+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This is it. Rap. Rap. Rap. Her fingers drum on the steering wheel. The day has finally arrived. The building sprawls out perpetual on these grounds. It looms dark and imposing in the distance, drawing her in. She takes a moment to gather the files still spread open wide on the passenger seat. Studying up to the last minute like these vivid details haven't permeated her life. Emerson draws in the crisp air and looks at her reflection. Now or never.
+
So this is it. Tap. Tap. Tap. His foot beats impatient on the floor. Successfully declining interviews for months, this is no longer a choice. It's a chance. In part and amongst other things, he came here to avoid the prying people. But he's come to the conclusion that the doctor's practices are anything but therapeutic. The dust under his cot gathers, the outside world still turns, all while the thing in his mind is waiting to inflict irreparable damage.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Click.
(tape whirls)
Emerson: December 3rd, 1999. Hollow Hills Sanitarium. Marsh Session one. Ms. Emerson speaking, in attendance with Dr. Brodbeck and Mr. Marsh.
Can you please state your name and date of birth for the records.
Marsh: Why, don't you know all that?
Dr. Brodbeck: Formalities. Acknowledgement of your lucid state and compliance. Sit up boy, state your name.
Marsh: Ooooh kay then, I'm Rick—
Dr. Brodbeck: Full. Name. Mr. Marsh.
Emerson: Like he said, it's just adhering to the formalities. Go on.
Marsh: My name is Darden. It's Darden Patrick Marsh. Around here, they always call me Rick. Or Patrick. Or—
Dr. Brodbeck: That's irrelevant!
Marsh: But sometimes ol' Len calls me Dardie!
Dr. Brodbeck: Enough Mr. Marsh. The staff most certainly do not dole out ridiculous nicknames and he's only called Patrick by his devout mother, ironic isn't it? Imagine him a saint—
Emerson: Thank you, Mr. Brodbeck. And your date of birth?
Dr. Brodbeck: That's Doct—
Marsh: December, 3, 1980.
Marsh: Do you need it down to the minute or?
Emerson: Brodbeck? Is that correct?
Dr. Brodbeck: Yes. I suppose it is.
Marsh: I don't think I'll be getting a surprise party, Ms. Emerson. You can talk aloud.
Emerson: Well then. Let's move on. Besides, who actually likes surprises?
Dr. Brodbeck: ...Yes, moving on. Mr. Marsh has agreed on meeting you today, conditionally of course.
Emerson: And your agreement was already signed.
Dr. Brodbeck: Ms. Emerson. You may only ask the approved questions from this dossier. And when I say there is no immediate danger here, I mean for the both of you.
Emerson: So, your point is?
Dr. Brodbeck: I would think even a journalist or whatever you're calling yourself, would comprehend that we will also be recording all audio and visual. He just won't talk in my presence. No matter how flawed his reasoning. See? I'm doing you a favor—
Emerson: Thank you for consenting to Mr. Marsh's terms. I'm beginning to agree that it's best for everyone that you go.
Dr. Brodbeck: I'll take my leave then, Ms. Emerson. You might have an in with the administration, of which I suspect will be fleeting. I suggest you use your time wisely.
Emerson: Humor me and close the door on your way out.
Dr. Brodbeck: I—Mr. Marsh, I trust you don't need reminding the rules we keep?
Marsh: I'm well aware. You can go. Now.
Dr. Brodbeck: You have 60 minutes.
...
Click.
Now that he is gone, can we start over? I've stopped the tape for a moment so and we can begin like we should have.
Is that alright, Marsh? What...are you looking at?
It—it's nothing. Go ahead.
...
Click.
(tape whirls)
Emerson: December 3rd, 1999.
This is Ms. Keene Emerson, session one with Darden Patrick Marsh on his birthday no less, is that right?
Marsh: Yes it is, Ms. Emerson.
Emerson: Well, do you have any birthday wishes?
Marsh: Y-You know it won't come true if tell you.
Emerson: What if I guess it?
Marsh: I'll only agree to that because you couldn't possibly—
Emerson: Three guesses then, for good measure. All's fair?
Marsh: Okay, lay it on me. Whatcha got?
Emerson: Hmm, you surely want something grandiose like...world peace?
Marsh: I thought we established that I wasn't a saint. No—that's too big a wish.
Emerson: Then...you want taco Tuesdays to come back to the cafeteria?
Marsh: Wha—how? Yeah duh, the tacos. But come on. That's too small.
Emerson: Of course. You want something else. Something...you've wanted since you were six?
Marsh: Since when? What the h—
Emerson: You want to get rid of it. Finally.
Marsh: Get rid of w-what?
Emerson: What you see behind me.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
YOU ARE READING
Lies Based on A True Story
HorrorLet it sink in. It's 1999. Marsh has a loathsome view. He's placed himself in one hell of a situation that was just, classic him. In walks a seemingly deceptive journalist to hear his story. What ensues after their first meeting was incomprehensible...
