Ezekiel 25:17
Finally, I am beginning to understand something.
Hours of attempting to decipher the handwriting in Laura's chart nearly drove me insane myself—but as a result, I have finally begun to reconstruct the picture of her stay at the asylum. After powerful psychotropic drugs yielded no effect (aside from the fact that the girl would either be unable to sleep for several days or unable to get out of bed due to severe bouts of dizziness and rapid heartbeat—though these seemed to be trivialities that no one here paid attention to), a specialist in therapeutic restraint took over.
Laura was placed in a chair of his own invention, the very one I saw with my own eyes—the girl's body remained fixed, while her head was placed in a wooden cube filled with ice. As noted in the chart, the treatment had a striking effect—after a day spent in such a position, Laura claimed that everything she had said regarding her uncle's harassment was a product of her imagination, delirium, and hallucinations. Poor thing, that wasn't very wise. By admitting to a mental disorder, she only confirmed that she needed treatment... and intensive treatment at that.
I would have continued analyzing the records, but I was distracted by noise in the corridor. Looking out, I saw several doctors and a nurse with an oxygen mask running toward the residential wing. Sensing something sinister, I quickly tucked my pistol into my belt and hurried after them. The destination of our short raid was
WisTrit's bedroom. At the moment, however, it resembled a slaughterhouse more than a bedroom. The furniture was overturned and broken, as if a rabid beast had rampaged here, and the entire room was splattered with blood as if a pig had been butchered. I didn't see
WisTrit himself immediately—the bloody body almost blended in with the sheets upon which it lay sprawled. Yes, he no longer needed an oxygen mask.
The murder weapon lay beside the body—it was a spatula, which the doctor so often placed between patients' teeth during electroconvulsive therapy sessions. What inhuman strength and inhuman rage must one possess to literally riddle the victim's body with it! At the head of the bed, a cross had been crudely painted on the wall in blood, as if the killer decided to hang a crucifix in the deceased's mind.
Suddenly, one of the doctors appeared in the doorway and shouted in despair:
- Over here, quickly! Nurse, the mask, adrenaline ampoules, someone, a stretcher!
We rushed after him—anyway, there was nothing left in WisTrit's room but work for the cleaners.
In the staff room,
Князь_OMEGA lay motionless on the sofa. A stethoscope cord was tied tightly around his neck. I leaned over to feel his pulse, and mechanically noted traces of pollen on the deceased's ordinary black garment.
The staff and patients gathered in the general hall to check if we were missing anyone else. Except for
Xostor, whom they still couldn't wake up, everyone was present—and all equally bewildered. Grief was frozen on
WishmasteR's face, and he quietly whispered a prayer under his breath—which was quite strange, as I usually hadn't noticed any particular piety in him.
The duty nurse's log lay open on her desk, and I mechanically read:
"WhiteLizard – unstable".
She hadn't even had time to throw the notes into the trash, so I scanned them without hindrance:
1. Symbiosis of psychotics and doctors. I am proud of you. Your Sigmund F
2. Lizard was unstable. Couldn't check Amko. I'll check Neyra today, Mishka will check Loreley.
3. Peace, friendship, love
4. Yeah, sit back and relax, give my Xostor more time to work!
Asylum Inhabitants:Xostor Gil4 WerevolkaHermitRiMpel2LoreleyGurNeyra DrakeWishmasteRDeparted:Ple-SenPitch BlackArandorThoriumWhiteLizardAmkoReinhardNeboКнязь_OMEGAWisTrit