Chapter Text
The time it took to maneuver to the third floor up to Father Martin felt impossible. First she had to make her way past crazy psychos with machetes and batons. Then she had to take running leaps over broken staircases up to the third floor. And then the floor collapsed in on itself.
Shitty work.
She had to climb back up, all while hearing the whispers and buzzing for a few instances, but nothing too overwhelming. And another instance of trying to navigate in the dark, with only a flashlight. It was more peaceful walking through the halls though, and in one door she came upon, it closed suddenly.
She hesitated, taking her hand on the knob before opening it.
“The savior makes her appearance once more.”
“Indeed.”
She breathed a sigh, wiping at her face.
“You look stressed.”
“And weary.”
She grew numb to them not wearing clothes, even though it was basically a crime to expose yourself to a kid. With everything she’d seen, this was the least of her worries.
“I’m tired,” she said half-heartedly.
“As does one on their journey.”
“A journey of enlightenment.”
She blinked slowly, registering their words.
One of them approached her, the one with hair.
“You have a mark on your face,” he said.
“And you smell like blood.”
She looked down at her hand, seeing the missing finger. In the dark, she could see their eyes reflected in the light of the flashlight, glancing at one another.
“Who did this?” The bald one asked.
“I don’t know, some crazy doctor guy; wears a mask and glasses,” Violet replied.
“Trager,” they both said at the same time.
“Trager?” she questioned.
“A patient.”
“He used to work for the company over this place.”
“And then he went mad.”
Violet sighed, shrugging her shoulders. She shook her head, feeling an overwhelming sense to cry in front of these two strange, naked men.
“I’m so tired. I’m so tired,” she said, her voice breaking.
She continued.
“I-I came here with the intent of helping someone, and I’m literally thrown out a window, I get my finger cut off, I have to do all these errands for Father Martin, and it feels so…overwhelming. So…So hurtful, and gross.”
She laughed.
“A-And now I’m seeing things. I’m hallucinating. I keep seeing this shadowy figure everywhere now. And all I hear are these whispers–voices! I hear voices in my head!”
They both just stared, unmoving. One of them furrowed his brow, before glancing at his twin.
“Am I going crazy? O-Or is it this place making me crazy?” She asked, her question falling in silence.
They paused, before one of them answered.
“No, you are not.”
“It’s the conditions of this place that could drive anyone mad.”
Violet opened and closed her mouth, unable to come up with a response. Instead, her lip curled over, and she choked back a sob.
“I just–I just want to go home ,” she said as her voice broke. “I just want to crawl into my bed and just…lay there.”
“You have overcome every obstacle.”
“And Father Martin believes in you.”
“Why me, though?” She recoiled.
“Because you were sent by the apostle.”
“And the apostle sent a savior.”
“I’m not a savior though! I’m fourteen! I’m just a kid, what could I possibly do to change anything?”
They both paused once more, glancing at each other before they answered.
“We don’t know.”
“That is for you to decide.”
She ran her hands over her face, the light from her flashlight casting shadows on the room.
“You two are probably the only people who don’t want to kill me,” she said, and sniffled. “Here I am, talking to two naked men, in an asylum full of crazy people who want to kill me, and you two are the most sane ones here.”
She laughed at that, genuinely laughed. It echoed off the walls, thunder rolling in from outside. And then she sobbed, holding her face in her hands.
Both the twins looked at each other, the older one shrugging as the younger one looked at him.
“You two are so nice to me,” she muttered through her crying. She wiped her eyes, sniffling as she did.
“Is that a compliment?” One of them asked.
She nodded, holding the flashlight off of them.
“How…”
“Thoughtful.”
They both finished each others’ sentences.
One of them put their hands on her shoulder, her flinching in response. He looked at her with surprise, an expression she hadn’t seen before.
“You should continue on your journey.”
“We will kill anyone who will get in the way.”
She nodded slowly in response, wiping at her eyes, and probably ruined makeup.
“Yeah, I-I should do that,” she answered softly.
One of them pointed at a doorway in the room.
“This door leads out of this part of the asylum.”
“You will have to jump when you go through.”
“From there you will meet Father Martin.”
“In the administration block.”
She nodded, wiping at what tears were left. She continued on, waving at them goodbye once more before she left. And she did as she was instructed, the doorway leading to a hazardous half-floor of the room. She jumped, once, twice, before scuffling on the edge of the wood, before making another jump. The wood gave way, and she quickly climbed up it, and into the doorway it led through. A sign up ahead, administration block, down a dark hallway.
The floor up ahead collapsed, the abyss of the floors below it swallowing the broken wood like a black hole. She took a deep breath, taking a few steps back before she took a running start, leaping down and over to the door ahead.
A patient, with a mangled face, stood.
“Only one way out. One way out,” he said in a hushed voice.
Violet walked past him, coming upon debris in the way, a small crevice open.
“How do you know you’re not a patient here?” She heard behind him, and her heart pounded in her ears.
Still, she ignored it, crawling through the open space and on the other side.
This area was much nicer, neat and tidy. Only a few bookshelves and chairs blocked part of the way–stepping through with ease. It was a long and dark hallway, her flashlight shining through the empty space. And once again, the big fucking guy showed up, spotting her.
She instantly ran, going into one room and shutting the door. A vent was open, the grate hanging down on its hinges. She climbed up the desk, going through before he basked the door in. She heard him growl, low and menacing, before yelling.
“Little pig!”
She ignored him, crawling through the vent until she saw light again. She dropped down, keeping her breathing steady as she looked around. An open door, leading to an upstairs and a downstairs, cages on every door. A bloody arrow pointed to the upstairs, candles lit on the ground and around the staircase banister.
“Follow the blood.”
She climbed up the stairs, looking around, shining her flashlight. She spotted a sign, or a logo.
Murkoff Corporation
She stared at it for a second, before continuing on. Through doors, dark rooms, passing by unsuspecting patients, past clutter that was in the way and through bedrooms. A whistle of wind and rain outside, catching her attention as she opened the door. An open window was there, blood on the sill. The curtains blew against the wind, rain pouring outside. She climbed through, making her way to a different part of the asylum.
Inside, patients prayed at their bedsides, candles lighting up the place. She turned off her flashlight, following the blood trail. Messages appeared on walls, all in different varieties.
God hates money
The Apostle has sent a Savior in his place
Savior
God hates sickness
Crosses scrawled on the walls.
She couldn’t make sense of it. She was never a religious person, even if her mother was. She couldn’t understand the bible or its verses, or whether or not she knew what she was doing was right or wrong. She knew some verses, but not by heart, or dedication. She had her own doubts, and chose not to believe.
She was believing now.
Not in a higher power, but that somehow, God was at play for this. All of this .
She walked down the hall, adorned in candle light, a patient holding a candle. She looked down at a set of open doors, both the twins standing off to the sides of them. She stood there, feeling every bone in her body hurt. Every muscle fiber of her being.
“The savior makes her appearance.”
“Once more.”
She didn’t say anything, but went through the doors, going in to see what Father Martin was doing. She saw as he was nailed to a giant cross, light coming down from above. Patients prayed and motioned upwards, like praying to the heavens above for an answer.
“Father Martin,” Violet began saying.
“You’ve come to witness,” he said, writhing on the cross.
“I have.”
She dropped to her knees, sighing as she looked up at him, pinned to a cross, writhing in pain.
“I did all of what you asked. Please, just tell me what I have to do,” she begged, holding her hands together.
“You did everything. My job here is done. You alone shall escape to tell them. This is your penultimate act of witness–as a savior.”
“If I am a savior, then let me help you. You can tell everyone what you witnessed here.”
He shook his head, grunting from the pain.
“No, I can’t.”
“Then Father, let me make one confession. This one time.”
He paused, looking down curiously.
“Then so be it. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Violet sighed, folding her hands together.
She rocked back and forth, bracing herself.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been so long since my last confession,” she started, her voice breaking.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what I’m doing. No idea what I’m doing here. I’m afraid I’ve lost my mind, my sanity, my self-worth, because of this place. I’ve witnessed horrors beyond my comprehension, people who want to hurt me–kill me even. My patience is running thin, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I hear voices, a-and see things I can't believe. Voices who tell me I am the savior, sent by the Walrider.”
She let the tears roll down her face, mixed in with the smell of blood.
“How can I be a savior if I don’t know what it means? I wanted to save someone, but I feel like I can’t even do that.”
She looked back up at him, begging for an answer. He looked down, shadow casted over his face, his expression unreadable.
“My dear child, my savior in Christ above, you’ve done all you can do. You weep just as mother Mary had done when she lost her beloved son. This was your act as savior, to witness everything, and see our pain, our anguish, and set us free. I believe in your acting powers, and how you will set us all free from this place.”
He grunted, pausing his speech.
“The promise of the prophets was always freedom from death. And here it is.”
“So you are going to free yourself now? By dying?” She asked, sniffling.
“Yes, my child. You will watch my death, my resurrection. And together we will be free.”
“But what about the others? I’m still in danger for my life.”
He shook his head.
“You are no longer in any danger. The elevator is fixed. It will take you to freedom. We will–all of us–be free.”
He then turned to a patient–his disciple–holding a candle.
“Now, my son.”
The candle was lowered, and the wood around him lit in flames, engulfing him and his body.
Violet did a silent prayer, lowering her head as she heard the screams from Father Martin, and then hearing him cease all noise. She looked up, seeing him in flames, limp on the cross.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I could’ve helped you.”