I didn't write a report today, I attempted to but I could not get over the screams that pierced through the iron door calling for my assistance. He's in Ward 360 now, whatever tormentor he has probably accompanied him there. He looked at me, Harrison Salnar stared at me, begging for my mercy.
It wasn't quite 'me' that he stared at though, but rather an invisible force in front of me. I cannot place any time where I have seen such horror in someones eyes. It was so chilling cruel to watch him like an animal in the zoo. His huge eyes kept rolling to the back of his skull.
It was as though he was being silences, he squealed and thrashed before throwing himself into a corner and sit there: hands around his knee's rocking back and fourth, sobbing.
Sometimes I think I see flashes of other people in that ward, manhandling him, being so cruel and then they vanish as though they were never there.
I looked at the ward, the sterile cushioned walls were restrained by large circular screw's, their caps like glistening mushrooms. The single light bulb swung lowly in the room, sending shadows flying, growing and shrinking. He was wearing a plain garment, a tunic that passed his knee's; a few pathetic stitches enclosing the bottom to become shorts.
The garment was mostly torn now, as was the bits of Harrison's flesh frayed around gaping flesh wounds. His eyes had sunken to the back of his skull and their were scratch marks around his jugular. Crystal beads of sweat tinging his forehead. He looked like a creature, a malnourished little excuse for a frame from a genetic experiment on humans gone wrong. He was hunched over, attempting to tear his hair out.
I looked away, I had to. I wrote the report.
27 October 2003
Subject: Harrison Salnar
He screams and cries and sobs for help. He calls my name. It's new, does he still understand language after the years he has spent here, without it? The question doesn't really concern me as language is a skill he need not possess.
He calls out other names now, he begs them to stop. He usually screams at Sean, a guttural sound that terrifies the others in the hospital.
I stopped writing again. I hated it, on such a basic level and yet I could do nothing to prevent it. The echoing scream's that must run through his head and the awful beating's he received in the sterile white room. We were not the only ones torturing Harrison Salnar.
Well sure enough they came, the men in white garments came and sure enough, much to his relief but Sean's pure pleasure he was injected and sedated. Oh the dreams he was induced to, it kept him fraught with terror so much so that he fought the sedative coursing through his veins, awakening in a fright only to find he was isolated, alone and completely derelict in the ward.
"Lorelei," he whispered into the dark as he rubbed his aching wounds. "Lorelei, it hurts so bad, why won't you come to me and save me? I know you can hear them, see them but you ignore my pain, why!?" The child was certain that perhaps his so called "friends" were really just malformations of the institute, haunting any of those weak of mind and heart.
"You know, you really shouldn't spite Sean, Harrison," it was a small, timid shadow that came forth, lowly drawn unkempt hair and gown drew over this younger boy's shadow; Ronnie was this one's name. "You know how Sean can be...Why did you hurt him more?"
"Hu-hurt him? Do you not see what he did to me? Oh this pain and agony, Ronnie, how did you bear it here?"
"I did...and I didn't, but that's not the point right now, she heard you Harrison, the doc heard your screams." His shimmering form was calm as to show his truthful side.
"Did she?" He scoffed quietly, "She doesn't give a damn about me, none of them do, they've written me off as dead in mind and soon in body."
"She'll visit you tomorrow Harrison," the specter child replied with soothing melancholy. "When she does, ask her a few things fine but, if you want out or a chance at appeal...keep your mouth shut, got it?"
"I get it but...oh Ronnie I fear I am not long for this world, and the food, I know it's medicated to make me a compliant zombie so I starve..."
"Pah, you're just paranoid, relax, if anything, be childish and begging and ask that doctor for help, some food as she always keeps a bar or two of something on her...." His childish giggle played in Harrison's ear.
"Thanks Ronnie, I owe you one." With a quiet content, a shred of hope restored, the ragged skeletal form of a boy was able, for the first night, sleep through without a night terror; this was recorded and seen as impressive to a few of the psychologists on station, even the Ward head who forwarded the observations to his patron doctor, Lorelei.