Chapter Text
Fredrick Chilton sat at his desk, various screens opened on the work computer in his office. They flicked black and white, the people looking like gnarled ghosts. They paced, slept, and rocked back and forth in the frames, oblivious to someone constantly watching them.
He’d only had enough money to install the illegal cameras in the more high risk cells. But with this, he could watch them at any time, in any place. He just needed access to internet.
Not that he wanted to have them. But, for the safety of his wards, it was a necessary precaution. His predecessor had occasionally lost a patient due to such negligence. It was what had made it so easy for him to take over.
He couldn’t, no he wouldn’t, allow himself to be so laxed.
Files on each patient on camera were strewn across his desk. Papers sat haphazardly in front of him, scribbled notes on sticky-notes marking any unusual behavior ‘his guards’ had witnessed and personally reported to him in proper documentation. Their names faded into the background, making them impossible to remember.
It was easier to remember them by the handles the media had given them right before coming to his hospital.
One patient in block A rocked back and forth on his cot. Bear Trap. His hair stood up on end much as if he’d been electrocuted. His white suit was smudged in a dark discoloration that the camera didn’t show as blood. He’d bitten one of the guards earlier on his way back after a session with Chilton with his metal teeth. He’d chomped right through the tendons on the guard’s hand.
Another stood in a corner, nose pressed into the cold stone, talking in a harsh whisper. He almost never blinked when they shared a conversation over Chilton’s morning coffee. His owl-like grey eyes stared at Chilton, brows raised so high they almost touched his hairline.
He never spoke above a whisper, fearing they would overhear him and come to take his soul.
Their various sessions had all gone about the same. This morning’s session was no different.
“Good morning, my young man. How are we this morning?” Chilton asked, taking his seat in the chair directly in front of the patient. He laid the clipboard with previous notes on his knee, clicking his pen a few times.
Such a sad case really.
He wasn’t even thirty yet. His face suggested someone in their fifties. Those large eyes stared right through Chilton. Despite knowing he was a very sick man, Chilton couldn’t help but feel a little rankled at the lack of his attention.
It was very hard to make any progress with him.
The man twitched, the chains on his hands and feet swaying. His head snapped to the side unnaturally, eyes unmoving. If his hair hadn’t been cropped on arrival, it no doubt would have been in tangled mats by this point.
Chapped lips opened and closed wordlessly, head tilting as it listened to silence. He nodded once, and then violently shook his head.
“Do you still hear voices? I thought the medication was helping with your auditory hallucinations,” Chilton said pleasantly, smiling widely as he scribbled down the prevailing symptom. “I shall see what we can do to help with that. Maybe upping the medicine? Though, I am afraid you may have to deal with some of the more nasty side-effects if we go any higher.”
The patient bent over, forehead almost touching his knees as he muttered prayers and curses all in one go. “All your fault, all your fault, all your fault. Shouldn’t have done that. No, no you shouldn’t have done that. You made them mad.”
They hadn’t had a cohesive conversation long enough for Chilton to quite piece together who ‘they’ were in this conversation. Likely it was the victims. Haunting his every step and wanting him to repent. His psyche’s attempt at saving itself from the reality of what it’s done. Only very few unique cases would truly allow someone to be okay with taking another’s life.
And they were often calm. Collected. Fascinating to study. And rare to find. He certainly didn’t have any in his care.
The patient rocked back and forth as much as he could, a self-soothing effort as tears leaked from his eyes.
“Can you hear me?” Chilton asked mildly, brushing some lint off his plaid pants.
“Your fault. Your fault. You stupid, fucking, disgraceful―”
Chilton marked the patient's continuing inability to focus on reality.
“Such horrible language.” He clicked his tongue. “At this rate, we might have to try shock therapy again. It seemed to make some improvements on your focus last time.”
Those orb-like eyes spun to Chilton, seeing him for the first time. Tears and snot smeared his face. “You.”
Chilton smiled wide. “Yes, me. Do you see me?”
"You never see." Spiteful words on twisted lips. "None of you do."
And then those eyes slid off him, to the spot right over his shoulder. Terror flashed in them and then he was screaming for it to go away, thrashing around much like a fish out of water.
Their session was over.
This patient believed he could speak and see things unseen was why the media had given him the moniker Conduit. A mundane case of schizophrenia if he’d ever seen one. And clearly a case too severe to ever allow him back into the public. Five already dead at his hand.
A pitiful case indeed.
One of the few women in his care could be seen on the monitor patting a bundle of blankets in her arms. Llorona. Her pale locks frizzed around her face, hiding it from view. She believed her toddler was wrapped in them. The one she’d drowned in a fit of rage after finding her husband cheating on her. It wasn’t long after his death that drowned toddlers were appearing in the park.
It turned out that she believed she could make a trade with God after having read of a similar insistence in a story.
The news stations ended up having a riot with that and a lot of parents refused to buy the children’s book.
In his care, the woman rotated between a caring mother who cooed at the empty blankets and shoving the blankets into the toilet, trying to drown the illusionary child.
Chilton barely glanced at her as she laid on the bed, cuddling up against the blankets. Honestly, most of the patients he dealt with were monotonous. There was certainly no reason for him to have to be the one to see them. The few true interesting ones weren’t located here.
They’d all been snatched away. Either by some other faulty doctors or a mistake of fate.
As a whole, this job was rather tedious.
Lots of paperwork and legal lines that he was technically toeing. The ones he did bend were only for the good of those under his care. They all understood the necessity of his actions.
But it was tiresome. Having to smile and give way to those who were clearly below him in skill and knowledge. It certainly wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself.
Especially not when he’d stumbled over a gold-mine so early into his career. He’d thought he’d achieve his dream early, and then continue to climb from there. Unfortunately, due to circumstances outside of his control, that had not panned out. His lovely little song bird had flown away before he’d been able to shut the door.
No matter.
It was not something he needed to agonize over any longer.
For once, he was not watching the monitors of his patients. Instead, his eyes were lascivious on the screen of his personal computer. The old, and rather slow running, thing was an eyesore. It certainly didn’t fit with the rest of his office.
He’d had some small renovations done to the elongated room after he’d taken over the job. He’d ripped up the flea toned carpet in favor of a light wood. He’d also taken down the blinds that made him think of a run-down school. The office had large, expansive windows allowing him to see into the courtyard where his patients were sometimes allowed to exercise. They’d been an eyesore. He’d put up soft brown, pull down shades in their stead. He’d picked them out himself. He couldn’t trust his secretary to get it right.
Even his desk and bookshelves had needed replacement to match the coloring of the flooring. It had been revolting to work in an office that was unprofessional in appearance.
White walls made the room feel empty, so he’d hung numerous pictures and articles up to help create a sense of completion. The closest one was of the article he’d written, easy to spot by anyone who sat in the guest’s chair across the desk.
Image was everything.
His personal computer was not image-friendly. However, it was hack-proof. No one would be able to break into it without him allowing them to.
So when an anonymous email showed up on it only weeks ago, he’d been alarmed to say the least. Hiring someone, he’d ensured it was safe before opening it.
Chilton chewed on his thumbnail, worrying the worn skin as he stared at the open email. A habit that creeped back in every time he thought he’d bested it.
A fake account. He’d already figured that out. But it was what the email contained that was so very interesting.
A picture of a dark haired, blue eyed man, leaving a tattoo parlor. A ghost from his past. Someone he hadn’t seen since their misunderstanding. He’d known where he worked, but every time he’d tried to visit, his coworker, the Asian woman, blocked his way.
But this also showed Will at the park, with his dogs. Sitting on a bench, staring up at the sky. Walking down a street. Exiting the employee door at a restaurant. H
His hair was longer than it used to be. And he was thinner. Much thinner. The poor man was clearly in need of help.
Under the pictures was a phone number. Beautiful and prosperous Will’s personal phone number.
Chilton hadn’t realized how starved he’d been to see him. An itch was growing in his gut. A deep need that wouldn’t be ignored forever. Though he knew if he tried to visit the tattoo parlor again, he’d no doubt be shoved out. His Will was always good at avoiding him. A fascinating trick that he didn’t doubt came from that golden mind.
With the help of these pictures, Chilton would finally be able to catch him once again. It might just take a little bit of time. And this time, he'd make sure not to let him slip away. One way or another.
He didn’t notice when he bit through the skin on his thumb. Blood oozed from the wound and dripped onto the desk.
~TBC~