8
Tucson, Arizona, USA. May 19, 9.17am
Joseph Everett walked into St Bartholomew’s private psychiatric hospital where his twin brother, Michael, had lived for the past fifteen years. He came to the hospital at least every two days when he was not away on business, and sometimes twice a day if Michael was in a bad way.
The hospital was a pleasant sterile façade laid over a maelstrom of human misery. Jolly wall paintings belied the mental pain behind every door. The warden at the front desk acknowledged him but said nothing as he passed. Staff here knew of his frequent visits.
Joseph left his keys and other sharp objects at the security gate and proceeded through the main corridors to the day room, pushing open the double doors. He was grimly content as he considered the plan he had put
