Page 1 of Desecrated Saints
PROLOGUE
SEVEN - 2016
Be Invited - The Twilight Singers
Straightening my pressed blue shirt and matching pinstripe tie, I give my reflection a decisive nod. It’s time. No more skulking around, stealing the odd stack of papers or eavesdropping behind locked doors.
I need proof.
The world has to know what goes on in here.
Leaving the safety of my comfortable office behind, I slip down the thickly carpeted corridor of the prestigious Blackwood Institute. This is my place of employment, and a source of constant worry for the past six months. It’s far from the romanticised dream I’d built up in my head.
“Doctor Farlow?”
Freezing, I plaster an impassive mask in place.
For fuck’s sake.
Miss White’s designer pumps sink into the soft carpet as she joins me, dragging her eyes over my muscled chest. Her flirtation has only increased in the time I’ve worked here, reaching unprofessional levels that make me uncomfortable.
“What can I do for you, Warden?” I smile politely.
“Please, Jude. How many times must we discuss this?” Her red-painted nails scrape over my bicep. “Call me Elizabeth. I just wanted to see how you’re getting on. I heard you had a difficult time last week.”
I match her smile. “Naturally, working in an environment like this poses its challenges. But don’t worry about me. I can look after myself… Elizabeth.”
Her tinkling laughter grates against my skull.
“Oh, Jude. You do amuse me. I’ll leave you to continue with your day, but should you need anything… you know where to find me. No matter the hour.”
With a final lingering look, she retreats in a cloud of sickly sweet perfume. I watch her return to her office down the corridor. I have no doubt that her thick lashes and pouty lips hide a multitude of sins.
The incident she’s referencing involved a patient who had a complete psychotic breakdown in the group session I was facilitating, and it drew a lot of attention to my traineeship. I can fend off their questions and pretend to be unfazed, but truthfully, that session was the final nail in the coffin.
I knew the patient, Lucia, had been struggling for some time. Her regular clinician is a dinosaur who refuses to discuss his treatment methods with me, but he also happens to be my boss. I’ve had to tread very carefully as a result.
There are a lot of unusual things about Blackwood.
And many unanswered questions.
Scanning my ID badge, I let myself into the gloomier corridor that leads down the winding staircase. The solitary wing is my least favourite place in this gothic museum of insanity. I avoid it by necessity. My work does not concern those incarcerated in Professor Lazlo’s basement, but Lucia has been missing all week.
I’m done lying to myself about Blackwood’s involvement in her deterioration. Inching past locked cells and occupied signs, I pause to read the names printed across the paperwork attached to each door. By the end of the corridor, I’ve yet to find Lucia’s name.
She isn’t fucking here.
What now? Think!
With a glance at the ever-present CCTV cameras, I throw caution to the wind. I won’t unravel this mystery by playing it safe. Passing Lazlo’s office door, I take the next staircase down. This one is lit by faint bulbs that cast the entire world in uncomfortable shadows.
The temperature drops even further as I emerge on the lowest level of the basement. Expecting more solitary confinement, I’m unnerved by what I find instead. These aren’t the padded cells equipped to handle the sickest of patients I’ve seen in Manchester and Clearview.
I’m staring at torture chambers, blood-stained and windowless.
With my heart threatening to shatter into terrified shards, I inch inside the closest room. The door is ajar to air out the scent of industrial bleach. A rusted bathtub sits in the centre, boasting medieval-style shackles that make my stomach turn. I have to cover my mouth to ensure I don’t throw up.
The bathtub is full of crimson, bloody water, as if the occupant sliced a vein, exposing them to the cruel justice of death. Peering around the chamber, I note the scratch marks and dents scattered across the concrete walls. Someone was locked in here.