The Fall of Gates

“Don’t fear me.” The reaper says. Hand extended, face in shadows, he exudes calmness. He promises peace. He promises to make them go away. Just do this, he says, take my hand and be free.

But I am afraid. I take a step forward and I see a flash of teeth. A grin. I stop. There is something malicious in the grin. An ulterior motive. But he promises to make them go away. As the voices fight among themselves, I am struck by indecision.

The reaper will help you. I am determined to escape the madness that is inescapable. I grab his hand.

“I’m ready to be free.” I say. And he grins. Pointy teeth white against the black background. The starkness strikes me as odd. Why is he so happy to free me?

Because it is his purpose. To free the broken. What is your purpose? I’m talking to myself. I shake my head to clear it. I am always doing that. My brain is broken, they tell me. I say my brain is unique, but I can’t deny how right they are. The things you see aren’t real. What you hear isn’t real. The voices argue and protest, but they are not real.

My salvation is in the hand of my savior who holds the knife steadily. Don’t fear me, the reaper says. For I am here to save you. I am here to rid you of the demons who possess you. Yes, the demons. They aren’t real.

What you see is not real. The naked lady in the corner of the room begs to differ. She laughs at me. As does the old man next to her. Soon the room is filled with people I am told are not real, but are constantly haunting me. They look ghastly and diseased. Skin peeling off and hair falling out. Their teeth are black and I’m scared, but the reaper says he can help me.

And I’m going to take his offer. The hand is the knife and the knife is mine.

It’s all in your head. None of this is real. The blood is not real. The laughter of the dozens of decaying bodies around me is not real. I hear a scream in the distance. So much pain, so much torture. With a sudden resolution, I realize it’s me.

Don’t fear me, the reaper says.

I will not anymore. The knife is cool against my skin, and one by one, the people disappear. See, they were never real. The blood drives them away. They hate it when I make a bloody mess; but I love the peace and quiet it gives. I close my eyes in satisfaction as the voices become just echoes in my broken brain. The dead people are gone and so is the reaper, smiling as he goes, knowing it won’t be long before he sees me again.

I smile and hear my door open. The peace is fleeting, but it’s enough. The blackness engulfs me and I wish it doesn’t end; for when it does, they will come back. They always come back.

Echoes of voices so far away, coming closer. But they are different this time. Is that excitement I hear? No, it’s panic. Why would there be panic in the voices? Rory vaguely felt herself being moved and she struggled against the bindings she could feel as she came too. No. I don’t want to leave the darkness, the peace. But she had spent too long this time. Any longer and there would be no going back. But isn’t that what she wanted? To be free, permanently? She opened her eyes and saw the shadow of a man looking over her. The light was bright and he was hard to make out.

“Are you death? Are you the reaper?” She asked, or thought she did. Her words came out a jumbled mess but she could have sworn the man smiled with very pointy teeth.

Don’t fear the reaper….she closed her eyes and blackness consumed her.

“She’s coming to.” A woman’s voice said, sounding concerned.

“Good, now we can question her.” A man’s voice said, stoic.

“Maybe now is not the time. The poor girl has been through a lot.”

“Now is the perfect time. She can’t lie to us this way.”

“Doctor! We just finished transfusing four units of blood into her. Her wounds are deep, and if she gets agitated, the stitches can break open and she can lose even more blood. She needs to recover. Just let her rest. You can talk to her in the morning.”

“This is my facility and I will do as I wish.” The man answered, sounding final.

The nurse made sounds of protest, but the man commanded her to leave and she did so, reluctantly.

Rory’s eyes opened again, and it was much darker this time. The room that she was in had a window and she saw the moon peaking out between clouds. How long have I been unconscious? Her mind began to wander, trying to figure out what happened when the man entered her field of vision. He had black hair with icy blue eyes that held no emotion. Too white teeth, and too pale skin, he looked more like death than she probably did. Maybe that was the point. Her eyes focused on the black eyeliner he wore which was a strange combination with the bushy black mustache. He was speaking to her, but she had a hard time focusing on the words.

“What?” She asked, still groggy. Her head hurt like hell and while the blood was gone, the pain on her forearms served as a reminder to how close she had gotten this time to truly ending it. What had made her go that far? In the back of her mind, a voice laughed and she shivered. Maybe the real question was, what hadn’t made her go that far? She blinked and focused on the dead eyes of the doctor who was starting to get frustrated.

“I said, why would you do that? You knew the risks. You did what no one here could do. You escaped this wretched place. Why sacrifice your freedom?” She just stared at him.

He sighed. “I can’t help you if you don’t answer my questions. Aurora.” She winced as pain moved to her heart. Something had happened. Something was wrong.

“Is everything okay, Aurora?” The doctor asked. She winced again. She tried to reach up with her bandaged arm to rub her head—the headache was forming again. Maybe a result of the blood loss? But she knew that was false. Headaches always happened when she tried to remember. She didn’t want to remember. She couldn’t. Her arm didn’t budge. She glanced down, her brain fuzzy, to see that her arms were secured to the chair.

The doctor nodded. “After what happened, we couldn’t take any chances. You are a flight risk Aurora. You need to be monitored at all times. You will also be medicated regularly as it was discovered you hadn’t been taking your medication.”

“They make everything fuzzy. I don’t like it.” She said in a whisper as her voice was thick. She swallowed as the doctor smiled.

“Ah, so you speak. Good. Now will you answer my questions?”

She just looked at him, confused. “Who are you? Where is Doctor Prah?”

He gave her a concerned almost fatherly look and she hated him immediately. He was not her father. What happened to Dr. Prah? He wasn’t there. He was always there when something like this happened to her. But she couldn’t remember. Her head hurt too much.

“Why, don’t you remember?” She could hear a slight mocking tone that was overlain with heavy concern.

She shook her head. She couldn’t remember anything. Why was she here?

“Why Aurora. He is the reason you are back here. Well, more accurately, YOU are the reason. You lost control. We are trying to piece together what happened, but it was a bloody mess. Aurora.” He said softly. “You killed him.”

Her eyes widened. Her brain tried to process his words, but it was useless. The medication made everything too muddy. Is this what madness is? She longed for the darkness as the pain in both her head and forearms pricked at her, eating away at her soul. Her head wouldn’t clear no matter how much she shook it. He was lying. He had to be.

“You are lying.”

He smiled a toothy smile, but the teeth were not pointy. He was not the reaper.

“No Aurora. You killed him and it is my job to find out why and to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

I am dead and this is hell. The voices laughed in the distance, and she knew they were back to torture her.

Two Weeks Ago

She ran down an alleyway, looking behind her as she went. The sun was hidden at her back by dark malicious clouds, threatening the world with something other than rain. She pulled her coat closer around her body as she made her way to the other side. The alley was full of people the world wanted to forget. She averted her gaze on a couple having sex behind a dumpster, next to a man injecting himself with some sort of liquid; no doubt his reward after fucking the prostitute. But that wasn’t what she made her look away; the looks of the couple, of the homeless surrounding her were something more than the looks of the lost and needy. Their eyes were hollow, faces gaunt. They were skeletons, barely human.

Head down, she bumped into a man with a large coat. She mumbled an “I’m sorry” and chanced a glance. The eyes she saw were red, not the hopeless black she was getting used to. He was smiling; something that didn’t happen in this neighborhood. She paused, and turned toward him. He had stopped in the middle of the alleyway and was looking up, as if soaking in the despair.

“Who are you?” She tried to see inside him, like she could do with anyone else. A shadow blocked her and she blinked, confused.

“If you are trying to see me, you won’t be able to. At least not yet. You still have a long way to go Aurora.” Her eyes widened.

“H-how do you know my name?” He gave a laugh and walked over to the couple who had just finished. The prostitute was heating up a spoon in preparation for the needle. She looked up at him all black eyes and hungry. Her soul reached out and locked onto him and he grabbed it greedily. She gasped as light flowed out of her, skin caving in as she fell to the ground, her previous black eyes back to a normal blue. Rory stepped back and bumped into someone on the ground. The man in the coat turned his red eyes on her and she cried out as she automatically attempted to look into his soul. But he didn’t have one. He walked up to her frightened state.

“Soon, you will understand that this is all for you.” She blinked and he was gone. Everyone in the alleyway was gone. His voice lingered as she ran towards the broken down string of shops on the next street over.

“You were just seeing things.” Dr. Parh said as he jotted down on his notepad.

Rory looked up, exasperated. “I am not seeing things! He took her soul away!” He sighed, removed his glasses, and gave her that same pitying look everyone gave her. Dr. Prah was a handsome middle aged man, with black hair that he kept shaved. He had brilliant blue eyes that shone bright again his dark skin and round metal glasses that gave him an air of sophistication. It just made him seem like more of an asshole sometimes, Rory thought. He wore a typical sweater vest that made him look pretentious, which was in contrast to his kind eyes. He looked at her with pity, but always with kindness; and that would infuriate her more.

“You know that is not possible. You are having visual hallucinations Aurora.” She glared at him.

“It was real.”

“No, it wasn’t. None of the monsters you see are real Aurora.”

She looked up then, ignoring the pleading in her tone. “Then what is?”

“I’m real. Your school is real. And we are trying to help you.” She didn’t respond because she knew they couldn’t help her. No one could. She scoffed. Dr. Parh raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Going to school isn’t helping me. No one there likes me. They like to make fun of me, and push me around.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. It wasn’t like he could do anything. “I think it is making things worse.”

“Have you told the teachers?” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, tell on the rich students that the crazy girl is being bullied. Right, because that will work.”

“Well, maybe it is something to try. If it doesn’t work we can think about pulling you out of school.” He continued to write in his notebook, not noticing how tense she got. Her eyes widened.

“No.” She said. “I don’t want to go back to being locked up in Arkham.”

He looked at her then and gave a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Who said you were going to be locked up? You have been following your treatment regimen so there is no reason for you to be re-committed to the Institution. We can get someone to come tutor you until you are able to finish school.”

“I don’t want anyone from Arkham teaching me.”

“Why must you call it that?”

“That is what everyone calls it. It’s named after the river surrounds the city.”

“That’s not its name, but that is not important. I’m sensing anxiety when you speak of your home.”

“That’s not my home.” She said, rougher than she had intended.

He gave another smile as if to prove a point. She glowered, glancing away from him. “What is it about the place that you don’t like.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? There is something seriously wrong with that place.” His brows furrowed and his lips turned down-wards.

“What do the rumors say?”

“That the doctors there experiment on patients and the prisoners in the basement.”

“The prisoners in the basement?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know? The city ordered the prison to be shut down and the basement of Arkham to be converted. It’s where dangerous people go to be forgotten. The city doesn’t care about the safety or mental health of the patients if they are allowing criminals to live among them.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to look into that, but it is probably just a separate facility to house criminals who are mentally sick and a danger to themselves and others. I’m sure there is nothing to worry about Aurora. Rumors are just that—rumors. They mean nothing.” But there was something in his eyes that made her think even he didn’t believe what he was saying. He is afraid, she thought. Now I definitely must never go back there.

“Anyways, our last topic I wanted to discuss during our time for today is your dreams. It’s been awhile since we talked about this. How are they? Is there anything new you would like to tell me?”

Was there? She thought back to last night. The fire and smoke. The voice pleading with her in the background, begging for help. The screams of those dying all around her, and all she could do was nothing. She was helpless in that world, searching for something she couldn’t find, something she had been looking for since that dreaded night. And then there was him. A beacon of light in the darkness, the boy shone a way through the smoke; but when she followed him she would end up at a locked door. Whenever she tried to open it, she woke up. But something different had happened last night. The boy beckoned to her and she followed, but there was no door at the end. The hallway of the old abbey that she always found herself in kept going and going; and finally at the end, she saw the boy with the white hair, curled up in a ball, dead. She woke up screaming and the nuns gave her tranquilizers to get her back to sleep.

She wondered if she should tell him. He wouldn’t believe her; he never did. She closed her eyes. He always told her it was part of her therapy to tell him everything and they would work through it together, but lately it hasn’t been about working through anything. It’s only been about him dismissing everything she was going through. The thought made her angry and she grew afraid. Anger made the headaches come and when they came, she would black out. She gripped her chair and forced herself to look at him.

“They are the same as usual.” He wouldn’t understand. For someone claiming to help her he doesn’t. He gave her a look for a moment, nodded, and wrote something on his notepad. She glanced at the clock. The hour was almost up. When she was younger, and the hallucinations were really bad, she would be in session with him for hours, but nothing helped. The drugs would help for awhile, but she always built up tolerance. She half expected him to write another prescription but when he closed his notebook, she was surprised.

He looked at her. Truly looked at her, with no pity, with no disregard, truly looked. “How are you feeling today?” She blinked and suddenly she was the little girl who was brought to him a shaking, blubbering mess.

“I’m scared. I’m afraid this won’t end. I’m afraid to watch.”

He scrunched up his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Watch what?”

“I’m afraid to watch the world burn.”

Dr. Parh didn’t say anything to that, a few minutes later, their session ended and he went back to the stoic therapist she had grown to know. The intensity in his eyes was gone, and she was left wondering what brought it out in the first place.

Rory left the building feeling disgruntled. Lately, Dr. Parh seemed distracted, and on more than one occasion he would cancel sessions. When she was younger, he would visit the asylum every day to do his therapy; but when she got older, and showed no outward signs of violence, he moved to an office a few blocks away from the asylum and she was allowed to venture there for her therapy. Then, upon his recommendation, she began attending classes with people outside of the asylum. She was supposed to keep to herself and out of trouble and she would be allowed her freedom. So, she learned to be quiet, invisible, and gained permission to attend college on a scholarship from a mysterious benefactor. One year went by with nothing changing as she struggled to adjust to her new life, and then the dreams started to change, the hallucinations became more vivid and numerous. Soon, she was seeing eyes of pitch wherever she went, and people began acting like zombies. She would meet people unaffected by this of course, so she always questioned whether the others were real or not. No one else seemed to see them. They couldn’t be real right? But she was schizophrenic, her doctor said. What she saw wasn’t real. She operated in a reality different from people whose brains were whole. Dr. Parh would always say her brain was built broken. Biologically, there was nothing that could be done; but with medication and therapy, she could learn to function in society. But she knew she’d never fit into this society.

Looking around her as she walked into the street, she wondered if she even wanted to. The society that laid out before her was just as broken as she was. She turned to the sound of hurried whispers and grunts. Half expecting to witness another pornographic scene involving a way too desperate hooker, she saw two individuals hidden in the entryway of a store suffering from the effects of the Establishment gaining control of the city. One, a cop, she noted the badge and gun presented proudly on the fading blue of the uniform reserved for those bound by honor to protect the city from crime, which usually meant saving the city from itself. He passed a wad of money to an individual in a hoodie and sweatpants. The hood passed a small bag of something resembling crystals with a shaky, sweaty hand. The hooded man was trembling as the officer mumbled something. Drug withdrawal? She thought, interested. She stepped closer in order to hear better when the hood stood up straighter and turned away. Rory froze at the sight of the red eyes.

“No.” She whispered. The hood smiled a black smile and Rory’s hands flew up to her mouth. She stepped back, poised to run away, when a soft, crone-like voice spoke from behind.

“Are you okay dear?” Rory turned, grateful that someone in this dump of a city actually cared.

She opened her mouth in a small smile to say the lie that was never far from her tongue. She was indeed okay. Nothing was wrong. A bug just flew in her face. It just surprised her. She expected to see a little old lady with kind eyes. The only thing that matched her expectations was the fact that the lady was old. Rory wasn’t even sure she was a lady anymore. Or maybe she never was. The hag had torn clothes, wrinkled features, and rotting skin that was peeling off to reveal the smooth muscle underneath. The teeth were either missing or unnaturally sharp. But it was the eyes that terrified her the most. This creature didn’t have any. The sockets were still bloody and Rory realized with horror that they had been clawed out. The girl’s eyes went to the creature’s hands and a scream came to her throat. The crone was holding bloody eyes in claws that still had chunks of skin underneath them. The crone opened up the monstrosity that was her mouth and spoke again “is everything okay dear? You look like you’ve seen a monster.” She then let out a horrific laugh that echoed throughout the whole neighborhood. It grated at Rory’s ears, but no one on the street seemed to notice or care.

Rory was passed her threshold of being able to handle the hallucinations. She spun around and ran, pushing past people, and hearing the echoing cackle of the crone she left behind.