Episode Eleven— Ward G
980 Words
Edgepoint Asylum sat at the edge of nowhere.
Built in 1912 and barely modernized, it looked like something out of a black-and-white horror reel: ivy-choked brick, narrow windows, doors that creaked when no one touched them. Officially, it was now a “residential psychiatric facility,” but the bones hadn’t changed. Just the label.
Elias signed in at the front desk under the name “A. Collins.” No one questioned it. Places like this didn’t ask questions when someone looked like they knew what they were doing.
The nurse led him through two locked doors, down a hall that reeked of antiseptic and damp tile. Her keys jingled with every step. He kept his hands in his coat pockets and didn’t look at the faces in the rooms they passed.
When they reached Ward G, the nurse stopped at the final door on the right.
“He’s lucid today,” she said. “But it comes and goes.”
“He?”
She nodded. “Male, late forties. Real polite, real quiet. But you’ll see.”
Elias frowned. “I was told the patient was C.L. — but no one would give me the full name.”
“They wouldn’t,” she said. “And I won’t either. But he calls himself Colt. Don’t ask if that’s first or last. He won’t tell you.”
She slid her key into the door. “Ten minutes. Knock twice when you’re done.”
Elias stepped inside.
The door shut behind him.
The man sat at the window.
Back straight. Hands folded. Wearing a simple gray hospital shirt and loose drawstring pants. His hair was short, streaked with white. His posture—almost military. But the first thing Elias noticed was the stillness.
Not the medicated kind.
The trained kind.
The man didn’t turn when Elias entered. Just kept watching the rain run down the barred glass.
After a long moment, Elias said, “Colt?”
The man smiled without moving. “That’s what they call me.”
“You asked to see me.”
“No,” the man said, finally turning. His eyes were startlingly clear. “You asked to remember.”
Elias sat across from him. There was no table between them — just a span of floor and the weight of too many years.
“Who are you?” Elias asked.
The man tilted his head slightly. “Isn’t that the question you’ve been running from since you were twelve?”
Silence.
“You were in Weller,” Elias said.
“I was Weller,” the man replied. “Before it had a name. Before they figured out how to keep the experiments out of the newspapers.”
“You were a subject?”
“I was a prototype.”
Elias’s pulse ticked higher.
“They didn’t call it Echo back then,” Colt continued. “They called it Mirror Conditioning. Idea was simple: Take a child, isolate them from natural emotional development, then slowly introduce artificial relationships. Reinforce the ones that caused compliance. Remove the ones that didn’t.”
“Until the child mirrored only what they were taught.”
Colt nodded. “Exactly.”
Elias leaned forward slightly. “What does this have to do with me?”
Colt’s expression darkened.
“You were the final phase.”
Colt stood suddenly, walked slowly to the far wall, and tapped the plaster.
“They always paint over the cracks,” he said. “But it doesn’t change what’s underneath.”
Elias stayed seated. “I need you to be direct. Why was Heather Voss killed? Why did they leave her staged like Amelia?”
Colt turned back to him.
“Because Heather tried to shut it down.”
“She worked at Red Oak.”
“She leaked the test data,” Colt said. “Not all of it — just enough to trigger oversight. But that didn’t kill the project. It just pushed it deeper.”
“And Amelia?”
Colt was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Your sister was one of the only true exceptions the program had ever seen. She resisted. Even after everything. They couldn’t figure out why. So they changed her treatment.”
Elias’s throat felt tight. “What kind of change?”
“Relational fracture,” Colt said. “They told her you’d died.”
Elias blinked.
“What?”
“They faked your death. You were sent to another facility. She was told you were gone. No explanation. They wanted to see what kind of emotional collapse would follow.”
Elias felt cold all over. Like he was sinking back into a body he’d locked away.
“I don’t remember that,” he whispered.
“They wiped it,” Colt said. “Fragmented your recall. It’s why certain things don’t line up. You’re remembering from behind a curtain.”
“And what was the outcome?”
“She didn’t break,” Colt said. “She changed.”
The knock came before Elias could ask more.
He stood, heart pounding.
“Wait,” Colt said suddenly. “You need to know something else.”
Elias paused.
“There’s another like you,” Colt said. “Another Echo. Only… he didn’t fracture. He didn’t grieve. He absorbed.”
“What’s his name?”
Colt smiled.
“You already met him.”
The door opened behind Elias.
But Colt said one more thing before he left:
“Watch for the mirror.”
Outside, Elias walked through the parking lot in a fog, breath fogging in the night air.
Ava was waiting by his car.
“You alright?” she asked.
He looked at her. “No.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Everything.”
Ava studied his face. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m remembering,” Elias said. “And I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
- Writer
