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Hi, my name is Adam
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The Patient

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By fluffy_ferret_101 Send DollMail
Created: 2014-01-11 17:31:41 All stories by fluffy_ferret_101
Everyone from the unit was on the scene as Police Sergeant Adam Kaplan drove in. He waved hello to a couple of his colleagues as he exited the car and entered the crime scene to inspect the body.

It really was a gruesome sight. The woman was barely clothed in shredded rags of what looked to have once been a very nice cocktail dress. He wondered how she had ended up in a cornfield, 10 miles from anywhere that might host a party to which the clothes would be appropriate. She was also wearing sparkly black heels, to match the dress, he supposed. Her body was long and slender and her one intact green eye was wide in shock. She had long, curly brown hair, matted to her head with blood and gritty with dirt. Half of her head had been beaten in, and the chief was saying it was probably the handle of a pitchfork, as there were four straight puncture wounds in her chest as well. The use of a pitchfork suggested that the murder had been committed in the ramshackle old barn next to the farmhouse. He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned away as two officers approached with a body bag.

Adam followed the chief to the lab where they were preparing a DNA test to identify the woman. She was lying on the autopsy table, ready to be chopped up and inspected. The identification procedures were already under way, so he walked up to the body to have another close look. He then noticed a small number seemingly branded into the flesh directly under her right ear. It was the number 122.

“Sir, what do you think this little number here means?” He asked the forensic pathologist. A confused look came over him and he stooped to see the number.

“Well, I’m not sure. Kids these days do that kind of thing sometimes. It could be a sorority number or something. I really have no idea what it could mean.”

Adam decided it was just an insignificant body modification and turned to leave when he felt a freezing cold hand tightly grasp his wrist. He yanked on impulse but it wouldn’t budge. He turned to see who it was and gasped. The dead woman had her head turned toward him with her one good eye bulging from her skull as she stared at him. He turned white as a ghost and she smiled. He noted that she had a couple teeth missing from the top row.

Through all this, the pathologist hadn’t turned or seemed to have heard a thing. All the while, the number on the woman’s head seemed to burn more deeply into her skin, slowly turning red so it stood out clearly against her white skin. Something was nagging in the back of Adam’s mind about the number but he couldn’t pinpoint what the significance of it was. He had managed to peel back the girl’s fingers and free his arm from her dead grip. The pathologist gave him an odd look, glanced at the woman with her head still turned toward Adam, smiling her dead smile, and then turned back to his machines. Adam decided to get out of that place as quickly as possible.

As he turned to leave however, he heard a small metallic noise that sounded as if it could have originated from the grinding of the gurney wheels. He spun just in time to see the dead woman rise from the autopsy table with an arm outstretched toward him. The number was glowing more brightly than ever and as he gazed at it, everything else in his vision seemed to go out of focus, as if the number were the only thing in existence at this place. He suddenly felt very dizzy and needed to sit down. Despite the desperate instinct to run, he felt calm and not in danger. His initial reaction of panic had passed and he was actually feeling rather tranquil. Come to think of it, he felt a bit like napping. He laid his head on the surprisingly soft floor, shut his eyes, and proceeded to fall asleep.

“We’ve just gotten him the shot. He’s asleep and can cause no harm to anyone at this moment. He seems to be getting progressively worse, though. His panic attacks have been coming more frequently and we think hallucinations and delusions have been added to the mix. He is steadily becoming more violent and calls out in his sleep. Half the time he doesn’t know where or who he is and seems to be under the impression that a woman who has just died is trying to reach out to him. He has never mentioned her name, but he goes on about her features so we have a fair idea of what she looks like. There have been no murders matching her description the whole time he was on the police force. He has been a resident here for approximately 62 days, but as far as we know, he’s only been having the hallucinations for around 3. When he goes into the hallucinogenic state, he seems to forget he is a patient here as well.”

The psychiatric warden stopped talking and looked over at Mrs. Kaplan, patient #122’s mother. She gave him a worried glance and then turned back to the door to gaze into the small, thick window at her son. She worried if he would recognize her at all. He hadn’t seen her in 15 years and to add to the mix, he was now psychotic as well! She wondered who the woman in his hallucinations could possibly be, as Mrs. Kaplan hadn’t heard anything about a girlfriend from his brother. She decided to let thoughts of the woman slide, as she was probably just a figment of his psychotic imagination.

She and the warden turned and exited the hall, paying no attention to the television on the night watch desk. It was set to the news channel, which was beginning a report on a recent murder.

“In local news, Ms. Hannah White has recently been found murdered in the old Freedman Cornfield. The man behind this was a sick one, as she had been severely beaten with what appears to be the handle of a pitchfork, before being gored by the prongs. Investigators say this murder could have been committed as many as three days ago, and any evidence could quite possibly be gone by now. So far, police have no leads, but News Channel 14 is ready to keep you updated on the latest.” The camera zoomed in on a close-up of the girl’s ear. The number 122 was carved into the side of her head.

Meanwhile, in a nearby cell, Adam Kaplan was in fit of rage. He screamed, bashed his head on the walls, and punched his bed, leaving streaks of blood in more than one place. He just hoped they wouldn’t find the person-sized hole behind the shatterproof mirror next…

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