Insanity Becomes You [Outlast fanfic Eddie Gluskin]

♡ Chapter Two ♡

Three Weeks later

"Silly little thing." Dr. Brookes looked up at me, sneering. The ugly old coot could never remember my name, and would turn to name calling in place of it. And now he was chastising me for giving a patient comforting words. He seemed a tad aggravated that I was even trying to give the patient an ounce of sympathy. All be damned, everyone needed it. Especially when you were locked up in this place.

Over the last week or so, I'd found that Mount Massive was not the most... clean, nor professional institutions I'd ever been to. They treated their inmates like dogs, and did not care very well to their patient's mental illness progression. Therefore you could imagine my irritation with my superior, Dr. Brookes. I wasn't here to make these patients feel worse about themselves, but get to the root of the problem so that they could be rehabilitated. Unless of course, they were taken to what was called "down below". I was sure there was a better explanation for what that was, but they kept their mouths shut about it around me. I had a hunch it had to do something with their massive dreamy therapy research. Something told me it wasn't very conventional given that it was very hush hush.

I turned my attention back to the patient at hand, Samuel Reeves, who had been committed for attempted suicide only after killing his sister who had bullied him about his severe anorexia since he was a young teenager. Now in his late early forties he'd tried to make a recovery; he tried hard by putting on some weight instead of starving himself, and was trying to look past the incident. I wanted to tell him that there's no way he could move past this, seeing as he skinned every inch of his sister, and ripped her stomach open so that he could attempt to cram it down her throat- all while she was still alive.

But, I think withholding that advice gives him a little ray of hope. And it would further derail his mind if I were to keep shoving the reality of life down his throat... lest he end up like his poor sister.

But the asshole doctor to my left opened his crusty lips, and decided that telling Mr. Reeves that in fact he would make no such recovery, and thus his life would remain in shambles, would be the best way to confront him.

Reeves, sitting on the bed of his cell, looked up at Dr. Brookes and let out a loud wail before lunging for him. But before he could even get an inch closer, the guard behind us grabbed hold of him and pressed him up against the cement wall.

"That's enough for today." The guard said, turning back to us.

I sighed, walking out of the cell back out into the cell block, with my hand against my forehead, and the other on my hip. Dr. Brookes followed behind me, and muttered something about people learning to control themselves.

I turned around and glared down at the snide, beady, little man stood at only about five feet tall, hunched over from age. "Are you kidding me?" I angrily spat at him.

"Kidding what, dear?" He smiled up at me, his wrinkles sliding with his lips. He was a hideous man; he was riddled with flabby wrinkles and liver spots, with a nose too large for his face. He began to walk, his cane far too noisy as it hit the cement with every step.

Inside this block, only about ten inmates were housed. It wasn't that they couldn't be around people, it was just best that they weren't. They were not uncontrollable, just easily angered. It seemed like I was the only one that they would calm down enough for, even though they would either handcuff or put the patient in a straight jacket before speaking with me. But this cell block was quiet, which was odd. Even with so few inmates, it never failed that I would get hooted and hollered at.

I think maybe they enjoyed it when I gave Dr. Brookes the what for. Like it did any good, anyway.

"You were basically begging for him to come at you," I sped up in front of him, stopping him where he stood.

"Why would you trigger them?" It was all I could do to keep myself calm. We were supposed to be helping these patients, not making them worse!

"Trigger what?" That senile old face looked up at me with complete innocence. "Oh, Violet, what are we doing in cell block E?" He looked around, amazed.

I just wanted to cry. Why had I taken this fucking job, where I was the only female, where I had to deal with perverts each and every fucking day, where the man I was learning under was a pompous Alzheimer case who BELONGED HERE?! All of it be damned straight to hell. Even if I really did want to leave this misbegotten hell hole, my contract prevented me from doing so.

"My name is Victoria, Dr. Brookes, not Violet. And we're heading back to your office so you can have yourself a nap." I informed him. All he did was hum, and walk along.

After escorting Dr. Brookes back to his office, I made my way back to my own room, seeking the comfort of my bed. I was exhausted, we had been around the asylum all day speaking with our assigned patients.

All murderers.

All deranged.

All needing help.

I had my charts in hand, reading off the patients I saw today, and checked off the ones that had positives reactions to the sessions, and exed out the ones that seemed to need a bit more times.

Alone.

I couldn't wait until I was given a real office of my own, where the inmates could just be brought to me instead of other's like Dr. Brookes. There was no way that these men were going to get any help with Dr. Brookes still working here. But it would be at least a year until he decided to retire, or the Murkoff corporation booted him for incompetence. Hopefully I wouldn't have to wait that long to be given my position.

Sometimes I secretly wished he'd just go ahead have a stroke, or one of the inmates would take a good bite out of him.

The hallway was quiet, most of the offices barren. It wasn't odd, this section of the asylum had been vacated given my presence. I wasn't too upset over the fact, it was quite nice that I could actually have some peace and quiet, and some distance from the staff and the patients. It was like having a small house. There was a kitchen a few doors down from the office I had turned into a bedroom, and a bathroom down the way- and a nice little room with a computer and a TV I used as my little living room and work space. It was the only thing that kept me sane here.

"HEY! STOP!" Male voices shouted from behind me. I jumped and turned to find a half-naked man running my way.

"Help me, please!" He cried out, tears streaming down his face. I backed up some, about to run, but he caught up quickly. He stood at about six feet tall, with bright, frightened blue eyes staring helplessly into mine. His chest was heaving, and his hands grasped my wrists, shaking them in his tight grip. I was sure I was going to have bruises.

"You have to help me please, please." He was crying, practically begging.

"I-I..." I was at a loss for words. I didn't know who he was, what he had done. But his expression had my heart breaking. I looked past him, seeing the two guards still chasing him. I turned back to him, shaking my head, trying what I could to calm the man down.

"Listen, listen. Tell them you want to speak with a psychiatrist when they put you wherever the hell it is they'll put you. Tell them you want to talk to Victoria Meade - Dr. Meade, okay? Do you understand? I can help you." I rushed every single word, hoping and praying that I could help him. He just stared at me with a stunned look, and continued to cry until the guards pried him off of me.

They injected him with something, and his sapphire eyes stared only at me until he collapsed against one of the guards.

"Are you alright?" One of them asked, the other radioing for help.

"Y-yes, he just startled me. Is he going to be okay?" He was unconscious, laid out on the floor as he was being handcuffed.

"Yes, don't worry. You'll never be bothered by him again." He turned his head into the radio, "Need help with Gluskin, please. He's sedated, and needs to be restrained and brought below."

Brought below. I couldn't hold back a pang of sadness as I realized I'd probably never see this man again, as I wasn't yet allowed access to below. I prayed he'd fare well. Most patients I'd seen didn't return once they were brought down there.

"Back to your room, Ms. Meade. Or I'll call up Mr. Blaire." The guard spat at me.