The Boy from the Past

Chapter 1 - Present day

02/03/14

I was walking down the corridor of the mental health institution of St. Jeremy Cord hospital. The steady sound of my heels thumping on the clean floor was echoing all over the hall. It was lunch hour, and all the patients were conducted to the mess hall. A nurse walking by me nods a ‘good morning’ to me. I stand across the mess-room door, everything looked in order, the row of patients in light blue uniforms were lined up to get their tray filled by the janitor, some patients were scrunching their noses at the pea soup that was being served at them but apart from the usual chaos, everything was in the norm. The corridor was empty at that hour of the day and after my usual check-up for all the patients of sector C was done, it was lunchtime for doctors as well, so I retreated to my office, I usually did my lunch by myself, alone, instead of the cafeteria downstairs reserved for the staff. I push the door to my office and entered the small room, it was better this way, I think. Wholeheartedly I admit I didn’t enjoy much company, at least not the ones of my colleagues, there was always some new crazy story going on, that would get passed from patients to nurses to doctors, there was this saying, lightheartedly said, that if you stay too much with crazy people you might get crazy, the truth was that we, the doctors, in order to maintain the line on sanity intact were the wrong influence, at least in my opinion but I just wanted to be on my own, for as melancholic as it may sound. That was one of the reasons I settled down with my small office room, but this place was better than the institute I worked before, an old asylum settled remotely on the brim of the city, the place was old decades and smelled like rotten mould everywhere with its anachronistic structure and outworn furnishings, sure I liked to be on my own, however, that god forgotten place got too much on my nerves and it reminded me too much of Winsford with its all gloomy weather and woods. At the beginning of this year, I was postponed to London, on my current position, least to say I was excited about the transfer, I was back in civilization. I worked on the opposite left side of the hospital, which was majorly occupied by patients’ rooms. My main occupation was to take care of the patients of Sector C, exactly where my office was located.  The wall was adorned with some delicate floral paintings, not mine, they belonged to the previous owner, and I just decided to leave them on the wall, the flowers were a good background for my work, my volumes of psychiatry resting on the bookshelf across the room, a clipboard behind the desk, which was full of notes and papers, articles, all the stuff I pinned there. I didn't personalize much apart from the curtains of the window, because I came here the windows were curtain-less and the thing bothered me. The window gave me a straight view of the garden behind the hospital, it was an open place for patients, many of them volunteered to work there, the garden was my favourites place actually, it was a rather odd combination with the sterile-looking hospital with its colourful flowers and dark green bushes, some of the old, now spoiled, flowers which resting in the vase settled on the small tea table near the window, came from the garden, another gift from the previous owner. I look sceptically at the flowers, maybe I’ll bring a fresh bunch tomorrow, I take my post-it notes and write ‘buy new flowers’ and stick it on the vase. There you go, I take off my white coat and sink on my chair, pulling back a few strands in my ponytail. I sip my coffee, it was lukewarm, I move aside all the stray papers and shove them in my register and grab the grey bag that contained my cheese sandwich. Another note to clean up the desk and reorder my register. Too many files were towering over another. After I munch up the last bits of my sandwich, I busy myself with reordering the new files and parting away from the old ones. All those who are deemed crazy become a part of this hospital, I think, as I register the latest entries, however “crazy” was an understatement, the human brain was a mystery, and it was fascinating how much one can do once the sanity leaves the person. I wonder if I’ll become crazy too eventually or I maybe already am... The phone rings distracting me from my work and thoughts.

I pick up the cord expecting to hear Sibylla’s voice, the second in charge of sector C and my co-worker. ‘Sara Sword here,’ I answer.

‘Good afternoon, Doctor Sword’ spoke a gruff voice.

'Afternoon, Detective. I was half expecting your call.' I say,

Detective inspector Harold was from the criminal department.  I was commonly called at the headquarters for minor inspections or interrogation. I was specializing in criminology and apart from my work at the hospital, I spent a lot of time at the police department too. Detective Harold was the first one who recruited me for one of his cases, and because we went along very well, he kept in contact with me. If he was calling it meant work. A low sigh and a hush of movements come from the other side. 'Is that so. Well, I'm glad, because I have important work for you. This one is serious, Sword. '

'All cases are a serious case, detective.'

‘I know, but this is one more,’ he says, I take up my notes and ask, ‘Shall I come to the headquarter?’

'Yes, please. In an hour, in my office' his voice is tired and furtive as usual.

'Yes, I'll be there on time.’

'Alright then,' and the call goes dead. That was the way of Detective, he didn’t waste time on frivolous things, always brief and real. I take up some more to get my papers ready and then I head out. While heading out of my office I find Sybille talking to a nurse.

‘I am heading to the headquarter, Detective called me, will you take care of everything here?’

‘Of course, go on.' She replies. I nod at her and walk out of the building. Outside is raining. Fat drops of water crushing on the ground. I look with disdain at the weather, it’s going to be a cold day. I open my umbrella heading toward my car, with one hand holding the umbrella and the other I reach for the keys in my bag. Once I'm in, I start the engine and lead out of the hospital parking. The traffic is jammed due to excessive rain. In London the weather could not be any better, I think bitterly. 

Mom would for sure go into hysteria with this weather. But she is fine confined in her small village. To her, it was far more peaceful rather than this big chaos of the city. With some miracle the traffic gets free and within an hour I'm in front of the headquarters. I was afraid I’ll get late; Harrold doesn’t like to wait; I went straight into his office. He's busy in a conversation with one of his partners, they are having a hushed conversation with their head bent low on a file, they are probably talking about something confidential. So, I wait patiently aside looking around the familiar corridor, it as stern as the hospital but livelier, if such a description suits a police station. I sit one of the sits attached to the wall and glance at Harold, he was a mid-aged man, I never asked about his age, because that would be unpolite, but I assume it will be around 40-45, he had a tall stance with salt spayed hair; in our one year of working together I knew very little about him, that was because he was always formal and conservative, even though we were half friends or at least that’s what I thought,  I never budged him to talk about his personal life, and he never asked about mine, which worked perfectly for both. The other officer finally bids him goodbye. Harrold comes toward me, ‘Sorry for making you wait, please come in,’ he gestures toward his office.  'Good that you're on time Sword.'

I sit on one of the consumed chairs in front of his desk, ‘It’s raining, I was afraid I’ll have to wait an eternity in the traffic,’ I look at him with a faint smile, ‘But I made it.’

'So, what's the case you called me for?' I ask putting my bag down.  

Harrold puts up the electronic kettle, preparing coffee. He brings one paper glass filled with hot coffee, ‘thank you,’   and puts the other glass in front of him. I wait for him to speak. He sips his coffee and grabs a file from the desk drawer, 'Murder case, 8 years jail, psychotic, intense mental therapy, you'll like him.'

I smile at his comment. 'It's not about liking, it's about understanding.'

'Well, I hope you'll understand him, then,' he smirks at me. Typical him. I was not much fond of his jokes but somehow manage to smile.

'Today we are discharging him. He got an early bail by his lawyer for good behaviour. We need a professional opinion if he is mentally stable, although we have the report from his doctor at the jail...' he looked absorbed in deep thoughts. 'Everything seems fine,' he ends with a sigh. I'm a little perplexed by his words. 'If there is already an official report, why do you need me?' I ask him concerned. 'I wanted a report from you too, I want to take all my precautions,' he sips his coffee again.

‘Is there something to be worried about?’

‘No, you don’t have to worry about anything, it’s I don’t trust psycho killers,’

I nod at him, ‘that’s understandable.’

I open my bag, ‘I can make him do a psychometric test’

‘that’s been already done, all the legal procedure has been done, your consultation is just for my concern.’

I lean back on my seat and study his face; his words are kind of puzzling. But that's how usually things are with Harold, he kept his professional secrets for himself, and I was never curious about his stuff, it probably had something to do with his detective stuff. But overall, it wasn’t something impossible he was asking, everyone had doubts.  'Alright, I'll do my best,’ trying my best confident voice, I had no reason to worry, just as Harrold said. He slides the file in front of me, so I can get a clear view, 'everything is in the normal procedure, Sword, nothing unusual.

I sigh and take the file. Harold gets up, and rummage in his mess of files behind me.

So now I'm with my work, that's where am more comfortable at it eases my tension, kind of contradictory, since my work was full of stress. I take a sip of my coffee and get the paper lay in front of me to get a look at what I was getting into. As I start reading the names, dates, places… blood drains out of my face.

‘Harrold?’ I look behind, but he has left.

Destiny had a funny way to play its dirty joke on me, nothing could have me prepared for the horrendous surprise that was waiting for me. The name, the dates, the details, all got over my head and I felt it swirl around my head. Twice before I could get back to my senses, I felt a horrible, nauseous, familiar déjà-vu and it was happening all over again, and I knew deep down that this was the beginning of something tremendous.