The Deep Dark Web | lrh

[2] Calum

When we have lunch, we often have it in the staffroom. But on the odd days that we don't, we stay in the lunch hall with a majority of the patients; on a little table of our own, tucked right in the corner of the large white room.

I pick at my sandwich as Sadie sits down, looking as exhausted as ever. She blows out a puff of air, an attempt to neutralise the sweat on her forehead, and all I can do is watch.

"Whatcha got there?" she asks me, swivelling her lunch tray around to get to the plate of salad that inhabits it. The sanitarium's food isn't bad, not in the slightest- it's actually pretty damn good. I just so happen to be a pretty damn picky eater.

"Just a sandwich," I smile, peeking at it's contents. I wince a little, stomach churning in displeasure at the sight, "Uh, peanut butter and jelly,"

"Such a child," she says with a wink, and I smile.

Normally, Michael joins us in the staffroom to eat, but the place is currently undergoing maintenance so practically all of us are forced to sit in the hall. He's sitting with the other guards on the opposite end; discussing newcomers, most likely. One certain, unknown person's been the talk for quite some time now, and I have no doubts that that's currently what their conversation is solely about.

Sitting here with the patients doesn't bother me, because there are times where Sadie and I will willingly spend our time in here anyway- but it clearly bothers the other staff.

I sigh a little, watching as they nudge and whisper to each other and give the patients eye-roll worthy looks. It makes me heart fall in unease, for these are the very people put in charge to take care of them- yet here they are, doing nothing but initiating spite.

Sickening.

Sadie catches me staring and nudges me. Then she gestures to the half bitten sandwich on my plate, like a disappointed mother sick of repeating the same things to her stubborn little daughter.

"Eat up, Hayes."

"I'm not hungry,"

"I don't care. I know you didn't eat breakfast this morning, and now it's lunch and you still haven't gotten anything in there," she points at my stomach. I frown a little, "Come on. Don't make me call Michael over,"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The two are practically inseparable when it comes to my life; they act like my damn parents most of the time. Which I understand, because we're a trio in this place and I'm the youngest of it, but still- it's a little annoying.

"I didn't eat breakfast because I wasn't feeling it," I try to reason, though I've already bitten into a mouthful of bread and it pains me to say that she's right; my stomach's reacting positively. Sadie raises an eyebrow at me, "And I'm not eating lunch because I don't like it. That's all."

"That's not enough reason, Soph. You gotta eat," she points her fork at me, "You work too much. Loosen up, it's not like you're here for long,"

"I know." all I do is shrug, mainly because I know she's right. Regardless of my actual position in the institute, I work far more than I should- volunteer work, too, meaning I don't get paid. I don't even know why I do it.

To get away from home, my brain tells me. And that's when I look back down at the sandwich in my hand, and I lose my appetite completely.

Great. I shake my head at Sadie, an indication that I can't eat. At least not right now. Not when I have thoughts heavier than the weights on my shoulders clouding my head.

Suddenly, a crash and a whoop and a loud chorus of jeers from the male staff around us fills the entire hall, and both of our heads snap to the direction of the clamour.

My eyes land on a buff patient holding another guy up by the collar, and I wince. His collarbone tattoos protrude over the standard shirt that he has on, and it's only a matter of time before a few of the guards stomp over to break it up.

"Hood!" somebody yells. I realise it to be Michael, and a part of me relaxes- some of the other guards would probably send that guy straight to confinement, no questions asked and no answers needed simply because they don't care. Michael's one of the more understanding gun-holders here. "That's enough,"

It soothes me, somewhat, that Michael's the one giving the punishment. He won't go too easy, but he won't go anywhere near as cruel as the others- maybe an extra hour in the patient's cell, or a day running errands. It's far better that what his fellow guards would have in store for the guy with the collarbone tattoo, Calum Hood.

I've spoken to him a few times, each one more pleasant than the last despite it only ever being me asking if he wants a cup of tea. He has this hard look in his dark eyes that matches the defined line of his jaw perfectly, giving him a naturally intimidating look as well as a powerful aura that makes you forget that you're free and he's the one stuck in a cell.

A lot of the patients here fear him, which isn't a surprising phenomenon. Especially once you begin to realise that he's Calum Thomas Hood; notorious in the small town a few miles away from us for brutally torturing, setting fire and eventually murdering a forty-five year old rapist on his street who unfairly escaped prison due to the sole reason that he had money.

Whenever I think of it, I have to take a deep breath. Because it sounds like something you'd find on a horror story thread, or something you'd hear from somebody else. It doesn't sound real.

But it is.

He tracked him down, struck him across the head, and carried his unconscious body to the trunk of his car, where he then proceeded to drive home in hopes of holding him captive in his basement; a self-prescribed punishment, in a way. And he succeeded- right up until his other neighbour caught onto the smell of burning flesh and alerted the police.

The handcuffs locked much faster around his wrists than Calum had the chance to explain. He would have been put on death row, too, from what I've been told- but then the crimes balanced out, and the court realised that although terrible, they swapped out one criminal for another.

So they shipped the man off to Indigo, in hopes of rehabilitation. Calum has yet to hear back from them, or be updated on his progress. This lunch hall incident is just going to set him back even more.

I know this because all of the main staff have to be educated on what every patient is in here for, and Sadie always fills me in. And also because out of all the people admitted in here, I know for a fact that Calum doesn't deserve to be- regardless of how he did it, he had good intentions. He just didn't act in favour of them.

When Calum walks past me- Michael holding his wrists together behind his back and two other nameless guards acting like shields right in front of him- I can see the pain in his eyes. It's the type of look to make you shudder, the type to course a chilling vibration to dig into the grooves of your spine.

Wordlessly, I push my plate to the other end of the table. I'm not hungry anymore.