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It is always important to make the best out of a bad situation. Those words rang out in Adam's head as he rustled through the halls and rooms of Lery's Institute. Hallways that seem as if they go on forever and rooms that look almost too familiar. Adam Francis’ life in this cold, cruel realm left him more often than not alone; it feels as if days had gone by without seeing another human, sane or otherwise. Though, he wonders, has it really been days? Running his smooth tipped fingers along the cracking paint, he turns toward another strangely familiar room; the office of what must've been an administrator or someone of equal importance.
Just looking inside this room filled Adam with questions. Books lined the shelves along the wall, categorized by topic alphabetically, but they all looked as if they were ripped out of different periods of time. Some bindings were falling apart, while others looked as if they were pulled off of store shelves day one. This is not even diving into the dated carpentry and upholstery that filled the room, reminding the teacher of the principal's office all the way back in Kingston. Perhaps the oddest addition to this room, however, was the multitude of paperwork and files that was strewn throughout the office's interior. The more Adam would search, the more he would find, to the point where it would become more of a nuisance than anything else.
Ignoring the cold bitter chill of Lery's, Adam reaches up to observe the array of publications. If this was a trap set specifically for him, he would consider himself caught! Though perhaps an act of twisted mercy from the Entity itself, he would only find confusion in the stained pages. From what was a short sighted synopsis of Edgar Allan Poe's literary works, he would turn the page to find a crude excerpt from a dime store novel. Turning the page again would reveal an angry tirade lamenting the laziness of the working class. Page after page after page, the teacher would only find material not fit for any sort of publication, only little literary needles that would prick against his knowledge. Throwing the book aside, he would go to reach for another.
And another.
And Another.
Another.
The more books he piled through the more insipid the material would become. Not only things that would strike loathing and dread in anyone's heart, but bitter material that seemed to be targeted explicitly at him. Book pages would turn into newspaper stories of Jamaica being struck by tragedies, web articles condemning teachers as twisted monsters corrupting youths, or social media conversations of former students mocking him as a whole. In a fit of emotional turmoil, the teacher strikes against the crumpling office wall, and crumbles to the ground into a ball.
It was never easy being the smart nerd. It was never easy being from Jamaica. It was never easy being Adam Francis. The Entity seemed to take delight in this, and it was the first time in a long, long while that Adam felt so vulnerable. The world was never fair, but why did it have to be so cruel? Why did it go after a man who never did wrong, and strived to be a man people could be proud of? That his family could be proud of? In a bout of frustration, the teacher huffed out a curse and curled out from his huddle of emotions. Whatever this place is, it would most likely take more than just a good man to get out of her. Slow to get up, Adam became distracted by one of the files that laid upon the administrative desk.
To no one's surprise, everything in the file had been written by hand. To Adam's surprise, however, there was no trickery on this assemble of pages. All fifteen individual pages were hand written and consistent; no forum posts or newspaper clippings here. Instead, the pages are written by, from their own designation, a man of intellectual integrity and assuredness. The teacher was never really a fan of the cut, dry vocabulary and diction of research essays and documents, but this was real. This was something someone wrote, in here, in this… place. Adam had been so absorbed by the writer's mundane retelling of their academic life, that he missed the mundane horror. These papers are real. The ink is real.
The writer is real.
The smell of ozone grew in the air.
Before Adam had a chance to run, electricity flowed through the aged carpet and up his legs, sending spasms up and down his spine. Fear gripped a hold of him the moment he could move his legs again, bolting for the door frame on the opposite side of the room. His heart raced as he sprinted through the halls, hair standing on end as electric currents danced through the tiled floor of the memorial hospital. Old EKG machines erupted into flames and showered sparks into the sky, as the towering figure followed the teacher through every twist and turn. Adam tried to push anything he could grab in the way of his assailant; chairs, tables even gurneys that littered the hospital halls. All would just be a mild deterrent for the horror known as The Doctor, casting wave after wave of electrical current after his prey.
The teacher tried to cut a corner into what would be the observation room, and that was when the Doctor chose to strike. Raising a bloodied, rusted nails bat, he swings, ripping Adam's jacket to shreds and pulverizing the doorframe behind him. The younger man would end up tripping over the force of that hit, tumbling to the tiled floor below. It was there he would get the first look at true horror; the peeled back, glowing eyes and the gaunt, gasping mouth of Herman Carter, the Doctor. Death was here, and by the grace of God Adam hoped that it would be swift. Swifter than a bullet train door.
But all he was met with was a stare.
The crackle of electricity filled the room, causing the observatory lights to flicker constantly. The wooden rattle of the bat would follow soon, making Adam raise his brows at the horror that stood before him. To his surprise, and perhaps dismay, The Doctor was digging his hands into his mouth, grunting in pain as he ripped out the surgical apparatus holding his mouth open. A pained, high pitch sigh would come out, followed by the smacking of lips as saliva once again flowed into his mouth.
“ I-I-I always liked a smart man in a d-d-doctor suit,” the Doctor chirped. Adam's face turned from horror to… confusion relatively quickly. He can talk? He's human? What is going on in this madhouse?
“What did you st-study,” he started, before interrupting Adam and himself in one go, “ahh, I don't care! It could be underwater ba, ba, basket weaving for all I know! All I know, is that Entity got herself a new baby boy t-t-toy! You want some advice, before she st, starts peeling back your skin? Or when she starts corrupting your thoughts and dreams? You’re going to need it, if you want to suh, s-s-survive this place”
Adam looked more puzzled than before, starting to slowly stand up with his arms out in front of him. It was almost as if he was trying to placate a tiger by himself, but Carter was already going another mile ahead. His shrill, rattling voice raked across Adam's nerve endings, but he dare not interrupt the wounded doctor.
“Boy, I don't know how long you have been hh-here,” the Doctor continued, as of he didn't need a moment to breathe, “but you are in hell. Doesn't matter if you are some sick puh-puh-puppy, like some of us, but you are here. Oh, you are here, here for Her to tuh-torment you for the rest of your waking life. And. Then. Some.”
The larger man went to pick up his bat, swinging it around in one hand without care. The teacher, ever the onlooker to this charade of madness, was paralyzed in his place.
“I used to be like you! Smart kid with the-the-the world as my oyster! So good even the Feds wanted me! They wanted all the smart young kids to, to to turn them into KILLING MACHINES and SICK FUCKS like me!” The Doctor took out his rage on a nearby computer monitor, shattering the glass and sending it flying like a plastic pinata. “I, I I I was just a psychologist! A sturdier of the Human Psyche! NOW LOOK AT ME!”
It was then that the Doctor drew closer to Adam, and when Adam found the strength to vault over the equipment that littered the observatory. This created a stand off; two men on complete opposite positions, mirroring one another.
“Look,” Herman started, his crackling pitch finally dropping a few octaves lower, “you may not know it, but she. The Entity. The one the got us all here. She's, she's got her hooks in you. Just like every other person that c-came through here. Just like Ojo. Just like Lisa. We. Are here. To suffer… and let me tell you. She especially likes it when we suffer. When we hurt.”
“What are you talking about,” Adam finally intercepts, “none of this is making sense! The Entity? She? You are just so madman rambling on trying to get me killed in this mess!”
Carter face contorts, as electricity courses through the room. Light bulbs pop and crack all around the circular room, and the pitch darkness gives Adam the perfect time to dart out of the room. If he was dealing with an ordinary man, he would lose him in no time. Unfortunately, Herman Carter is no ordinary man. He would not let this man escape his grasp so easily, not in his hell hole.
The Doctor stood in what was one of the many old showers that his victims would use between treatments, glowing eyes rolling from corner to corner as he searched. “Oh, you’re so, so so lucky you have me. You want the Clown? I can get you the Clown, I bet he would think that a pretty f-finger from you.” His anger only started to grow, as he laid into the tiled walls with his bat.
“Or do you wanna have Lisa eat you alive?” Another small wall crumbles down, sending concrete and tile flying in all directions.
“Or do YOU want that son of a bitch trapper, huh?!” He wasn’t even aiming at the smaller walls anymore, he was merely swinging at everything. Walls, sinks, mirrors, anything that looked remotely breakable. The Doctor was rattling sighs as he tried to breathe once again, electricity arcing off of now soaking metal and tile. He was just trying to help another man, why would anyone want to turn him down and away?
Broken faucets gushing water filled the otherwise silent room with noise.
“Listen,” The Doctor began, his jittery voice electrifying the tension in the room, “this Entity, this sick, sick God, she’s going to make your life a nightmare. A waking, painful, disgusting n-n-nightmare! But you’re a smart man, I know it, you are a smart man! You know there is much more out there than this fucking MAZE! Follow me. Become MY apprentice. Our two brains, our two puh, puh-powerful brains! We’ll get out, we’ll be free, and NOTHING will be able to hold us back! Not the Entity, not the FBI, CIA, USA or whatever!”
Silence.
Herman cracked his jaw, before snapping his fingers together. “I didn’t have to do this, b-b-boy,” he uttered, rubbing his hands together as electricity starts to freely flow from his body. With a loud yell, the electricity flowed through the showers. From the showers to the sinks, from the sinks to the mirrors, from the mirrors to the lightbulbs that shatter in a spray of glass. Not long afterward, other lights outside the room started to flicker and pop, the sounds echoing down the hallways. Electricity arcs from his metal and skin, old scars and fresh flesh burning and scorching anything that wasn’t properly covered. The angry shout soon turned to a cry of pain. Not long afterward, the electricity stopped.
Outside of the faucet pumping water freely, and the lightbulbs flicking sparks out from it’s socket… there was nothing. No cries of pain, no pleas of help, no begging for mercy. Nothing. Stumbling forward, he hovers over the shower wall, looking for what he expected to find. A charred corpse of a stubborn man. Instead, he found nothing but tile and mistakes. Snarling, he heads for the door, looking for anything that could betray Adam’s position, but nothing could be spotted in the pitch black of the hospital halls.
A piece of tile splashes behind him.
Before reason could get to him, Carter was turning around and storming back into the shower room. He has to be in here, he has to be! He can’t hide forever! He will find him! He will end him! He will make sure that no one catches him off guard again! He will make sure he will escape this hell, and if he has to do it alone, then so be it! Who says these others aren’t here to betray you to the Entity, after all? But dead men never tell any tales! And he’ll kill everyone if they get in his way! No walls! No doors! No windows! No escape!
No escape!
NO ESCAPE!
Breath was hard to catch. No matter how much fuel he seems to find inside him, he crumbles all the same. In the rubble that was the shower room, he lays himself back first into the cold water. A cold embrace for a burning body. Comfort for the aching muscles, the bleeding flesh, and the wounded mind. It took a few deep, calm breaths to get his facilities back together, and it took much more breaths for him to get back up on his feet. Herman didn’t need his medical degree to know that his arms were, in a blunt way, ‘fucked up.’ He also didn’t need his degree to know that his emotions got the better of him once again, and it cost him dearly. Dragging a crackling baseball bat behind him, the Doctor hangs his head and makes his way to his office. It was there that he was able to see something that escaped his perception, once before.
Foot prints. Wet footprints imprinted in the carpet. They soon escape to the dusty laminated tile floor, covered in glass and artifacts from the past. A huff of frustration escapes his nose, sucking in his lower lip to bite back an annoyed curse. That man was smart, smarter than a good number of the others. I wonder, he thinks, if that survivor can outsmart not only my fellow hunters, but his survivor friends as well? Oh, what a waste.
Staring down the hallway, he continues to stand, and think.
He thought until the whispers came back, and black clouds covered his face.