The building was shadowed in darkness, almost half of it burned down to nothing but ash and rubble, the remnants of a place that once struck fear into children’s hearts. They would claim, as they sat away from their parents and in the throes of their own imagination that if you misbehaved, your parents would send you to that very building in a long black car, never to be seen again. But it was never proved to them. It was just a myth, a little lie- something you told your younger siblings to scare them and make them wet the bed during the night.

It wasn’t taken seriously until the long black cars began to crawl down the suburban streets, waiting for the misfits to come out of their hiding places and be taken to the one place that could contain them all.

No one would see them, the men and women in their white sterilized uniforms as they pushed their way into houses and seized children, faces remaining robotic and motionless as mother’s sobbed, fathers roared and children screamed for the safe embrace of their parents. There would always be a gentle promise that one day; their offspring would be brought back to them, ready to be enveloped by society once again.

Those days never came. Despite the hopes and prayers that each parent held in their heart, as the years floated past, their minds turned to other things. Their once treasured little angels became the forgotten fragment of years gone by. It was almost as though the families had moved on and become oblivious to what was going on in the red brick building at the very edge of the city- the same one that always had a black cloud hanging around it. They never heard the piercing screams of the patients.

No one did.

Detective Jess Berry was a number of things. She was a protector, first and foremost, of the town she had lovingly called home ever since she was a little girl, scraping her knees and getting into fights. There were things that she had seen prowling around the streets that would have the families tucked away in their picket fenced houses quaking in their boots. It had hardened her, but she knew it was the only way she could pull herself out of bed in the morning. If there were no connections- there could be no feelings. She was tall and broad, with a flurry of mousy brown hair tugged up messily into a sensible ponytail at the back of her head, but the strangest thing about her was her eyes.

Jess had been diagnosed with Heterochromia at just three years old, when one day her parents noticed that one of her eyes was a deep chocolate brown, and yet the other was a sparkling crystal blue. She had been so close to having a black car crawl up outside of her parent’s familiar red door, the one with the chips just below the brass knocker. But lucky for her, there had been a little boy living next door to her that they’d hauled out because he wouldn’t stop telling lies to his parents.

She’d watched, hidden behind the suited legs of her corporate father as he’d been carried out by two tall men in white suits, kicking and screaming for his mother to come and rescue him. There she had clung to the soft fabric and closed her eyes, hoping that the robots who stole children away to be turned into members of society wouldn’t see her abnormality. She wasn’t like the others.

As she straightened out her navy blue uniform, Jess stepped out of the gleaming white police car and into the abandoned parking lot of the hospital. She’d been called down in the early hours of the morning by the fire department, who had announced that the West Wing had burned down and left only five survivors, all of whom had been locked in their cells on the East Wing of the hospital. Surprised as she had been that five patients hadn’t even noticed that half of the building on fire, she had gotten changed into her uniform with the enthusiasm of a zombie and let the patrol car lazily make its way to the cities edge, where the hospital waited.

Her feet clicked against the crumbling concrete beneath her shoes and as she started towards the group of bright jacketed fire-fighters, she felt her head begin to thump slightly. If she had ever gotten her way today, she’d have never even gone near the job and instead let one of the interns handle it- but something had drawn her closer like a magnet to a saucepan. Perhaps the little boy that she had watched being dragged away was now a man, one who had never set foot outside of this crumbling building.

“Stilettos on the job, Berry? I know the HBPD said dress up, but I don’t think they meant for the fuckin’ Oscars” Jack, the burly leader of the little gang who had congregated outside the wreckage, smirked and with an evil glance in his direction, Jess shrugged off the comment like her coat.
“Cut the shit Jack. I got dragged out of bed by you idiots discovering bodies and I’ll be damned if I get canned for one of your practical jokes. Walk with me” she muttered, glancing over the gold rim of her sunglasses to glare at him. Almost as though he were part of a frat pack in college, Jack spent a few minutes saying goodbye to the muscular men that passed for fire-fighters and began to walk in line with her clicked footsteps, towards the untouched East Wing.

Yellow and blue crime scene tape covered every available surface; across the white stonewash walls, along the prickly and untamed bushes that passed for shrubbery- even along the unhinged door. It was almost as though it was a warning not to come any closer to the building.
“It’s a damn miracle, Jess. That shit spread like wildfire and yet, it didn’t even touch this one. I don’t get it”
“This is the one place where strange things happen Jack, I’ve heard about it. Back in the sixties, some kid who thought pop rocks and coke were a good idea made the closest thing he could to a bomb. It was right in the middle of the buildings, killed around sixty people. But the patients in the East Wing…didn’t feel anything. Not even a vibration from the impact” she murmured as her hand brushed against the cool wall, stroking over the slippery cellophane of the police tape.

“Really?”

“Really. There’s always been something a little special about the East Wing and its occupants. So five survivors you say?” Jess let the subject go a little too quickly for Jack’s liking but he shrugged it off. There were many reasons why Jess was so passionate about her job, yet all of them surpassed him with one simple question- what hid behind her sunglasses? For a moment, he stilled, almost as though he was unsure of what to tell the police officer in front of him, and it was only when she turned and quirked one eyebrow in his direction that he spoke.

“Five survivors- all of them patients. A couple of guys went in there after we’d put out the blaze, just to check, and they were all there. Five men, all of them sitting there. Hell, they all looked like they were waiting for something. There was no fire damage, no smoke, not even a picture askew on the wall” he paused, suddenly remembering the long white corridor, with its dimmed light and squeaking linoleum floors.
“It was almost as though nothing had happened at all”

Jess, bewildered, stared into his glassy eyes for just a moment, watching as the images of what he had seen appeared to dance in front him. Gripping the belt at her side, and the cool metal of the gun that she’d slipped into the holster, she motioned for Jack to stand behind her as she walked towards the barricaded door. Her feet still clicking against the ground, she pounded her fist against the door three times, waiting for a reply. Something scuttled, shifted around on the other side, yet no one came to answer her knocks.
“Hey, open up! Huntington Beach Police Department, I’m here to see the survivors!” Jess called, holding the gun up a little closer to her left shoulder as her ears pricked at the sound of movement.

A foot brushing against a cold tiled floor, an arm moving in the fabric of a uniform- and suddenly, an eye popped out before them.

Jess jumped, suddenly face to face with an eye glancing through the peephole and behind her, Jack let out a girlish scream, something he managed to muffle by stuffing his fist into his mouth.
“Survivors? There are none here” a creaky voice whispered, louder than the sound of the frat fire-fighters laughing in the corner. A shiver sunk down Jess’s spine as she took a step forward, looking slightly more confident than she felt and held the gun a little closer, catching the eye in the peephole. Surrounding the piercing green gaze was an array of wrinkles, dragging the skin down like a weight, and if she squinted, Jess could spot the prick of a scar beginning just beside the eyelid.

“Patients, Ma’am. I am a police officer, I have the right to break down this door and evacuate the building if you fail to co-operate” she murmured warningly, staring directly into the aged eye that was watching her curiously and suddenly, the peephole slammed shut. As Jess turned back to Jack, just about ready to ask him and the frat to use their bodies to break the door down, the sound of clanking bolts and rusty locks filling the humid air surrounding them. And as the door opened, she couldn’t help but let her jaw slack slightly at the sight.

A young woman stood in front of her, half of her face smooth and pristine, almost as though she were made out of plastic. But the other half was covered in shiny red burns and scratches, like someone had been clawing at her face in their free time, trying to rid the skin from the skeleton. And hauntingly, she was dressed in the same clean white uniform that every doctor who had carried a child away from their parents wore as they visited her neighbourhood. It was almost as though twenty five years hadn’t passed since she watched her little next door neighbour be carted away.

Catching herself staring as though she were a child, Jess coughed and pulled herself up to full height, watching as the doctor stepped aside to let her into the East Wing. When Jack made to follow, she held out her hand and stopped him, and as Jess glanced down at the little woman, she noticed that her arm bore the same resemblance to her face; burned and scratched.
“Not him. Just you” her words were quick and simple sentences, drawn out in short sharp bursts of noise that barely ever rose above a whisper. Smiling softly, Jess nodded towards Jack and watched him walk off into the distance before the dusty door slammed closed in front of her, the small nurse turning on her like a pack of hungry wolves.

It was only when the petite woman noticed the black weapon in her hands did the sadist gaze droop slightly and she beckoned the officer towards the long corridor.
“Here. Five men. Each are dangerous. Each are deadly. Go at your own risk” the nurse whispered to her, the crackled voice snaking into her ears and making her heart sink slightly in its position in her ribs. The nurse’s hands unfastened something from around her neck and placed it into Jess’s sweaty palm, a rusted golden key lying in her hand.

“Hey lady, which guy should I…?” Jess began to say as she swirled on her precarious heel, just to find that the doctor had disappeared. There was no sound of soft shoes squeaking against the polished floor, there was no gentle breathing of another human being in the room. It was almost as though the scarred woman she had seen open up the door for her had never been here at all. A shiver ran down her spine at just the thought and with a mental slap to her cheek, she began to walk down the long corridor. Everything was white- cleaned so heavily that every time she took a mis-calculated step, her heel would slip just a little to send a wave of panic rushing through her.

Across the corridor sat five doors- all of them mounted with a little wooden plaque bearing the name of the current occupant. Unlike the rooms she had seen before, usually in the West Wing, here the names had stayed the same since their beginning. There were no scratching out of names, or remnants of sticky tape to try and place a new name ontop. Engraved in gold was the name of each patient sat in their own little room, barricaded and trapped from the rest of the world. Clutching the cool key in her palm a little tighter, she paused in front of the first door and swallowed, glancing at the plaque.

MATTHEW CHARLES SANDERS

Suddenly, the corridor filled with the sound of laughter. Child’s laughter. Boyish, piercing, high pitched shrieks of hilarity that were so poisonous to the ear that they sounded almost maniacal to her. The sound itself made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end as her hands began to shake slightly and with a little encouragement, she pressed the key into the lock and twisted it.

Swallowing a lump in the back of her throat as it clicked happily and unlocked, Jess crossed herself for good luck and opened up the large white door to let herself inside, her mind still turning with fearful but curious questions. Where had that laughter come from, was there a child trapped inside of here?
But her queries were answered almost as soon as she laid eyes on the first patient in the East Wing, Matthew Sanders his plaque had named him as.

For he was sat, with his legs crossed over each other and facing the blank door, laughing like a four year old boy.