May 25, 1890
Notes from Dr. Franklin Hall, MD
Dr. Broadwell asked me to attend him while he administered treatment to Sweeney today. Due to the man's well-known psychosis, the orderlies made sure he was shackled securely to the bed before we entered the treatment room. Dr. Broadwell injected Sweeney with a full syringe of his newest experimental formula, and we waited to see what would happen.
Initially, we were disappointed. The man swore and raved at us, trying vainly to free himself. Then his eyes went wide as he stared, not at us, but at a point directly in front of him. His ravings withered to moans and pleadings to leave him alone, that he was sorry. He begged the hallucination to go away. I shook my head, realizing that the treatment had most likely failed, but Dr. Broadwell laid a hand on my shoulder as I turned to leave.
"Don’t leave yet, Franklin," he said, and his eyes were bright, almost fevered. "This is only the beginning."
I do not know what he was expecting, and I do not know what Sweeney saw. What I do know is that the darkness lurking in the corners of the treatment room seemed to creep towards the treatment table and the terrified man strapped to it. There was purpose in those tendrils of night, I am sure of that.
Sweeney's screams are still echoing as I write this, even though my cottage is well away from the main asylum. I do not know if he will stop.
<><>
Something’s wrong.
Sapph bolted upright in her bed, dislodging Bear from where he’d been sleeping peacefully on her stomach. The dog, startled awake by the sudden movement, grumped at her from the covers he’d landed on.
“Sorry,” she said, putting a hand on his head. “I must have still been dreaming.”
But the words sounded hollow to her. Her dreams had been fragmented, hardly restful, consisting mostly of her trying to leave a locked house, until she’d finally managed to sink beyond REM.
The sun was shining through the filmy curtains on the windows, sending fine fingers of golden light across the bed. Sapph continued to stroke Bear’s head as she looked around, trying to figure out what had pulled her from sleep.
Are you ready for caffeine? Scottie asked. I’m just outside your door.
“Then you might as well come in, especially if you have caffeine,” Sapph said out loud.
“I figured I’d mellow your edges before you go downstairs,” Scottie said as he came into the room and handed her a steaming mug of tea. The faintest hint of warm honey drifted up to her nostrils as she sipped it. “You had nightmares again last night.”
“I think you mean still,” she said, watching him take the seat in front of the ornate vanity table that took up a good portion of that side of the room. “But that’s normal. Scottie.”
“Yes.”
Sapph took another sip of tea, looking for liquid courage. “Why can’t we feel the Ghostwind in here?”
He looked out the window rather than at her. “I can feel it a little bit.”
“But not in the way that we should,” Sapph said, cradling the mug in her hands and looking down into its dark depths. “It feels kind of like that house Malcolm has to work on his experiments in, but not.”
“Perhaps the owners put up some type of barrier.” Scottie shrugged. “We haven’t seen the entire house yet. The basement could be full of machinery for all we know.”
“Maybe. But where did it come from?”
Scottie gave her an amused look. “You do remember you’re not the only one with deep pockets. I wouldn’t be surprised if Knox and Pat had something like that to bring with them on long investigations, especially if they do use psychics. In fact, I’ve talked to Malcolm already for a smaller option for us.”
“Is that one of the experiments we have?” Sapph couldn’t deny that it was a good idea.
“I think so. Lance handled most of it.” Scottie looked at her. “But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”
She scowled at him. “Stop snooping in my head.”
“Part of the job. What’s up?”
Sapph sighed and set her cup on the nightstand next to her bed. “I’m nervous about getting caught again. And there’s something...odd here. I can’t put my finger on it, but this is…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“You’re about to start the biggest challenge of your life, Sapph. And your grandfather can’t help you. You’ve always had your family to fall into as a safety net. That’s gone now.”
“Maybe that’s it,” she agreed, although it wasn’t technically true. Her mother, at least, would always be there for her. “I’m certainly not used to being in charge of my own life.” She stretched, slipping out from under the covers to stand on the warm wood floor. “Scottie, are we sure this started off as a TB institution?”
Scottie blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “That’s what Knox and Pat seem to think, and I haven’t seen anything to disprove that. The outer walkways on every floor seem very much like Waverly and other asylums for TB. Why do you ask?”
“It feels...off when they say it.” Sapph frowned. “There’s too many layers here, and I think we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“Considering we’ve only been here less than 24 hours, that’s not surprising.” Scottie got up and collected her cup. “Don’t rush to judgement. We’ve got time.”
“Do we?”
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