Office of Dr. Arthur Kirkland, M.D.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as the patient stared at him, transfixed, almost hypnotized by something only visible to his eyes. Arthur could only wonder what it was the man was seeing. Another dark fantasy? More blood and gore and God knows what else? It was unsettling and bizarre and Arthur’s heart beat faster to be the focus of that stare. He gazed back, sinister thoughts entering his own mind. A mixture of anticipation and apprehension and longing…. Longing see the man before him struggling, screaming…

He shook his head, breaking that train of thought. Something was wrong with him. He looked at his watch, comparing it to the wall clock with a glance. It had stopped, its alarm failing to go off and alert him when it was time for his medicine. That explained a lot. More time had passed than he though… He would have to take it as soon as this appointment was over.

In this brief span of time he had been distracted, Francis had begun to reach out for him. Arthur was taken aback to see the hand mere inches from him, that psychotic expression still painted on the Frenchman’s face. He swung out, slapping it away on reflex. “Just what is it you think you are doing?” He was angered again. Angry at the patient for invading his personal space and angry at himself for getting sidetracked, however brief it may have been. The look of madness in him… the insanity in his eyes. It came on so quickly, Arthur was hardly prepared for it. In a moment of instinct, he slapped the patient across the face in an attempt to bring him back to sanity.

“Snap out of it, Francis!”

He fell back, a hand flying to his cheek as a choked laugh wrung itself from between his lips. The blood dripped down the man's face, thick and hot; it was mesmerizing. "You look so beautiful in red." The thought slips out, strangled and barely coherent. He's not aware of the man's irritation, nor his dark thoughts. All that matters is that he is beautiful, and he wants him.

So he lunges, aiming to knock them both to the floor. The walls were thick, the door locked. The doctor would not be escaping; he could do whatever he wished to the man and face no outside opposition. And right now, what he wanted to do was claim him. Make him reel with pleasure-pain, hear his shouts and moans, his protests. Feel that soft skin under his hands, taste him and force him to submit. Stroke that bloodstained face and wonder at the loveliness of him.

He always wanted beautiful things; wanted to ruin them and destroy them. The man's anger could not last- soon, he'd be forced to stop fighting and just let him do as he wished. He'd turn this strong, solid man into a weak and hopeless mess; he'd revel in it. From a strong man to a broken angel, all in his arms. Because of him.

He wanted to break him.

And he would not stop until he was satisfied; until the raging, raw desire in his gut and chest was sated. The things he would do to the man, the way he would make him scream-

Of course, he had to get the doctor to stop fighting, first.

Arthur barely had time to register the words the patient had said before he was on him, knocking him to the floor and pinning him there. His head smacked on the floor and he saw darkened spots before his eyes. He blinked trying to clear them and saw the image of the psychotic Frenchman above him. The patient was lost in his hallucination, gone well past the brink of insanity. His eyes were wide, maddened, and staring at him with what was unmistakably desire.

For a second, he entertained the thought of letting this play out. Of embracing his own madness and meeting this man head on. Of twisting together, two tortured minds and two enraptured bodies, suffering and delighting in unison. Despite the pain he felt in his head, a slow smile spread across his face at that thought. “I could make you mine so easily…” he whispered, the words leaving his tongue freely as his mind was in no condition to censor them.

He pushed the thoughts away, fighting to regain a hold of himself. His medicine. He needed to put a stop to this and take his medicine before he did something he couldn’t come back from.

He struggled against the weight of the man on top of him, his shoulders pinned down to the floor. He shoved at the patient, kicked and thrashed but it was to no avail. Francis was a man possessed and determined to have what he wanted.

Arthur grit his teeth, glaring angrily up at the patient. A slew of obscenities and threats came to mind, but he knew shouting them would do no good. They would never get through to Francis and the walls were much too thick for anyone else to hear him. He silently cursed whoever designed this place. With little option, he fought to reach his coat pocket, finally pulling out the sedative. With a flick of his thumb, he popped off the safety cap and with a stabbing motion, he brought it down onto the unruly patient’s thigh.

Needles. There was nothing that Francis hated more than a needle, and there was currently one stuck in his thigh. What... What was it? Some sort of sedative, he couldn't feel his leg. And all he could hear were those words, those haunting and strained words that had left the man's lips like a prayer. A whisper of madness, of desire and something as equally as dark has he was.

But he couldn't act on his astonishment, not when he couldn't feel his shoulders, his body. In fact, a nap was starting to look like a good idea... His eyelids were so heavy, his arms leaden with exhaustion. Why was he so tired...?

The needle. Drugged. He couldn't think- not that he'd really been thinking before- couldn't get his body to move. Couldn't act upon the rushing desire, the rawest of his wants.

He slumped, eyes sliding to half-mast as he fought to stay awake. He could feel the doctor's warm body under his own, feel him sliding and fighting to get away.

Those words.... had he not meant them? Had they been a ploy, a part of drugging him?

No. They'd been too... mad.But now he was defenseless in the clutches of a man undoubtedly as mad as he was. A taste of his own medicine?

He was excited.

Arthur struggled out from beneath the patient, who was now strongly feeling the effects of the sedative. As overpowering as he had been mere moments before, he was quickly becoming as docile as a kitten. Amazing what modern medicine could do.

It unfortunately didn’t seem to be of much use for actually fixing this patient, though. Arthur stood, glaring down at the Frenchman, who was still not quite knocked out yet. He had been through many different meds over the years in a variety of combinations. He’d been through counselors and psychiatrists galore. Nothing worked. The man was broken beyond repair. Arthur was defeated before he even started.

Or was he…?

Extreme cases called for extreme measures. Measures Arthur himself was equipped to carry out. The basement. His collection, freshly installed by himself when he took the job. He gave a little laugh, that dark smile returning to his face at the possibilities. Yeah, he could give that a shot. Modern medicine had failed, so maybe the older remedies would prove useful… And if nothing else, they would teach this patient the folly of trying to take the good doctor’s control away from him, show him Arthur was not prepared to tolerate such behavior…

He prodded Francis with the toe of his polished shoe, testing the effects of the sedative. The patient could offer up no resistance. Arthur’s smile widened. “We’re going to try a different therapy with you, Francis. You are a special case and you deserve special treatment.”

With the patient subdued, Arthur calmly walked to the door, opening it and stepping down the hall. He returned quickly, pushing a wheelchair. Fueled by anticipation, he managed to get the somewhat larger man into the chair, strapping him securely down. If he managed to say anything through his drugged state, who would care? They would only be the ramblings of a madman. He strolled over to his desk and unlocked a lower drawer, pulling out a smaller, older set of keys – those of the basement. After a second’s consideration, he pulled an additional sedative out from the desk as well, pocketing it as he had the last one. Best to be prepared after all…

Arthur took his position at the back of the chair and wheeled the patient out the door. It was a short trip down the hall to the elevator and anyone who saw him would have thought he was bringing the patient back to his room. That was normally an orderly or nurse’s job, but he was a young doctor, still so eager and out to go the extra step. Had they paid close attention, they would have noticed that, rather than heading up a floor to the patient rooms, they were going down, sinking into the dark depths of the basement below.

On the floor after having fallen out of the doctor’s pocket and been kicked aside during the struggle, was a small container, seemingly full of mints, abandoned and forgotten.

There were moments where Angelique had to wonder if she should go back and look at the papers she'd signed for her job. She was supposed to help in the kitchen, and yet, it seemed she spent so little time there. After the fiasco that was dealing with Mr. Vargas, then there were still meals to be cooked, and plates to arrange. She was supposed to take food to the doctors, she'd been spared from taking it to the patients for the moment.

Being in the halls meant possibly being grabbed for something else, so she made quick work going from each office. She was on the last one, and as she stopped to knock on the door, she glanced around nervously to make sure no one would try and snatch her, and send her of on some silly little task.

When no answer came from inside, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside, and she didn't know what to do. Surely it wouldn't be very professional to just go into Dr. Kirkland's office without permission, even just to leave food.

“I could come back later...” She told herself, moving to put the tray back on the cart, when she spotted a doctor coming towards her. It wasn't the one she was delivering too, she'd never seen Dr. Kirkland, no, this was a doctor who'd grabbed her twice this morning to have her run books from one place to the next, and in a panic, Angelique turned back to the door, and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

She pressed her back against it, and brief glance let her know she was alone. Standing stock still, hand still on the door knob, she waited until she was sure the other had passed by, then sighed in relief and moved forward. She was in the room already, she might as well leave the food on the desk and get back to the kitchen.


She turned, and stopped when something bumped her foot. Bending down, she lifted the bottle, and shook it, hearing the noise from whatever was inside rattling around. Working here, she assumed anything that made that sound was a pill bottle, but this was different from the bottles she'd seen. Not clear orange, brown, or plastic white. This looked like something you'd get at a candy store though.

Deciding it must be the Doctor's, she set it on the desk, then frowned at it. Something just didn't feel right, besides just the mint container, something about the room.. It gave her the chills, and she swallowed the urge to rush out and return to the kitchen. She looked over each piece of furniture, the books on the shelves, and her eyes were drawn back the bottle. Biting her lip nervously, she picked it up again, turning it this way and that, she shot a glance at the door.

It hadn't been opened yet, so she opened the container, and tipped it, pouring a few pills into her hands. Mints they were not. She couldn't tell exactly what they were, medicine, she guessed. For what, she couldn't say, the kitchen staff didn't need to know about things like medications. Pouring most of them back into the container, she rolled two around in her palm.

It had been six hours since Doctor Arthur Kirkland was supposed to have taken his meds and he had suffered a psychotic break. Failing to abide by the strict dosing regimen required of his drugs, combined with a particularly difficult patient, had lead him to commit terrible atrocities as a doctor, the same patient that triggered him being the target of them. Sure, he had always had a morbid fascination with his ancient psychiatry tools and he might have thought about what it would be like to use them or to show some of sexual deviants a taste of their own medicine. But with his mental condition stable, he would not have actually done it. He would have had control.

Now that control was gone.

He’d had enough sense at least to change out of his blood soaked scrubs and back into his regular clothes. He’d rinsed off in one of the hydrotherapy baths and burned the evidence in the incinerator, but a few widespread specs of blood still dotted his skin, hair and nails, a fact the doctor himself was quite unaware of. His ability to focus was extremely compromised at the moment and the thought to check himself properly had not occurred to him. His basement laboratory was still a mess of bloodied tools and stains on the floor, but since he was the only one with a key and he had locked it securely, this fact bothered him even less than the dried blood he had missed on his person.

Francis… it was hard to say for sure what would happen with him. With his history, it would be easy enough to pass off the whole event as a hallucination. Of course, he’d been so drugged and bled that he might not remember much of it at all. And who was to say, such a shocking and traumatic experience might have done the old French loon some good. At the very least he would likely think twice before attempting to molest the good doctor again.

Arthur walked slowly down the hallway with a somewhat dazed expression on his face, lost in dark thoughts and memories of the events that had just occurred. It was inspirational, really. There were so many patients here who could stand to benefit from such extreme measures, he thought. The slight smile that tugged at his lips was deranged and loaded with obvious self satisfaction, courtesy of both the sex and the chance to life out one of his dark fantasies. His eyes were distant and slightly hallow as if their owner was not even truly behind them. His step was smooth and straight, though, giving anyone he passed the impression that all was as it should be, for they did not take the time to take in the peculiar expression upon his face.

He reached his office without so much as a strange look from the staff. He regarded the kitchen cart that was parked just outside his door but did not seem to find it significant, for his eyes passed readily from and turned to the door that had his name boldly plastered across it. His eyes lingered longer upon it, smiling at the feeling of smugness and pride that filled him. Young, up and coming Doctor Kirkland, who answered to no one in this hospital besides perhaps Dr. Honda and what Kiku didn’t know…well, he didn’t need to know. His laboratory held so many surprises for the patients…The sweat boxes, the ice water tubs, the electrotherapy…Now that he’d started, the good doctor saw no reason to stop and already he wondered who the next patient worthy of such treatment would be.

After a minute of loitering there, he finally put his hand upon doorknob and pushed the door open. Stepping inside and taking in the familiar feel of his office, his eyes fell upon the person already occupying it and he blinked curiously at her. Was she the next patient? His smile widened some at this thought but after a second he recognized her as one of the girls from the kitchen, the sight of the plate of food upon his desk served as confirmation of this. His smile lessened, but traces of it remained in his features as he took few steps closer to her, closing the door behind him.

“Mmm, you sweet thing, you brought me lunch. Or is this supper? Dear me, I’m afraid I’ve been so busy I’ve quite lost track of the time.” He laughed, a disconcerting and chilling sound and the act of it served to bring greater derangement to his expression. Still facing her, he shook his head as if he had made some great joke, still chuckling slightly as he reflected on his last therapy session in that room with apparent humor. My, what would a girl such as this have to say about that if she knew?

The nervousness she'd felt when entering the room seemed to sky rocket at the Dr. entered. She hadn't seen him before, but it felt like that was a good thing. At least he hadn't been one of the ones to send her running about on errands, but the problem was not that she hadn't seen him before.. it was that he was making her skin crawl. As if the almost frightening energy in the room hadn't been enough, there was just something wrong with the man before her.

The way he moved, and the smile on his face frightened her. The impression she got was of someone who would not only like to do horrible things to her, but that he would greatly enjoy it too. She'd met patients so far that had frightened her less then the man before her. As the door closed, and he moved closer, she couldn't help but take a few steps back, but the desk was right there, and she bumped into it, causing the bottle she'd just picked up to fall. His words did nothing to soothe the growing panic, if nothing else, they heightened her fear, and made her hyper aware of the fact that she was very much trapped in this room with him.

“It's lunch,” she told him, voice quiet and almost timid. Her eyes skirted around him, not willing to look into those green eyes that made her shiver and want to curl into herself and hide. “Je suis vraiment désolé, Docteur Kirkland.”

The words came out in a rush, so quickly she almost didn't notice that in her panic she'd switched back to her native language. Trying to make up for it, she finished speaking in English, hoping he wouldn't chastise her for the French like everyone always did, “I didn't mean to come in while you weren't here. I- I just wanted to drop off your food... I.. I should get back to work though now.”

She didn't move, was too afraid to go passed him. She didn't want to be any closer then she absolutely had to at the moment. Very slowly, she bent down and picked up the container again, setting it carefully on the desk, and side stepping to get away from it. She could back up more now, and maybe even circle around the doctor.

((Translations;
Je suis vraiment désolé, Docteur Kirkland. - I'm very sorry, Doctor Kirkland. ))

She reminded him of a caged little bird, delicate and flitting about, shifting away from him and cowering, clumsily knocking things over. He half expected twittering chirps to come out of her mouth when she spoke, but instead it was delicate French. Despite his little session with Francis, Arthur still had no love for the French or their language, but at the sound of the words, he flashed back to the basement again, heard the sounds of the Frenchman’s keens in that language that he hated. He smiled again, his eyes slightly glazing over as he indulged the fantasy.

He snapped back to the present after a few seconds, settling his gaze back on the girl, traveling down her, catching sight of his cleverly deceptive mint case upon the floor which she had knocked down and smiling to himself at the secret it held. Well…he didn’t really see a need for those pills anymore. He was getting along quite well without them as far as he was concerned.

He raised his eyes again, locking them on the girl. What was her name? Arthur did not know everyone who worked at the asylum, so it was not so unusual that he did not know her. She was rather cute though, in an exotic sense. Perhaps even enough to make up for her being French. He wondered if she could sing…A delicate little songbird in the gilded cage that was this hospital.

She said she was leaving, but she hesitated to take a step. Was she afraid of him? Should she be? No, no, she was an employee, not a patient, and therefore not in need of his particular brand of shock therapy. But when she bent over to pick up the pill container, an edge of concern crept into the doctor’s deranged mind. He did not want her to investigate the contents. But then, she was just kitchen staff. Not a doctor or even a nurse or orderly. She would not know what the pills were even if she nosed around. He calmed down and took another step closer to her as she rose, closing the distance between them even as she stepped away from the desk. He smirked at her, the shadow of his usual pleasant smile lurking somewhere beneath the unnerving smile he now presented.

“No need for you to rush off, little dove,” he said. Though his mind was racing in ten different directions and his expression was off, his voice remained smooth and his accent pronounced. “At this late hour I’m sure I must be among the last you are to deliver to. I’m sure the kitchen will get along fine without you for a few minutes longer.” He neared her again, taking another step towards her and letting his fingers run lightly along the smooth surface of his desk. “It seems you know my name, but I do not know yours. Would you care to introduce yourself to me, dear girl?”

She didn't like the way he looked at her, in fact, it scared her a great deal. The energy in the room set off all the warnings in her head, and what little hadn't been set off before was practically screaming at her now. This man, something was not right, and she needed to get away, if only she could get to the door.

The way he looked ta her made her shiver, and she grabbed at her arms to try and still the trembling. This was not the time to show that kind of thing. She'd been told when she got the job it was best not to show weakness not to the patients if it could be helped, and though the man moving closer to her was a Doctor, not a patient, she couldn't help but feel she should handle him the same way.

The expression on his face was not helping. As close as he was now, she could see specks of red on his skin. Angelique told herself it could be anything, but her mind supplied that it was blood, and her fear deepened. The sound of his voice did nothing to soothe the new fear, and she tried to side step him again. Licking her lips, and willing herself to calm down, she moved her eyes to look at the door over his shoulder, too afraid to look at him directly.

She did not want to give this man her name. She didn't want him to know anything more about her than absolutely necessary, and as it was, she felt him knowing she worked there (in the kitchen) was more then enough. “I...” She glanced up, took another step to the side, eyes flickering to the door. “I'm sure you wouldn't truly care,” She lied, taking a slow breath, “You look a bit pale, Doctor, maybe you should take a seat and eat?”

Making a motion towards where the food was, she took another step, and hoped that would work. For a moment she thought of the pills in her pocket, the little case on the desk filled with them. If they were his, then how would she give them to him? He didn't look like he'd take them willingly, and she didn't want to fight him, and very much doubted anyone out here would help... And if they weren't his to take, then she'd be giving a Doctor a medicine that could do more damage than good, she didn't know what those pills did.

Letting her eyes finally drift back up to his face, she had a feeling it didn't matter what the pills did, as long as they at least provided her the time she needed to get out of the room. Surely Miss Castillo would listen to her, at least.

He rather liked the look of fear that she had in her eyes. Fear and respect are so closely related after all, and Arthur was not particular about which he received. Not at the moment anyway. The less than subtle way that she tried to maneuver around him did not go unnoticed, nor did the way in which she tried to distract him with the plate of food she had brought, as if anything from the kitchen could be more interesting than she, the little enigma of thing she was.

He tilted his head and examined her, taking steps to match hers. What best described this dance they were doing now? A serpent with a tiny bird caught in its eye? A cat toying with a mouse? Whichever it was, this exotic kitchen girl made him feel rather….predatory. Not in the same sense Francis had, not quite. This was a different game all together. The Frenchman had been mad himself, so Arthur had not needed to hide anything. This girl though, had her senses about her, and Arthur could not let the dark thoughts already swimming through his mind show upon his face. He had a part to play, and though he liked the fear that crept into her voice and her wide, alert eyes, it would do no good to have her take flight so soon.

“There is no need to be so humble with me,” he said, his voice sweet like poisoned honey. “Is your name so much to ask for that you would deny me such a simple courtesy?” He stepped closer to her as he spoke, matching every step she took in her feeble attempt to escape, his emerald eyes never wandering from hers. “It is a bit cute the way you shy away from me and cling to your little secret as if you didn’t know how easy it would be for me to find out such information if I chose to. But I would much rather hear your name from your own pretty lips than read it off of the hospital directory. Or gather it from your superior.” He let the last words hang for a minute, the ghost of a threat.

He wondered if, at this close proximity, she might be able to smell the blood upon him. If she saw violence reflected in his eyes. If she could hear the same echoed screams and keens that he did. If she did, and yet did not shriek and run away from him, then perhaps she held more potential than he had first guessed.

He had a very nice voice, and it struck her that she might have liked it better if he didn't frighten her so very much. But his very presence sent chills down her spine, and it took everything she had not to scream or make a mad dash for the door. He was in her way, she wouldn't be able to make it, she knew. He kept getting closer, and she kept trying to put more space between them.

She slid her hand into her pocket and fingered the pills still there. Licking her lips, she glanced at the door, before locking her gaze with his.

Never make eye contact. She had been told that when she had first signed up for this job. If someone was having a psychotic break, or just completely out of it, don't make eye contact. Get away as quickly as is possible and get someone more qualified. But... how to get away? Were the rules even the same with a doctor as they were a patient?

"Ah, but... but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" She grasped at straws, and tried to step to the side, "After all, isn't it much funner not knowing? It's more... mysterious?"

It was true, though. He could easily inquire about her name to anyone. She'd had a name tag on earlier, and with so many of the doctors and patients having seen her- her having introduced herself to many of them, it wouldn't be hard for him to find it. But she couldn't help the panicked feeling when she thought of telling him her name. After all, who handed their possible killer their name? Not that she thought he would kill her. She certainly hoped he wouldn't.

"I.. I have rounds to make, Dr. Kirkland, if... if you would be so kind as to excuse me, so that I may?" The pills were still there, but how would she ever get them into his food? And in a way he wouldn't notice them? It was far too late to crush them and mix them with anything, that was for sure. "If... if you don't like what I brought you, I could.. get you something else?"

She hoped he did ask for a different meal. Getting out of the room for a few minutes, she could put the pills in whatever else she brought him? She had to hope.