If These Walls Could Talk (American Horror Story Asylum FanFic)

Chapter 1

The inside of this place is just as imposing as the outside of it.

I made a lousy attempt at conversation, using the first thing that my eyes landed on as the subject for my sentence. "What a lovely staircase."

"It's been here since this building was a tuberculosis ward when it was first built in 1908. It leads upstairs to the administrative offices."

I nodded and continued to look around me, eyes peeled for the slightest hint of something rotten.

"Where is the bakery located?"

"It's right down this hall."

We continued down the hall, passing identical doors that must've been the patients' rooms. I craned my head trying to get a better look through the windows in the doors but Sister Jude was impossibly fast and I couldn't get a good enough look with the speed she was taking me down the hall.

We eventually came to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh baked bread must've been deeply ingrained within all surfaces of the space. Nuns were scurrying about, watching to make sure that the patients obeyed the rules and focused on the task at hand.

"As you can see, our program is greatly therapeutic for the patients."

I followed the direction her eyes were going to and saw a tall man sitting in a short backed chair and attempting to knead a piece of dough. His hands shook, sending little clouds of flour up into the air around him. His head was ducked as low as possible and I couldn't help but think of the plethora of back problems he must have.

I turned to Sister Jude. "Who's that patient over there?"

"That's Mr. Phillip Cline. This program has helped him quite a bit during his recovery from the war."

She abruptly stopped speaking and looked at me. "I do hope you are taking notes, Ms. Norwood. It's not every day that a reporter such as yourself can come and see the wonders of Briarcliff Manor and its award winning bakery."

"Of course!"

I rooted around in my handbag for my notepad and pencil, flipping it open and scribbling the name of the patient before looking up at the nun with the biggest smile I could muster.

-Phillip Cline, search for records on him at library

"Good. Monsignor Timothy Howard and I have worked very hard towards the restoration of this building and on the well-being of all the patients we have had here over the years. If you like, I could show you the common room."

Yes! There should be something there.

"I would love to include something about the common room in my piece about the bakery."

"Very well."

We walked out of the bakery and back down the hall.

"Do you enjoy your job?" I asked.

"I don't look at what I do as a job, Ms. Norwood. I am simply helping with the Lord's work in curing these poor souls of all their troubles."

I nodded and scribbled onto my notepad about some scratches I thought I saw on the wall.

-scratches on wall, maybe from being rough with a patient?

As we walked I thought I heard the faint sounds of music coming from somewhere down the hall ahead of us. I didn't mention it to the nun, sparing myself from hearing more of her self-praise and praise of the man that she so obviously put on a pedestal.

She abruptly stopped and smiled. "This is the common room."

So this is where the music is coming from.

The room was wide and spacious with high ceilings and tall windows. There were tables and chairs placed about the room, including some couches and an area off to one side near a set of windows where jars filled with paint brushes sat, drying by the light of the sun. The music that I heard was coming out of a gramophone that was placed near some couches off to the side of the room. The vocals of a woman repeatedly singing the same French phrase filled the room. Some patients stood in the middle of the room, slowly swaying back and forth like zombies in a trance. Others sat at tables, playing checkers with each other and occasionally letting out a bark of laughter like they were sharing a private joke.

"Who is that, singing on the gramophone?"

Sister Jude answered me as if I should've known the answer myself. "It's Jeanine Deckers."

"Oh, well she has a lovely voice."

Jude looked wistful as she looked at the gramophone. "Yes, it's quite lovely."

She continued to stare at the music player and I let my eyes wander around the room, paying careful attention to the patients. They seemed dormant enough, so I wasn't worried of getting attacked by any of them.

"Sister Jude! Sister Jude!"

She straightened up and we both turned to see Sister Mary Eunice rushing into the room, face flushed pink.

"What is it, Sister Mary Eunice?" Clear annoyance was etched into her voice and I was beginning to feel that it was the norm for her to sound that way.

The nun looked back and forth between me and Jude before leaning close to her and whispering into her ear. Jude's eyes opened wide and a smile slowly crept its way onto her face.

"Very well. Ms. Norwood, I'm afraid that we have to cut this visit short. I hope you have enough for your article. This way, please."

She quickly ushered me out of the room and towards the front doors. I walked out into the bright sunshine and into the even brighter lights from flashing paparazzi cameras. A police car was pulled up at the bottom of the steps and two men in white scrubs were taking someone out of the car. I racked my brain trying to think of who it could possibly be when I heard one of the paparazzi shout.

"Bloody Face! What do you have to say for yourself?"

My mouth slightly fell open and I leaned away from the hands of Sister Jude, who was trying to get me to leave before I could see any more. The men in white scrubs were standing on either side of the patient, holding his arms even though both his hands and feet were bound in shackles. They made their way up the steps and I stared at them the whole time, willing the man to look up.

Then, right before they went through the doorway he looked up at me. I looked into the eyes of Bloody Face and I slightly recoiled, images flashing through my mind of all the women he murdered. Instead of the usual look of smugness or indifference that murderers have he looked defeated, sad even. Then, they were gone and the nuns went into the building, shutting the doors behind them.