In the Eye of the Artist

by Pairiny10

Stefano Valentini, former war photographer, artist, and serial killer, was lucky to survive his battle with his final masterpiece. Back in Crimson City his actions had consequences, his life is now spent locked within an insane asylum. Maybe, being visited by his masterpiece would give him the grounding he so desperately craved for. But a curse can easily be disguise as a blessing.

2. Chapter 2: The Art of Melancholia

Disclaimer: I do not own the Evil Within. This story will contain, blood, gore, violence, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.

"He's not who he says he is. You're all falling for his lies."

"How, is he not Sebastian Castellanos?"

"Yes, that is his name, but he knows more than he's telling you."

"And what exactly is he not telling us?"

"That he was there. He was there with me in Union, I could never forget him after what he did to me."

"What happened between you two? You seem to hold some hostility towards him."

"Why, of course, I have anger for the man who murdered me."

"... Mr. Castellanos murdered you?"

"Did I stutter?"

"I just wonder what you mean by 'murder.' Were you hurt by him?"

"He shot me in the head with his gun."

"... But here you are still breathing."

"You cannot comprehend the truth of reality. Mock me as you please but listen when I say he acts dumber that he truly is, he's playing with me, like a puppeteer with their marionette. But I see right through him I see all his dastardly lies; you can't see it. He would kill you too if he so desired. He's animalistic like that, the Neanderthal. He ruined me, stripped me of everything I hold dear, and left me to rot in hell."

"Mr. Valentini, please calm yourself… Maybe this was the wrong decision."

"No, doctor, you did nothing wrong. I'm glad you allowed him to visit. It's a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That it wasn't a dream. It was as real as the flesh on my bones. We coexisted on that same plane of reality and experienced each other with chilling intimacy. He knows me but chooses to ignore the truth and make me to be a fool. It's sickening."

"Are you certain you're not mixing up your people?"

"Pardon me?"

"Just hear me out. Maybe during your time out of Krimson City, you met someone with similar characteristics to Mr. Castellanos, who harmed you. It's a possibility of mistaken identity, Mr. Castellanos claims he never interacted with you face to face before yesterday. You did show signs of head trauma when you were brought to us, and no one knows what truly happened during those years—"

"I know what happened! And so, does he, the bastard!"

"Keep to your side of the table, or you'll have to be restrained if you continue this behavior… If I had known this is how you would react, I would not have allowed him to visit you. Do you genuinely believe Mr. Castellanos knows you?"

"Yes, I do. He must… I want to apologize for my behavior. It was ungentlemanly of me to act like an uneducated brute. I know better."

"That's quite alright. You look unwell. Do you feel alright?"

"I feel fine doctor, simply had an unpleasant night is all."

"What happened?"

"A dream happened."

"Was the dream about, Mr. Castellanos?'

"No… It was too much of an overwhelming collage of pictures and faces spinning around me. I was unable to grasp any understanding of what was happening. I can't recall any exact detail as I normally would. I only know when I woke up, I couldn't let myself fall back to sleep."

"… I see. Well, I can see why you appear so tired, I think that's enough for us today."

"I haven't finished my art yet; this is a piece I must complete."

"Don't worry, I'll keep it safe for you to finish the next session."

"Fine, but before we dismiss… will I be able to see him again?"

"Why would you ever want to see the man who murdered you?"

"Because I need to. I must see him again if I am to find any semblance of peace. He took a part of me, and I wish to make myself whole again. I won't let him win, not this time."

"… Alright, I may entertain the idea, but for now, I'll send you on your way and make sure you're taken care of. And please talk to me if anything troubles you. I'm here to help you, Mr. Valentini."

"I understand, doctor."

"Oh, and Mr. Valentini,"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget to take your medicine."

"I'll take them, doctor, I promise."

Φ

He could always think clearly while taking a shower.

Being in such a restricting place, he was not granted many luxuries; therefore, he took advantage of every privilege he was given. Spending all the time he could in the shower, until the orderlies came. He was also fortunate enough to be assigned to the isolated showers. He couldn't imagine bathing in the same room with the sick animals of this wretched place. It allowed him to shower in peace, letting the hot water run over him to cleanse himself of filth and sin. The only sound being the rush of water pattering against his skin and the buzz of his thoughts, which cluttered his mind. Ideas ranging from what he planned to create the next day to how the lack of a mirror in his cell was a pain. Each kept him occupied when the scolding water began to cool as he ran the bar of generic soap across his sculpted body and rubbed in shampoo through his dark, grown out hair. In all honesty, he never truly minded the cooler temperature of the water, it was pleasantly relaxing, but by that time, his thoughts became repetitive and began to sink into insanity; he found other means to entertain himself.

He would begin to sing. Though he wouldn't call it singing, more of a hum that vibrated through the back of his throat to resonate through the room. He was not a singer. He had known those born with the gift of heavenly vocal cords, seen a few through slit throats, and who could make angels weep at a simple melody. Though he was not harsh on the ears, he could not bring anyone to tears with his voice, his words most certainly, but never with a musical note. The tune was solemn in its melody, one that he could not name, but rested within the depths of his mind as a faded memory. Not remembering where he first heard it, but it had been impactful enough on him for him to still be able to hum the song without knowing the meaning. Memories were precious entities of the mind, creating the person belonging, and giving a soul to an empty husk. This is the reason why he had become so hateful to those who put him in Union.

Wanting to take away what made a person's core was utterly vile, the bastards tried so hard to mold him to what they saw fit, but he saw through their façade before they were able to start pulling strings any longer. He wouldn't let the bastards here get to him either. He was sick of being everyone's puppet to manipulate and control at a whim. Now it is the demented 'doctors'. Before it was the so-called professional 'critics' of his art. In Union that unholy Father who used the words of God, to strike fear into those who were deviant. The deceitful bastard had only blasphemy spilling from his lips, and he had fallen into the devil's claws. The cur was most likely burning in the fires of hell for his sins. However, if he were given the chance for vengeance, the unrecognizable monster of flesh and bone that would be created from the mangled corpse of the wretch would be a horror of– No. No, he needed to calm himself, getting worked up about the past would not lead to any bright future. He found himself losing his composure more often than not, he had never been confined to such a place where he was unable to freely create. He needed to pull himself back together. Let his worries wash away along with the soap-filled water down the drain and only focus on his song. His beautiful song…

That was interrupted by an unnerving noise that caused him to freeze in place with a racing heart. A chuckle as cruel as mischief sounded from underneath the roar of the showerhead and hum of his voice. In a heartbeat, he turned to the shower curtain, it was a sheer white, and if one were to stand on the other side of it, their silhouette would be as clear as a glass statuette. Not even the smallest shadow showed through the drenched curtain.

"Is anyone there?" he called out tentatively, a sense of uneasiness whelming within him. Not to his surprise, he received no reply. Why would he? The bathrooms were designed so that the bathroom door opened to a secured room where he would change with a window on the door so he could be observed while putting on his clothes. While the entrance to the bathroom door had no locks, the first door to get into the solitary room was locked heavily and made all horrid creaks and groans that he could hear from the bathroom when opened. He had heard none of that, and unquestionably if the orderlies had come, they would have addressed him by now. It was not uncommon for him to overhear words that were never spoken, some faint whispers others a startling howl. He may have once or twice jumped at the sudden illusion; it made worse by the fact he was mocked when others noticed. He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room, they were probably laughing at him right now protected behind a monitor screen. He would not give them that satisfaction and continued his shower. It took him a moment to find his voice again, but he was not as vigorous as before.

He could not help but have an itch at the back of his skull and a feeling of insects twisting inside of his stomach. The feeling of being watched was unmistakable. Maybe it was the camera used against him that gave his spine chills, but he knew better than to not trust his gut. While unnerving, the cameras never gave him the primal sense of dread that put him on the alert. It could not be ignored, and he looked all around him to find any source that could have caused such an intense feeling. Nothing but white tiles surrounding him like a bird trapped in the cage, with a hungry predator lurking on the edge of hearing. Suddenly being alone in the shower was not pleasant anymore; the cold water feeling like pins and needles, and the lack of any clothing made him feel vulnerable as a newborn baby. He decided to end his shower early, it did not matter if the possible threat were just a figment of his imagination, he could not spend another moment alone. Turning off the water, leaving him cold and shaking, he reached out to the shower curtain to grab his towel.

To his horror, his hand only gripped the cold metal bar to where the towel should have been. A snicker came from behind the curtain, clear as day. A striking sense of fear raced through him in a chilled pain he had never felt in a long time. It was either that or the rush of overwhelming madness that caused him to grip the shower curtains and throw them open, nearly tearing them off the rack. He was ready to lunge at anyone that was on the other side, there would be no mercy on his end; they already damned themselves by daring to step foot in the bathroom. He was met with an empty bathroom, stuffy from all the steam his long shower created; it was suffocating. He only needed to look down to see his towel had only fallen from the bar in a clump on the ground. He did not know whether to feel relieved or stupid. He could not go on like this, he would lose himself to the corruption planted in his mind. Shamefully, he grabbed the towel from the floor and patted himself down before wrapping it around his waist and walking over to the mirror fogged by hot steam.

A long sigh left him as he wiped a palm across the damp glass, a picture of himself stared back at him. Ebony hair, glossy with drops of water dancing from its edges, a face showing two different stories of war and beauty, a single eye as detailed as crystallites and as blue as a winter icicle. He noticed the flaw instantly; it stuck out like a rotting thumb. No, it was not his unflattering expression that dramatized his features, nor the messy arrangement of his hair that showed his horrid scars. It was the pair of filthy green irises that peered through the mist and bored into his soul.

"Why did you stop?" The voice sneered in an inane perverse tone. He spun around instantly, his back against the rim of the sink. A pair of forest green eyes rimmed with dark bags and matted blonde hair hung off morbidly pale skin, peeked from around the corner of the open bathroom door. "Did I disturb you? I'm sorry, you can continue if you want." The feeling of horror that course through his chest was earthly as it stung with every racing heartbeat.

"How did you get in here?! Get the hell out!" He screamed, barring his teeth and reflexively trying to cover himself with his arm. He felt violated and full of ire. How long had he been there, unnoticed just watching him— he perished the thought.

"I liked your song, it was pretty..." The leering eyes raked over his body with the hungry graze he had seen in predators. "Not as pretty as your skin, though." The room suddenly became colder as he could not help but shiver.

"What part of get out do you, not understand, you goddamn mongrel?!"

"Shh, don't cry, you'll ruin that sweet voice of yours…You don't mind if I take a closer look, do you?" He glanced back at the sink to see if anything could help him, nothing but facets and porcelain. Fists would be his only means of protection, until either the bastard ran away, or the orderlies came. Neither seemed likely, he looked back up at the camera. It stared back at him, unblinking.

"Damn you." His attention was brought back to the door when it began to creak open, and the man stepped into the bathroom. The pit of his stomach dropped at the sight. The brute's locks of hair brushed the archway of the doorframe, and the torn stained outfit of the unhinged animal clung tightly to a ravaged body. Though that was not what caught his breath in his throat. A large gash was tearing his mouth apart into an ear-splitting grin, exposing raw gums and decaying yellow teeth as a grey tongue ran over bleeding lips. The monster closed the door.

"Stay just like that. I'll come to you."

It began to walk towards him in slow, agonizing steps, dirty bare feet slapping against the tile. A fight or flight response was natural to occur in intense situations such as these, but he found himself frozen in place like a fly in amber. "Such pretty legs you have. I haven't seen someone like you in a very long time, Stefano. You smell so sweet."

"You know my name?" He sputtered, stunned. It's smile only widened.

"I know so much. Your name, your age, your family, your scars, your fears. I don't know how you taste though, if your good, I'll let you get a taste of me too."

"Leave me, they'll kill you if they find you in here."

"But you won't kill me. Isn't that silly coming from a serial killer? Or is it that you only kill little girls? I can be your little girly if you want." He gritted his teeth in anger, no one could ever understand his work, could they?

"You stupid animal, do you want to die?" He sneered. "I told you, to fucking leave!" It happened too quickly for him to register. One moment he is standing facing against the intruder, the next, his head was pushed into the cracked mirror with the edge of sink digging into his back. That pain was tolerable compared to the large hand covering his mouth, disrupting his rapid breathing and the long nails cutting into his side. In the reflection of the broken mirror, he could see the green eyes staring back at him, a hot breath tingled across his scarred skin as the monster hissed into his ear.

"I told you, no crying. I just want to hold you, and touch you, and taste you, and make sure that you feel every little bit of it. Isn't that lovely?" He recoiled disgusted when he felt the tongue give bloody licks on his sensitive scars. The horrid stench of the monster's breath would have caused him to retch alone if he had eaten, but it would not have been able to leave him as the hand over his mouth prevented anything from coming out. Cries for help or screams of defiance, were not possible, he could only try thrash, kicking, and clawing at the disgusting thing, but this only elicited inciting groans from the monster's throat.

"Oh, I see you want to play too. You'll see I'm going to make you bleed all over. But don't worry, I'll make sure this pretty face is untouched. I like it the way it is, just so much cruelty shown out for display, it feels so good." The claws on his side began to tug on the towel around his waist. "I want to see all your scars."

A sickening crunch echoed through the room, and the horrific scream of agony that pierced his ears was startling but not unexpected as the monster recoiled from him. It was a perfect mix of shock and anguish coupled with an expression of utter repulsion. It was a beautiful reaction for someone who had just had their finger bitten off. The copper taste of blood stained his tongue and dripped over his mouth in dark rivulets; he spat the disgusting thing on the floor in a mass of broken nail and ripped flesh. If the mongrel wanted its finger, it should have kept them out of his mouth.

"Cazzo Bastardo!" The knee to the gut came next; by the way, his knee became sore after the blow; he had struck either pure muscle or thick fat. In the end, it did not matter as the desired reaction occurred, wide eyes, stunted breath, and stumbling backward with little balance. He took his opportunity to run straight past the groaning mongrel and burst through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"Do you know what you just did, you little fuck?!" The scream of rage from behind him had him forget his clothes and begin to bang on the metal door frantically.

"Get me out, there's a goddamn psychopath in here! Open the door!" No reply came from the other side of the door; in fact, he could not see anyone, only white tile floors. A loud bang came from the door behind him as it shook on its hinges. He slammed harder on the door, ignoring the pain of his bare skin scratching against metal.

"I know you're there, please; you have to get me out!" A loud groaning creak scratched against his ears, and to his shock, the large metal door began to creak open with no one on the other side. The crack of the door breaking behind him was enough incentive for him to ignore all rules and throw the metal door open, it slammed into the wall with a crash as he rushed down the hallway. It had been a while since he had ever run so fast, but adrenaline and fear had him sprinting while his heart raced, and lungs burned. He knew the layout of the washrooms to near perfection, and the exit was not too far, just a door found at the end of the many bathroom doors and stalls.

It was not long before it was in sight, and though he knew it was locked, he had no plans to slow down. Not even thinking of the pain, he slammed his body into the door just as the keycard lock flashed green. He flew through the door like a bat out of hell. There was barely any time to register what had occurred before he collided into the hallway wall and collapsed to his hands and knees onto the floor. Heaving and hunched over, he struggled to catch his breath, and his vision was overwhelmed with blurring whites. Though as he looked up one dark shape stuck out. Through the thrumming of his chest and ringing in his ears, he made out the barrel of a gun. Looking closer, he could see the guards standing over him with anger, yet frightened expressions and the orderlies terrified behind them.

"What the fuck are you doing, Valentini?! How the hell did you get out?!" Already the guard was yelling at him. He shifted to sit up. "Don't fucking move!" A sharp jab to the legs had him back onto the cold floor.

"Jackson, calm down! He's just scared, can't you see?"

"I don't give a shit! Fuckin' psycho nearly slammed the door into my face."

"Just don't shoot please, let him explain." The orderly took a step forward towards the guard and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The guard's aim quivered.

"Fine, but he makes one wrong move, I can't promise what I'll do next."

"At least let him sit up." The guard grumbled under his breath in frustration.

"Valentini, stay back against the wall and no sudden movements." He could not move quickly if he wanted to. The pain was finally starting to register, and his body ached with the slightest movement as he sat up and leaned against the wall. "Now, why the hell are you out here?" Though exhausted, he still found it within himself to feel anger. With his breath regained, he was finally able to find his voice.

"I'm out here because you let one of those goddamn animals get into the bathroom with me!" he hissed. "One of you fools left the door unlocked, and that bastard was able to get in. It attacked me and got its disgusting filth all over me, and you weren't outside the door. Why weren't you—"

"Wait, are you saying that another patient got in with you?" The orderly asked with a look of disbelief.

"Yes, did you not hear me before?!"

"That's impossible I made sure that door was locked…" the other orderly stated confidently before his confidence promptly crumbled. "Or at least I thought I did."

"Isaac, just shut up and check the bathrooms." The guard ordered, never taking his eyes off of him. "Ward alert security and retrieve reinforcements." He was met with two replies. A 'yes sir' from the other guard who holstered his gun and raced down the hall and a groan from the orderly who swiped his keycard through the lock and shuffled into the washrooms. He was left with a guard with a gun trained on him and an orderly who was anything but useful. He could only sit in a heap on the floor with pain raking through his body. Yes, the pain was starting to set in, and he was sure bruises would form later from how much strain he had put on his body, it was a small price to pay for survival.

"Hey, Mr. Valentini, can you tell me what hurts?" the question almost went unheard as he glanced up at the orderly walking towards him.

"Stay back, David." The guard demanded gripping the orderly by the arm and tugging him away. The orderly pulled back.

"Stop it, Jack. He's only in a towel cut him some slack."

"I've seen a man rip someone's throat out only wearing a gold chain around his neck. It doesn't mean anything, he'll still hurt you. Just like last time when you decided to get your dumbass too close. It doesn't matter how "scared" or "hurt" he seems to be. He's still a fucking psychopath." That seemed to strike a chord within the orderly, and he ripped his arm out of the guard's grip.

"Last time I checked this is a hospital, not a damn prison, and he is not an inmate; he is a patient. And yes, he is sick in the head, but it is our job to help him with his sickness. Because I'm not a judge, and you're not an executioner. You are a protector. You need to remember that, Eli." The guard did not say anything more and only continued to glare daggers at him as the orderly crouched down in front of him, not too close but enough that he could he see the glares in the orderly's hazel eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"… No. Not too badly. I could not let it leave a permanent scar. I'd be ruined." The look of concern deepened on the orderly's face. Being so closely observed, he had the itch to readjust his ruffled fringe, how long had it gone unnoticed?

"Are you sure? You might need to go down to the treatment center with a cut like that."

"Treatment? I don't need to go to treatment. It's repulsive down there, I'd rather bleed out than step foot in that hellhole."

"I know you hate it there, but it would be for the best, trust them."

"I don't trust any of the fools down there, they do the work of the devil." The orderly's look faded.

"Okay, we won't make you go, if you really don't want to." The door suddenly opened and in walked the orderly, looking unnerved and a little pale.

"Well, there are definitely signs of a struggle. Mirrors all cracked, and the doors pretty messed up. There's blood over the floor too, I made sure not to touch it. Not that I would, who the hell knows where it's been?"

"I don't need to know what you did or didn't do," the guard snapped. "Did you recognize who was in there?"

"No, not really."

"Did you at least get a description, idiot?"

"Hey ease up, I didn't get a description because there can be no description. No one's in there, the place is empty." His and the other orderly's attention was brought onto the man, one a look of confusion the other an expression of fury.

"What?" The guard turning away for once to look at the orderly.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm just telling you what I saw. You're welcome to look for yourself if you want."

"You're a filthy liar." He hissed, never letting up his gaze. The orderly paled further.

"Don't get upset, please." The orderly in front of him said before looking back at the other. "Isaac, are you sure you didn't see anyone. Maybe they were hiding. He's not all bloodied up for no reason."

"Listen, unless he was fighting ghosts in there, no one else was in there with him. Probably just didn't like what he saw in the mirror." The orderly let out a long sigh and slowly turned back to him, light eyes holding a look of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Valentini, but you're going to be sent down to treatment as soon as possible."

Φ

To say he hated the treatment center would be an understatement of grand proportions. He loathed the center and everyone who was a part of it. It reeked of chemicals and biomatter, always leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Not to mention, he had to be strapped down during examination as not cause any harm to himself or others. They were not wrong to do so; he had fantasized many times how the physician would react if he stabbed him in the throat with one of his own scalpels. He could handle being restrained only when out of his cell, which did not happen for too long. However, imagine his shock when his latest trip to the center left him in a restraint jacket that he was required to wear even when in his cell. His cell was the only place he could roam freely, now he was forced to wear the suffocating thing in his area of sanctuary.

He did not understand how it was supposed to help him, the doctor and physician both disagreed with him, stating that he would not be able to harm himself and be safer. They even tried to console him, saying he would not wear it forever, just until he got "better." He could not see himself getting any "better" in this, it has only been a couple of days, and he already wants to rip the thing apart. It was no help. Being unable to use his hands, he could only create pictures in his head, as the floated around his mind's space the unrelenting itch to create caused goosebumps to form on his skin. He could just barely move his arms, and he scratched his filed down nails on the inside of the rough fabric. Alone it surely would have driven him mad with time, but with this hindrance, upon his person, the doctor was willing to allow him, visitors.

Sebastian Castellanos was coming to visit once more. While he was not directly told, he heard whispers between the staff of preparing for another visit by the strange man. He could not believe his ears at first, especially after his small outburst during a previous session and the bathroom incident. Though it did not matter to him what went through the ignorant' minds, he was internally satisfied for being allowed to meet his masterpiece in the flesh once more. He had been waiting for so long already. He sat cross-legged on his bed, facing the door and watching with unyielding anticipation for it to open. He was itching to continue their little game they had begun; he had been thinking over their last conversation and concluded that the other man was a cruel liar. He had to be. The man knew of Union, knew who he was, and knew it was no delusion. The man had to be a liar. Though there was always the echo of doubt with every thought he had. What if Castellanos was telling the truth, and not had the slightest notion of what he was telling him? Well, then he would be insane, wouldn't he?

He perked up when the lock beeped, and the door began to open. Smiling, he watched with growing excitement as the man entered the room, looking just as he remembered him, though the man's clothes were leaning towards more casual than previously. He found the dark blue overcoat quite fetching on his form.

"Please remember that you can press the alarm button on the panel if you are experiencing any trouble." The orderly in the doorway advised.

"Believe me, I won't be needing it any time soon. I can handle the great artist here just fine." The smirk given to him made a shiver crawl through his spine.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Castellanos. Please enjoy your visit." With that, the door slammed closed, leaving him alone with his masterpiece.

"Told you, you would see me again." Already he could see mischief brewing within the rich depths of the man's eyes as he pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. He gave one look over of him before stating:

"You look even more insane than when I last saw you. What's with the restraint jacket?" He readjusted himself to adequately address his visitor.

"I have you know this is only a temporary hindrance, so don't get used to it. I'm only wearing this because I'm made to, the doctors believe it will help with my "harmful tendencies." Whatever they mean by that?"

"What exactly did you do? Didn't stab anybody, did you?"

"No, I skinned a man alive before butchering him into pieces and consuming his flesh." He chuckled.

"...Can't tell if you're being serious or not?"

"I'm no comedian, but I do enjoy humor from time to time. But, no, no one was harmed by my hands."

"So, what the hell did you do?"

"Well..." he took in a deep breath as he chose his words wisely, "I'm told that there was an incident in the washroom where I broke the lock on the door and shattered the mirror in a fit of violent rage. There was no serious bodily harm during the accident, only a couple of bruises and a few cuts from when I crashed into the glass. Because of said incident, I am ordered to wear this restraint to keep myself from any further bodily harm. Apparently, the doctors diagnosed it as a bout of 'psychosis' inducing vivid hallucinations and uncontrollable actions."

"Hallucinations? What did your sick mind conjure up to scare you so much?"

"I wasn't frightened by anything I saw. Unsettled would be more accurate." He snapped back. "Wouldn't you be if some mongrel snuck up on you while you were showering? It even had the nerve to lay its filthy hands on me. I could feel it touch me with his rotting hands, I could hear its raspy voice of evil glee, I could smell its odor of gore, I could even taste its blood on my tongue, I can never forget those horrid green eyes but they keep telling me otherwise. They speak to me as if I am a child and treat me like one as well. It is deplorable how much they question me, to the point that every word I say is a lie.

"'It was merely a vivid construct made by your psyche, and with how you reacted, you just so happened to slam yourself into the mirror and accidentally bite into your own tongue. That is what happens when you are under severe stress. Have you been taking your medicine, Mr. Valentini? It will cure your sickness, and you'll feel much better.' Yes, I have been doctor. But you all are so buried in your own lies you all can hardly see the truth when it's right in your damn faces." His throat was sore by the end of his rant, and he took deep breathes to calm himself; he had wanted to get that off his chest the moment he was sent to the treatment center. He would have felt much 'better' if the reaction from his guest was not riddled with a look of skepticism.

"You're upset that they question everything you say? Yeah, because everybody should be willing to trust a psychopathic killer right." He scowled in discontent. "Don't get mad at me; you're only pissed because you know I'm right. Though I think you should listen to your doctor, it may do you better than you think. I know when I've been a bit... on edge before, it was hard for me to believe that I was the one having delusions. Granted, most of my outbursts happened due to alcohol poisoning, but thankfully, I had people that cared enough about me to pull me out of that mess." The man sighed, having a lustful gaze, most likely reminiscing of old memories; he hoped those memories included him. "Listen, I'm not here to start a fight with you. If you say you were attacked by a deranged creep, I believe you if no one else will."

"Why don't I believe you?" He asked, his scowl fading.

"Don't know. I have no idea what goes through your screwed conscious. Just know that I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

"You speak like my doctor. Though where he has failed to aid me, I think you could actually be of help to me."

"Oh, really, how?" He let a smirk crawl onto is lips, let the games begin.

"We're talking about myself too much for my liking, I believe we should converse more of you, Mr. Castellanos. After all, you are a very fascinating individual and the only person to ever be allowed to visit me. I want to make this last as long as it can and getting to know more about you personally will accomplish that. So, allow me to ask you, 'what do you when you're not here'?" The man leaned back in his chair, looking much more relaxed than before.

"Nothing much, I usually spend most days working from home; I've been out more since trying to visit you, and now that I have, I find myself here more often. Even though this place gives me the chills."

"Please, Mr. Castellanos, you must have more fascinating life of your own outside this wretched place. God knows I don't. No friends or family waiting for you back home?"

"Nope, just a lone man living through life with nothing but his wits and a gun."

"Oh really, that ring on your finger tells a rather different story?" smiling, he glared at the gleaming silver ring around the man's finger, who promptly crossed his arms. The man looked off to the side with a scoff.

"It's complicated."

"Complicated as in you and her are apart, but not divorced or complicated as in you are divorced but refuse to let go?"

"Complicated as in its none of your damn business." The man snapped, turning back to him.

"Don't be mad at me, you're only pissed because you know I'm right." He snickered, enjoying the light flush of angry red that spread across the man's tanned complexion. It was a vastly different hue than the dried crimson streaks that had previously speckled his face. "I only tease you, no need to get so worked up. But if you wish to not talk about your family, at least tell me your line of work." The man calmed himself with deep breaths, uncrossing his arms before continuing the conversation.

"My work I can't really say what I do, but it's really nothing special; it can be rather boring, honestly. Unless you count filling reports and organizing paperwork exciting, which is what I do most often. The most interesting paper I've seen was one detailing with the escape of an inmate at the old Krimson City Penitentiary; he had lost it and beat his entire family to death with his bare hands. Still haven't caught the bastard. Besides that, coming to talk to you is the most thrilling experience for me in a long while. Though, to be honest, I would rather talk to you in a prison cell than a psyche ward like this, I've never liked hospitals. I couldn't imagine being locked up in here for the rest of my life. What is it like living in a sick place like this?"

"Akin to living in an eternal prison with its only goal being to physically and mentally restrain its victims under the guise of curing them." He replied without skipping a beat. "Most of the Neanderthals here don't make it any better, especially those lumbering brutes who find it dignified to shove their weapons in my face; power is a force that corrupts the mind with ease. Though I would not call this place hell. Trust me, I've been there. There are some aspects here that are not truly terrible. Most days, I have 'therapy sessions' with my doctor; during such time, I'm allowed to create beautiful art."

"They let you play with bloody entrails?"

"Unfortunately, no. I must work with the tools given to me, paper, and charcoal. Drawing is not my preferred method of creating, but an artist must do what they have to."

"So, you draw now? I thought you just took pictures."

"To properly set up a scene for my photography, I must plan ahead before arranging supplies for a project. Drawing out the vision in my head not only helps me create beautiful scenery, but my drawing skills increased as well. You're welcome to take a look at my work." He nodded his head towards the metal cabinet against the wall with a grin. "The orderlies keep my drawings in the top drawer." His guest got up and made his way towards the cabinet, leaving only a turned back for him to view. He heard the draw being yanked but a lock keeping it in place. "Oh, did I forget to mention, to open it, you'll want to ask for—" a small jingle followed by a sharp click filled the room. "… a key." He heard the metal drawer open along with a chuckle. "I don't believe you're supposed to have those, Mr. Castellanos." He remarked, watching as the man looked over his shoulder with a small smirk.

"Shush, you want me to appreciate your art, don't you?" that made him smile.

"Fair enough continue." The man turns back and presumably opens the file that held his words. Anticipation swelled within him as he watched the man look through his makeshift portfolio of black and white artworks created from the depths of his mind. The excitement of someone viewing his art was as familiar as it was welcomed, he would have been twiddling with his fingers as he waited patiently for a response if his arms were not restrained. Though his patience was slowing wearing out as the silence prolonged.

"What do you think?" he asked impatiently.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Sebastian replied, scrutinizing one of his pieces before going to the next.

"What do you mean by that? You sound as if it is not to your liking."

"I didn't mean it like that. I've seen some of your art before in the newspaper and when I researched you. Though I tried to steer away from your… real-life 'artworks.'"

"You didn't state whether you like my art or not."

"I'm afraid you won't like what I have say."

"No, please tell me. I want to know what you think, how it makes you feel."

"Disturbed. I mean, I've seen some fucked up shit, but some of your stuff is absolutely disgusting, made me delete some of my history actually." Everyone was a critic, weren't they? "But I have to give you props for how detailed the art is, not everybody can draw this well with only a crayon."

"Charcoal."

"Yeah, well, if you want some actual critics, I'm not the person you should be asking. I'm only liable to grade children's drawings. And if I saw my little girl drawing this, I honestly would be worried."

"Oh, so there's a daughter. I thought you were a solitary man?" Sebastian visibly stiffed and cursed quietly to himself. Of course, he would have a family. Though he himself was not interested in the thought of having children, he could envision Sebastian having the desire to have a family of his own to cherish and care for. "You shouldn't continue to lie to me. It does you no good, you will become entangled in a web of your own lies. Not only, but our relationship shouldn't be built upon mistrust. If you want this to work, you will have to end the lies. All of them." Sebastian was quiet, setting down the papers and sighing heavily. He kept his back to him.

"Don't push it, Valentini." He grumbled, though it was a tone unrelated to anger or frustration. "I want to keep my personal life, personal for many reasons. You're bored in here, so you want to mess with me fine I understand that. I would probably screw with people, too, if I were stuck in your situation. But I think if you continue playing this game of yours which consumes your whole world, you'll end up only hurting yourself. You're creating a fantasy world, and I don't want any part in it."

"Then why are you here?" he hissed. "You say you simply want to talk, but I think there's more behind your intent of being here. Claiming ignorance, will not hide any of your secrets. You may fool them, but you will not fool me. For you are no actor, and your lies fall apart the moment they are faced with the truth. The truth being, you know me, you know who I am, and I know who you are in turn, Sebastian Castellanos. Tell me I'm wrong." It was silent, aside from the buzz of artificial life and light breathing. He could not see Sebastian's face, but he had a clear image of what it could look like.

"I can't." Sebastian finally sighed solemnly. Triumph is what overflowed his veins and the catalyst to the grin that spread across his face, he nearly fell over from the excitement. "You're right, I do know you." Another deep breath. "I know you were born in Florence, Italy, December 22, 1985. I know you lived with a family who raised you until you old enough to make it on your own, though who died not long after." His thrill began to fade away like the setting sun's rays as his masterpiece began to put his artwork back into its folder.

"I know that you went to a prestigious art school to prepare yourself to become an artist. I know once you graduated college, you became a war photographer and traveled to many war-ridden countries. I know in your last mission you accompanied, you were struck by a mine that left you disfigured and disturbed. I know that once you returned to Italy, you couldn't bear the sight of it any longer and came here to America. I know that when you opened up your first art gallery in Krimson City, that it was attended by many who critiqued your work as if it was a monstrosity." He locked the folder back into its cabinet before turning around to face him.

Eyes filled with such a warmth that the flame within them threatened to melt his own icy gaze. His masterpiece began to walk closer to him, slow and captivating. "I know that's when you began your killing spree, to fulfill your artistic need. I know that the last woman you murdered before you disappeared was an actress named Emily Lewis. I know that when you returned to this city after two years, you were scared and didn't know where you were or what to do. I know you were found guilty under reasons of insanity and brought here for treatment. I know right now; you still have a piece of shrapnel lodged in your skull that brings you pain as well as nightmares." Sebastian sat down before him, a gaze burning so profoundly he could never look away. He could see a soul spark within the rich depths.

"And I know you only wanted to be an artist, but you ended up becoming a serial killer instead." He was unsure how he felt at that moment. It was not akin to anger, though it still gripped his chest with the same searing intensity. He let it sink into his heart; even then, it was a mystery to him. "Your files tell your life story, but they can never tell what has never been said. I believe you never told anyone why you started your art."

"I did say why," it was difficult to find his voice under the weight of nothingness, "you stated it yourself. The day my eye—"

"No, I'm not talking about what molded you into a psychopath. I want to know what drove you to become an artist, what interested you so much about art that you decided to be a war photography. There's no accurate record anywhere as to why you got your hands onto a camera, and you never told anyone here why either. I think I know why that is."

"Tell me then, if you're so knowledgeable."

"I think the reason you haven't told anyone is that you're as much in the dark as they are. You don't know why yourself, of why you were drawn to art; you wouldn't be able to reply if you were asked. How can you answer a question you don't have the answer to?"

"…Why…" He didn't know what was more damming, the fact that he didn't know how to respond to the claim or the fact that the horrendous application was all too real. "Why are you here?"

"You have many flaws, some are irreversible, but the one commonality they have is that they stem from your memory. Or lack thereof. Whatever is left of your memory is corrupt, which is why I picked my questions carefully. Which ties into the main purpose of why I am here. I know your memories are in there somewhere if we're lucky we might be able to bring some back. Now I'm not a doctor or a psychologist, nor am not your enemy, I'm not here to aggravate you or cause you any more pain. I am someone who wants to help you. Valentini, look at me." He did as he was told and revisited the steady dark eyes, he had not realized he had looked away, they were so emblazoned in his mind. "You need to believe in me." At that moment, he was able to identify the emotion eating at his insides and overwhelming his senses. Despair was something he rarely experienced, but he welcomed the sentiment with open arms.

"You don't know me, do you?" his throat had become dry, and his voice could not help but falter and erode to a shriveled whisper. The keen eyes instantly molded to a look of pity. How cruel was the world?

"Um, I don't mean to interrupt, but Mr. Castellanos, your visitation time is up." Strange, he had not heard the door open.

"Damn, that's it." The man sighed, glancing over his shoulder. "Sorry we have to cut off now, but at least think about what I have said, they have more meaning than you think… Hopefully, I'll get to see you again, Valentini." He winked, and he may have chuckled at the gesture, but his chest continued to sink as his masterpiece began to leave.

"Wait…" with a simple word, the man has already turned around. He wanted to see those eyes so badly. "Come back to see me. That is all I ask of you." His masterpiece smiled.

"I'm not done with you yet, Valentini. Don't worry, I'll be back that I can promise." That was all he needed to hear to, comfortably leaned back against the wall and watch longingly as the man left the room. The words of the orderly faint echoes to his ears as he felt himself smile, though his lips quivered.

"You don't know me… Sebastian."

Φ

He could never stand the sound of crying.

Cries of pain, agony, and despair held an appealing sense of entertainment that kept him amused while creating. However, the crying that contained nothing but uncontrollable emotion, hiccupping between gasps of breath, and a twisted expression that most would pity, left a sour taste in his mouth. It was ugly in nature and let one open themselves up to further hurt and ridicule. If adults sobbing got on his nerves, then the sound of a child balling their eyes out got under his skin like a rusty nail. The cries were only an echo of an echo, but with how in tune he had become with the CORE, it was akin to nails on a chalkboard. He had thought the Grand Theater would be a much more suitable atmosphere for the act of creation, and the CORE would be more responsive compared to when she was in his galleries.

Apparently, the irking sobs only became more intense as she disappeared into the theater. He had not lost her; he could feel the strength from her beacon of power if he were on the other side of Union. He could feel her presence and hear her voice, but he could not see her. He phased to every point in the theater where her essence was strongest, but he only appeared in an empty room. It became frustrating the third time, and then worrisome the tenth time. He cursed to himself as he came up empty-handed once more, appearing on the theater stage with a nonexistent audience. Well, on this plane of Union.

On another a crowd of Union citizens sat confused and frightened in the dark, not knowing they were soon to become another one of his masterpieces, the greatest. It hit him then, he had left the CORE of this plane of existence, the base plan, but with the sudden surges of her power she could not control, she could have accidentally sent herself to another plane without him noticing. To his knowledge, there were only two other planes besides the base. He had created one where he kept his galleries and created new works of art. The other, where he had complete control over the very earth itself, where he already had a scene set for his prolonged masterpiece to be created.

He chuckled to himself. With as much as a fleeting thought, he was enveloped in a blaze of azure flames that dissipated as soon as they sparked to life. He found himself in front of a live audience, though he could not see any faces, it wasn't due to the dimmed lighting. The power of the CORE flooded through his veins by merely breathing in the stale air, she was here. The cries never ceased, but now seemed to come from everywhere at once, ringing in his head and breaking the strict focus he usually processed. So, when the sudden high-pitched scream of terror raked against his ears, he winced at the sharp sting in his head, his camera lens flickered. Despite the sudden ringing in his ears, he was now able to pinpoint her exact location. He was instantly able to identify what caused the CORE such distress as soon as he entered the red room.

Obscura was a beautiful in many ways, her long sturdy legs, contorted slender torso, and her camera of a visage completed her to be a being that was to be beheld and treasured. However, he would be lying to himself if he said she could not be freighting in any form. Especially when the mix of excitement and instinct got the best of her, and the grace of her slow spider-esque gait would be replaced with more exuberant moans and the predatory pounce that led her stomping after her prey.

Currently, she had her interest peaked under a table that held many of his photographs, a white cloth had been placed over it, obscuring what could be hiding underneath. His creation was moaning softly and peeking her camera underneath the fabric where the cries could be heard, this only seemed to excite her more.

"Obscura." He spoke firmly, and his creation instantly retraced her head from underneath the table. "Come." The command had her stepping over quickly towards him and stopping in front of him, though she was hardly still as her head continued to bob and weave, and her three legs tapped themselves of the ground impulsively. Since she was on a high, it would be difficult for her to come back down from the euphoria. He could relate to her in that sense. At the current moment, her enthusiasm was greatly needed. "You know where, my Angel is yes?" a sharp trill was his response. "Guard it from the philistine, he's already destroyed enough of my art. Do not let him ruin this piece. Go." The command was ignored as Obscura continued to shuffle in front of him, chirping all the while. "Go, Obscura." His creation's camera lens shuttered as it reached out to him. He sighed in frustration.

Out of all his creations, his Aperture was the one that obeyed him without hesitation as if it were a connected limb that could be commanded with a simple thought. The most unruly out of all of them being the Guardian, which rarely listened to a simple command and it had spread itself into multiple entities to become a gaggling pack, at least they did the simple task of mutilating any intruders that roamed the city streets. Obscura was different; she obeyed his orders for the most part but had a mind of her, which led her to be more of a wandering bird who would explore her environment until she was called upon. When she became exuberant, it was more challenging to get her to comply, as shown currently when she began to nudge his shoulder.

"Stop it, go, I say." He lightly pushed her head away, she moaned loudly, and her long neck arched backward, her head gesturing towards the table. Once her head was back pushing at him, he understood her disobedience. He took her head in his gloved hands and rubbed the sides of her camera with his thumbs. "Yes, you found her for me, thank you… such a good girl you are. I adore you ever so much." He softly kissed her bright lens. His Obscura cooed excitingly, her happy demeanor doubling as she practically bounced and her bobbed back and forth. That was another trait they had in common. They both had the need to be praised for their work, he liked to believe he had a better habit to hide this tendency compared to his Obscura. "Now go, I know you won't disappoint me." She finally obeyed his commands, and with a final moan, she stomped off into the darkness to complete her task. He turned his attention back to the table. The crying had lessened to a quiet sniffle, and he saw a small silhouette shift from behind the white cloth.

He could simply reach behind the cloth and snatch the CORE by her little arm, as he had done before. However, the worry of her disappearing again had him rethink his approach. He couldn't remember the last time he talked to a child, he knew they possessed a great innocence that made them easy to manipulate and control, but they could also turn on their manipulator just as easily with a red flag. Taking a deep breath, he crouched down beside the table though he did not touch the cloth, not yet. Being so close to the CORE, he could feel the waves of her radiating energy wash over him like a cool breeze.

"Did my Obscura scare you, Bambina?" He spoke in a tone as friendly as he could possibly muster, it was most akin to how he would talk when praising his creations. "I don't blame you most people are, but I won't let her trouble you any longer, I promise." The figure only shifted further back away from him. "Bambina, I will bring no harm to you. If pain is what you fear, there is no need." That is not what you should be afraid of. "Is that why your crying? Because of fear. That is understandable but is not appreciated. You shouldn't cry, it's an unruly habit to develop at your age. Your crying is what led my Obscura to you if you're not quiet other creatures will come get you. If you are hiding there because you believe it will protect you from anything out here, you won't last very long."

"… You're wrong." A small voice whispered from behind the white curtain.

"Oh, I beg to differ, I could simply reach in there and rip you out from there and you wouldn't be able to do anything to stop me." He caught himself as he saw the silhouette shift further back with a squeal, almost disappearing completely. "But I won't Bambina. Please tell me why you believe I'm 'wrong.'" There was a long pause of silence before the soft voice spoke up again.

"W-well… I know I won't be safe, but it makes me feel better… It's too scary out there, but it doesn't make me cry. I don't cry because I'm scared."

"Then, why are you crying?"

"I don't think you'll understand… You don't look like you understand sadness." Sadness, of course, that was the culprit. Sadness was as much as a burden, as crying, it was a sickening depressant that killed other emotions one could possibly enjoy.

"Why, of course, I understand, sadness. I know it is more on the depressing side of the emotional range and is what can lead to many potential illnesses, in fact. I know that when people experience it, it makes them less inclined to do anything besides weep in their own self-pity. It makes people feel worthless as a person, which is why I chose to let my sadness go."

"You can get rid of sadness?"

"Certainly, though not everyone is strong of will enough to not let their emotions consume them. I learned that during war, such a cruel yet beautiful thing. It taught me how to rid myself of sadness, among other elements. It can be rather easy, once you find what the source is of your sadness. Bambina, what is making you sad?"

"I don't like thinking about it… So, it's hard for me to tell you…"

"I understand, I can see you've been through so much. If you do not wish to discuss your sadness maybe, we can talk about something that gives you happiness. What do you like to do that makes you happy?" He could see the silhouette open up to him.

"I like to draw…" He smiled.

"That is absolutely wonderful, I like the arts myself. I am an artist and I've seen some of your pieces around my gallery. The use of ink is not my preference of art choice; however, I can still admire the drawn works as well. In fact, I believe we have a future artist in the making."

"Really?"

"In all honesty, I have beheld some pieces that are truly masterpieces."

"… I've seen some of your art… It's the pictures of dead people, right?" Dying people if she wanted to be exact.

"Correct. My preferred medium of artistic expression is photography. It is how I artistically express myself. Do you like them?"

"I… I don't like the death or blood, but they do look pretty in a way. I can't explain it clearly… they make it so I can look away from all the monsters."

"And me… Am I a monster?" He saw the silhouette move closer to the cloth. Very slowly, small fingers appeared around the edge of the curtain before tugging it back slightly, a bright blue eye peaked from the small opening. From his previous encounters, he figured out even with his mangled face, his appearance to most did not come off as threatening; his intent was what frightened people. Hopefully, as the CORE gazed upon him, it would be different from their first face to face encounter. The shinning eye looked up at him with curiosity and hesitance. It looked eerily familiar in a way, the hue was similar to his own, though it held a spark of innocence he could not possess. There was something else that made it so nostalgic, but he could not quite place it at the moment. The makeshift curtain was pulled back further to show both vibrant stunning eyes on the youthful face.

"You were, but not now. You're different from everything else here… Do you want to see some of my pictures?" she made a gesture for him to come closer. He would prefer not to crawl under a table into a cramped space, but he knew it would appease the CORE.

"Why certainly." The tinge of fading sadness in her eyes, encouraged him to move forwards. What he needed, was the child-like essence of fear, sadness would corrupt that raw emotion. He pulled back the white curtain and nearly gasped in shock of what his eye beheld. It was bright at first, even stung his eye a little, before he could adequately assess what he was gazing upon. The underneath of the table was much bigger than he had anticipated. In fact, it looked to be the size of a small room, almost like a walk-in closet. No evidence of the outside world around them shown, creamy ember walls made of a silky draping curtains made up the room with bopping spirits of light of many hues illuminated the room in a shifting glow of brilliance from behind the curtains. As he went deeper into the small wonderland, he found himself shifting onto a ground that was as plush and soft as satin sheets, and he could only sit on his knees in shock. Decorating the draping walls were children drawings come to life as dancing pictures filled with playful energy, shifting from one image to another in a fashion that mirrored a silver screen.

"You made all this?"

"I think so, I'm not sure. You were right, I was scared of the camera head lady, so I hid here; I just wanted to get away from everything. All I could think about how I wanted to go home and be in my room, and then all of I sudden… this all happened." She gestured to the world around her, her eyes more vivacious than ever. "I remember those drawings; I drew that one when my mom and me went to the park, and that one was my first time going to the carnival, this one was when me and my…" the sweet voice of the CORE continued on with the pure essence of a child.

This was her doing, he could feel her spirit within the magnificent creation, and it was only a genuine spark of what true potential she held. This was not of his plane, but of one that sat between his own and the base, being in a created limbo to keep itself stable. All of this was created by a thought of a little girl who could not even grasp the world around her. The creation astounded him. It was the world bending to the mind of a child to bring imagination into existence. It was raw innocence in a world full of death and cruelty, and it was beautiful. You truly are an artist.

"Do you like it?" the question pulled him back to attention.

"It is absolutely beautiful." He looked back to the CORE and smiled at her.

"T-thank you…" a glimmer of hope gleamed in her eyes.

"I believe you have…" A sudden spark, the blaze of a fire, the illumination of God. He saw them all within the depths of his aperture. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what? It's a little warmer in here, is that what you feel?" Warm would not be enough to describe the heat as he felt the members of the overwhelming presence arise. It was not here, but it would be soon.

"Bambina, I want you to stay here, for the time being, I have some business to take care of. As long as you stay in here, no harm will come to you."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, but there's a monster out there, and trust me, this is the monster you need to fear."

Φ

"Keep your back to me, Valentini, and don't even think about moving away from me." A guard from behind commanded him. The straps of his straight jacket were being undone. He could already feel himself be able to breathe again, even with all the guards surrounding him, watching his every move. It was a great relief once the horrid thing was removed from his body, and he could properly move his aching joints. For only a few moments, before he was moved onto his bed, where another set of restraints had been installed. There was not any true freedom anymore. The guards attached the rough restraints around his ankles, but not the one for his wrists. He had not taken his medicine yet. One of the orderlies was preparing his medication now. He felt exhausted, even without the assistance of drugs though in truth, if they provided any aid in helping him sleep, he could not tell. It was a rare occasion for him to be so physically and mentally drained, his mind was always thinking, creating and being restrained for so long proved that he had more stored energy than he had known. However, now, he did not feel like doing anything, who knew a conversation was all it took to wear him down to the bone. He was not tired enough to not react to the light graze on his back, he turned his head to see an orderly messing with his pillow.

"What are you doing?" his words came out as a slur, and a tone of voice that was accusatory, but not threatening. It was enough, though, for the orderly to jump on the spot.

"J-just adjusting your pillow, Valentini, sir. I'm basically paid to clean the rooms of nutjobs, so I'm not the one you need to worry about." The orderly placed the pillow back in its place and made himself scarce.

"Alright, Mr. Valentini, I have your medicine ready." The other orderly proclaimed, moving to hand him the bright pills.

"Give it to me." the guard grabbed the pills from the orderly too quick for any sort of reaction. Before he knew any better, a hand was slapped over his mouth, and the pills were forced down his gorge. It pained his dry throat as he desperately swallowed the invasive discs; he nearly choked from how many he gulped down at once. He hacked violently, burning his lungs and hunching over in hopes of easing his pain. It did not last long as he roughly pushed back down onto the hard bed by his shoulders, he reflexively reached his arms up, but they were promptly slammed down to his sides where restraints were tied around them. Collapsed on the bed, he began heaving in fresh air for his lungs, he was undoubtedly alert now, though the spike of adrenaline nearly gave him a headache.

"What are you doing?!" the orderly screeched, an anger that was rarely beheld radiating from his eyes.

"You know how long it takes for him to eat his damn pills. I just quickened the process."

"He could have chocked."

"He's fucking fine, David. Don't make his pain, yours." The orderly brushed him off and came to his bedside.

"He's restrained now Jack; it's your time to leave."

"Fine, be like that. You keep this up and one of these days a psycho might end up slitting your throat. See you in the morning." He left the cell and then the room with the other guards following. The orderly above him sighed in frustration.

"I apologize for his behavior; he's had an off day."

"I don't really care what he does." His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt when he spoke, he continued. "I'm tired. If you let me rest, hopefully, I'll find some peace."

"Okay, I'll let you sleep, but before you drift off, please listen to me." He turned his gaze away from the ceiling to the orderly, who crouched down beside him. "I know you don't, like it here. Just because they put 'St. Eden' in front of 'mental asylum,' it doesn't make this place appear any better. But I want to assure you that this is a hospital for second chances. You were given the chance to be helped, and not executed like some animal. I wish someone had given my brother that chance. So, please don't take this for granted." It was a plea; it was a strange occurrence to have someone put so much faith in him. Maybe it was not unusual; he had heard a similar plea earlier today. He could not believe in either of them.

"I wouldn't be so faithful, but I may take that chance." He tried his best to smile, it hurt. A grin was returned to him.

"Alright then, I'll let you sleep now." The orderly stood back up, and left the cell with his companion, locking it behind him. The lights turned off. He was unsure of how many days of insanity he could take. It was painfully mind-numbing, if maybe he could use his hands, he could find anything to numb the pain. He couldn't though, here was a cruel place that only brought suffering, and his masterpiece was a cruel man for feeding him lies. Neither had a promise of getting any better. All could do was close his eye and hope tonight's dream, would be a better world than the one he was living in.