drbloom:

Alana Bloom was acquainted with the establishment.

In fact, more than just acquainted. 

She had conducted more interviews and sessions than she could count on her hands at this point. Her glove clad hand wrapped tighter around the lead of the scruffy looking brown dog, Winston. Today was neither of those thought

Today was to see Will. 

It was a know fact that dogs were helpful in therapeutic situation. It only took the psychiatrist a few tactical hand waves and accreditations thrown to have her way. Winston was suppose to be a nice surprise as she found herself taking care of pack of dogs while their owner was away from home.  

Her heels and his claws clicked against the tiled floors as they were escorted to the room. It was a standard practice but the thought of Will being considered a danger made her stomach lurch and twist about. In all technical terms, he was and Alana recognized that. This did not stop her from remembering the man she had met years ago though. The man whom was her colleague. The man who collected strays and gave them a new home. The man she had grown to, and still does, consider her friend. 

She gave a nod to the guard in acknowledges that she could handle herself from her. There was a quick rap of her knuckles against the door to serve as a warning before she opened it to present herself and Winston.

“Will?” 

                         he’s c r a z y

That’s what they say about him. The nurses, though their expressions hold the same passive calmness they all have, are tenser around him, their smile stiffer and more forced. They treat him like how they would treat a child.

                        ❝That’s because you are a child❞

                                      ❝A { crazy, crazy } child❞

The voices started years ago, though they have never been too bad – until he started working for Jack Crawford; until he stepped into the minds of serial killers and sociopaths; until he killed a man. Now, their voices follow him everywhere he goes. They speak to him, they speak for him, they control him. 

He refused to acknowledge the illness at first; it had never been so bad that he couldn’t keep it hidden and tell himself that there was nothing wrong with him – but then he killed Garret jacob Hobbs.

          The reason you used to work homocide was because you couldn’t stomach pulling the trigger

                     Now you’ve pulled the trigger t e n t i m e s

                                   {I’m FINE}

                                                                                                ❝No, you’re not❞

                                                                                          ❝You’re crazy❞

                                                                                  ❝Admit it❞

                                       ❝You should n e v e r have agreed to working with Crawford❞

                                                  ❝He wanted to take you away from us❞

                     ❝He wanted to control you❞

      ❝But WE control you❞

                                                       ❝you’re ours❞

“No,” his voice is shrill and approaches desperation. He grabs hold of his hair between his fingers and pulls his knees up to his face where he hides it. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

   makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopp l e a s emakeitstop

His body trembles as he fights to regain control of his thoughts once more. He pushes the voices back where they are less noisy. They never go away – ever. But there are times when he can push them back long enough to think for himself.Hands tremble as he reaches to the small bedside table to his right and picks up the small orange bottle that stands on its own. He opens the bottle slowly–

                                                                     ❝POISON❞

                                    ❝It’s p o i s o n❞

                                                                        ❝DON’T TAKE IT❞

Without knowing it, he throws the bottle across the room where it spills its contents and fall to the floor with loud clatters. His hands reach down and grab hold of his blankets, fists balling up until his knuckles shone white. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to keep from screaming.

  makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop

The sharp rap on his door snaps him back and his eyes flutter open just as his door opens. He braces himself for a nurse that might have heard the clatter of pills on the floor, or, even worse, a doctor. He is right – it is a doctor who walks in, but it is not his doctor. His mout turns slack at the sight of the familiar face of Alana Bloom, old colleague. Though it has only been a few months since they had last seen each other, it felt like decades. He missed his friend. 

The softer padding of paws alert him to the retriever at Alana’s feet. Winston had come with her. His heart leaps at the sight of the stray he’d picked up ages past and he holds back the urge to jump out of bed and towards the dog. 

             ❝You’re crazy, remember?❞

                       ❝I N S A N E❞

             ❝Don’t go n e a r them❞

                                                                     ❝they will hurt you.❞

He listens and stays where he is. Slowly, he turns to look at Alana once more, though their eyes never meet.

“Alana, what are you doing here?”