She had been faced with many strange things before, but none of them looked as horrifyingly realistic as the man in front of her. Barrels of polished guns had been prodded against her chest, bombs trapped in buildings threatened to explode in her face. Yet none of them were trapped in the solitude of the East Wing, and none of them looked as maniacal as James Sullivan.

Hands quivering as she pulled her only weapon up to aim, she stared the blue eyed monster straight down. There was something about him that didn’t seem at all fazed by an authoritive presence in the room- in fact he seemed to be enjoying the showdown, almost as though it were just a façade.
“Put. The glass. Down” she muttered, finger brushing against the curved plastic of the trigger. One slip of the wrist and this physco would be on the floor screaming for mercy.

The kind of power that she held in one bit of plastic and a smidge of metal was unthinkable- she had a stance that not even the glass he held could omit. His breathing was the only sound the filled the room, quick bursts of breath as though the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs with each word that left her lips. But he didn’t do anything. Instead, he held the glass like it was a baby or a security blanket of some sort that he couldn’t bare to let go.

That little glass vase appeared to be his whole world, but judging by the foul stench of blood that filled the air surrounding the pair of them, the other members of his world were smashed to nothing. Droplets of broken glass scattered across the room, creating an elaborate obstacle course for its only living inhabitants.

“Don’t make me ask you again, Mr Sullivan. Put the glass down” she growled again, quickly losing her patience with this fickle attempt of a man. He seemed to enjoy pressing her buttons, to see which ones would make her lose control and which ones would drive her insane. It was as though his joy came from manipulating others, watching as they suffered instead of him. Staring her down, eyes swirling with a sudden emotion that she couldn’t quite pin point, James gripped the vase in his hand even tighter.

And suddenly, with a roar that mimicked the one that had brought her to this maniac in the first place, he let go. The glass vase flew across the room and smashed on the adjacent wall to where Jess had been stood. For the most part, she was slightly relieved that he hadn’t thrown it at her- but he’d still thrown it. That meant something was going on- something inside of him was propelling him to break things until he felt better. Breathing still heavy, his bloodied hands fell limply to his sides and he took one step forward, glass crunching beneath his feet. Jess’s aim didn’t move, she simply stayed where she was positioned, waiting until the damage had surely passed.

“C-Could you put the gun down? I’m not going to jump you…” he murmured, and at the newfound sincerity in his voice, she slowly lowered the weapon down to a standing position, slipping it into her pocket. It was on plain view for him to see, and if he tried any funny business, he knew that one of the polished silver bullets would be lodged in his arm before he could tell her to stop. Jess had a better aim than the majority of the officers she worked with- James should have known that better than anyone else.

The room was strangely quiet now that he’d finished beating up the inanimate objects of the room, and as she glanced around, she could the extent of his anger. The plaster that made up the wallpaper had been ripped almost to shreds, hanging lifelessly from the wall. Beneath it lay a disgusting wash of yellow and green paint, something that looked more like it would suit her grandmother’s home than a hospital for the mentally ill.
But then again- how did anger count as mentally ill? Everyone had repressed anger issues, what made James so different from everyone else?

Jess took a few steps forward until she was within touching distance of the tall man and held out her hand, ready to lead him across the floor. His feet were bare and covered in scratches, clumps of dirt covering various patches of his sole. It was almost as though he hadn’t had a chance to wash in all the time that he’d been here. Shakily, he took it and let the smaller woman lead him over to the middle of the floor, the only patch that hadn’t been covered in the remnants of his temper tantrums. Her hand was soft beneath the rough fabric of a glove, her fingers warm and inviting. It was as though the woman he’d dreamed about had waltzed into the room and nearly shot him down.

“Sit” she ordered softly and obediently, he slumped down to the floor, folding one leg over the other and acting like a child in a classroom, waiting to hear what she would have to say next.
“My name is Officer Berry; I’m here to find out about the fire in the West Wing. Your buddy on the other side wasn’t very helpful, so I hoped you’d be able to co-operate. Do you know anything about it?”
“No Ma’am” he replied, without looking up from the floor.

His piercing eyes were gazing down on a shard of glass that had stranded itself in front of his foot. Every time she moved around, the light would catch it at a different angle, sending a spiral of colours onto the wall beside him. It was entrancing, just how these tiny things could capture his attention and it was always the larger objects that made him angry. He couldn’t quite explain it, the real feeling of anger. It was like a volcano, he supposed. One minute, it would be simmering quietly away, in a controlled area.

And suddenly, it would rumble and shake until it was impossible to keep it in one place and he, like any active structure, would explode. Just like the lava that surged through towns and cities, his anger would destroy everything in his warpath until nothing was left but the debris of his actions. It was this fact that he reminded himself of whenever he questioned why they had placed him on the East Wing, away from the rest of civilisation. He had never been allowed out of his room- but if the Officer was correct, there were others here. Others who could be just as fucked up as him.

She knelt down suddenly, crouching so their eyes were at exactly the same line of sight and stared at him, trying to work out what it was that swirled around his crystallised orbs. He wasn’t like Matthew, nor was he like the nurse that had lead her into this strange corridor. Not only did he have the capability to form words into basic sentences, but so far- he hadn’t been as easy to decode as the others. Matthew had been a child from the moment she stepped inside, but the way she had seemed to control James through her authority made her question his real motive for being here.

“What happened to you? Why are you here…you’re not crazy, are you?” she whispered softly, lifting up her hand to brush against his cheek. His skin was cold and rough, the bristles of unshaven hair on his chin prickling against her palm. He didn’t say a word for a moment, just revelled in the feeling of being touched so tenderly once again. None of the nurses would ever do that- if they touched you in any way, you’d be thankful. The only time he could ever remember being touched so gently was by his mother as a child.

She would kiss his forehead goodnight; tell him that the world was waiting for him to make his big entrance, as though he were the star. His mother had cried the day that they took him away, screaming for the robots in white uniforms to bring her baby back; he hadn’t done anything wrong.

She had no idea that he had done so much already

“Don’t…” he murmured, brushing her palm away and letting his eyes drop to the floor once more, ignoring the expression of sadness and fear that flashed across Jess’s dark irises. Before she could ask him another question though, he had already knotted his hands together to keep them still and opened his mouth. If there was one person who would be able to hear him out without fear of judgement, it was an enforcer of the law. Would there be any way that she could get him out of this hell hole- to set him free once again?

“I was slow. As a kid, I didn’t learn things like all the others, at least not as quickly. Hell, I was fourteen when I learned how to tie my shoelaces for the first time. But you know kids…they’re like wild animals. As soon as they smell the blood, they launch on you and rip you limb from limb, swallowing your flesh until you’re a rotting carcass on the ground- nothing but crusty bones and unwanted organs. Every single day, I’d be pushed into lockers, tripped up in the hallway and laughed at for doings things differently. Even now- it’s as though no one can stand the idea of differentiation, so they fight it until the fighters for the other side are dead and gone” he muttered, picking at a hem on the bottom of the pants he was wearing.

They too were covered in clumps of dirt- it was wonder he hadn’t collapsed from the unhygienic conditions he’d found himself living in. Jess’s hands ran across the weapon stuck in its holster, knowing that the reminiscing could bring back the violent man she had just confronted.

“It happened until I was sixteen- I’d had enough. I drew up plans, I sketched ideas, I even let them think that they were winning by not retaliating. On the night of October 31st, I kidnapped the leaders of the pack. The alpha lions. In the basement of a Laundromat, I began to harvest the organs of one while the other watched. I still remembering his heart pumping weakly in my palm when I ripped it out of his chest” he murmured, a sadistic smile coating his boyish face as he was transported back to his horrific murder of the poor boy. It was always the quiet ones, they said. They were the ones that caused the most havoc when they grew out of their shell.

“It tasted so sweet too” Jimmy chuckled as though it were a joke. Jess’s eyes widened slightly as she shuffled backwards, unsure of what to do next. This man, this maniac had not only murdered and tortured a teenage boy, but he’d eaten his heart. She couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t often that she sat in the same room as someone so vile, but there was a first time for everything.
“But one got away- and now I must find him. You- Officer Berry- you can help me” he roared as the anger seeped through, leaping up from the floor suddenly and tackling her to the floor. Pinning her down, he laughed manically, watching with glee as she tried to struggle out of his grip.

“Yes you will help me, Officer. You will find that boy and bring him to me and then we can feast on his heart together. No one ever has to know Officer- he must be dead! I must have my vengeance on those who ridiculed me!” he shrieked, and though every fibre of her being told her not to, Jess knew exactly what she had to do next. Part of her wanted to calm this maniac down and find out more- but she had heard enough by now to know that he would be no help to her whatsoever.

Shifting her legs around, she lifted up her elbow through the weaker spot of Jimmy’s leg and brought it to his crotch. He groaned loudly, crashing down to the floor in pain as she slipped out from beneath him. Standing up and brushing the glass out of her hair, she grabbed the gun from her pocket and aimed it directly at him. But the weapon wasn’t going to stop that look in his eye- a look that by now, Jess could identify better than the lines on her own hand.

Revenge.

One bloodied hand reached out from the glass it was lain in, shards sticking precariously into the skin and offering up another weapon, grabbed her leg. Much like Matthew, his grip was death like. Her eyes slipped closed as another bead of sweat dripped down her forehead and as her hands shook, she aimed the barrel at the curve of his shoulder and pulled the trigger. An echoed bang ricocheted through the room and the scream that left Jimmy’s mouth was far from male. High pitched, his fingers let her leg go and with a gasp of horror, Jess ran. Her legs weren’t even attached to her body now, she was just moving at her own accord.

By the time she was out of the room, the door had been slammed shut and bolted behind her, trapping the freak behind the door. It was only when the salty taste of tears hit her tongue did she realise that she was sobbing as she tried to calm down. Never before had she shot someone. There had been moments when she’d been close, or had aimed directly at them in a false threat- but the angry monster Jimmy Sullivan was the first civilian she had placed a bullet inside of. Suddenly, the sound of a bang rang through the hallway and she froze, glancing at the door beside her.

It sounded like a body was being thrown up against the door, trying to force its way out.

“You can run but you can’t hide, Officer!” Jimmy’s screeching laughter filled the corridor as though it had been contorted through a loudspeaker, rushing into her ears and drowning her brain. Her gun aimed at the white door that was being pushed against so forcefully, Jess allowed herself to take a few steps backwards in the opposite direction of the first two rooms. Something was scaring her about these people, this place. Was everyone on the East Wing so messed up and delirious?

The cool metal of another door collided with her hot skin as she realised that there was no other way to turn. It was like she was trapped in a horror movie, or a nightmare. Where on earth had these people come from? Sighing, she unhooked the key from around her neck and slotted it into the lock, opening up the white door. The worst, she had expected. But this man was going to be far from the worst.

Calmly stood in the middle of the room was a dark haired man, with hair quiffed neatly on top of his head. He wore the same hospital uniform that the others had dressed in, and when he turned around, she could see that his hands were tied together. Up and down his arm were a series of scratches and marks, like he’d been beaten. Or he’d been beating himself. Across the room, their eyes connected and without even having to look back at the plaque- Jess knew who this poor man was.

Zacky Baker.

The boy who she had watched being taken away by the members of The Hospital, was stood in front of her, left eye twitching nervously.