CHAPTER 2: THE CRAZY CHICK AND THE POET
The sheet of paper that had slipped beneath my door had probably fell from a nurse's folder... because it was a registration to the Winchester Psychiatric Hospital. It read as following:
WINCHESTER PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL
Name: Daniel Log
Nickname: Danny The Slayer
Age: 25
Date of Birth: December 12, 1986
Place of Birth: Manila, Philippines
Condition: Serial Killer
Victims: 27
Doctor: Dr. William Prune
Activities: Cultural Center--> Writing. Gymnasium--> Rope.
Medication: None. If necessary, sedatives.
Room: 215
...215... But my room is 214... Does that mean all that ruckus a few moments ago was... him?!
No. No. No. No. NO! This can't be! Oh, please, please let this be just another nightmare!
I closed my eyes and pinched my arm. Sadly, when I opened them, I was still standing in front of the door holding the paper. So, this was real... My neighbor was a serial killer. Even I had heard of the crimes committed by Danny The Slayer. He had killed many editors from very popular magazines. And now I was going to have to live next to him!
I started to panic. My knees trembled and my breathing was uneven. Dark spots were threatening to cloud my vision. I was sweating. Again.
I reached for the wall to get support. With my back pressed against it, I slid down onto the floor. I hugged my knees close to my chest and hid my face in them. I started thinking.
Well, my life is crap. It can't get any worse. But having to be face-to-face with a killer is a little too much for me. It was a fact that I was going to see him in the Cultural Center, since Sculpting was right beside Writing. Thank God my physical activity was on the courtyard, roller skating.
There was always the choice of ditching, but I really like to play with clay. It distracts me from all the problems I have to deal with. Besides, I always get very energetic after breakfast. I can't sit still, meaning I have to attend.
Damn! There is no way out!
I groaned in defeat and stood up. After crumpling the paper and throwing it aside, I resolved to take a shower and got in the bathroom. I undressed and let the water run. I closed my eyes and stepped into the water. It was cold.
To figure out why, I opened my eyes to find tiny snow fairies raining down the faucet. They were smiling and wherever they landed, they melted into little puddles of water. It was a really pretty sight.
Suddenly, I heard a voice. It was velvety but faint, like it was coming from far away.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,"
I closed my eyes and focused on it. I needed to find out where it came from.
"Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,"
It was the voice of a man... I kept on listening intently.
"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,"
After hearing that last sentence, I figured out it was a poem. Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" to be exact.
My curiosity grew at the thought of finding a man who could recite like that... I have to find that person.
"As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."
I inched closer to my right, the direction where the voice was coming from, just to hit my head against the wall. "Oww!" I cried.
Hmmm... The voice was coming from the other side of the wall. I studied it and, to my surprise, found a shallow hole at about the height of my navel. I ran out of the shower - snow fairies still pouring and I still naked - and grabbed my toothbrush from the sink. Rushing back inside, I started to fiercely poke the hole with the handle of the toothbrush.
Poke.
Poke.
"'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door -"
Poke.
Poke.
Several pokes later, I peeked inside the hole. Oh, my God! It worked! Through it, I can see the other room!
Now now, honey. You know it isn't polite to spy on people. Haven't I taught you better?
Oh, Vox! You scared the fudge out of me!
I apologize. But... are you sure you really want to look inside room 215?
I could feel the color draining from my face. "R-r-room 2...15?" I stuttered out loud.
"Only this, and nothing more."
Yes, Jackie. That is room two-hundred fifteen, where a serial killer now lives.
Out of raw frustration, I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
How could a killer be such a good poet?!
And, how could a that killer recite so well my favorite poem?!
I mentally sighed but groaned out loud. Boy, was I getting into deep shit when I did what I was planning to do...
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in-"
"Uhh... H-hello?" I cut him off, speaking through the hole.
Jackie! What the hell are you doing?! Stop it! Nothing good will come out of this, you moron!
Sadly, I got no answer.
I'm so sorry, Vox. I wasn't thinking when I-
"Hello," said the marvelous poet with the bad reputation.
YOU ARE READING
The Madman (ON HOLD)
Romance21-year-old Jackie Sullivan is diagnosed with Schizophrenia from a young age. But that has never been a problem until she reaches 16: the dating age. Then, an incident she refuses to talk about sends her to the Winchester Psychiatric Hospital. Peop...
