Dr. Kall
Ilook at the row of new interns behind me, each more ill-prepared than the last. Their naive baby faces all stare attentively in my direction, their eyes wide with excited innocence.
Idiots. This place—these people—it’ll turn that excitement into horror before the day is done.
I’m starting with five new interns. I’ll be lucky to still have one here before the day is out.
Not much you can do as a young college graduate with a degree in Psychology, so inevitably they end up here for a paid internship.
I’ve seen many enter these halls thinking this will be their stepping stone to a career as a criminal profiler for the FBI, like on the stupid show Criminal Minds.
Most end up running from this place in tears.
The criminals are here alright, and happy to talk, you just won’t like what they have to say.
My shoulders tense up beneath my pristine lab coat as I spin.
I’m sure I look professional now; by the end of the day, this white coat will be covered in blood, feces, semen, urine, and whatever else they’re able to hurl at me through the bars.
I run my hand through my dark hair. It’s going to be a long fucking day.
“St. Andrews houses the most unstable inmates in the system. We bring in those who are too violent for society, but too unwell psychologically to remain in the regular prison system,” I inform the eager interns as we begin strolling through the halls.
One of the interns is wearing new bright white tennis shoes.
The rubber soles squeak with each step. The sharp sound reverberates off the yellowed walls.
I might dismiss that one early to avoid a day of listening to that fucking sound.
I place my badge against the keypad to enter the secure wing.
My heart pounds against my chest aggressively, as it always does, when I hear the locks disengage in the heavy metal double doors in front of me.
I love my job in theory, and hate it in reality.
The title, the salary—those are nice. The patients, the constant anxiety, the damn bodily fluids being flung at me—that I could do without.
“Do not,” I pause for dramatic effect. “I repeat, do not, engage with any of the patients. This is a facility housing dangerous and unstable individuals. You are here to observe only today. Do I make myself clear?”
I spin to face them, my eyes roaming their faces to check for their acknowledgment. Three of them nod sharply. Good. One already looks like he’s thinking of bolting. He’s pale and his eyes keep darting around the room as if searching for an escape route to run toward. Run while you can.
Squeaky shoes, on the other hand, looks …
determined. I don’t know her name; I never bother learning their names unless they make it through the first few weeks.
But whatever her name is, her face tells me she heard what I said but she thinks she knows better.
I’ve seen that look before. She thinks she’s gonna connect with the criminal and crack the case like Agent Who Gives a Shit from TV.
Great. She’s going to be fun to deal with today.
“Do I make myself clear?” I repeat again.
Pale face nods slowly although I’m concerned he may also be wetting himself as we speak.
“Got it, Doc,” squeaky shoes says, holding her head high, her eyes narrowed as if ready to face the challenge head-on.
Doc? This fucking girl. I am a doctor, yes.
A decade of school plus another six years of experience in the field and I’m actually the lead psychiatrist here at St. Andrews.
But yeah, I’m sure squeaky shoes is about to blow me away with her superior psychological abilities.
I barely stop the eye roll that threatens to take over my face as I stare back at her.
Her pale skin, dark features, and piercing golden eyes are attractive.
If she wasn’t so annoying, I’d probably try and have her beneath me by the end of the day.
Turning back around, I push the thoughts of her writhing on my cock out of my mind. I continue walking, waving politely at Sam who sits at the on-call desk as we pass. He’s a nice enough guy. He does his job well. He’s just a little bland. Not my favorite coworker to share a shift with.
“Have a good first day,” he calls to the interns as we pass.
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 girl looks 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, depraved even, 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.
I let out a long sigh and run my fingers through my hair again. “It’s part of his delusion, you see. He thinks I’m someone—something, called Kallum.”
The interns all look horrified. Their eyes flit to the ground in unease. All except a pair of glowing amber irises that remain locked on mine. As if she can see right through me—all the way through to the monster inside.
“Lucy,” a deep timber calls from further down the hallway. “Oh, Lucy.”
I know that voice, but I’ve barely heard it used in my six years here. He rarely speaks to another soul here. Usually, he just communicates in grunts or nods of his head. To hear him speak now is … unsettling.
“Little Lucy. I know you’re in here, Spider.” His voice sounds almost delighted.
In front of me amber eyes grow wide. Fear swirls in her irises and what little color she had in her pale cheeks drains completely.
“Lucy?” I ask squeaky shoes.
Hesitantly, she nods her head. A lock of dark hair escapes from her ponytail and falls across her forehead.
“Itsy bitsy spider, caught in a little web.” His deep voice echoes off the walls as he sings some demented song. “Itsy bitsy spider is going to end up dead.”