A Monument To Our Sins; Claythorne Chronicles Part 1

So, Child of Madness and I (Caleb from Gentleman Killers) are writing a story that takes place with my favourite guy to write about (Burton) and a particular patient he has in Claythorne, a mental Asylum in Leeds England during the late seventies to late eighties. It is and will be rather violent and graphic, profanity will and shall be common to see throughout. If you would like to become a co-writer please send a request with the idea you have. I hope you can sit back, enjoy the painful pleasure and the squealing goodness of evil madness.

Please fan and comment! We need more readers and feedback!!

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2. A Man, A Doctor, A Killer

His hands holding one another behind his back as he peered out a large glass window that overlooked the grounds of his beloved asylum. There were a few white jumpsuit-clad inmates roaming the courtyard cautiously and slowly. In appearance Claythorne looked like a high-class private school with well-kept grounds and a curiously large graveyard besides it. Burton never worried about investigative services though, if in the situation they came a knocking money would make them sing a different tune and if there was anything that he had more than enough of beyond IQ, it would be money. He’d been working with the Claythorne project since its inception, nurtured the idea since he graduated college with several high degrees mostly consisting of doctorates. Upon his profession and innate intelligence came his ability as a prolific and rather speedy writer who wrote several medical texts every year based upon his studies.

His partner in crime was a brilliant but not nearly as successful or wealthy or arrogant woman who had a PhD in Neurology and a rather attractive exterior. She served as a manipulator within the asylum and tended to gain trust faster than he with her having much softer, kinder and ‘normal’ features. However they were both incredibly vile in their own way, but Burton proved to be the viler of the two with his poison tongue and broken promises. In truth Burton was the only of the two who was inherently evil, whereas Winter was subject to being controlled by the emaciated man to some extent and merely followed his orders acting as the senior partner. She had entered Claythorne by the request of “The Good Doctor” mostly to further her intellectual studies and earn a larger paycheck to assist her non-medical endeavours.

So stood the mad doctor, watching the passing patients from several stories above, the sun not appearing to even slightly tan or burn his disturbingly porcelain skin that was stretched over his too slender, too tall figure that was barely masked by his black scrubs and long medical laboratory coat. Turning away from his wide window he took oddly long strides that appeared almost painful with his spindly legs towards a wall that was completely covered in a bookshelf from floor to ceiling. Every book was perfectly lined in rows; none of them out of order in numbers, none of them an odd size from the rest. Scanning over his books he found a cavity within the lines, a fearful hole within his perfected system of organization. His heart rate began to go slightly faster, he began to think without end about where it could have been, how a man near as perfect and organized as he could have misplaced a simple text. The doctor shook away his fear and decided that to quell it he would go and visit the patients; go and make a new fraudulent record….

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