The corridors no longer smelt of old ladies perfume and frebreeze. It stunk of dirty bathrooms and sweat. The walls dripped with condensation, blood and vomit. The carpet was crusty and the floorboards creaked with everystep; they made her giggle which made me happy. Her laugh wad beautiful but no where near as soft and comforting as Biancas.
As we continued down the ward we weren't greeted by security cameras but with screaming patients. Some were shouting and hollering whilst others whispering and shaking terribly. Certain rooms still reeked of alcohol so much the smell flowed out the cracks under the doors like a gas leak. Other rooms smelt of marajuana, had lines of cocaine on the bolted down tables, syringes of brown, cloudy heroine or little squares of LSD scattered along the floors like decorative tiles; all of these I knee too god damn well.
Above each cell was a plaque which had the name of the patient inside with their code number. Whenever a patient died or moved on to either a cell or other institution (which was rare.) they would leave the plaque up and put the new one along side. It was truly horrific to see names that I recognised and/or once knew.
I hurried us both along the hall, out of arms reach of patients, worrying about getting grabbed. She dragged me to a halt and stared at an empty, padded cell. She pointed between the bars and looked at it with utter disgust. "That's where he was; filthy, ruthless murderer. You're not so big now, are you Ry?" Ry, I swore I heard that name before. I looked up at the plaque that read:
Ryan Nicolas;
Son, brother and loving husband
Ryan Nicolas, that's Biancas brother?!
YOU ARE READING
The Girl in the Asylum
HorrorShe had seen many things; she needed help. Her self harm, addiction and fasting was out of control. University dropout, Rebecca wanted to help. Will she stay sane? Or will this push her off the edge too? Maybe the asylum is the right place for her...
