Bedlam

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A detective is attempting to solve a muder case when the events seem to crumble at the seams.

Submitted: September 30, 2015

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Submitted: September 30, 2015

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The stairs creaked as I slipped down the staircase of my apartment complex. The smell of cheap alcohol and cigarettes biting at my nose. My heart was racing at an abnormal space as I rounded the bend and finished descending down the staircase. The envelope in my palm demanding to be opened. I cast a nervous look over my shoulders as the hairs on the back of my neck stand as if someone is following behind me. My stride increases as a black ninety-sixty seven Impala comes into view. The keys are slipped in the door and the familiar clack of the locks unlocking provide a sense of comfort to my still twisting stomach. I slip into my leather seats and shut the door locking immediately and flipping on the light on the roof of the car. I use the jagged edge of my car key to slice open the envelope containing the biggest clue to the murder case. The paper shakes in my hands as I attempt to carefully unfold it.

The letter read: Detective Bryant, it has become a hobby of mine to participate in this cat and mouse game we are currently playing. I must admit the pleasure I felt as you exited that hospital in London this afternoon. The look that crossed your aging face as you struggled to solve the puzzle pieces left behind. Elijah, I am closer than you wish to believe and smarter than you want to admit, just know you and I are not that different, in fact, I am just like you as you are just like me.

The blood rushed to my neck as my teeth clenched. “Who does this man think he is and why must he speak in riddles!” I shout as my fist connects with the steering wheel. It has been two exhausting weeks and I have yet to find the culprit. “You’re losing it Elijah.” I say to myself leaning my forehead against the coarse steering wheel.

After a few moments of deep breathing, I straighten my back and put the keys in the ignition to start the car I’ve owned for four years. The sentences from the letter and previous letters bouncing against my skull as I try to focus on the road ahead. A sharp pain fills the cavity of my brain blinding me. My hands retract themselves from the steering wheel and grasp at my eyes as a silent scream escapes my gaped lips and I feel the vehicle begin to lose control. I reach for the steering wheel but cannot reach it in time as my Impala begins rolling and the seatbelt restrains me against the seat and blood begins seeping from my hairline. I’m going to die and he will go on forever. I think to myself as I begin losing consciousness, slipping into the dark abyss of my mind.

Blood was everywhere, almost as if a never ending river was flowing. The whites of the eyes were bulging and no longer white, but the same shade of crimson staining his clothes. I fell to my knees, an unfamiliar scream catching in my throat as the knife slid from my numb fingers. “Murderer!”, echos throughout the room from the trembling young woman in the corner. A sob escapes her chapped lips, “How could you Elijah!” she screams.

Hearing my name being screamed, I awake instantly. I attempt to sit upright but feel the straps of the cuffs biting into my skin. Another scream startles me until i realize it as my own, my fingers curling as I try to break from my restraints, approaching voices become increasingly louder as the memories haunting my being begin clarifying. “Help me.” I gasp out as the darkness takes over once again.

I eventually begin waking, groggily but slowly gaining my senses back. “Good morning, Mr. Bryant. Did you enjoy your outing?” I hear a familiar voice speaking from my right side. I try to turn my head, but hiss in pain as my muscles scream from strain. “Do not move Elijah, you have sustained quite a few injuries.” The voice speaks once more as the face of a black haired angel comes into view. Her eyes were piercing green and she had a flawless complexion as a small, slender hand presses against my forehead. “You cannot resist your medications with your condition, Elijah. This has happened enough times now.” The angel says causing confusion to sweep through my skull. My face must have mimicked how I felt because she sat on the edge of my hospital bed, her knee pressing against the restraint on my right wrist, preparing to deliver unpleasant news. “You can’t remember again, can you?”, she spoke softly as I shook my head in response. She sighed as she prepared her monologue, “I am Dr. Clementine Rose, lead psychologist here at Bethlem Royal Hospital, Bedlam if you will. You were admitted here four years ago by a woman named Eliza Bryant, your sister.” Dr. Rose trails off seeming to weigh her next phrase as her hand shakily pushes her hair out of her piercing green eyes. “You were convicted of murdering Chip Lewis, your late brother in law.”, she says as her eyes dart to gauge my expression. I feel my lip tremble and tears prickle in my eyes. “W-hy would I…”, I break off gasping slightly in shock before continuing, “why would I do such a terrible, wicked thing such as that.” I manage to whisper to her in denial as she stands and her hands clasp tightly together behind her back. As she lifts her eyes to catch my gaze, the memories flood back almost as if they were a tidal wave pulling me into the dangerous waters.

My hands are coated in blood as I notice my sister crouching in the corner begging me to stop. The knife falls from my grip and clatters on the tile floor. I begin to scream in agony and remorse as my hands tangle in my hair and my knees buckle beneath my body. “What have I done?!” I repeat to myself as I begin to rock bargaining with God to bring me back in time to correct my actions before the anger replaces the remorse once more and i begin charging towards the cowering woman in the corner. I feel arms hold me back as I uncontrollably curse at her threatening to murder her as I recently did to her husband.

My eyes widen as I gasp coming back to the present. “ I remember…” I begin and trail off before resuming. “ but I was just at my apartment, I was just a detective. I was not here an hour or so ago!” I scream at Dr. Rose. She remains patient waiting for me to calm myself down. “You escaped again Mr. Bryant. This was the third time in the past year, you’ve hid your medications and fought your way out of the hospital. In your brain you were back in your old life, but in reality, the apartment you were leaving was your room here and the car you crashed was stolen.” Dr. Rose said matter of factly as she rolled the sleeves of her coat to her elbows. “That cannot be true! I read a letter from the real killer!” I screamed begging her to believe me and refusing to believe her. A smile played on her lips as she spoke once more, “That letter was from you.” Light burst behind my eyelids as the truth behind her words began to seep into my entire being. I turn my head and close my eyes wishing the entire situation away as I slowly begin falling asleep once again.

The next non blurry memory I have is slowly waking up to a beeping alarm next to my queen sized bed. I sleepily roll over and hit the snooze button before clammering out of bed and into my kitchen for my morning coffee. There is an envelope with Elijah Bryant written in calligraphy across the front solitarily on my breakfast bar. My hands begin to tremble as I slide my finger beneath the sealed flap to open the letter. I unfold the letter with care as I begin to read the first line. Detective Bryant, it has become a hobby of mine to participate in this cat and mouse game we are currently playing.


The End


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