There was this sickness in Rowan's brain. And it was getting worse. An invisible disease, but far worse than some physical ailments. It made him question the reality itself and turned him weak and was barely even a person anymore. There was suffering Rowan couldn't describe. When walking outside on the streets of this wretched town, he was envious of other people. They knew nothing of the mental anguish. Or maybe some did, but had learned how to live with it, thus making Rowan jealous. To him, even the sun didn't bring warmth and brightness anymore to his miserable soul. But the question was, should he seek help? Could someone like him even be helped? He pondered this many days and nights, but eventually he came to the conclusion that he would at least try. You don't have that option anymore after you die.
He visited a doctor, a person who had clearly seen many sad and broken people in his life. What would lead an individual to seek such a profession? Is it merely the noble idea of wanting to help people? Or is there something else? Rowan didn't know and it didn't really even matter. It was hard to be vulnerable in front of a complete stranger. The doctor probably wouldn't call him crazy – or maybe he would – since that would be quite unprofessional. He was a quiet and calm man, asking questions from Rowan, but mostly let Rowan tell his story and listened. Somehow this felt wrong for Rowan. He was a grown independent man, he should be able to handle life better than this, now he was way too fragile. And when life gets too hard, you turn to the bottle. Maybe Rowan should have tried that instead of sitting in the office of a stranger, complaining about his disease-ridden brain. Such a stupid brain he got.
And the strange thing was, that's where Rowan's memory blacks out. For a moment he was in the doctor's office talking to him, but then something occurred that just simply erased all his memories after that. Did he ever finish the session with the doctor? Has he ever made it home? Maybe he got into a severe accident while walking back to the place he called home; his safe space, though it was infested with the darkness of his mind and felt like anything else but a sanctuary. And Rowan tried and tried, so hard to grasp the strings of his memories to recall what the hell had happened to him. It seemed they were there barely out of his reach, but anytime he managed to get close to them, they would drift away from him, taunting him in an infuriating way. Perhaps he should just give up on this task and focus on the present.
Rowan couldn't help the feeling that he had ended up in a scenario straight from a horror movie. He was a prisoner, lying on a table with numerous straps wrapped around various parts of his body, preventing him from moving. Even his head was confined, so he couldn't really look around. Anxiety was no stranger to him, but the fear that now tiptoed into his heart was on a completely different level. He wiggled like a lowly worm, struggling against his bindings. It was no use. He could only stare at the ceiling and let the terror grow inside.
He looked at the tiles above him. They had probably been white at some point in time, but now they were filthy and some even cracked. There was a dome-like lamp on the ceiling, but it wasn't currently lit. Some source of light was clearly giving him illumination, but being tied up like this, he couldn't tell exactly where the glow was coming from. A few times the light flickered ominously. For a moment Rowan was pondering whether the unreliable radiance was a friend to him or an enemy. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that it indeed was an ally, because in total absence of light he would be devoured by utter darkness. That didn't sound pleasant at all. He would probably even go insane much faster if there wasn't light; the inner demons love darkness.
All Rowan could do was stare at the ceiling and think. He wondered where he was, but maybe he was in a basement of some sort; the air felt a little cold and damp. But where exactly this room was, that was the question. His memory gap didn't really help him at all, it just made it more difficult to figure out what the hell had happened and what kind of situation he was in now. Obviously this wasn't anything good, but he was afraid to let his mind wander together with his inner demons to delve into the worst-case scenarios. It was hard to not do that and Rowan tried his best to think something else, something nicer. Though that was also hard for him since his brain was rotten with disease and thinking about good things wasn't easy. But maybe it was essential now, so the fear wouldn't completely take over his mind.
Though, the dread multiplied instantly as he suddenly heard something. So far he had been enclosed in silence, which Rowan had found a little comforting in a strange way, but now his ears were pierced by a sound of a metal door screeching horribly as it was forced to move and grant access to somebody. Then it was closed again. Rowan listened as someone was walking down the stairs and his heart was beating in terror in the rhythm of the descending person's steps. Whoever was coming down didn't sound like a large person, but that was rather meager solace; Rowan was still tied up and utterly vulnerable. He had never been more afraid in his entire life and he dreaded the second when the one descending would come to him – he had a hunch that they would bring nothing but unspeakable nightmares.
The steps were getting closer until finally, Rowan could sense that the person had come rather close to the table where he was lying. How such light steps were able to deliver so much fright, Rowan couldn't understand. And then, suddenly a person popped into his limited view.
It was a woman; that explained how light her steps had seemed. She had a very young face; in Rowan's eyes she probably wasn't even thirty years old. He noted that she was also very beautiful, but that beauty was ruined by the wickedness that stained her face. It could be seen especially in her eyes; they were abnormally light blue and gleamed with madness. Her long hair, tied to a ponytail, had such a pale hue of blonde that it looked almost white. She was wearing a doctor's white coat and this detail just made her much more terrifying; Rowan's mind was getting flooded with the horrific scenarios that he was being used in some cruel experiments.
“Oh, good, you're awake”, the woman said and there was a terrifyingly deranged expression on her face. “Or maybe, not so good for you. We'll see.”
Then she moved away from the table, Rowan couldn't see where she had gone or what she was doing.
Of course he had to vocalize the mandatory questions one would utter in this kind of situation: “Who are you? And where am I?”
“Ah, obviously you're confused by all this, that's normal”, the woman replied and she came back to the table and to Rowan's view. She had an unnerving smile on her face. “You can call me Amelia. And right now you are in my own little clinic of sorts. How did you end up here, hmm? I bet that was the next question in your head. You're not my first patient. Let's just say, there are so many broken people that other doctors can't deal with them all. We live in a defective world. That's where I come into picture; I snatch patients from others, taking a little bit of their burden away.”
Rowan wasn't sure what Amelia meant by her last bit of information, but it gave him horrific visuals of corrupted doctors that would just pass their patients to lunatics like Amelia. And who knows what she was planning to do since Rowan's situation definitely didn't look good. Once more he opened his mouth: “What's going to happen to me?”
“Oh, don't you worry”, Amelia responded, her smile growing even wider and she tenderly caressed Rowan's cheek, obviously in a mocking way. “I'm not going to torture you. I'm just doing a little operation. It's a swift one, I promise.”
Rowan didn't like the sound of this and he started to feel even more terrified, if that was even possible. “But I don't need any operations! I'm okay!”
“We both know that's not true”, Amelia almost whispered and she grinned in a way that expressed she knew more than seemed. “Your brain is a nest of disease. But I'll be honest: I haven't performed this procedure to anyone before. You're my first one. Be proud of that little fact.”
Then she walked away again and Rowan had this horrifying awareness that second by second he was getting closer to something horrible.
“What are you doing to me?” Rowan asked, his voice almost trembling from fear.
“Ever heard of lobotomy?” Amelia turned the question.
Rowan's blood ran cold and it almost felt like his spirit had just left his body. He knew nothing but horrible stories revolving around this surgery. “No, no, no, no, you can't!”
“Of course I can. I've been curious about it for some time, but like I said, I haven't done this before. I'm doing this for science”, Amelia explained. “I need to see the effect myself.”
Out of utter desperation, Rowan began to struggle against his bindings again. Panic had taken over his mind, demanding him to fight against the forthcoming horror. He squirmed, trying to bring forth strength fueled by terror. But no matter how much he writhed, the straps kept him in his place. All his attempts to get free were futile.
“Have a little patience, please”, Amelia said. “You will get out of here. Eventually.”
The doctor appeared on Rowan's view once again, and she was ready for surgery. She had put disposable gloves on her hands and she had a surgical mask covering part of her face; at least Rowan wouldn't see her horrifying smile. In one of her hands she was holding a single tool that resembled an ice pick; it was an orbitoclast. The worst part was that she probably wasn't going to use anesthesia of any kind.
“Please don't do this”, Rowan whimpered pathetically, still kept his useless fight going against the straps.
But Amelia didn't care about his pleas. All this was because of her morbid curiosity, Rowan was just a subject.
“Now, hold still so this will be easier for both of us.”
Rowan didn't follow her dark advice. He was in a state of utter panic and fear, primordial instincts had kicked in demanding him to fight and escape. He didn't stop struggling, not even when the doctor's sharp tool infiltrated the insides of his head through his eye socket. The orbitoclast went deeper and deeper and into Rowan's frontal lobe. As Amelia surmised that her tool had gone far enough, she started to wiggle it around Rowan's brain. She was humming to herself while performing the illegal surgery, clearly getting some twisted and sick satisfaction with what she was doing.
And just like that, she was done. She pulled the orbitoclast out of Rowan's head and left him on the table. He wasn't moving anymore. Amelia decided to give him a couple of hours before studying the effects of the surgery. Still humming, she left the room and Rowan was all alone again.
Rowan simply wasn't the same after this cruel experience. He was an empty shell of a person he used to be, almost seeming like nobody was home. When Amelia returned to him a while later, he didn't really react when the woman had freed him from the straps. The man didn't acknowledge her presence, like he was somewhere else entirely. But Amelia examined him with great curiosity, fascinated by the change. She helped Rowan to shift into a sitting position, but from there, he had no desire to move. This was a man who had desperately tried to fight for their freedom just a while ago, but now, he was quiet and didn't mind being in the room. He wasn't Rowan anymore.
But now the delusions and anxieties are gone. Or at least, they didn't bother him anymore. In a sense, Amelia had just cured him.
She gently stroked Rowan's cheek. “Can you feel it? The mental anguish?”
“No.” His voice was monotonous; there was no will behind the single word he had just uttered.
“Interesting.”
This gave Amelia the crave to learn more. Human brain, what a mysterious thing it was, it would never stop being fascinating to her. And now, after she had done the little experiment with Rowan using the method of the past, she wanted to do it again, to study and observe how different people would respond to it. Rowan was merely the first subject. There were many things Amelia was interested in doing to people – and had actually done already – in the name of science, but she had just got a new fixation.
And out there, the world was filled with wretches no one cared about.
