Page 26 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

A couple of years ago, Dr. Halstead introduced me to the lobotomy .

Fascinated by the inner workings of the mind, I found myself consumed by the idea of rewiring someone’s brain.

I spent the majority of my time researching the history of the procedure and learning how the process has evolved.

We were only taught a fraction about lobotomies in my college courses; it was skimmed over because it’s seen as taboo.

The original leucotomy, also known as the prefrontal lobotomy, provided me with a glimpse into the technique, consisting of drilling a hole into the side or top of the patient’s skull, exposing their frontal lobe.

That alone has my interest piqued, and I couldn’t stop myself from digging deeper.

The doctor used a scalpel to cut the nerve fibers, the idea being to force the brain to develop new neural pathways, hoping for better emotional responses.

While anesthesia was given to numb the brain, the patient was awake, and often asked to recite poetry while the procedure was being performed.

Some people thought it was barbaric, but I found it intriguing.

Another doctor tried a variation of the leucotomy. Instead of cleaving the nerves with a scalpel, he used a tool called a leucotome with a narrow shaft much like a syringe. It housed a wire that was inserted into the brain, severing the connections by rotating to core out brain tissue.

I found this alternative creative, but nothing compares to the transorbital lobotomy .

Most people refer to it as the icepick lobotomy .

The doctor who evolved the procedure from drilling a hole into someone’s skull to simply piercing their eye socket was a man to be admired.

The public disgraced him, labeling him as a narcissist instead of the genius he actually was.

The man had no formal surgical training, yet he performed thousands of lobotomies on people who suffered from different types of mental illness.

He refined the lobotomy, making it possible for psychiatrists such as myself to execute the treatment in office, without a hospital stay.

His method provided a faster recovery time, the swelling in the brain decreased by weeks.

He literally pulled an icepick from his kitchen drawer, and used an actual hammer to perform the first transorbital lobotomy. He said the other doctor’s unsuccessful attempts were due to unsturdy instruments.

The man had balls of steel, I’ll give him that.

They later named the icepick an orbitoclast, and people were standing in line to have their brains rewired . The articles about his work were insane.

Pun intended.

He used shock therapy to render his patients unconscious.

He’d peel back their eyelid, inserting the icepick into the orbital socket, giving it a few taps with the hammer to break through the bone plate, and wiggle the icepick around to sever the frontal lobe.

A towel would be held beneath their mouth and nose to catch mucus leaking from their orifices.

It was incredible.

I’d give anything to have been around back then, to witness the procedure in person.

An answer to mental illness was uncovered, but as usual, all good things must come to an end.

The public got wind of some unpleasant side effects and a few deaths.

All hell broke loose, and the doctor was banned from performing any more lobotomies.

Convulsions, confusion, partial paralysis, and zombie-like behavior were reported, but with all experimental treatments, there’ll always be failures. It’s part of the process.

After brain hemorrhaging, trouble speaking, and loss of personality were brought to the attention of the medical boards, lobotomies were forbidden, and slowly faded from existence. Some doctors still practice the treatment under the radar, and lucky for me, Dr. Halstead is one of them.

They portrayed the doctor as a monster, deeming himself as a god, his ego too large to see the scope of what he was doing.

I see him as an artist, an innovative thinker, a unique man who challenged nature.

He may have been crucified in the public eye, but I think highly of his abilities, and I’m beyond grateful to follow in his footsteps.

This will change everything.

While I’ve never performed a lobotomy myself, I’ve watched and learned while Dr. Halstead has on multiple occasions.

The anticipation pumping through my veins has it’s own pulse inside my head.

I’ve never felt so alive. I couldn’t wait any longer, and I gave Olivia something to help her sleep soundly, instead of sedating her.

The familiarity of restraining her brings a smile to my face.

Soon, little doll.

Once she wakes up, she’ll be mine forever without question. She’ll have no choice but to look to me for guidance and answers. I’ll be her hero. Her savior.

Nothing will come between us.

She’ll never be overwhelmed by her disorders again, and I’ll have my beautiful, little plaything at my disposal whenever I want.

As soon as Olivia opens her emerald eyes, she’ll be at my mercy, more so than before.

While I’m confident she’s healed enough to have the lobotomy, I’ve given her a valium to calm her nerves and mind.

The last thing I need is her fighting me during this delicate procedure.

As I sit beside her, watching her sleep peacefully, she begins to stir, and the excitement is like a kickstart to my chest. Her beautiful eyes flutter open, a cold stare pinning me with hatred.

I’ll be glad when that look is gone.

“What are you going to do to me now?” It’s the first words she’s spoken since I’ve brought her here, and I must say, it adds a little pep to my step.

Confirming the strap around her head is secure, my thumb wipes away the lone tear leaking from the corner of her eye. “I’m going to fix you, little doll.”

Her eyes fall shut as she whispers, “I just want to be free.”

“I’m going to free your mind, Olivia. It’ll all be over soon.” Tracing her left eyebrow with my fingers, I grin, knowing my words are true. “Now open your eyes.”

Her gaze finds mine, and so many emotions flash across her face.

Worry.

Terror.

Defeat.

She’s yet to realize she’s being given a gift, not understanding how truly lucky she is to have met me. I’m going to banish the demons from her mind, and give her the opportunity for a real life.

With me.

“The medication I gave you has had time to take effect. Let’s begin.” She blinks in response. “Would you like me to talk you through it, little doll?” I ask, putting on a pair of latex gloves.

“No,” she whispers so softly, I almost miss it.

This is it.

I’m about to change both our lives.

“Look down,” I tell her.

She does as I ask without hesitation. Lifting a cotton swab from the metal tray, I dip it into a small bowl of water. Once it’s soaked through, I lift it to her eye, carefully pinching her eyelashes, rolling the eyelid over the cotton swab. Removing the applicator, the eyelid stays in place.

Gripping the orbitoclast between my fingers, I lift it to her eye, and I’m surprised she doesn’t flinch.

The valium is working well.

Or she’s disassociated.

She won’t be doing that anymore once I’m finished with her.

Pinching her eyelid, I pull it from the socket, flicking the cotton piece out of the way. Lifting the orbitoclast, I push it beneath her lid, running parallel with her nose until I feel resistance from the orbital plate.

The goal is to sever the nerve pathways in the frontal lobes of the brain, as well as severing the connections between the frontal lobes and the thalamus. The thalamus is part of the limbic system, which controls emotions, memories, and learning. These are all skills Olivia struggles with.

Sweat forms above my brows as I carefully lower her eyelid onto the metal of the ice pick. With my free hand, I reach for the hammer, taking a deep breath before gently tapping it through the orbital socket. The soft crack of bone dissolving under the light force of the mallet has me grinning.

Fucking incredible.

After penetrating the barrier, the orbitoclast slides into the frontal lobe, gliding smoothly into the brain.

I’m a medical professional, with fluent knowledge in all medical jargon, but there’s only one way to describe the texture of the human brain.

Squishy.

A sharp inhale disrupts my thoughts. Daring a glance at her, Olivia’s eyes have glazed over, disassociating herself from the situation entirely.

While I don’t blame her, I wish she’d show more interest in this complex yet monumental procedure.

Dr. Halstead wasn’t successful in his attempts, but my knowledge well surpasses his, along with my skills.

He performed lobotomies as experiments. I’m doing this to benefit my patient, as well as myself.

Blood oozes from beneath her eyelid, gathering at the corner of the socket, trailing down her nose.

Crimson merges with the clear mucus seeping from her nostrils, and I grab a gauze pad, wiping away the thick stream of fluid.

I’m not concerned; some bleeding is to be expected.

Placing the hammer back onto the metal tray, I reach for another gauze, soaking up the saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth with my free hand, discarding it onto the tray.

As I push further into the frontal lobe, I twist the orbitoclast slowly in a back-and-forth motion.

A strangled sound leaves her throat, and my eyes fly to her.

Gaze still glazed over, staring at the ceiling, her face is blank.

The need to say something makes my throat itch, but even I’m not that kind of monster.

I’ll leave her in whatever world she’s in right now.

Rotating the orbitoclast, I visualize Dr. Halstead’s lobotomies.

Mimicking his movements, I imagine the connections in her mind, the tool between my fingers cutting the links.

If the lobotomy doesn’t work as it should, I’ll have to assess the aftereffects before deciding her fate.

If her symptoms aren’t a burden, I’ll figure out a way to make things work.

If the side effects are too much to manage, I’ll be merciful by putting her out of her misery.

While she belongs to me, and I’d prefer to have her in my life, I won’t support her in a vegetative state.

It’s cruel to keep her that way.

That line of thinking is pointless anyway. I’m confident in my abilities. My skills are perfection, and I know she’ll come out of this better than she was before.

And it’ll be because of me.

Slowly, I retract the tool from her brain, easing it out of her eye socket. A trail of blood trickles from the wound as I drop the orbitoclast onto the metal tray. She doesn’t flinch at the clanking sound, and it’s all the confirmation I need.

I’ve missed wearing belts.

Reaching for a towel, I wipe the blood and mucus from her face. “Can you hear me, little doll?”

She blinks once, but she doesn’t speak. I begin unfastening the restraints on her wrists when I notice a puddle of liquid on the table. She may be the object of my obsession, but her weak bladder is quite annoying.

Scooping her into my arms, I take her into the bathroom to clean her up. She’s dead weight as I wrestle to remove her soiled gown, wiping away the urine from her skin with a cloth. Once I’m finished, I carry her into the bedroom she’ll be staying in, placing her on the bed.

She’s catatonic, her eyes open but unseeing. I wonder where she is right now.

The swelling in her brain should be minimal, but when she wakes from her current state, she’ll likely have a migraine, and a black eye.

I’ll check her temperature every few hours to ensure she doesn’t have a fever.

She lies motionless as I cover her body with the blanket, flipping off the lamp on the nightstand, quietly leaving the room.

Heading for the shower, I undress, stepping under the warm spray.

Mentally replaying the procedure, pride swells in my chest, realizing I’ve done something miraculous.

I’ve penetrated Olivia’s brain with expert precision, and forced it to develop new neural pathways.

Her disorders will have disappeared, her emotions manageable and more stable.

It may be too soon to congratulate myself, but I did so well on my first attempt.

Of course, I won’t know the results until she wakes up, and I speak with her. But unlike Dr. Halstead’s patients, she didn’t hemorrhage or seize on the table.

I’ll take that as a good sign.