A small cemetery on the grounds of the sanatorium.
Simple tombstones.
Somewhere here lies the one because of whom I came here.
I've been working as a private detective for many years. I'm hired when the police can't help, and publicity is undesirable. A month ago, a very wealthy couple approached me. More than a year ago, a very unpleasant incident occurred in their respectable family…
Their only daughter, sixteen-year-old Laura, accused her uncle, Mr. T., a respectable and respected family man in his sixties, of harassing her. Mr. T. was shocked and tried to gently reason with his niece, but she vehemently insisted that she was telling the truth. Her parents consulted with a psychiatrist, who suggested that the girl was developing schizophrenia. She was sent for treatment here…at the Saint Valencia Sanatorium.
Three months later, the police noticed Mr. T.'s car parked in a dead-end alley. A police officer, shining a flashlight inside, found the respectable old man trying to give some extra lessons to a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl, having first tied her up and gagged her – apparently, so that she wouldn't interrupt the teacher. T. was arrested, and after a series of interrogations, he confessed to raping a couple more young girls…including his own niece.
Laura's parents didn't have time to pick her up from the sanatorium. They were beaten to it by a letter informing them that their daughter's condition had been steadily deteriorating during her stay, and one night she died of a heart attack, likely caused by hallucinations. It's strange that a healthy sixteen-year-old girl started having hallucinations. It's even stranger that the parents were not notified by phone, but by letter, and when they arrived, Laura had already been buried.
The parents turned to the management of the sanatorium. The position of chief physician was vacant at that time, and his deputy, Dr. Cherletti, spoke to them briefly, apologized for the delay in notification, citing constant problems with telephone communication, and assured them that Laura had been seriously ill, and this, as well as the qualifications of the medical staff, was not up for discussion.
The police couldn't help them – the fact that T. turned out to be a pervert and a scoundrel formally did not refute the assumption that their daughter had gone mad. In such cases, they usually call me.
It was easy to get a fake certificate of completion of medical courses, and strong male staff is always needed where there are violent patients. In the first week of my work, I've already seen so much that it's enough for a month of stories. A fun place.
As I hoped, it was easy for the orderly to get access to almost any part of the sanatorium. I can bring a cup of coffee to the chief physician's office, or I can go down to the basement to check the wiring.
Sooner or later, I will find out what I need.
But this damn rain…it's starting to worry me.
The rain
