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.

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6. And Inquiry, A Confiscation And A Bleeding Desire

When Burton ran into Winter she seemed a little on edge as if something were getting at her and digging under her skin. He also noted the small black-journal under the crook of her arm as she appeared to have walked out of Mr. Taylor’s room. Burton couldn’t have smirked a little more at the situation and began to speak warmly to the icy doctor after her greeting.

“Well, my dear Winter, what seems to be troubling you?”

The immediate inquiry that Burton proposed was both abrupt and unexpected, then realizing she had William’s book in plain sight; she quickly hid it under the folds of her coat. Looking the evil man right in his deep, black, beady eyes she replied, “Nothing is wrong sir, I’m just a bit flustered.”

Burton, while not an expert at psychology, was able to pick up on her slight level of deceit and the swift hiding of Mr. Taylor’s notebook. His face turned concerning and his voice became smooth and sweet with the intent of venom, “Come now my sweet Winter, tell me what’s on your mind. You know that I can assist you on anything within the medical fields.”

Winter scanned his face, reproachfully, imagining what disgusting things could be running through her vile employer’s mind at that very moment, but almost hypnotically she was compelled to tell him what was going on, “Well, you know that I’ve been having trouble with our dear friend Mr. Dogg. This morning I was rummaging through book after book without end looking for an answer to why he does the things he does. Then I went to go talk to my favourite patient William and here I am standing with you.”

Burton nodded with legitimate concern, not for her wellbeing, but with the notion of there being a “favourite” patient that this woman could become attached to. Markus could be easily dealt with and Burton knew this quite well and William now posed a threat to his leadership. Looking straight into the female doctor’s face he said, “Winter, Winter, Winter… I cannot help but wonder why you don’t come to me sooner, as for Mr. Taylor, I have told you not to form any personal relationship between yourself and a patient from day-one. Now why don’t we talk about this a little later in my office? I have a couple things to do first. Oh, say three thirty or so?”

It was around eleven thirty at that time and Winter nodded in compliance, then turned away in the other direction as to not impede “The Good Doctor” any further. But as she did so he spoke once more.

“And Miss Winter, I will have to confiscate that notebook from you, we are not allowed to take personal possessions away from patients. I will read it over if it is for a psycho-analysis and then return it to you once I have read it over.”

It was as if her could read her mind in the second part of his statement, she rolled her eyes impatiently at his observance and walked to him, the book in hand. His tendril like, finger appendages grasped the book surprisingly firmly and took it gracefully from her tender hands. She then turned on her way in the other direction once more.

Burton chuckled at her slight insolence and began to flip through the pages of the journal picking up on words and phrases here and there realizing it was nothing more than a worthless story. Nothing more than a pile of useless drivel written on paper and smeared like shit across a wall. He sneered at the pages with disgust and a certain want to tear the book in half, but considering his promise to return the book to Winter he resisted the urge, closed the book and hid it in a pocket on the inside of his coat. Burton was ready to kill someone and he had the perfect person in mind; Markus Dogg, the hideous sex offender that caused his precious neurologist so much stress and anxiety. So he walked to the cell 244 A with haste and a fluid desire to mangle Markus’ on a whole new level and then watch him drown in pain. As he walked, the bell for lunch rang.

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