Psychotic (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 24

SORRY I KNOW THIS IS SUPER LATE BUT MY INTERNET ON MY LAPTOP WASNT WORKING SO I HAD TO WAIT AND THEN GET IT TO MY SISTERS COMPUTER AND DO THIS WEIRD THING ON IT IDK ITS COMPLICATED BUT YEAH SO SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE AND THANK U SO MUCH FOR ALL OF UR READS/COMMENTS/VOTES ILY

CHAPTER 24

MS. HELLMAN'S POV

James Robert Hellman was my father. He was twenty-three when my mother gave birth to me, and my mother was twenty.

When I turned sixteen my mother started to act differently. She would say things that weren't sensible. She would act out aggressively for reasons undeterminable to my father and I. She talked about things that weren't there and easily forgot recent events. At first it was hard to notice; an odd sentence here, an unexpected shout there. But soon it got much worse and I fled. At 17 I left a note for my father and was gone in search for somewhere else to live.

I returned home at nineteen in the midst of my father's "project." He hadn't found anywhere local for my mother to go that would give her serious help, so he created a place of his own. Wickendale Mental Hospital For the Criminally Insane. His goal was to provide a safe place for the mentally ill to get help. Why he specified it for felons, I was never sure.

Ten years later he died in a terrible accident, and my mother committed suicide shortly after. With my father gone I was left to take the position as Warden. I had loved the power and the authority of my job; the whole institution was in my hands. But with the position came pressure. I felt as if I had to make my father proud. For this reason I kept strict order. I became the eyes and ears of this place. I knew every corner, every patient, every employee. I made sure there were no reporters, no visitors that weren't family, nothing from the world outside that might effect how I run things.

But in this virtually perfect keeping of Wickendale, some things have managed to slip and a very small few were growing suspicious. Usually the questionable ones were clueless employees that were easy to threaten and scare to keep in line. But Rose was a different story. I had whipped her little boyfriend and made her well aware of possible consequences to any wrong actions. But she still tried to play detective, still saw Harry as a "good person," still wanted to get James arrested and expose Wickendale for its treachery. And in our previous argument, foreshadowed to me was a devastating future.
With the sudden increase of eager reporter's and employees' suspicions I knew that the protective layers set in the institution's walls were being peeled back one by one. And if Rose went to the police it would all shatter. They would figure out what we were doing here and that would be the last straw; my father's dream would be crushed and I would be to blame.

The only way to avoid this from happening was to keep her under my watch and away from the cops by putting her in the institution. I was well aware that this would only heighten suspicions and conjure up more questions, but at least it delayed the dreaded day that my son would be imprisoned.

He was all I had left. I had known from the day he was born that something wasn't right with him, though. He was always up to no good even as a child. His current felonies were awful, he was a serial killer, I knew that. I just never wanted to face it, so instead I ignored the problem. Of course, I didn't condone his activities, but I wouldn't be the one to throw him in jail. I had to keep him away from there. Killer or not, a prison or mental asylum was no place for my boy.

That is the precise reason why I would tell everyone that Rose was a mere employee. She had always seemed off, and especially so when she started talking to Harry. The guards saw, too, that the image of a patient and employee together wasn't right. No sane person could possibly fall in love with a psychotic man that had skinned three women. She was insane, that was the only explanation. Working here only deepened the insanity that lied within her, and she finally reached her breaking point. When I had tried to speak with her in the hall she yelled threats not of exposing Wickendale, but threats of murder. She had even tried to claw at my face, but only managed one scratch. I thought it best to lock her up right away; this was the best place for her, there was no sense in shipping her off somewhere else. If others believed my story, and I don't see why they wouldn't, then that girl should be locked up in this institution for a long time.