobby?"
He continued to ask about Oliver's feelings, but Oliver's attention was drawn on the filing cabinet. It dawned on him that he had a file. He must have had one. How else would this doctor know anything about him? He had to see it, that's the only way he would ever get any answers.
"Hmm?"
Oliver looked up.
"How does it make you feel?"
"Uh…" He thought he'd try and cooperate a bit. "I don't know…."
"How does Mrs. Browning seem to you?"
"She's okay."
It went on like that. He'd mumble answers that seemed to suit the Doctor. The file didn't even matter at the moment…he saw the sky from the window behind Dr. Jones. It was beautiful. The sky looked so remarkably blue. It felt like he had never seen clouds before. He remembered quidditch. He remembered the feeling of being free. Of souring through the air without a care in the world. He remembered Hogwarts. He remembered his friends, family, and life back at home. He couldn't even tell you what country he was in. Nobody sounded like him here. He had once asked Diane about his wand and she looked at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was. But the only way he could find out was with that file.
His mind snapped back to attention, and for another half hour he answered Dr. Jones's never ending questions. Plotting. He needed a key. He eyed the key Charlotte had laid on the doctor's desk hungrily. It must have been a master key, she had used the same one throughout the whole "journey". How could he get it without the doctor seeing?
Oliver looked back out the window.
"Have you ever heard of quidditch?" he interrupted one of his newer questions.
The doctor made another startled/puzzled look.
"I think you've mentioned it. Care to tell me about it?"
"Well…" he had to be careful. "Its played on broomstick."
"Uh-huh…"he was looking quizzical now.
"Like if I was on a broomstick," he pointed out the window, "There'd be three goals off in that direction."
Dr. Jones turned around and looked out the window.
"What would they be for?"
He quickly grabbed the key off the desk and tried to collect himself.
"Well you'd try to get a ball through one of the hoops."
Dr. Jones turned around. "Have you ever played squid-itch, Oliver?"
He needed somewhere to put it. He didn't have pockets.
"Er…yeah, a few times," he said. He nonchalantly reached up with the key in his palm and scratched his other armpit. He slowly stuck the key in between his armpit, and put his arm down. As long as he didn't move his arm, it would stay there.
"How does it feel to play squid-itch, Oliver?"
"It's the best feeling in the world," he replied sadly.
After the never-ending session finally, and ironically, ended, Charlotte led him back to his room. He was still forced to take the medication, but he forced himself to stay awake. He couldn't tell what time it was, but when he started hearing the faint screams again, he knew it was late. He got off of his bed, eyeing the video camera carefully, praying that whoever was on duty was busy tending to the screamer. He realized days ago the doors locked from both ways. From the inside, probably, in case there was a doctor inside taking care of the patient, and the outside, for obvious reasons. As long as the patients didn't get the keys, it seemed effective. But he had gotten a key.
He walked over to the door, slid the key in, and turned it. The click that followed nearly made him cry with relief. He opened the door to a silent, white, but dark hallway. He left the door a half inch open for a clean return. He kept the key hidden in his palm and tiptoed down the hallway. One door, then another. Everything was going well. He found himself finally in the lobby he was in before. The screams were getting closer, so he had to hurry. It was when he was inserting the key into Dr. Jones's door when the men in white suits came out, carrying Clara, kicking and screaming like a banshee. Oliver just stared. When she caught sight of him, she immediately stopped screaming and just stared. He was sure the men were going to look over at him. But then Clara nearly smiled, and went on screaming again. He threw himself into the office, locking the door behind him and switching the lights on.
Oliver briefly wondered how the screamer could have been Clara the whole time when she had just gotten there this morning, but quickly forgot about it and went to the filing cabinet.
"A – F…. G – L… M –R ….. S – Z."
He shoved the key into the last one, only to find that the key wouldn't fit.
"Shit!" He yelled and threw the key away from him.
He stood up and walked over to the desk, immediately pulling out drawers and going through them. He stopped short when he saw the calendar sitting on top of the desk.
"What the fuck…"
June 3, 2006.
A year. Where had he been for a year? The file…the file would tell him.
He continued searching and finally found a small bronze key. He leaned down, inserted the key, and click….it was open. Oliver fingered through the files until finally he came across his own. He took it out and threw it down on the floor, opening it and then stopping short.
The first things he saw were photos of mangled corpses of people he'd never seen. He felt the urge to vomit but held back, and went on. He had to know. There were reports on him….
"Oliver Wood is refusing to cooperate, he talks freely about the deaths, like it doesn't bother him. Mr. Wood is considered mentally instable and should be taken to the R.P.-"
It didn't stop there. The newspaper clippings….none of them mentioned Hogwarts at all, it was like he himself was a muggle. But it wasn't that that bothered him…
"School's Star Alumni Massacres City…..raped……murdered…..beaten…..HOMICIDE…"
There was a picture of a girl who went to Hogwarts with him. Bushy brown hair, short, and a muggle-born. She was dead, twisted into a horrible puddle of her own blood, and half naked. "RAPE" it said.
The tears started coming. He hadn't done that……..
"…..kills innocent girl after raping her….."
He saw a picture, then, of Harry Potter. But it wasn't Harry. His eyes were bloodshot, he was as white as milk, and his lips were blue. He stared up at him through the picture. Oliver gasped and vomited then. Tears and puke stained the carpet and his clothes, but he went on.
There was one more picture. His parents, lying in the corner of their room. His mother's mascara was streaked; his father had obviously been beaten. He wondered what happened, but then suddenly remembered his dream. They were dead, and he knew it. Had he watched them die, like in his dream?
But, then he saw the report….
"Youth terrorizes and murders his own parents, before trying to kill himself-"
He had killed them. He killed his mom and dad. He killed Harry and those muggles. He raped and beat that girl from school. He cut himself. He was a murderer.
He killed his parents. It was him. He said "Crucio" and then laughed at them writhing in pain..and then brought his wand down again….killing them….
Oliver sobbed uncontrollably, he didn't know how long he had been there. He could have been there for minutes, or hours, curled up into a ball, clutching his parent's picture for dear life and almost choking on his own tears. He didn't even hear the men come in. They leaned down with the familiar rod, and then it all just disappeared.
"We're so proud of you. We love you so much, Oliver…."
A/N- There you go. Sorry for the wait, let me know if it was worth it. :-) To come- We find out more about Clara, more about Dr. Jones and his scars, and Oliver is introduced to a little bit of life outside the walls of the Redwood Place. Plus…maybe he won't be in there for so long…….