Fear Asylum

Graham Stockholm (Ch. 2)

Ch. 2

The old lady introduced herself as Nancy, and I followed her through the labyrinth of floors and endless stairs. As she was talking about the history of the place, what I'd be doing there, but then she said something that made me stop.

"Wait. Did you say '25 psychologists'?" I asked her.

"Yes, 25. We like to offer our patients one-on-one therapy." She said. I whistled low through my teeth.

"That's pretty big. I've seen some places with one-on-one nurses, but not doctors." I said amazed.

"We aren't like many institutes in many ways, you'll see." She smiled. Uh, creepy much?

We continued on the tour and I decided to end the awkward silence.

"So, uh will I have only one patient?"

"You may..." She said, slowly. "We usually start off with 20 to 30 doctors, but" She paused, carefully selecting the appropriate words. "Things happen." She said. I decided that I was creeped out enough for one day and stayed quiet the rest of the tour. Finally we stopped at the end of the hallway. There were two doors, and Nancy opened one and lead the way in. It was empty except for a desk, a chair, and the large two-way mirror that split this room and the room the other door lead into in two.

"This is your patient. He's quite a handful. No one's been able to get him to talk." Nancy said. I walked over to the mirror and peered into the room. I couldn't see very clearly, but I could make out a head of longish red hair lying on a pillow that reminded me of Gerard Way's Party Poison hair.

(A/N: IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHO PARTY POISON IS LOOK HIM UP. OR SEARCH "DANGER DAYS GERARD WAY" Yes it isimportant. Well just for visualization but still. Do it.)

"Do you have a file?" I asked. She walked over to the desk, opened the drawer, and handed me the thin manilla folder that she had pulled out. I opened it, and was greeted by the solemn face of the Party Poison imposter. I had to admit, he kinda looked like him too. His eyes held a pleading look, as if he was almost begging someone. The file stated that his name was Graham Stockholm. It also said that he was 26, a year older than me. The file said that he had kidnapped his brother, James, and killed his mother. Kidnapped his brother? Killed his mother? Not believing the file for a second, I laid it on the table and began walking out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Nancy asked.

"To talk to him." I said as I reached for the doorknob, but she pushed my hand away.

"Ms. Donnermay, this is highly unusual! Patients like Mr. Stockholm must be observed from a distance!" She said, frustration building in her voice. I turned my voice cold and hard, my eyes into ice that was even colder.

"Who the hell's the psychologist here? You or me? The only thing unusual around here is this place! No one's had a break through with him? No one's heard him utter a word? That's 'cause no one's tried to talk to him! I'll bet you treat the poor guy like a friggin' animal!" I yelled. She backed away, eyes wide, and shocked. Too stunned to speak, she just stood there. I walked into the room and it was ice cold. I hugged my shoulders and saw Graham. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands. I cleared my throat to get his attention and he looked up. He looked almost completely different. He had dark circles that surrounded his eyes, and his eyes were different. The pleading look was washed away from his hazel eyes. It was replaced by a hard look of tiredness and weariness. They told his story of sadness, grief, pain, and struggle. His skin was so pale and thin, that he looked almost sick. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans, but they didn't hide his skinny, almost starved, figure. I immediately felt bad for him. My eyes melted from hard, cold ice, to a calm, soothing sea of light blue water. My eyebrows moved into a position of worry and concern. When I spoke, I used a voice that mixed my worry and soothingness.

"Are you okay? You look really sick?" I asked as I sat down on his bed next to him. "Listen, if there's something wrong, you can tell me." He looked at me, and I looked into his eyes, and they were spilling his secret. I knew he wouldn't say it, but his eyes told me that they were doing something to him; something horrible. I looked around the room. "I don't trust this place for a second." I said softly to myself, not even noticing that my hand was on top of his. He averted his gaze to our hands, and I looked down.

"Oh, geez! Sorry I didn't even-" I started as I pulled my hand back. He stopped me by grabbing my hand and squeezing it. He looked back into my eyes, and I felt him soundlessly saying: "Get me out of here." As he dropped my hand gently, he looked away, and I sat there in amazement. And that was it. He moved to his own desk and pulled out a pencil and paper from a drawer without a sound. He began sketching and I was left sitting on his bed, dumbfounded. I finally pulled out my phone and looked for the right song.

"You wouldn't mind if I played some music, would you?" I asked. He continued sketching, so I took his silence as a "yes". As the soft guitar sound carried through the room, Graham's body went rigid and he sat up straight. I could see it on his face that he willed himself to ignore it. I raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

"Hand in mine, into your icy blues.

And then I'd say to you,

'We could take to the highway'

With this trunk of ammunition, too" Gerard sang, as the guitars and drums worked together to build the intensity of the song. The music was the only source of sound, but I could swear I heard humming. And it wasn't me.