Asylum #2

This is the second chapter in my novella, it is rather twisted and quite disturbing so be warned.
Whether I put up the rest of the finished chapters depends on if I get useful reviews and hence think its worth upgrading my membership so please review.

Midnight Stalker

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The door opened into a hall of white. Of course without the powerful fluorescent lighting it would have been a dirty cream colour. The floor was tiled with large white tiles; the walls had smaller tiles, still white. The ceiling painted white with a line of twin fluorescent lights running down the middle. A set of doors lined the right wall each metal with a thick lumpy coat of white with small viewing hatches that made them look like prison cells. At the end of the corridor was another running perpendicular to first although there was something wrong with the ceiling making it look like it wanted to stop at the end of the corridor and the other one was shunted on the end as an afterthought. Burt didn't know what gave him that impression maybe it was just an irrational feeling.
Burt stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him, it's back white naturally, he threw the lock automatically. He walked to the first door on the right, above the small viewing hatch read the name "Mandy" scrawled in hardly legible writing as if to remind someone whose 'room' it was, rather than a proper label. He took the small catch between his thumb and first finger then pressed his ear to the metal plate. When he was convinced there was no sound from inside he drew back unlocking the catch as he did so. He lowered the small plate to reveal the tight metal mesh through which he looked.
The room looked bare except the uncomfortable bed with the toilet hidden against the wall next to the door in the corner at the foot of bed huddled up sat Mandy. She was 19 making her the youngest 'patient' and had been entered into the project since she was diagnosed with a "Severe multiple personality psychosis". Her mother left her a year ago and had shown no interest since.
Burt's eyes fell upon her bare foot on the white tiled floor her skin lightly tanned, exaggerated by the whiteness of the room. His eyes slowly moved up her leg following her calf muscle as curved out from her slim ankles, her skin soft, smooth, inviting. Burt enjoyed watching Mandy, he had often stood watching her during the quiet hours or when he was helping to shower the patients with Marcy, he only showered the male patients but the shower rooms had no doors so from one it was easy to see into the other one if you stood in the right place. Father David had told him that Mandy was only a child, irrespective of her age, and Burt should refrain from thinking of her or looking at her in that way. He did try, but he could not help himself even though he knew it weakened his faith and broke down the barriers to stop them entering his mind.
Upon Mandy's face was a withdrawn, semiconscious, entranced looked her eyes fixed on some unseen point somewhere behind the wall of her cell, out beyond all that she knew as reality.
A small girl sits in a room. The room is bare. From behind comes a voice. The voice is familiar and yet not. It is a voice from the present; it is a voice from the past. A girls voice - young, uncertain. "It wasn't my fault!" the phrase hangs in the air. Another voice joins the first, the same yet different "I didn't mean to be bad!" A third voice filled with rage but not unlike the others is added: "Your fault, it was all your fault!" More voices join in the chorus. The air shakes with the voices it holds, hundreds of them all the same yet every one different from the others. The voices are silenced. The girl looks up. The room is pink. She is at the foot of the small bed. In her hand is a china doll. The doll is friendly yet its skin cold. There is a noise. She looks at the doll; the doll smiles back. More noises, a rushing torrent approaching. There is a door. She looks at the door. With a great roar the door burst open. The doll is falling. A man is in the doorway. The doll hits the floor. It's face cracks and it's head opens. The man's mouth opens and more noise escapes. The man crosses the space between them before the girl can react. His hand grabs her arm. She is lifted into the air. Tears roll down her face. More noises come from his mouth. He tears at her clothes ripping her nightie. It falls in a heap. Her eyes stare at the heap. It slowly changes from grey to pink. She is dropped on the bed. Flowers appear on it. The sound hurts her ears. They are red and blue. His grip on her arms is too tight for her to move. The centres are bright yellow. The man goes quiet, she cannot see him. There are small bees around the flowers. He starts to spit sounds at her, hurtful mean sounds. The bees have smiley faces on them. The sounds hurt her inside. The bees are carrying something from flower to flower. The girl tries to concentrate on what they are carrying. It looks like a small bucket of something. The girl is in pain. She doesn't know how. She tries to see what is in the bucket. The punishment hurts her but she doesn't call out. It looks like yellow paint. The pain subsides and the punishment is over. The buckets start to overflow. The yellow paint turning red. It covers her. Spreads over the floor. There is no little girl. There is only red.
Voices start again joining slowly at first then building into a choir of accusations. Blame fills the air. Beneath the hail of words hides a young girl. The hail exploding up off the ground into a spray of words assaulting her ears. She hides beneath her arms, trying to shelter herself from the sound. The sound of the voices dies away and she is left hidden beneath her duvet. She cowers from the future pulling the duvet tight around her. Lights shine in from the street as a car turns in. headlights flair up against the wall. From under her dark secure cover the shocking light penetrates in painful streaks. The car door slams shut. The front door bangs open. The door crashes shut again. She starts to tremble beneath the duvet. The footsteps heavy and piercing as he mounts the stairs. Her hands grip the edge of the duvet sealing it to the mattress. The door is thrust open. Her body tenses, her heart beats loud and strong in her chest. Her cover is torn from above her leaving her vulnerable. With no shelter she clings to the mattress. His voice is unleashed upon her like a ravenous dog tearing at her, hurting her. She wants to scream out but she knows she can't. A scream would make everything worse. Maybe this time it wouldn't be as bad, it wasn't that important, maybe the punishment wouldn't be as bad. A scream would seal it even a cry or a plea would shatter any hope. She lies with her head plunged into the mattress as he rages at her. His hand grabs her leg pulling it from its safe crouched position. She can't look at him. His eyes would be full of disappointment she knew they must be. Seeing his eyes she would know the truth she would know there was no escape. His hand held her leg fast squeezing her bare calf yet she wouldn't react. He twists her leg forcing her body to comply throwing her face down onto the bed. She almost let outs a small cry but she catches herself in time. He pulls her down the bed towards him; she lets herself go, knowing there was no choice. His voice still booms in her small room. He grabs at her skirt with his free hand. She knew she shouldn't have worn it, not out in public, he had told her that. He had told her what a skirt like that would mean to men. He forces her skirt up, revealing the whiteness beneath. She fights to keep from screaming wanting everything to be over. He yanks down her panties. Her hands grip the edge of the mattress tight. She shuts her eyes tight trying to block out everything.
Blackness surrounds her. It is not the blackness of the dark. It is just black. Walls of black confine her. A place where light is useless. Light could not penetrate through the walls. In the darkness flames start to flicker. Flames that glare in the blackness and boom in her mind. More flames start to flicker each with it's own booming voice within her head. Suddenly the flames die leaving only one bright flame in front of her.
A voice she knows must come from the flame sounds within her head: "It was all his fault, he did that to you. You did what you had to do." The flame seems to pause then grow "None of it was your fault. It was never your fault. He was evil."
Then the flame dies. Another flame appears. It looks like the previous one but she can tell it is different. "You deserved what you got. You got what you deserved. You were the only one at fault. What you did was unforgivable. Everything was your fault."
The flame again changed to something the same yet different. "You shouldn't have kept the secret. In keeping the secret you condoned everything. In keeping the secret you condoned him. You encouraged him. There is no excuse for what you did. His evil deeds were allowed through you keeping the secret. You enjoyed keeping the secret. Didn't you? You enjoyed the secret."
It changed again "You didn't do anything, you did nothing. It was him who did it all. He did everything. You did nothing." For a moment she was confused the flame was silent but still there. Suddenly the flame exploded into millions of small flames dancing round her, an infinite amount, like stars in the sky.
The flames glow white as they journey into the darkness until a young girl is left standing at a window looking out into the moonless night sky. She is propped up on her arms her head resting in her hands. She looks out upon the stars twinkling above the gloomy street. Her eyes absently wandered through the cosmos as thoughts occupied her mind. Her contented smile is reflected back at her in the glass. One solitary car turns onto the street, her eyes are drawn to it. It's path erratic, swerving as it tries to contain its speed. As it draws closer its colour becomes distinguishable from the night. She realises who's the car is. Her smile disappears and thoughts begin to race through her mind:
"Why was he driving like that?"
"Had he found out?"
"How could he have?"
Her mind tries to find answers to the questions as they run across her mind as the car rapidly approaches the house. Panic begins to grip her as the questions remain unanswered and as the car draws ever nearer. The sound of the engine grows louder as the car races towards her. She lifts her head from her hands as her eyes follow the car. The brakes make the car shudder along as its two wheels mount the curb outside the house. He bursts out the car, his face red. She pulls back from the window as he strides towards the house his gaze fixed at the ground in front of him. She stumbles backwards as the front door slams shut behind him. Her calves' hit the bed making her sit down with a jolt as his footsteps leap up the stairs. Her hands grab her knees holding them tight as he hurls the door open.
"You cheap little tramp!" He crosses the space between her and the door. "I've heard what you've been up to. With that boy. You're too young for boys, especially that boy."
She tries to think what would be best, to keep silent or to say something.
"You're the village slut! Everyone knows about you and what you do."
She wants to protest to say she hadn't done anything, it had just been one kiss.
"I thought I brought you up to know how to behave, you're just like your mother nothing but a dirty little whore."
She suddenly wondered what had happened to her mother they had gone out together, her mother must have told him, must have made out as if it was no big deal, that must have made him so mad.
"You and her are both the same you bleed off me and can't even keep a clean reputation about town."
She thought things had been going well with him and her mother they were sharing a bed again.
His hand flies out and grabs her hair yanking her forward off the bed. She lands on her knees and almost falls into him. "You dirty worthless whore!" His free hand goes to his belt buckle while his other holds her down on her knees. "You make me sick" He pulls his belt out, a long leather strap hanging from his hand. "Whores like you deserve what ever they get." He yanks her hair back forcing her to look up at him. "As you act like a whore so you will be treated." He throws the belt to the ground and letting go of her head unbuttons his jeans and reaches in pulling out his thing. "You filthy bitch, you'll get what you deserve." His hand grabs the back of her head pulling her on to his cock while his other hand holds it tightly. She opens her mouth having no choice as he thrusts it between her lips. "You slut you've done this before, I wonder what else you've let those boys do to you. I bet you've fucked everyone of them, let them treat you like a piece of meat to pass around." Tears start to roll down her face as she kneels on her bedroom floor with her stepfather's thing forced inside her mouth. He starts to pump her head back and forth along his thing forcing it deep into her mouth. "Suck it like you have all the others, don't pretend you don't know what to do." His hand moves furiously back and forth at the base of it hitting into her lips as he pulls her close. "That's it … I knew you knew how to do it … just like a professional. Is that what you do … you suck guys off … for favours!" His breathing gets heavy and his movements get faster his hand holding her hair tight starts to pull at her hair hard enough to make her wince as he pulls her back and then hits into her head pushing her forward; his other hand constantly hitting into her mouth. Suddenly he spasms and then she feels something shoot into her throat. She jerks backwards pulling herself free of his grip and off his thing. It shoots another jet at her, a white thick liquid; it hits her face making her want to throw up. His hand swipes at her the back of it making contact with her cheek throwing her off balance "You disgusting little piece of shit. Won't you go through with it if your not receiving anything in return." She lands in a heap on the floor. He pulls up his jeans and does them up. "If your mother knew what you really got up to she wouldn't let you live in her house." He turns and picks up his belt as he leaves. She is left on the floor crying too scared to move even enough to wipe off the sticky mess he had left on her face. The taste of his thing still filled her mouth and that stuff that came out of it still felt like it covered her throat making her want to throw up.
She cowers on the floor as around her voices spring up. Some echo the evil words he had said, that she deserved it while others defended her and yet there were still hundreds more each with a different view each arguing its viewpoint in a pandemonium of noise. She still tastes that evil taste; still feels the sticky stuff on her face still too scared to move, to wipe her face.
She lies on her bed reading a book. The light behind her casting strange shadows on the jumble of letters as she lies on her front propped up on her elbows. The shouting starts again from downstairs. He came home drunk and her mother didn't approve. They had been arguing for hours it seems. The music doesn't hide the noise even with the earphones. There is a loud bang and she shudders. She lies confused looking up at the wall. She realises that it was the front door and hopes he was the one who left. The footsteps make their ominous sound as he mounts the stairs taking them three at a time as usual. He flies into the door smashing it open, after tripping on the top step. His embarrassment makes him angry and his face turns bright red. He shouts at her. His voice is muffled by the earphones and the music. She realises he is blaming her for her mother walking out. He stumbles across her room almost falling onto her bed. His hand grabs her leg; she flinches and before she knows what she is doing pulls her leg free. That makes him worse and he grabs the walkman throwing it across the room. It smashes against the wall and falls in a heap on the floor. She turns onto her side pushing herself away from him at the same time till her back is pressed against the wall. He grabs her leg again and this time pulls her towards him. He stands at the side of the bed with her leg held tight forcing her to lie in front of him her legs almost wrapped round him. He grabs at her jeans and starts to yank them down her legs. She cries out and brings her one foot up and plants it in his stomach. He falls backwards but his hand clings tight pulling her jeans from her calf to her ankle. She squirms knowing she had no choice but to get free of him. He holds her leg fast and she can gain no purchase. He gets back on his feet and pulls the jeans clean off her legs his face burning red with rage. She pulls back her free leg for another kick but before she can make contact his hand grabs her ankle causing her to jar her knee sending a shooting pain up her leg. He pulls her down to the end of the bed dragging her by both her ankles. He takes the rope style curtain tie from its hook on the wall above her bed and wraps it tightly round her one ankle. He manages to tie her one leg to the bottom of the bed without giving her a chance to kick him. Pulling her further by her other leg he gets her so she is half hanging off the bed her spine running along its edge. He moves himself to between her legs holding her one leg tightly by his side. His free hand goes to his trousers fighting with the button. Terrified she is frozen staring at him as the rope made her ankle throb with pain. Suddenly she realises she is just watching him and knows she must do something to stop him. Her one arm hanging off the edge of the bed starts to search the floor or something that could help her. A bolt of pain races up her arm and she screams before distinguishing the pain as her finger being cut on her craft knife that she had left on the floor. Her hand grabs it tightly. He manages to get his trousers undone and they fall down to his ankles. He then reaches forward bending over as he reaches for her pants. With all her might she thrusts her hand into his chest. He stumbles forward falling on top of her. Her hand falls back and a small silver craft knife is left embedded in his chest. Blood begins to pour from the wound as he falls off her onto the floor. He pulls her with him and agonising pain tears through her body as her bound leg is forced to move into an impossible position. He lies on the flood on his back, a few inches of the handle sticking out like a flagpole planted in some discovered land. A lake of blood surrounds the flagpole, channels run along his shirt's creases spreading outwards. She half lies on the ground face down, her leg suspended in the air. She manages to pull herself up back on the bed. His eyes are open looking up at the ceiling full of rage, full of terror. She feels a trickle running down her hand and looks to find the tip of her one finger with a half-inch cut running along it. As she watches blood running down her finger the voices start. Some tell her to run and hide, others to give up and wait for someone to find her, others that she should hide him. The voices start to change from telling her what to do and begin telling her why she should do it:
"He is evil no-one will care."
"You will never be forgiven if you stay."
"It was his fault he deserved it."
"They will take that knife and use it on you or the evils you have committed."
"You should have taken the punishment and been grateful that he purged your sins from your body with pain!"
The voices scream at her as she lies on the bed staring as her blood fills the palm of her hand and then begins running down her arm. The room goes black and all she can see is her arm hand the blood turning it all red. An impossible amount of blood flows from her finger.
Mandy sat in the corner her hand held up in front of her face. She seemed to be looking at her hand and yet her eyes didn't appear to be focused on anything. Burt closes the small viewing hatch.