Chapter Text
Smith’s Grove Sanitarium is a large, white, looming building, surrounded by a mile-high fence topped with barbed wire. Its clinical, unfriendly atmosphere is reflected in the stark cleanliness of the staff’s uniforms - all bleached-white, buttoned-up perfection. It’s almost laughable how clearly out of place you are, with your worn blue sweater and wrinkled trousers. As you wait to be let in at the front, you scuff the toe of your shoe against the polished linoleum floor, adjusting the knapsack (which has already been thoroughly searched) slung over your shoulder.
“All right, you’re good to go,” the nurse behind the window says, pressing a button to buzz you in. “There’s a waiting area just around the corner to the left.”
You smile and nod gratefully as you enter.
The hall is empty, save for you. You turn the corner, and just as the nurse said, there’s a small alcove in the wall in which there are several chairs and a small table on which a stack of magazines is haphazardly scattered. You amble toward the nearest chair and sit gingerly.
According to the clock on the wall, nearly fifteen minutes pass before you see another person. It’s a man, dressed professionally in a dark suit with a white coat over it. When he sees you, he smiles and offers his hand.
“Ah, terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,” he says. “I’m Dr Samuel Loomis.”
You stand and shake his hand, returning the smile. “Right; we spoke on the phone.”
Dr Loomis nods. “We did, yes. If you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to the patient.”
Dr Loomis leads you through the winding halls, occasionally nodding in acknowledgement at other nurses and doctors. He eventually comes to a stop outside of a door in the maximum security wing, turning to you with a very solemn look.
“In our previous discussion, you insisted you wanted to be alone with him after the initial introduction. Is this still the case?”
You nod decisively. “It is. I don’t want him to feel like it’s some sort of test; from what you’ve told me, he’s less likely to respond if you’re in there.”
Dr Loomis’ brows arch. “If your aim is to coax out a verbal response, you may as well leave now; he hasn’t spoken a single word in the thirteen years he’s been here.”
You shake your head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m aware of the fact that he doesn’t speak, I’m just aiming to get him out of the - how did you phrase it? ‘Near-catatonic state?’ And even if he doesn’t respond, well… Everyone needs company sometimes, or else they really will go crazy.”
Dr Loomis looks at you doubtfully, but doesn’t say anything more on the matter. He sticks his ID into the slot next to the door, waiting for the red light to turn green. The door unlocks with a long, loud buzzing sound, and he pulls the handle just enough to ensure that the automatic lock won’t engage.
“Right this way,” he says, gesturing for you to follow him.
As he enters the room, Dr Loomis softly calls Michael’s name, as though he’s approaching a wild animal and trying not to frighten it. “Michael, you’ve got a visitor.”
The room is a white, just as the rest of the building is, and it’s sterile in both appearance and smell. Michael is sitting at a table in the centre of the room. His hands are on the table, his empty gaze focused on the wall. He doesn’t react in the slightest to your presence.
Dr Loomis looks at you and nods subtly.
“Hello, Michael,” you say with a wave. You introduce yourself casually, as you would to any other person. “I’m just here to talk to you for a little while. I hope that’s all right.”
Michael doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even acknowledge you.
Dr Loomis clears his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you be. I’ll send someone in to let you know when your time is up.”
You nod your understanding, and Dr Loomis leaves the room, glancing back over his shoulder just before he shuts the door. After he’s gone, you smile, moving to sit in the chair across the table from Michael.
“So, uh,” you say, putting your bag on the floor. “I just wanted to tell you I’m not a psychologist, or a doctor, or anything like that. This isn’t a therapy session or a test; I’m just here because I… heard about what happened, and how you don’t get any visitors. If I was stuck in a place like this, all alone, for as long as you have been… I’d be pretty lonely.”
Michael continues to stare, his eyes locked on a point somewhere over your shoulder.
“I heard that you liked Halloween. I brought, um,” you reach down, rummaging through your knapsack and pulling out a Ziploc bag, which you place in the middle of the table. “I brought some candy, since it’s almost that time, and I figure you don’t get a lot of stuff like that around here.” You smile nervously. “I-It’s a little silly, I know, but… Well, there’s not a lot of things I’m allowed to bring. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it, obviously. I just grabbed a variety of things because I had no idea what you like; maybe if there’s something you’d like me to bring again next time you could leave the wrappers out for the nurses and I’ll know to get more of it?”
Michael’s fingers twitch. His head shifts minutely, both turning in your direction and cocking slightly to the side, but if you hadn’t been watching when it happened, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed.
Your smile steadies, just a bit.
You continue speaking to Michael for the full hour that you were allotted. Not about anything in particular; you talk about the trip to Smith’s Grove (the drive is pretty long, but getting to take a trip through the picturesque countryside more than makes up for it) and how frequently you’ll be visiting (because of the distance, you can’t make the trip every day; rather, you plan to visit once or twice a week, primarily on weekends). By the time a nurse comes in to let you know your time is up, you’ve long since given up hope of eliciting any more response from Michael, but based on the progress you made that day, you decide to count it as a success.
You leave Smith’s Grove with a smile on your face.
Later that day, you get a call from Dr Loomis.
“It seems that Michael accepted your gift.”
You brighten, a broad grin spreading across your face. “Oh?”
“Indeed. One of the evening nurses found candy wrappers in the bin in his room, and there were a select few on the nightstand next to his bed.”
You straighten up. Grabbing the pen and notepad you keep next to your landline and holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder, you say, “Which ones?”
As soon as you hang up the phone, you make a trip to the nearest convenience store.
(Apparently, Michael is partial to black licorice, Sour Patch Kids, and dark chocolate.)