Page 28 of His to Ruin
They all nod and smile politely. Maybe I should have Sam run these tours for new interns going forward. His bland and boring vibes might put them more at ease than I do. I’m harsh, cold, imposing. I’m aware of how I come across. I just honestly don’t give a fuck.
“We’re about to enter the patient facility,” I inform the interns. “Please remember the rules: do not approach the cells, do not leave the group, do not converse with the inmates. And most importantly—stay alert as we enter these doors.”
Pale face looks like he might puke. Wanna-be-punk girllooks like she’s starting to regret all her life decisions. And of course, squeaky shoes has her hand high in the air.
“Yes?” I ask her as my eyebrow twitches slightly in annoyance.
“When will we be getting more hands-on experience?” she asks with enough sass to make me curl my fist at my side.
“Not on the first day,” I snap back at her, probably harsher than necessary.
Her cheeks flame red and she has enough sense to look down at her ridiculously white shoes. I like the flush of her cheeks, the submissive bow of her head. My cock takes notice and twitches in my pants.
Spinning away to avoid any more nonsense, I hold my badge up to the card reader on the second set of doors. Two sets of reinforced steel doors separate the main wing of cells from the front, and a third set of doors is in the very back, separating the main population from those on “Devil’s Row.” The patients call it that; I’ve forbidden the staff from using the nickname. There’s no devil’s here—just wicked and evil men.
The click of the locks disengaging ratchets up my blood pressure. This job will surely send me to an early grave. I take a deep breath and push open the double doors, swiftly stepping across the threshold and into Hell. The smell hits my nose immediately. Filth. There’s no other word to describe it. It’s unsafe for cleaning crews to enter here more than once a week so the stench builds over days. Sweat, blood, bile, terror. I stopped gagging long ago but I can’t practically see the interns covering their noses through the back of my skull.
“This is the larger wing,” I tell the not-so-eager-anymore interns behind me as I walk swiftly and surely down the hallway. “It houses the majority of the inmates here. Each man gets their own cell. Cell mates are too risky in a facility like this.”
Our steps echo off the stone floor beneath us as we walk down the hall. On either side of us is a row of rooms. Each room is small—only the basics that the inmate could need, with a large window in the door. Bars cover the windows allowing a view into the room if needed.
“The rooms look so … barren,” Wanna-be-punk states. “They don’t even have real blankets.”
“Blankets turn to nooses,” I state matter-of-factly.
Around us jeers, taunts, and screams fill the air. There’s always a lot of commotion when fresh meat enters this place. Over all the noise, the loud squeak of those fucking shoes echoes. I clench my fists in annoyance.
“Each room contains a bed with restraints attached to the frame, a toilet, a small table, and a single chair. Some long-term residents are allowed books or art supplies,” I tell them as I continue walking. I don’t turn to look, but I can sense the interns cowering together, taking it all in as they follow behind me.
When we reach the end of the long hallway, we’re greeted by another set of locked double doors. My palms grow sweaty at the sight. I have to visit these patients daily to monitor their progress, and yet entering this area of the facility never gets easier. Knowing what evil lies behind these doors turns my blood to ice.
Spinning toward the interns I address them again. “Behind these doors are the most violent and unstable inmates here. They are all extremely dangerous and several are exceptionally manipulative. Do not, under any circumstances, make contact or talk to any of them. Am I clear?”
They all nod, even squeaky shoes. Pale boy looks like he might faint. I’d leave him out here, but he’d run the moment he’s out of my sight. Badging in, I push open the doors.
“The first door on our right houses Martin Noxely,otherwise known as the Slenderman Slayer.” I motion to the door that houses the infamous serial killer. One of the interns behind me gasps though I’m not sure which one.
“Behind this door…” I motion to the next door on the left. “Is the Campus Killer.”
“Didn’t he…” one of the interns begins, but is unable to finish the sentence.
“Rape, torture, kill, and then cannibalize sixteen college girls?” I finish for them. “Yup. He also carved out their eyeballs and fucked their empty eye sockets. The demons in his head made him do it.”
Pale boy leans to the side and covers his mouth. Yeah, he’s not made for this place. Better to send him packing early than drag out the inevitable.
“Kallum.” A soft whisper slips through the bars of one of the doors down the hallway. His voice is melodic. “Kallum. It’s time to come out and play,” he sing-songs.
“Who’s behind that door?” Squeaky shoes asks. Her eyes burn brightly with a fire of defiance that I find weirdly intoxicating.
“No one you’ve ever heard of, Spitfire.” The nickname slips out before I can stop it. I swallow down the mistake before anyone lingers too long on it. “His name is Christian.”
As if summoned by my utterance of his name, his face appears between the bars. Round, sweet, innocent-looking with red cheeks and a speckle of freckles across his nose; Christian Everly looks like the kid next door. Too bad he’s lost the battle with his demons.
“In the last month, he has stabbed an intern, and when one of our doctors, Kaleb, ran to try to help the poor intern, Christian stabbed him with a makeshift shiv as well,” I inform the wide-eyed group of onlookers.
Christian’s face distorts into something dark, depravedeven, as a sinister smirk spreads across his face. A look of pure madness flickers in his irises, a look that sets all the nerves in my body on fire.
“You know that wasn’t me, Kallum,” he sing-songs.