Welcome to the Madhouse

Welcome to the Madhouse: Prologue

Copyright © S.E. Sasaki 2015

All rights reserved.

Cover Illustration copyright © S.E. Sasaki 2015

The right of S.E. Sasaki to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Canada in 2015 by S.E. Sasaki Publishing

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Find out more about the author at

www.sesasaki.com

For David, Daniel, and Christine Sherrington,

with all of my love

PROLOGUE

Great, rapid, gulping breaths shuddered her frame, her ribs scissoring in panic, her heart beating staccato-like against her chest wall, as if it were pounding hysterically to get out. Fear-impregnated sweat entirely soaked the flimsy cotton medical gown she wore. She struggled, moaning, but the tight, cloth restraints did their job, holding her fully out-stretched, securely in position. Movement, never mind escape, was next to impossible. She let out a sorrowful, pitiful whimper that coiled around the sound-proofed chamber but failed to land on compassionate ears. Taut muscles strained as she attempted, futilely, to free herself, to make her escape. The uncaring, inanimate shackles held firm.

Silently, smugly, he studied her struggles with intense, predatory fascination and anticipatory excitement. A ghost of a smile wafted across his almost-angelic features. He knew very well what his victim was experiencing. She had experienced it already over many sessions, with his mind linked intimately to hers. Each encounter, he had tasted her fear, he had swam the river of her distress, and gorged himself on the depths of her helplessness, heightening it, magnifying it, until her mind was shrieking, uncontrollably, in intense terror.

How he delighted in his power!

The ability to twist and manipulate and subjugate the minds of his subjects, to make them willing pawns in all he desired - in what they would come to desire - was an intense pleasure he found far too seductive. Revealing to himself much about his own warped personality, he was yet unable to stop, unable to step back, unable to abandon his course. If he were to examine it all closely - which he did not care to do - he would have had to admit that this sadistic thrill was far too addictive and impossible to resist.

It was all so easy.

And without hesitation, they came, oblivious to what he did to them in their sessions. They came voluntarily, eagerly, in the belief that he was actually helping them, that he was the answer to all of their problems. It was almost laughable and yet also part of the enigma, the inscrutable puzzle, the sheer . . . mystery of what he studied, what he was so intent on exploring. There was so much work to be done!

Serious research into understanding important questions about the human mind needed to be answered by someone who possessed the sheer audacity and intelligence, the fearlessness and daring, to penetrate and dissect the dark unknown nebula of the human psyche. Answers, which could only be obtained by someone who was courageously willing to take the risks, were still to be discovered. He knew he was the only one to uncover them.

How far could he go?

To be more exact, how far would he go?

He ran his hand slowly up the woman's inner thigh, stroking and caressing, up under her gown. She began to struggle again and whimpered, like a little child, her pupil-dilated, wide-eyed efforts at escape suddenly much more animated. He pressed his hand hard down upon her mouth, his strong fingers gripping into her face, although he knew no one would hear her cries, as his other hand performed the acts that would provoke and make her relive her most profound terror. He would be two hours, forcing her through this. All the time he had for a 'session', before he had to attend one of the medical space station's innumerable, incessant, inane meetings. He would take full advantage of the time with his subject and, oh, he most certainly, without a doubt, had the will.

And when it was all done, ironically, she would thank him for it, but only after he had blocked her conscious mind of any memory of the session.

Ultimately, she would learn to love his attentions and would do anything he asked.

They all did.

It was too easy. He almost felt a little disappointed at the lack of challenge. He longed for a new, more formidable subject for study - preferably female, preferably beautiful, preferably strong-willed - one whose intelligence, brilliance, and self-assuredness would give him some new frontiers for his experimentation and new thrills - as he broke her down. He was deeply in need of a challenge.

His question to be answered at the moment: just how far could he make a subject go?

 That was the real question, wasn't it?