The patients of Green Valley Asylum

Collecting

The small, dimly lit interrogation room at Green Valley Asylum held an unnatural stillness as Dr. Mills sat across from a boy whose gaze was cold and calculating. At seventeen, Jacob was one of the youngest patients admitted for violent offenses, but the crimes he was accused of chilled her to the core. He had kidnapped three young people, holding them captive for weeks in the basement of an old, abandoned farmhouse. The police found them chained and traumatized, barely able to speak, after a chance discovery led them to Jacob's hidden prison.

The media had dubbed him "The Collector." He showed no remorse for his actions and had said little to law enforcement since his arrest. Dr. Mills was brought in to try to break through the boy's detached, chilling exterior and uncover what could have driven him to commit such horrific crimes.

Jacob sat across from her now, his hands resting casually in his lap as if they were having an ordinary conversation. His eyes, however, were dark, unreadable pools, devoid of empathy. He stared at Dr. Mills with a mixture of curiosity and indifference.

"Do you know why you're here, Jacob?" Dr. Mills asked, her voice calm, careful not to provoke him too soon.

Jacob's lips curled into a slight smirk, his gaze drifting lazily around the room. "I'm here because I made a mistake," he said flatly, his voice carrying an eerie detachment. "I let them find out too soon."

Dr. Mills maintained her composure, though her heart skipped a beat at the nonchalant way he admitted to his crime. "And what exactly did you let them find out?"

Jacob leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "That they weren't just people. They were mine. My property. My... pleasure slaves, if that's what you want to call it." He chuckled softly, a chilling sound that sent a shiver down Dr. Mills' spine.

Her pen hovered over her notepad, but she didn't break eye contact. "And why did you see them that way? Why did you feel the need to take them?"

Jacob shrugged as if the answer were obvious. "They were lost. Like toys no one wanted. I gave them a purpose. I made them... useful."

Dr. Mills felt a surge of disgust but kept her voice steady. "Jacob, what you did was more than just taking people. You controlled them, hurt them. Why?"

For the first time, Jacob's expression faltered. His smirk faded, replaced by a cold, hard look. "Because that's what people do to each other, isn't it? Control. Use. I just made it clear." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "No games. No lies. I gave them what the world already takes from everyone—freedom."

Dr. Mills frowned slightly, sensing there was more to his words. She had read through his file—Jacob's childhood had been marked by neglect, abandonment, and constant upheaval. His parents were absent, caring little for his emotional well-being. He had grown up in foster care, shuffled from home to home, never feeling rooted, never feeling in control. Now, he had twisted that helplessness into something dark and dangerous.

"Is that how you feel, Jacob? That the world took your freedom?"

Jacob's gaze darkened. His smirk disappeared entirely now. "I never had freedom," he muttered bitterly. "I was just a pawn, a thing for people to toss around. So, I made my own rules. My own game."

"And in that game, you became the one in control," Dr. Mills said gently. "But why the violence? Why not just let them go when you felt you had power over them?"

Jacob's eyes flickered with something almost like anger. "Because they weren't good enough to be free. They were weak, just like everyone else. They didn't deserve freedom. They deserved to serve."

Dr. Mills leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "Is that what you think of yourself, Jacob? That you don't deserve freedom?"

He glared at her, his hands tightening into fists. "Don't try to turn this around on me. I'm not weak."

"No, I don't think you are. But I think you're angry. Angry at a world that never gave you the chance to feel powerful, to feel like you mattered. So you tried to take that power by force, by controlling others."

Jacob's face twisted in frustration. He looked away, his jaw clenched, unwilling to acknowledge her words. But Dr. Mills could see the truth in his silence. He had been shaped by a life of abandonment and pain, a life where no one had shown him care or compassion. In his twisted mind, he had learned that power came from dominance, from making others suffer the way he had suffered.

"Jacob," Dr. Mills said softly, "those people you took—they were just like you once. Scared. Alone. You didn't need to control them to feel powerful. You needed someone to help you find your own strength."

He didn't answer, but his posture shifted ever so slightly. Dr. Mills knew it wouldn't be easy to reach him, not after years of emotional isolation and trauma. But she could see the cracks in his defenses, the faint traces of vulnerability beneath the mask he had created.

"There's a way back, Jacob," Dr. Mills said, her voice steady. "But it starts with you understanding that control isn't power. Power is being able to face your pain without making others suffer for it."

For a long moment, Jacob said nothing. He stared at the wall, his mind racing, the smirk gone from his face. The room was filled with a tense, heavy silence, but Dr. Mills remained patient, waiting for him to make the first move toward healing.

Jacob's eyes flickered with something—a shadow of uncertainty, perhaps. But for the first time, he didn't smirk or laugh. He just sat there, silent, lost in thought.

And that, Dr. Mills knew, was the beginning.