It was that time of year again, the state inspectors would come to Amber Hill to inspect the facility and staff to ensure that ethical standards of mental health treatment were upheld and respected. In the eyes of Ith Lazarus, those same standards that were so protected and sacred seemed nothing more than optional. Why protect the insane? They were not functional in society, that is why they were incarcerated. More like livestock to be used than people to be treated, but for today Dr. Lazarus had to pretend otherwise.
The first step was to seal his wing off the night before the inspectors arrived; a simple reapplication of Off Limits through the powers of Institutionalize sufficed for that task. They would attempt to enter, but become distracted. their simple minds would never figure out something incredibly sinister was deluding their determination to enter. The louder patients (Prisoners.) among the group (Herd.) were rounded up in the conference room before, and Socially Censored so their screaming, wailing, and thrashing would cease. An air of decorum and mental progress/development had to be kept for this day.
Dr. Wilson, the day-shift psychiatrist for the basement wing, had been briefed on what to say/do during the interview; he was even equipped with countless files of fabricated medical evaluations from himself and the nurses to show progress in the inmates. Harold Smith, head of Amber Hill Security, provided stacks of made-up security reports reflecting stellar and above average safety records since the last inspection. Other guards, under orders from Harold, repeated the similar statistics.
Lastly, the inspector would take the time to interview a handful of inmates one-on-one. Lazarus knew fear was a powerful motivator, but also a powerful breaker of minds. The group of selected patients (Prisoners.) were all subjected to Shatter the Mind seconds before entering, turning them into sobbing shaking masses, to ensure they would not speak of any horrors inside Amber Hill's walls. However, the last patient who went in for the interview was very special...
Harold wheeled the prisoner into the conference room; he was bound in a straight jacket with a full-face bite mask and his black hair tied back into a ponytail. The prisoner's yellowish bloodshot eyes glared at the inspector. He also couldn't help but notice the terrible smell from this guy, it was like bad medicine that your mother would make you drink while sick.
"Hello, Mr. Tweedy, how are you today?" The inspector asked. He didn't look too interested, only flipping through the patient's file without reading it.
Mr. Tweedy said nothing in reply, only breathing heavily through his mask.
The state-paid inspector sighed in frustration. This was the seventh patient today who didn't speak during the interview. The records show amazing treatment results, why don't the patients show the same? It's just not statistically possible to have randomly picked a group of sample patients who are all too insane to speak...
He folded his hands in front of him, looking at Mr. Tweedy's bound form. He looked to Mr. Smith, about to tell the guard to take the inmate back to his cell. Before he could form the words though, he heard a rasping sound from Tweedy.
"Did you say something, Mr. Tweedy?" He asked curiously, quickly grabbing his pen and pressing it against the clipboard eager to finally do an interview.
"Come here and see what I see, Mr. McCaughlen..."
The inspector, Adam McCaughlen, stood up and approached the inmate so he could hear more clearly. How did he know my name? By the looks of all the restraints this man was clearly dangerous, but he was restrained and the head of security was in the room. What was the harm in getting a bit closer?
"What, exactly, are you talking about Mr. Tweedy? Did someone tell you who I was? What do you see?"
"Do you fear me, Mr. McCaughlen?"
This was getting surreal for the poor inspector. The poor guy had only been out of graduate school for two months, and in the current economy the only place to find a job was with the state. And sure enough, the bureaucrats back at the state building sent him to go do this inspection bullshit. He didn't want to be here, and now this psycho was trying to creep him out with his own name. Even more unsettling was how the guard in the room didn't seem to notice or care.
"Of course I don't. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" He gulped, hoping Mr. Tweedy wouldn't notice.
"You may ask questions, but look me in the eyes when you do so. I like to look at you, Adam McCaughlen..."
Something about this guy was wrong, the way he looked and the way his voice sounded only like a soft hiss. The first name was even more unsettling, and caused more curiosity than fear. How does he know my name? Adam forced himself to look the madman in the eyes.
"Alr-alright then Mr. Tw-Tweedy. Let's get starte-" He gasped as his breath was cut short.
Fear incarnate washed over the inspector, and he found himself unable to move. He couldn't even move his eyes to look up to the guard for help; he was frozen in fear staring at the horrific Mr. Tweedy and his gaze. Through the terror, he could hear the madman before him chuckling. Again, Mr. Tweedy's eyes intensified and the fear took a whole new level. Adam could feel it, and it hurt. Eyes rolling back in his head, clutching his chest, and gasping for breath ineffectually Adam McCaughlen fell out of his chair having an apparent heart attack.
The poor man did not even get the horrific sight of watching Mr. Tweedy pulling his bound hands apart, or watching him step off the dolly -- the chains and restraints obviously just for show. The pain was too much to even notice Mr. Tweedy unlatch his own mask and lean in with fangs to drink from his neck...
Dr. Lazarus stood up from the clasped inspector, and wiped the tiny droplets of blood off of his fact with his straight jacket sleeve. Harold reached into a satchel slung over his shoulder and tossed the doctor his normal clothing. Lazarus licked the wound closed, then began getting dressed.
"Harold, wait a few minutes then call the medical staff. It appears as if Mr. McCaughlen had a heart murmur. Sadly, I don't think he'll be able to conduct my scheduled interview in an hour..."
The Warden walked to the door, turning the knob and walking out. "Such a nice man, I was looking forward to talking with him..."
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