Walking the Gallows ✔️

Chapter 24

Martin POV

Patient #035

Name: Andrew Michael Brooks

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Appointed Practitioner: Martin Hall, Psychiatrist

Assisting Practitioner: Courtney Whitfield

Entry Log #4:

The one week that was given to us by the judge had gone by quicker than we had expected. Most of our time was spent trying to get Andy to plead insanity instead of finding evidence that he was innocent. We did our best and finally managed to convince the judge that a trial was necessary to get a fair verdict.

Many people took to the stand to try and convince the jury that Andrew was a deviant and that he only got pleasure out of the torture of women. The families of the deceased victims said their part in court, stating how they mourned for their daughters and sisters. Though I sympathized with them greatly, it did not make our case any easier to prove.

The trial commenced only a few months ago. It was a disaster from start to finish. Gathering information based on his mental state could only be proven with the professional opinion of two psychiatrists; Courtney and myself. The prosecution pointed out that our opinions were biased due to our relationship with the defendant being too "friendly". It was a simple point but enough to sway the jury. Another psychiatrist who was chosen by the prosecutors and the judge was brought in for two days to assess the mental state of Mr. Brooks. In this time, due to Andrew's denial of his own conditions, the psychiatrist brought in found almost no signs of unusual behavior and disregarded any of our own research, saying it was likely "fabricated". Even this journal record is considered entirely fake.

Because of Andy's denial of the fact that he is definitely mentally ill, he portrayed a facade. Acted kind, patient and every other normal trait someone would possess. The appointed psychiatrist's evaluation made our entire defense crumble. Our insanity plea was disregarded. We had nothing left to go on. Andy's lawyer had done almost no work of his own to help defend him and the legs of our argument were ripped out from beneath us. Without meaning to, Andy single-handedly destroyed his one chance of freedom.

Detective Miller and I tried to appeal to the court and get another professional to assess him, but we were denied based mostly on the fact that the judge did not want us wasting any more of the court's time or money. The judgment was reached in less than a month.

Andrew Michael Brooks was found guilty on all charges. He would have gotten the death penalty if he hadn't pleaded guilty. Instead, he was given a life sentence in a correctional facility dedicated to serial murderers. You didn't have to be a doctor to know that he wouldn't fit in there. He was taken away a little over a week ago to live the rest of his life around people who had spent their life ending others. Both Dr. Whitfield and I cried as he was taken away.

Detective Miller, Courtney, Andy's lawyer and myself have all been forbidden to mention the details of this case to newspaper companies or other media. Andy's only other living relative, Vin, had not been found and his whereabouts have been unknown since Andy had last seen him. I fear that Earl (Andy's apparent alter-ego) may have also killed him. It is a fear that I do not have the heart to share with my colleagues.

Occasionally we get letters from him, some of them written more aggressively than others. It is hard to tell if Andy writes them himself or if he is influenced by his insanity. Most of the time, he lets us know how terrible the place is. Sometimes, he gets beaten within an inch of his life by the inmates and even the guards. We don't get letters for many days after that.

At the moment, we are doing all that we can to get him out or in some sort of protected or less violent section of the prison. We shall see what becomes the situation.

Martin lowered his head to his hands in defeat. Things were not meant to go the way they had. He was struggling to cope with the thought that he may have not tried hard enough to keep him out of prison. He knew that it was not what Andy needed and he would spend the remainder of his existence in a place that was punishing him for a crime he did not mean to commit. Even the detective was doubting his initial instincts.

The doctor dropped his pen. Honestly, he had no idea why he was even recording anything in the journal anymore. The whole point of it was to track a patient's progress so that they could be treated, but Andy would never get to be treated because to the rest of the world, he was nothing but a stone-cold killer. There was no chance for parole for him. The journal and notes were as good as garbage, and that is exactly where he threw them.

He knew there was no one else to blame. As he drove back to his home, feeling the wind in his hair that dried out the slight perspiration at his roots, he knew that his patient would never get to feel the way he did at that moment. Likewise, the doctor would never know what it was like to be in a place surrounded by murderers, pedophiles, and other bad people the way Andy had to for the remainder of his days. It just wasn't fair.

The problem began the day Andrew was born. Innocent and defenseless, he was brought into a world where amazingly wonderful and terrible things can happen. By sheer chance and bad luck, he was delivered into the arms of an abusive father. He didn't stand a chance. There would never be a way to know of the life he could have had if he was born to a different family. For a brief moment, Martin thought about what their lives would have been like if they were switched at birth. Maybe his patient would alternatively be the psychiatrist or even the successful artist that he so deserved to be. Maybe the doctor would be the one to be called a murderer. It could have been just as easy that he would be the one sitting in a pitiful cell instead.

He arrived home to his empty house as he had always done, but this time he didn't feel so alone. His haunting reflections thought themselves worthy company as he poured himself a glass of neat scotch. People would tell him that not everyone could be helped during his time studying. The idea of saving someone by being a psychiatrist had always been one he despised. It was his job to make people realize that they could fix themselves, not that he could be the one to put them back together. He had always hoped that his job would mainly entail him being the person to make them recognize that their inner strength was the one thing that got them through all of their hardships, no matter how troublesome it may seem at the beginning. However, Martin knew that Andy would not be put back together by anyone, he would never be saved.

The first sip of the hard liquor burned on the way down his throat. He came to a realization at that moment. He would live his life treating others, knowing that there was always one that would be wondering how he had failed him. The doctor would go on to marry, have children and maybe even open his own practice. Meanwhile, his patient would be waiting day after day for oblivion to come. Did he have hopes and ambitions, the doctor wondered. Is he disappointed that no matter how much he wants them, there would be nothing he could do to make them real? The world had nothing left to offer Andy, nothing except the ultimate end.

It wasn't right. It was hard to believe anything would be right again. It would have been less painful for him to receive the death penalty instead. At least then, it would have been over. Maybe Martin, Courtney, and Brian would learn to forgive themselves if he was was dead. No, reality would rather have them knowing he stayed alive, unhelpable, unsavable. It would surely disturb them until the end of their days.

He felt the glass suddenly slip through his hands. It hit the tiled floor with enough impact to shatter the cup into millions of tiny pieces and crack the marble flooring square down the center. He had never been fond of the flooring design anyhow. It wasn't his style. The glass, however, had been expensive and intricately made. He didn't have the energy to be upset about it. He stayed sitting on the couch. There was nothing he could do to salvage the pieces. What did it matter? It was only glass.