In My Hands, Know Suffering

47: Join Me In Death

If the world was kinder, wouldn't life be a precious thing for everyone? If there were no laws, wouldn't liberation abuse itself to free spirits? If The Purge were real, wouldn't everything be a riot of psychotic minds, raging its way to a murderous glitter?

Right now, people wanted to focus on the heat of the coming summer, to bathe in the heat with the shore washing salty water against the surface. Planning a quick get away was such a luxury for most families, but not for those confined in an institution, like hospitals.

Castellone stared off at the opened door through the balcony of the room he was in. The warm breeze permitted itself to circulate and drag the stench of the hospital's room outside. He hated the fact that he was there, confined.

Kerxis told him he was in a coma for four months. Four fucking months. He had wasted time by doing nothing, by just laying down there with no activity. The only thing he did was close his eyes, be in a state of haze, and made his mind wander into the darkness.

He had full control of his senses five days ago. When he opened his eyes and saw the IV stuck on his left hand, a rush of panic struck him and he threw it off him, alarming a nurse who happen to pass by. They had to calm him down, he refused to take any sedatives, but they had to force it on him. Kerxis had soon walked inside, reassuring him that he was safe and that everything was fine. He almost cursed at them, but decided it might not end well.

The evidence of him being staple wired was gone, but he felt like it was still there, like it happened only yesterday, like the horrors of death was still evident, like Specter would awaken any time, cursing him to be thrown back into the abyss. He wasn't fully convinced that the entity had gone away. He was in a coma, how would he know it had gone? How would he know that what he saw in the abyss was real?

"You're being quiet, Llone." Kerxis told him yesterday.

Of course he was. What if he spoke and said something he couldn't take back? What then? Was the spell really broken? Dare he tried speaking the words? He couldn't risk it, but there was always a chance that he would.

The police asked him a few questions two days ago regarding Sievetech, what happened to him, who were the ones involved, and how much of the extent did he knew. He pretended not to know, convincing them that he was just another victim, someone they have hypnotized in the process. He had no recollection of how he got there, but he most certainly recalled who murdered all those people. He wouldn't tell that part, it would be impossible to believe it. They had no evidence or lead. And since Sievetech was an institution detached from their state, they had really nothing on the matter. Why would they even stress themselves? Because their case was intriguing? So it was, so it wasn't. Nobody in there had survived.

He just wanted them gone from the room, he clearly had it painted on his face that he wanted some peace. He didn't have to go back to that time either since he wasn't from the institution. He was kidnapped, almost threatened to be tortured, and they planned to sell him off. After much of his time, they left. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with them again.

Castellone wanted to step out, to at least just walk the hospital grounds, he wanted to get off the stupid bed he was glued at. Surely, there won't be anything wrong with that. A free spirit would find a way.

He found himself wandering through the hallway of closed doors, patients' and their doctors' names were on the tabs beside it. There was one particular room, Numbered 52-B, at the end of the corridor, with no patient name, only the doctor's. He wondered why. He wanted to open the door out of curiosity, but he didn't want to invade the privacy either.

He pushed through instead, wanting to waste time on that uneventful afternoon. People buzzed at the lobby. It didn't look like a hospital at all, it appeared like a hotel. But it was supposed to look that way, just so the patients could heal quickly, so the Architect said.