All that blood...

I had returned from the infirmary not long after my first meeting with Warfstache, and all I could do was stare at the stains. Two misshapen, rusty colored circles now invaded the already dingy green carpet of my office. I stood for a long time immersed in them, calculating whether or not to even bother calling the janitorial staff.

My eyes moved to my once pristine, white doctor's jacket. It, too, had been tainted with large, scarlet blotches. I dismissed the idea of taking it to the cleaners. It was more expensive than just purchasing another. I took a moment to chuckle at myself for worrying about something so frivilous when a man nearly died in my office.

Our resident nurses immediately alerted the City Regional Medical Center the moment we took Philip in. His lung had been punctured; he required emergency medical care. Had I been more observant, perhaps the whole thing could have been prevented. I couldn't even find the words to apologize to him. While I didn't know him well, I still felt responsible for any fellow staff that came to harm at the hands of a patient.

Of course, we all knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for this profession. I just couldn't stop seeing all that blood.

I was snapped out of my daze when a hand touched my shoulder. I jolted in place, clutching my bloody coat to my chest. I turned to see the concerned eyes of my boss, Director Malkinson.

"Are you all right, Miriam?" he asked, his voice soft. That was unusual. Normally he was all business, very straight forward and even a bit cocky. He wasn't usually so compassionate sounding.

"A bit shaken, but I'll manage." I answered, dropping the hand holding my coat to my side. It was as if I were trying to hide it from him, ashamed of what had transpired.
"May we talk?" he asked. Though, his tone seemed to phrase it as if it were a demand rather than a question.

I watched him slowly step to the chair facing my desk. His amber eyes flitted toward the spots on the floor behind it. His furry, grey brows rose in a brief expression of alarm before he shook his head and sat to face me. He motioned for me to sit, but for one reason or another, I chose to remain standing.

"I understand your first meeting with the Colonel was a bit rough. I can see that quite clearly now." he said, his typical business-like tone returning.

"Yes..." I replied, trying my best to keep my focus on his weathered face rather than the rest of the room. "Traumatic onset psychosis is my immediate suspicion. I've prescribed the appropriate medication. I'm...meeting with him again tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Malkinson immediately replied. "Surely, you should give it a couple of days. See how the medication treats him, give YOURSELF a couple of days to recollect yourself. It isn't every day a patient nearly kills a man. Bruises? Sure. A few scuffs here and there? It's just another day at work. But to stab a man in the chest, and without warning? These cases, though it may be hard to believe for those outside of our walls, are very rare. I'm well aware of how jarring they can be."

"This case," I started, trying my best not to sound too defensive. "Is mine to undertake. I have always appreciated your advice, Director. However, in Warfstache's case, I think immediate intervention is the most apt route to take."

Director Malkinson's nostrils flared. I could see his bushy, white mustache twitch in disagreement. He ran a hand over his glossy head and stood, rounding my desk to stand in front of me.

"Look," he began, gruffly. "I know how you are about these more complicated head cases. However, this one needs to be handled delicately."

"We handle everyone in a delicate manner. We're psychiatrists." I clapped back, pursing my lips at him.

"THIS case..." he pressed. "Is a bit different. Regardless of the rarity of violence, regardless even of the familiar strains of psychopathy...this is one that is sensitive both publicly as well as intimately."

I felt my brow crinkle in confusion. The expression on his face seemed...suspiciously cold. He seemed to sense my befuddlement and reached over to shut my door and lock it. He spoke again, his voice lower and more tense.

"With the mayor missing, the murder case still open, and the Chief of Police breathing fire down the back of my neck, whatever we do with this man can directly affect us publicly. Normally, when we have criminal cases like this, the mayor is always lenient on the way we handle things. But with him out of the picture, unable to keep a hold on the Chief's leash, we are going to have a lot more cops snooping around our halls. This is bad for press. The man's trial is still forthcoming. If we show too little compassion, we are inhumane. If we show too much, we are consorting with a possible murderer in the eyes of the police force. We have to be careful."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...this case is all over the media. The front page is littered with that man's face, the murder, and the disappearances. They know he's here with us, they know that you and Dr. Hillmeyer will be testifying at the trial once they find evidence against him. This town's most beloved star has fallen, possibly to the hands of YOUR new patient. If we try too hard to help get him off with an insanity plea, the public will not be on our side. This is fragile...we need to think about the good of the hospital, the good of the rest of our patients. The Chief will be coming here within the week with results on the case...and depending on what those results are...we may just have to be a bit...What I'm saying is..."

It dawned on me...I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"You're saying that you want us to ignore the illness plaguing this man. You want me to condemn him for a murder he may or may not have committed because you're too afraid of bad publicity." I sneered, backing away from him.

He gawked at me, taken aback at my reaction.

"Don't you want things to keep running smoothly?" he asked, a sickening glimmer of sweetness in his voice.

"What I want is to do my job and help this man in any way that I can. I took an oath, Director Malkinson. While I may not put my patients under the knife, any harm to the mind can be far greater than that of any injury."

"Tell THAT to Philip Davidson." Malkinson shot at me, a twinkle of twisted triumph in his eyes.

"What he did is the result of a horrific experience wherein he lost a childhood friend. The man is ill, and my intention is to do whatever I can to make him well again. If anything, it gives me even more gumption to get to the root of his problem and find a way to solve it. And that, Director, is what I WILL do. In doing so, I am not violating any of the guidelines of this hospital, so you can't throw me in front of the board for defying your orders."

I slammed my coat onto my desk, turned a heel and opened my office door. I held it against my shoulder tightly and roughly gestured with my other hand toward the hall.

"If you have nothing further to discuss with me, Director, I have some paperwork to do on Colonel Warfstache."

The finality in my tone clearly did not sit well with him. He glowered at me as he stomped toward the door. He stopped for a moment at the threshhold, glancing at me from the side with a sneer.

"You may not violate any of our set regulations, but if you jeapordize my hospital Dr. Antwood, I will find one reason or another to throw you at the feet of the board members to beg for their mercy." With that, he disappeared down the hall.

As soon as his feet left the precipice of my doorway, I thrust it shut and huffed as I slammed myself into my desk chair. I had never once in my life spoken to a superior like that. I had felt frustration toward them, even bitten my tongue a few times. But I had never once been so defiant. In a way, it felt pretty good.

Yet, underneath that small, sweet feeling of triumph, there laid a sense of foreboding and unease. Whatever I did from there forward would be looked at under a microscope. I knew that however I proceeded, I had to do it with caution. If not for me, then I would be cautious for the sake of the Colonel.

"Are you quite sure about this?"

My colleague, Dr. Yousef Hillmeyer, stood shuffling his feet and smacking a clipboard against his leg while he waited for me at the door to my office. His other hand occasionally lifted of its own accord to twist one of the tight, red curls that sat atop his head.

"After what happened with Philip Davidson, I'm not taking any chances." I replied, making sure that I had all of the necessary papers attached to my own clip board. I patted the pocket of my new coat, making sure I had an adequate amount of pens along with my tape recorder.

"But don't you think that having five people crammed into a padded cell will really make an impulsive man like that talk?" Yousef pressed. "It seems quite unnecessary."

My eyes trailed back to the now faded stains on my carpet. I didn't bother to call the janitor. I scrubbed the damn things myself. I'll admit, I'd grown paranoid that the custodial staff were spies for Malkinson after our talk the previous day. It was a rumor that had circulated around during my first year at the hospital. Before that day, I dismissed it. After that, I wasn't going to even allow myself to take that chance.

"I'm quite sure." I finally replied, standing up straight and motioning for Yousef to follow me.

Out in the hallway, three orderlies waited for us. As soon as we began walking down toward the elevators, they all followed us in line.

"Besides," I continued. "They won't be in the room with us. I instructed them to wait out in the hall. He's in a straight jacket, but I still want to make sure we have the man power appropriate for a possible situation."

I could almost hear Yousef's eyes rolling as we entered the elevator. I knew already that he was a strictly by the book, pompous little prick who didn't like things being done in an unorthodox way. I also knew that he was supposed to be speaking to Warfstache on his own that morning. However, being that he was the secondary doctor on this case, I called the shots. And, to be quite frank, I liked seeing him squirm a little bit with the frustration of not being able to be in full control.

I'm not saying he wasn't good at his job, but sometimes he needed a swift kick in the entitlement every now and again.

"Tell me again why you have to be there with me while I speak to him?" Yousef asked, clearly becoming more irritable.

"As the primary on this case, I want to be present during each of his sessions." I explained. "This is a delicate case, and I am working alongside the authorities to get more information. The faster we can piece things together, the faster we can create a more accurate diagnosis and then formulate an appropriate course of action."

Yousef merely gawked at me, his mouth hanging open as if it were waiting for his brain to send it an argument. He came up with nothing.

Once we reached the residential floor, I stepped out and quickly made my way down to 0628. As I approached, I slowed my steps and glanced through the tiny window at the top of the door. Each door in this hall, which was labeled the 'solitary wing', was a copy of the one before it. The numbers were barely visible as they were written in tiny font above each of the letterbox windows on each one. A foot or so below each window was a locked slot used for slipping in food or reading material. I always sort of wondered how those patients in straight jackets ate...

As I peered through the window, I could see Warfstache huddled against the corner behind his bed. He stared up at the one window in his room, the beam of light coming through it illuminating the left side of his face. He had a small smile gracing his lips as he stared. The hairs of his mustache twitched and fluttered with each deep breath he took and his shoulders shook every now and then as he adjusted himself. All things considered, he looked quite comfortable.

As the others approached behind me, I stepped aside so that one of the orderlies could unlock the door. Warfstache didn't move a muscle as we entered, he simply continued to peer up at the window. I gave a look to the orderlies, silently instructing them to keep guard and a weather ear while we stayed inside.

Yousef stood at the door, hugging the edge of his clipboard to his chest with his pent at the ready while I sat on the chair next to the bed. There was a moment of tense silence before I cleared my throat, getting Warfstache's attention.

He turned to me as if I'd been there for a while. He looked at me expectantly, as though I'd been talking to him already and he was waiting for me to continue.

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?" I said pleasantly, leaning forward over my own clipboard.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, my dear." he answered in a booming, joyful gale.

"You seem to be doing a lot better than yesterday." I noted. Yousef scribbled away in the corner by the door, reminding me that he was there. "I'd like to introduce a colleague of mine." I continued, waving an arm toward Yousef.

Warfstache turned to him, his smile turning up further as he nodded in greetings. "Bully!" he exclaimed. "And who might you be, my boy?"

Yousef quickly rushed forward, his shoulders back and his head high, and stretched out a hand. "Dr. Hillmeyer, I will be one of the doctors caring for you here at our facility alongside Dr. Antwood."

"Fine, fine." Warfstache answered, staring blankly at Yousef's outstretched hand. "Frogive me, my boy. A bit TIED UP at the moment."

"Oh.." Yousef blushed and cleared his throat before slinking back to his corner.

Warfstache returned his gaze to me. "Not a bright one, is he?" he asked.

I could hear Yousef blubber in defense, but I simply smiled and tried my best to hide my internal laughter.

"Now," I began. "I wanted to discuss a few things with you. The first being rather boring. The next...well that's up to you." I calculated his face, he seemed to be whimsically distracted, despite keeping his attention on me. "First of all, I want to tell you that we will be meeting three times per week. We want to ensure that you're getting the best of care, and keep up with how you're doing under the circumstances. You'll also be given some medication to level out your moods and keep you feeling comfortable while you're here."

"Is that what they're calling it?" Warfstache huffed. "I've taken more of those ghastly pills in one day than I ever have in my life. Well...I don't see that I have much of a choice in the matter at the moment, so I suppose I'll do just as you say and 'take my medicine."

As he spoke those last words, his arms twitched forward. I couldn't help but note that, and he definitely took notice.

"Hard to speak with my hands when they're wrapped up." He chortled.

"Well, in any case, what you've taken seems to be doing well with you. You were in a bit of hysterics yesterday."

"Was I? I don't recall." His voice seemed whispy, almost as if the words were not his own. While he did seem to be doing better, there were moments like this where I could tell his mind was trying to fight to come forward against the mind that was controlled by the medication.

I took this as an opportunity to move forward. In this better state of mind, perhaps we could get to the bottom of things.

"Now then, if you don't mind I would like to ask you a couple of things about the recent events, starting with yesterday."

Warfstache's expression went from pleasantly amused to slightly almost ecstatic. "I told you I can't kill anyone, didn't I?"

I maintained my composure. "You nearly did, I'm afraid. My orderly was sent to City Regional Medical Center for emergency care. That is what I wanted to ask you about. Why is it that you're under the impression that you can't kill anyone?"

He smiled widely and sputtered with nervous laughter. "Wha? PSH...Fuh...I told you. It's all a lark! At the party, my friends claimed I'd killed Mark! Almost convinced me that I truly had! The District Attorney even got me to shoot him. The lad got up not moments afterwards. I don't know I suppose I'm incapable of bringing harm." His shoulders rose and fell with continuous shrugs during this explanation, at the end of which his mouth hung open in a wide smile and he just shook his head. As if to say 'I don't know, that's just how it is.'.

"Unfortunately, though," I replied, with caution. "Mark Fischbach is dead. As for the District Attorney, he is missing along with the others that were present that night."

"Oh, come now!" Warfstache spat, turning to Yousef with a look of utter disbelief. "You people can't be falling for it that easily! I mean, I will admit I'm as prone to gullibility as the next person! But, after hearing it from the horse's mouth, clearly you can't be serious in telling me that you don't see the proof in the pudding!"

"I'm afraid not. You're saying that the joke is still on?"

"Wh...Why, YES!" Warfstache boomed, laughing out loud.

"Is it your friends that are still carrying it out? Is it...Damien and Celine?"

These were the words that cracked the stone. Warfstache's demeanor suddenly began to droop once more and he went silent. His eyes scanned the floor for an answer, and when he couldn't find one he returned his gaze to me.

"It can't be them." He breathed.

"Why not?" I pressed.

"Um...maybe I could-.." Yousef tried to interrupt, but I held up a hand to silence him. I kept my eyes wide open, never letting my gaze leave Warfstache's. I had him starting to open up, I wasn't about to let Yousef ruin it.

"They're not coming out...I don't know why...not even a good 'ol 'April Fool!' to finish the punch line." Warfstache moaned. The despair underneath was beginning to come to the surface, I could feel that the reality of everything was beginning to come forth so that we could have our first little breakthrough.

"Tell me, Colonel, what happened that night?"

His breath hitched in his chest and I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. He leaned forward, beckoning me closer with a jerk of his neck. I leaned in to meet him, folding my arms over my knees. Just as we met in the middle, I could feel his hot breath on my face. His hair hung low over his brow, scraping against his eyelashes as he gave me a wide eyed stare.

"The Detective..." he answered at last.

"The Detective is missing as well, you'll do well to be careful what you say considering you're a suspect." Yousef remarked as he jotted down his notes on the session.
I turned to glare at him, but he simply kept his eyes on his paper. Warfstache clearly heard what he'd said and his head swiveled to face him, his eyes widened in an expression of rage.

"Are you helping him!?" he bellowed at Yousef.

"Helping who?" I asked frantically, desperately trying to return his attention to me to no avail.

Warfstache rose from the bed, I quickly stood and placed my hands hard on his shoulders. I pressed down, trying to keep him seated on the bed. Yousef backed against the wall, his chest puffing outward in a false expression of authority, his pen still moving rapidly over the clipboard.

"ARE YOU HELPING HIM!? ARE YOU GIVING HIM INFORMATION ABOUT ME!? ABOUT CELINE!? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!?" This sudden rage overtook Warfstache like a plague. His eyes wild with fury, growing by the second while Yousef foolishly continued to take his notes.

From outside, the orderlies took action and entered the room without warning. Warfstache's eyes darted from one to the other, like a wild animal cornered in a cage. He cried out and tried to dart push past me and them as they approached. The strength he exhibited created tension in my arms and shoulders as I helped the orderlies get him back onto the bed. It was clear then that this session was over.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, BOY!" He cried angrily over the shoulders of the orderlies as they held him down. Yousef left the room, his eyes scanning his notes while I lingered in the doorway watching.

"YOU HELPED HIM, DIDN'T YOU!? I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!? WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM!?"

His gaze stayed on the empty spot where Yousef stood, as if he still believed he was there. I shook my head, disappointed that this seemed to go nowhere. I made a note to give Yousef a piece of my mind for interrupting the focus. We were getting somewhere and he ruined it by lacking a single scrap of empathy.
Regardless of how this session had gone, I at least gathered two things:

Damien and Celine, two of the missing guests, had a vast impact on what had once kept this man's mind together. And the Detective, or at least something to do with him, had been the thing to finally help in breaking it.