A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.

-The Sleeper, Edgar Allan Poe-

Chapter Two

"…Then it all started to Fall…"

It was late October, in the year 2014.

Aleta constrained herself further into the corner of the small room, with her knees against her chest and her long hair in a tousled mess. Charcoal sketches, which were scattered about on the floor, confined her to that spot like a white fence. Currently, she was outlining a still portrait of sunflowers, two porcelain dolls dressed as little boys, and a figurine of the Virgin Mary posed in prayer.

Earlier that morning, she ate a miserable breakfast of toast and milk that did not satiate her hunger, and was garbed rather hastily in a plain shirtdress and a pair of white oxford shoes. The air was cold, for it did not have a good heating system like the other parts of the hospital. Her room was silent, because it was quarantined from the main buildings and recreational areas. One specific nurse would visit her on the weekends to give her medication and check her blood pressure. Everything else, including her therapy sessions, were prepared by her doctor, Marcelo Jimenez.

At their first encounter, Aleta truly believed that he would be able to help her escape her nightmares. She regarded him as a passionate worker, who considered his patients with utmost meticulousness. While there was no definite cure to her mental illness, Doctor Jimenez had promised that there will be a method for her to control the deliria. It was doubtful at first, but Aleta held onto it decisively.

A familiar racket pulled the young woman from her artistic reverie: it was beginning to rain outside. How Aleta wished she could leave the suffocating room and feel the cold drops assaulting her skin. Yet, she was able to find another means of comfort, and she knew that it had to be kept close to her. She reached up and ran a slender finger down the long silver chain around her neck until she found the familiar ornament at its center. She gently lifted the object so that the dwindling light rebounded off of its smooth rose gold surface. It reassured her; it gave her a small amount of strength each time she felt the worse has yet to come.

Her eyes tended to wander over to the door while she applied the shades and smudged the charcoal. Glancing at her calendar, she assumed that the nurse was supposed to arrive with her prescriptions. She set her drawings aside and got up to look through the window. Nothing else was there outside.

"How strange," she said to herself. "She should have returned by now. Maybe they forgot to look at the schedule again."

Before Aleta could return to her work, however, a faint hum resonated in her ears. It was tolerable, at first, but then it began to raise volume and intensities within a few seconds, and she found herself pressing her hands against her forehead, as though a sharp knife was stabbing every part of her brain. Aleta fell forward on her knees, screaming in pain, and the locket slipped out of her shirt to swing back and forth beneath her. She quickly seized it, hoping that it would, in some way, ease her agony.

All of a sudden, something violently collided with the steel door. Aleta jumped away in surprise. "Hey! Open the door! You've got to help me! Please help—Oh God, no!" Then, without warning, blood was splashed across the window.

The young woman watched in pure horror. And the heavy door suddenly opened on its own accord. Aleta waited for the murderer to enter, but nothing came through. Her primary reaction was dread, but the feeling passed rather swiftly. She got up and made cautious strides towards the lone exit. With a light shove, she fully opened the door and stepped out into the empty corridor.

There were slicks of blood everywhere, showing that the person was already hurt when he arrived. But where was the body? A corpse should be lying around here somewhere, and she knew that there were no other routes in this particular building. The light above her head blinked in rapid succession, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood. She saw a shadow move beneath the gap of the doors. Aleta needed to find Doctor Jimenez, or someone else to help her, as soon as possible.

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "But I can't just wait here."

Aleta added a bit of speed in her steps, but what she saw around the corner had her stopping instantly, and she reeled back in shock—bodies of nurses, doctors, and patients alike were scattered about like abandoned rag dolls, each covered in their own blood. Her trembling hands flew to her gaping mouth, hushing whatever shriek she had yet to release. Their deaths were still fresh, and some still expelled bodily fluids. The murderer must be here. She was now driven with despair. Regardless, she had to find a way to escape, and seek help.

Aleta became wary in her step. She evaded the puddles so that she would not leave any footprints and give herself away to the one responsible for all of this. The revolting odor of blood, fecal matter, and urine saturated the air of the mental hospital. Upon reaching another corridor, she saw a blockade of gurneys and benches had already been made. Anxiety filled her—she was imprisoned.

There should be some other route for her to take—Aleta was hopeful that the upper floors hadn't been blocked off yet, or worse: the killer could be lurking there already. She turned back from whence she came and took the passages for the East Hall. She sniffed the air—it had the same choking scent to it that was definitely unnerving and repulsive. She was shaken yet again to discover more bodies littering the way. The young woman loosely identified some of them from her sittings, but she could not put a name to the lifeless face. At that point, a movement caught her attention. Aleta crouched down in defense, and slowly approached the station to hide behind it.

However, upon reaching her target, something snatched the back of her dress and effortlessly lifted her off the floor. She let out a loud cry in surprise and struggled to scratch the hand of her attacker. She anticipated him to drive a knife into her gut, or to slit her throat so that it would soon be over. Aleta continued to fight his hold, and then glanced up at the stranger in panic—his pale gray eyes, almost milky white, were fixed on her terrified face. She let out a cry when his right hand shot out. However, to her disbelief, he had caught her locket, and was gawking at it with a crestfallen gaze. He stroked the carvings with his thumb before it fell out of his grasp. Aleta stared back in surprise. Her cheeks burned, and her palms grew sweaty.

When she felt his grasp loosening, she used the moment to shove him away from her and step back. She had to run and hide, but then there was a mysterious energy that was holding her into place, fastening her feet to the floor so she was unable to escape. "Please, don't hurt me." Aleta said.

To her dismay, the hooded man strode forward. "Aleta…" he groused, moving closer and closer. Her eyes widened. How did he know her name?

"W-Who are you? How do you know me?" she said, driven by her growing unease.

Then the man abruptly stopped; his look remained unreadable. "I see," he said in a throaty voice. "So Jimenez managed to weaken an engram and suppressed it further with beta blockers. However, he doesn't know that I can fix that matter with no trouble."

Aleta feared for her life now. "How do you know Doctor Jimenez? Wha-what did you do to him?" In an instant, the hooded man vanished, and quickly reappeared in front of the young woman.

She forced herself to encounter his eye. In his glower, she now saw a virtually perceptible hunger, but for what, she did not know. He was so close now. "I am not a fabrication of your mind, Aleta. This is not a hoax triggered by your delirium." He was quick to grab her hand and place it against his disfigured chest. Aleta let out an alarmed gasp at the roughness of the skin beneath her fingers.

The man then told her, "I'm here; I'm real. And I'm not going to let them take you away from me. Not this time. You were meant to be mine."

Aleta felt it stir from the bottom of her feet. It slithered upward rapidly, burning her very flesh until the tendrils sharpened themselves before plunging into her head to penetrate and probe her mind. She could feel her mouth parting, but the screams remain wedged in her throat, unable to escape. Everything became dark in an instant. Bits of pictures, unknown and known, flashed in front of her eyes in rapid succession—she became sick in the stomach, and she had no choice but to fall forward to pacify the vertigo.

Someone—a woman perhaps—was yelling into her ear, as if it was her task to destroy her hearing. Blurred images of a red chair and a stained glass window came into view. Then, a remarkable thing happened afterwards—a heavy weight fell on top of Aleta, stunning her out of the hysterical stupor. A pair of large hands held her by the shoulders, gently helping her to stand back up and rest against their side.

"Leslie, please give Aleta some time to pull through."

"Time…time…time…"

"Doctor, we have to leave right now." An unrecognized female voice broke through.

In time, Aleta salvaged her strength and looked around to see that she was in the Reception Area. The one who had been calming her was none other than Doctor Jimenez. Leslie, a fellow patient, was clinging to the hem of her skirt, nearly raising it a bit with the childish intention to hide from the monsters lurking in the dark.

"Leslie," Aleta said, her tone strict yet tender. "Let go of my dress and come here." The young man quickly complied and waddled over to snuggle against her.

"Are you sure you're fit to walk, Miss Volante?" Doctor Jimenez asked worriedly.

"Yes, I'm quite fine—" Before she finished her reply, the ground itself began to tremble aggressively, and bits of debris and dust fell on top of their heads.

"We have to go now!" A woman exclaimed, shoving the trio out of the mental hospital. "Connelly! Bring the car over here right away!"

A policeman ran past them, but he rapidly stopped to see that their getaway vehicle had been swallowed by the earth. He uttered a curse, glancing around frantically for other means of escape. Then he saw a vacant ambulance.

"Come on! I'll just hotwire the thing!" he shouted.

The woman behind them, Aleta assumed she was an officer too, steered them to the said vehicle. She and Doctor Jimenez hurriedly unbolted the rear doors, shepherding the two patients inside. Leslie was whimpering now, though his eyes were steadily fixed elsewhere. Another strong tremor had succeeded in jarring the ambulance.

"It's going to be okay, Leslie. Come here." Aleta said.

"Here…here…here…" Leslie repeated, but he managed to move closer to the girl. "He's…here."

"I got it!" the officer, Connelly, said over his shoulder. He paused for a second, and quickly put the ambulance in reverse, carelessly jostling the passengers as the bumper collided into a police car, "Detective! Get in! Get in!"

The trembling of the ground increased and Aleta heard the significant sound of crunching gravel. Everything was tearing itself apart it seemed. Connelly maneuvered the vehicle with little difficulty, and stepped on the gas. Aleta tightly held onto Leslie as the ambulance shuddered from an impact—the officer had crashed through the gates without second thought. It had to be done; there were going to die if they hesitated.

"Hey, where's Joseph?" a new voice came joined them.

"Man, I'm sorry, but he never came out," Connelly told him. "I'd waited but…"

Leslie whimpered loudly this time. Doctor Jimenez held the boy down. "Please, settle down Leslie!"

"…settle down, Leslie…" the boy echoed a few times before something hit the roof of the vehicle. Aleta let out a cry alongside him.

When the forceful swerving slowly ceased and the influence of danger had passed over their heads, everyone had started to settle in their seats. Leslie did not relinquish his embrace for anything else. Aleta patted his head in assurance and quietly listened to the low purring sounds he was producing.

In the driver and passenger seats, the other detective asked, "Is everyone alright back there?"

"Just a few bumps," the policewoman replied. "We're fine."

Then, against Aleta's shoulder, Leslie began to chant. "…fine…fine…fine…fine…"

"We will be, once we're far away." Doctor Jimenez added with slight frustration in his tone.

Aleta looked at them worriedly. "Where will we go now, doctor?"

Her doctor released a sigh at that statement. Before he could calmly respond to his other patient, Leslie suddenly cried out, "Fall!" and the ambulance suddenly swerved off its course. Aleta fell off her seat, taking Leslie along with her.

"What is happening now?!" Jimenez yelled as he tried to gather up his charges. The din of metal scraping against concrete rang out.

The next thing they knew, the tunnel had ended, and now they were truly falling into their deaths. Aleta felt the ambulance crash against the side of the cliff, forcing it to roll and roll further down. She gasped aloud when the back of her head collided with some sharp edge. Her vision distorted, and her consciousness faded right before the vehicle met the ground.

Author's Note:

[Edited at 2:21 pm, on 5/31/2015]

Again with the super editing. My cousin Totes just bought The Executioner for me, and it made me realize the usage of STEM and how it effects the victims connected to it. At one point, it mentioned memory loss and degradation of mental health, so I'm going to put that into good use!

Also, from personal experiences, a mental hospital can give you much freedom in clothes. That is why Aleta is mostly wearing dresses since those were the things she had brought along. Leslie, of course we know his story, is unfortunately stuck with the Beacon Uniform since he doesn't have much belongings.

I'll leave you to your imagination about Aleta's plain shirtdress and oxfords. Hint: it's a solid color. Hopefully, I won't have to go through the torture of re-editing my chapters just after posting them to avoid confusion and a possible riot across the Pacific. Again.

The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks! I only own Aleta Volante, her wardrobe, and her knack of staying calm in the worst scenarios ever.