Hunter's Legacy

Four years Later

2010

The sky was a bright cerulean blue, and the clouds were floating leisurely across it, the sun shonne, making the vibrant colors of the gardens pop.

Inside Rosling Psychiatric Facility, there was a low murmur of residents talking to themselves as they either wandered around, built card houses, or colored.

As usual, I sat in an armchair, by the window, almost wishing that I could be out in the world again; although, if I was out in the world, I’d probably be a hermit, wherever I lived, fearing that, one day, the demon that killed my parents would come and try to finish me off, again.

I turned away from the picturesque scene, outside the window, and looked behind me, at the residents of Rosling Psychiatric Facility.

There was a man named Lenny, who reminded me a lot of Lenny from John Steinback’s tale Of Mice and Men, because he was a big guy, with an even bigger heart. And, like Lenny in the book, this Lenny was also a bit slow...and he had imaginary friends that he had constant conversations with; I admired the fact that he had a child-like mentality. But, also like Lenny, in the novel, this Lenny had quite a temper; when he got angry—whether with his imaginary friend, or any of the other patients—the orderlies had to get him and sedate him before he could do any real damage.

“Hey Lenny,” I said, gently, as he passed by, moving his lips as if he was talking to someone, “How are you doing today?”

“Good, thanks Sophie,” he said, slowly. He said no more, and walked away; that was the good thing about Lenny, he said so few words. And as for who Sophie was, I never really knew. I thought that she might be a relative or a friend.

Over at a square card table, a man with sandy brown hair, played cards with a couple of orderlies. His name was Harold, but he had multiple personalities. His personalities were so distinguished, that they had their own names and back stories.

Right now, the personality that was brought forth was a Texas card shark named Hank. His game? Texas Hold ’Em. According to the doctors, Harold had a mental breakdown, in a casino, after losing hundreds of thousands of dollars, and then, this personality took over. His name was Hank, and he had won those hundreds of thousands of dollars—and then sum—back. Harold had ended up here, after he had gone on a gambling bender. Thinking he should be in Gambler’s anonymous? Think again, because he was found, four days later, wandering down the street, panicked, as to where he was. Later on, his family had been contacted and, upon coming into Rosling, Harold’s family had admitted about the other personalities; they hadn’t seemed like they would be dangerous, but his wife hadn’t wanted to take the chance, not with their two-year-old in the house.

“Good game Eddie,” Hank said, in his southern drawl. I looked over and watched as he shook hands with the burly orderly. The orderly smiled and then got up going to tend to another patient. I watched as Eddie walked over to a table, where a girl with golden hair, was painting with water colors. As Eddie nodded, I watched another girl, with Auburn hair, sashay up to him. She ran her hand along his arm, pausing on his bicep, and I could almost hear her sigh in appreciation.

Betty Windel was here because she suffered from depression, paranoia, bipolar disorder, and schizophrenia. She was about a year older than me, and she’d gotten into a relationship with one of her professors. However brief the relationship was—and that was really brief because he called it off after finding out that she was his student—Betty had convinced herself that she had fallen in love with the man, and then she had gotten pissed, trashed his office, and then stalked him and sent him threatening notes, until he called the police. Then, she ended up here, after a police station psychiatrist had evaluated her.

I rolled my eyes, as Betty hit on Eddie, the orderly. Eddie smiled kindly and, gently pulled away from her, before he led her to an overstuffed armchair and handed her a book. With a flutter of her lashes, Betty took the book, and Eddie walked over to me, pausing beside the place I sat, and he smiled kindly.

“How is everything today, Camille?” he asked, looking out of the same window that I was currently staring out of.

I liked Eddie; he was the only orderly, who didn’t treat me like I was absolutely crazy. Eddie didn’t exactly believe it when he heard why I was admitted to Rosling, but he never talked down to me, and that I respected.

“Okay,” I said, sighing, as I kept my eyes trained on a bird that had landed on a branch. I didn’t have much to say after that, I wasn’t in the mood to talk that much today.

“Have a good day, Camille,” he said, and I heard his footsteps move as he walked away. The next second, I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned to see who it was and I saw a woman with dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Miss Andrews, it’s time for your session,” she told me, in a low, comforting, voice. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I pushed myself up and out of the chair, and followed the orderly out of the day room. She led me down a short hallway and to another room, that was about half the size of the day room. There was a circle of chairs, where other patients were sitting; some looked bored and others looked as though they were ready to bust out of their skin. I shuffled my feet and selected a seat, before leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest.

A woman with caramel skin, and honey blonde hair sat in the seat across from me. She was dressed in dark gray pants, a ruffled white blouse, and a knitted red sweater. She had a necklace around her neck, that looked like it was made with cylinder and round-shaped wooden beads. Her honey hair was pulled back in a knot at the back of her neck, with her bangs swept to the right side of her head.

“Hello everybody, my name is Audrey Malone, and I will be filling in for Doctor Tanner, today,” she said, as she dazzled us all with her blindingly white smile.

“So, what do we call you? Do we call you Audrey, or Doctor Malone?” Theresa said it almost as if to taunt the woman. Audrey—or Doctor Malone—fixed Theresa with a kind smile, as if to show that she wasn’t intimidated by the other woman.

“You can call me Audrey, or Doctor Malone,” she said, “Now, why don’t we talk about why we’re all here.”

“We’re all here, because everyone in our lives thinks we’re bat-shit crazy,” A guy named Adam answered, easily. The others murmured in agreement, but I just sat back, making my own observation of this new doctor. She certainly didn’t have the doctor-y vibe about her, which all the doctors around this place had. She didn’t have the round spectacles placed on the bridge of her nose, or the air of knowing what was best for most of us. She seemed to sincerely want to get to know us; but that was just my own observation.

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, as her eyebrows came together, “How about you, Miss—?”

“Andrews, Camille Andrews,” I supplied as Audrey gestured towards me.

“Miss Andrews, why don’t you tell me how you came to be in Rosling,” she said, leaning forward, slightly.

“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath and preparing to tell my story, for the hundredth or so time, “When I was four, my parents were killed by a demon, and then that same demon set fire to my house. Since then, my brother and I had been left with our grandparents, but our grandfather had died, and our grandmother had to be put in an assisted-living facility. Four years later, the same demon came back and beat the crap out of me. I think he meant to kill me, but he just ended up fracturing my nose as well as breaking two of my ribs, and hurting my head. And, apparently, in the hospital, I was having nightmares about what had happened back then, and then my brother saw fit to dump me here.”

Audrey nodded, as she let the story sink in.

“And that brings back what I said earlier,” Adam said, “Your brother knows that you’re too crazy to be around society.”

“But I’m not crazy,” I said, fixing him with a glare, “I know what I saw that night.”

“Ok, if you saw a demon, then I’m a unicorn made out of cotton candy,” another girl named Alissa said, rather sarcastically; her statement earned a few chuckles.

“That wouldn’t explain your sour demeanor, though,” I shot back, turning my glare on her, “I don’t know who’s worse, you or Tasha.” Tasha sprung out of her seat, ready to dash at me, and take me on. I stood from my seat, on the defensive. While the other patients seemed to get excited over the prospect of a fight, Audrey stepped forward and put a hand in front of Tasha and, surprisingly, it stopped her.

“Now girls,” Audrey said, looking between the two of us, almost furtively, “This is a therapy session, not fight club. Tasha, take your seat please.”

Tasha’s look never wavered from me, but she slumped back in her chair, making the seat rock slightly. I sat down too, resuming my bored posture and behavior.

The rest of the day flew by, and, by the time that “Lights out” came, I was ready. For the first two years that I was here, I had been in a drug induced sleep, whenever it was time for the residents of Rosling to go to bed. But, for the last year and a half, I’ve been sticking them under my tongue, and then disposing of them after the orderly has left my room.

Tonight was no different.

Davis, one of the orderlies on the night-shift, pushed a metal cart, laden with plastic cups that had two little red-and-green pills in them.

“Okay Camille, here you go,” Davis said, in a cheery tone; as if the tone of voice he used would take away from the fact that they were going to dope me up before I went to sleep. I forced a small smile on my face, before I reached out, accepting the plastic cup of water, and the plastic cup of pills. Holding it between my fingers, I tipped them back, and then nestled the capsules under my tongue, before I tipped a gulp of water into my mouth.

I pressed my lips together and pulled them into a smile, as he wished me a goodnight and then left, the sound of the rattling cart echoing behind my closed door. Once I was sure that he was gone, I moved to the desk and took the partly-dissolved pills out of my mouth, and set them on the desktop. I took a thick volume out of the drawer of the desk, and then set the book on top of the pills, and then, pressing down on the book, I crushed the capsules.

After crushing the capsules to dust, I retrieved a small, plastic, waste basket from the corner of the room, and brushed the dust into it. From there, I hurried over to the door and I found it locked. I growled and cursed myself for thinking that, maybe just once, Davis had forgotten to lock it. This is a psychiatric institute, leaving doors unlocked would be like inviting a cabal of patients to run amok. Sighing, I turned and went back to the bed. I laid in between the scratchy white sheets, and I stared out at the moon, through the barred windows.

Maybe tomorrow will heed better results.

The next day in art, we were doing fruit bowl paintings. I cast furtive glances around the room as various fruit bowl paintings were passed out. I smiled as Emma, the orderly who often helped during Art Therapy, put a picture down beside me. I put up my hand and when the teacher, Amy, looked around, she nodded to me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, causing Amy to nod. I stood up, and Emma was at my side, ready to escort me to the bathroom facilities. I moved slowly and looked ahead, scanning the area before me. To the left, there was a door that was slightly opened, and my heart jumped; maybe they forgot to lock one door? I can only hope.

We passed by a metal cart, that had open bottles of paint, paint brushes, and palettes, which already had paint on them. I, discreetly, bumped my hip against it, rather roughly, which sent everything on it to the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gasped out, and I crouched down to start picking up the bottles that were pouring blue paint onto the wood floor.

“It’s alright Camille, it was just an accident,” Emma said, although I could hear the frustration in her tone. With her back to me, she squatted in front of me, and I heard keys jingle as she moved. Looking up, I saw a key ring that was attached to her belt loop. Being swift, quick and quiet, I managed to unhook the key ring and take it off her belt loop, putting the entire thing in the pocket of my sweatpants.

“Here, please, let me help,” I said, holding my hand out for the roll of paper towels that Emma was using to clean up the spilled paint.

“That’s quite alright Camille,” Amy said, coming forward and pulling me up. She pulled out a chair from a nearby table, and sat me down in it, before she joined Emma in cleaning up the paint. I watched them for a minute before looking both ways to make sure none of the other patients were watching, and no other orderlies were coming in; I got up and, stealthily, moved towards the partially open door.

Quietly closing it behind me, I turned and saw three cabinets, each with padlocks on them. I moved to the one on the left, moved forward, and picked a key.

Holding the key between the fingers of one hand, and holding the lock with my other fingers, I inserted the key...only to have it not go through. I tried another and another; finally on the fourth attempt, I found the right key, and I let out a satisfied hiss, as the click of the lock echoed throughout the room. I lifted the lock and then I pulled open the doors.

I looked up on the shelf, moving around bottles of paint, not seeing anything that would help me get out. The middle shelf showed me not much more; it was just boxes full of palettes and brushes. The bottom shelf was filled with nothing but blank paper, pictures, and books. I shook my head, and closed the door, and locked the padlock again.

I glanced out the window, relieved to see that Emma and Amy were still cleaning up paint and collecting brushes. I knew that I had to be quick, because they wouldn’t be cleaning it up forever.

I moved to the cabinet in the middle, and, luckily, I didn’t have to look for another key; the one that worked on the first padlock worked on this one too. Opening the doors, all that was in there was jars of clay. I backed up and closed the doors, locking them, and then finally moving to the third cabinet.

With another fleeting glance into the art room, I opened the doors and a smile came to my face, as I saw containers of pottery tools. I pulled a box down, and sifted through it. I pulled a potter’s needle out of the box, and smiled as I looked at the sharpened end.

Quickly, I pocketed it, and then I locked the cabinet again. Discreetly opening the door, I slipped out and then I walked back to the seat, dropping the keys behind Emma.

I sat down and looked around, feigning innocence, as I waited for the paint to get cleaned up. Forty-five minutes later—the therapy session was over by now—the paint was cleaned up, the paintings were collected, and patients were moving to the day room. I got up from the seat, and started making my way to the day room, with the others; I felt successful, and I hoped that my plan would work.

When Davis left my room, I did the same thing with the pills as I had done the night before; I crushed them and then swept the dust into the waste bin. I heard the squeaking wheels of the metal cart, in the distance, and I waited until I could hear it no more, and I walked over to the door.

Kneeling down, I inserted the tip of the needle into the lock of the old door. I moved it side to side, and it took a few moments before I heard the satisfying click. I stood up and pocketed the potter’s needle, and then I opened the door, wincing as it squeaked on its hinges.

I opened it enough and slipped out; looking both ways, I walked along the sparkling white floors and to the door at the end of the hall. Luckily for me, I was able to swipe Davis’ ID card, so I didn’t have any trouble getting out of the building.

It must’ve been my lucky night, because The front desk was empty, and none of the janitorial or security orderlies were to be seen. I made it out of the front door easy.

Maybe it was too easy.

The light from the full moon shown down on me, as I tread across the grass that was slick from the rain that had come down earlier. My slippers were soon soaked, and it was a probably twenty minute—on foot—trek to the drive.

A sense of foreboding overtook me, and I looked around at the darkened grounds of Rosling Psychiatric Facility. For a moment, I wondered what evil lurked in the dark; I wondered if the demon that had tried to kill me that fateful night, had been waiting in the shadows, just waiting for the opportune time to pounce.

The feeling intensified as I reached the ten-foot-tall wrought-iron fence, realizing that, on the off chance that there was something else out there--which, at this point, I was fairly certain that there was--I was trapped.

As if that was their cue, there was a howl. I whipped around as I heard leaves rustling.

Standing amidst a group of trees, was a wolf, with white-silver fur and fiery red eyes. It stalked forward, baring it’s fangs, and growling at me.

To say that I was scared would be an understatement; I was damn well terrified. I knew that scaling the fence was a pointless thing to do, as it had no footholds whatsoever. So, I could either fight and, hopefully, win, or I could die being ripped apart by a wolf that suddenly appeared here.

My fighting instinct kicked in, and I looked around for anything that I could make into a weapon. I spotted a thick branch and picked it up. It was a bit heavy, but I held it with as much ease as I could, spreading my legs slightly, and digging my feet into the soft mud.

“Here, puppy, puppy, puppy,” I called, tauntingly, holding the branch in one hand and smacking it against my other palm. With a howl the echoed throughout the grounds, the wolf charged at me.

Like a batter hitting an oncoming ball, I swung the branch, hitting the wolf in the side of the neck; with a yelp, the animal flew a good five feet away, and landed on the ground, unmoving. “Anyone else?” I called, knowing there were probably more creatures out there.

Before I knew it, my back was pressed against someone’s chest, and my weapon of choice was held against my throat.

“Scream, or move, and I will play cat’s cradle with your intestines,” a menacing whisper floated into my ears, and my jaw clenched.

“Not in your life,” I ground out between clenched teeth. I elbowed my captor in the stomach, causing them to grunt and drop the branch. I spun out of the hold, snatched up the branch, and faced my captor. It was a man, with curly hair and he wore a dark suit. His eyes flared red, and I had to wonder what was up with Demons and tailored suits?

This demon recovered from my elbowing, and we squared off; me with the branch in my hands, and the demon with nothing. He moved forward and aimed a punch at me, to which I ducked and swept the branch under her feet, sending him flat on his back.

I thought he was done, but a hand yanking my hair, and making me land on my back, looking up at the dark night.

“Hello Love,” a voice said from above me. I ground my teeth, as I looked up into the face of another man. Quickly thinking, I broke the branch and stabbed the sharpened end up into the demon’s leg. He screamed for a minute, and then I watched as a blade sunk into the chest of the demon that stood over me.

I pushed myself up, and turned, watching as the demon fell back, revealing Audrey, dressed in black leather and holding a long sword that had black blood dripping off of it.

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking at my therapist--or who posed as my therapist--as she held a bloody weapon.

“Not here, we have to get going,” she said, pulling me up, “More will be coming.”

“More demons?” I asked, and Audrey nodded once. “We can’t get out though.”

“Yes we can,” a deep voice said, and I looked up to see Eddie jogging towards us, dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie. He walked passed us and to the gate. I watched as Eddie inserted his card into a slot, and it beeped, opening automatically.

“Let’s get moving,” Eddie said, and I noticed a plastic bag that was in his hand, as he motioned out the gates.

“Wait, what’s going on here?” I asked, as I stared at both of them.

“We’ll explain everything when we’re far away from here,” Audrey said, hurriedly, “Now, come on, more demons are going to come. Droves of them.” I understood what she was saying and I walked past her, as the three of us walked into the Staff parking lot. The three of us climbed into a pick up truck, and then we drove off, away from Rosling.