Introduction
People think all mental hospitals are the same. They're wrong. I'd worked in enough of them to know each had its own rhythm, its own personality. But Blackridge Institute had none. The towering concrete walls swallowed every sound, and the stillness wasn't peaceful—it was expectant, as if the building knew I was coming.
The closer I got to the entrance, the more I questioned my decision. I'd accepted the job because I needed one after the last asylum I worked at shut down. Normally, I would've researched a place like this before accepting an offer. This time, I hadn't. As the concrete walls loomed over me, I was starting to think that had been a mistake.
I approached the entrance, hyper-aware of my surroundings. There was a button beside the door that I assumed I was supposed to press, but before I could, an older woman's voice crackled through a speaker overhead.
"State your name."
The sudden command made me jump.
"Adilyn Bailey," I replied.
A brief silence followed.
"The reason for your visit?" she asked, her tone noticeably less severe.
"I'm not a visitor," I said. "Today's my first day. I'm the new psychologist."
The silence lingered longer this time. Then a sharp buzz echoed through the entryway, followed by the heavy metallic clunk of a lock disengaging. The door swung inward on its own. A dim corridor stretched ahead, carrying the familiar smell of disinfectant and old concrete. Beneath it lingered another scent—faint, unfamiliar, and impossible to identify.
I stepped inside. Before I reached the second set of doors, the first closed behind me. Only then did the second unlock. I walked through and found myself facing a third.
I'd never seen three security checkpoints before.
That was... unusual.
The third door finally opened, leading into a brightly lit lobby. The crisp air caught me off guard. After the dim entrance corridor, I hadn't expected fluorescent lights bright enough to make the polished floors gleam.
The reception desk sat directly ahead. Behind it was an older woman with silver hair pulled neatly away from her face. Fine wrinkles framed her eyes, and she wore a deep red blouse beneath a black cardigan.
"Good morning, Miss...?" I asked, waiting for her name.
"Evelyn Lee," she replied without looking up from the computer screen.
I nodded and waited while the soft clicks of her keyboard filled the silence. The lobby was strangely quiet. No phones rang. No staff hurried past. The only sounds were the steady tapping of Evelyn's fingers and the faint hum of lights overhead.
When she finally finished typing, she opened a drawer, removed a blank identification badge, and looked up.
"Spell your name for me."
I did. She wrote it carefully across the badge before handing it over.
"You'll notice your badge is black instead of blue," she said matter-of-factly. "Black badges are issued only to personnel assigned to Isolation Wing C. You're the new primary psychologist for Patient 127."
My stomach sank.
"I'm sorry... I was told—"
"It was on the last page of the application, dear. The terms and conditions."
Who actually reads the terms and conditions?
Normally I would've.
Apparently not this time.
"Oh..." I managed. "I must've missed that."
"Will that be an issue?"
I hesitated.
I'd never been assigned to a single patient before. Most people would've assumed that meant less work. It usually meant the opposite.
Patients assigned their own personal psychologist were rarely ordinary cases. They often required constant observation, specialized treatment, or closer supervision than anyone else's.
The responsibility didn't shrink.
It multiplied.
I couldn't afford to refuse the position. I hadn't received another offer in weeks. After the incident, I was lucky to have this one at all.
"No, ma'am," I said, forcing a small smile. "It won't be an issue."
