The Devil Walks Among Us; Book l - Completed 4/21/22

Pressure

"Testing, testing... Check, check check," A nervous young woman hesitantly spoke into her recorder, her brown eyes darting every direction as the looked around at the controlled chaos around her - guards at every corner, a strung-up doctor putting unnecessary comfort on his group of patients, seeming to make them believe that he was truly there for him instead of a paycheck. "We are now at Smith's Grove Rehabilitation Facility." She started, her English accent strong, striking curiosity within the other inmates.

"We're here today to interview a patient who has spent the last forty years in captivity. And by all accounts has not muttered a word. This monster-"

A loud security buzz from the steel door interrupted their introductory recording, turning towards the doctor who had called them to replace Mia's studies. "Good afternoon." He greeted.

"Good afternoon." The young man nodded.

"I'm Dr. Ranbir Sartain."

"Good to finally meet you," The young woman smiled. "Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us today. We were hoping to have this opportunity before he was transferred to a new facility. Glass Hill is far less accommodating."

"Glass Hill is a pit of Hell. For years, he's been kept here to be studied. I suppose the state has lost interest in discovering anything further."

"Well, that's why we're here. We were rather astonished Ms. Harris' work hasn't made any progress according to your notes-"

"Ms. Harris' studies were far more complicated for what Michael was capable of, I'm afraid. He showed no interest in her or her practice, therefor not showing any type of satisfaction, communication, or interest," Dr. Sartain replied, his inner thoughts raging at the mention of Mia's name, doing his best to make it sound like she had dismissed herself from the case. "Shall we proceed?" He gestured. "Michael has been my life's obsession. I've examined every single case file written on him. I was a student of Dr. Loomis before he passed away. And then I lobbied the University of Illinois to be assigned to Michael myself." He explained, leading the English journalists down the long corridor that led to the outside yard.

"Any progress?" She asked, holding the recording device close to Dr. Sartain as they walked.

"Well, he's been seen by over fifty clinical psychiatrists and with each, many different opinions. Dr. Loomis was the only one to see him in the wild. And he concluded that he was nothing more than pure evil," He continued, opening the door leading to the outside yard, the fall air sweeping across their faces as they walked. "Our patients get fresh air, sunshine, a view, proper exercise, healthy diet. It pains me to see him transferred to that less-than-desirable facility. And there he is. He can speak, he just chooses not to."

"I'd love to stand closer to him, if I may?" The young man asked. "Get a sense of his awareness, or lack of awareness."

"Oh, make no mistake, he's aware. He was watching you as you arrived. He hasn't been in a session since Ms. Harris decided to leave him. Since then, we have noticed a spike in his reluctance. Whether it's cooperating with security, eating, or even coming outside. Although he made no progress, he seems to have had an attachment to her in some way-"

"I-I had read Michael's file. Ms. Harris resembles his mother-"

"By hair color, apparently," Dr. Sartain corrected, hiding the spike of irritation in his voice at the comparison. Rolling his shoulders, he forced himself to rid his negative thoughts of Mia, looking down at his own feet, he noticed the perfect opportunity to change the now-awkward subject. "Perhaps you'd like to tie your left shoelace? Mr. Tovoli here, the gentleman with the umbrella, has a fixation with such things. Underestimate no one."

"Of course." The young man nodded, quickly kneeling down to tie his shoelace before Dr. Sartain directed the pair to follow him closer to Michael, formally known as The Shape.

"And now step up to the yellow line. And no further. Do not cross the line under any circumstances. Michael? Michael? I've got some people who'd like to meet you."

"Hello, Michael. My name is Aaron Korey. I've been following your case for years and still know very little about you. I'd like to know more. About that night. About those involved. Do you ever think about them, Michael?" Aaron continued to question, hesitantly stepping closer to the yellow line, Michael's stance intimidating him even more. Coming closer, he noticed Michael's fists clenched as his wrists were bound tightly with handcuffs, his knuckles turning white as the intense irritation from someone uninvited continued to nerve him as well as his quickened pulse making the nerve endings in his palms cramp has he had endured intense shock therapy the same morning at the request of Dr. Sartain. In his mind, once his transfer date came, he would never return to any facility, only home.

To her.

"Feel guilt about their fate?" Aaron continued. "I borrowed something from a friend at the attorney general's office, Michael," He said hesitantly, slowly grabbing his mask from his satchel, grasping its hair firmly in his hand, holding it in front of him to see Michael briefly turn his head to peer over his shoulder, shuddering slightly at the instant chill his mask gave him. His mask. The mask he vowed to get back, especially once he took the life that now held it hostage. "You feel it, don't you Michael? You feel the mask. Say something, Michael," He began to demand, desperately trying to ignore the whimpers and whines from the other patients in the yard. "Say something. You can feel it, can't you? It's a part of you, Michael. Say something. Say something, Michael. Say something!" Aaron shouted over the intense yelling, groaning, whimpering and barking seeming to overcome the buzzer in the courtyard. He had relentlessly put so much pressure onto Michael that it had done nothing but make him look even more vulnerable to The Shape.