InsaneJournal

Who: Madison (blahblah)
Where: Abandoned psychiatric hospital
When: Sunday Night
Warnings: rape (not overly graphic), water torture, hydrotherapy, power abuse, insanity



The day had gone quietly by, exploration had been done, things had been found, including a few photographs and a journal entry. Things were going quite well, she had even managed to dispose of the body fairly well. She doubted anyone would ever find it, and if they did, could not link her to it. She would have to find an alibi for where she was, just in case though.

Then she had crept back downstairs, though she was almost frightened to do so once dark fell. What would happen this time, what ghosts would commit atrocities and subject her to being blamed for them, possibly. What evil deeds must she witness this time. Her steps were hesitant, but she crept back behind the machinery again and down into the subbasement, below where things were seen on the surface, where the caged in windows let in bright sunshine, below where laws and rules applied.

Down she went, into the pit of torment that was once ward 5. She had gathered up a few requested implements earlier, taken a few more pictures too, those she would send tomorrow. Her backpack had been left with her other things in the office she had claimed as her sanctuary, it didn't have the oppressive feeling to it that the rest of the place seemed to be rife with.

----------warning beyond this point-------

It was not another operating theater she found this time, instead it was hydrotherapy. She took a couple of pictures of the bath and the 'therapy' unit. Her camera slipped back into her pocket she went through the room and into another, then turned and found herself within complete darkness. Her flashlight shaken, banged against her hand, but it didn't seem to be working. She hung it from a belt loop, then reached into her pocket and flipped open her lighter, and though she could smell the fuel and hear the flame, there was no light there.

Hands grabbed her, this time, she was the patient. Her world turned from black to one of black and white. Three large orderlies had her, leading her struggling form from the darkness back to the hydrotherapy tub. The doctor was there, not the same one from the night before, this was a different doctor, one that looked kind and gentle. He sat within an armchair overlooking the treatment area.

One hand lifted and then waved as if to indicate that they should proceed. Her clothing, a ratty patient's gown, was stripped from her, her tangled hair bound up atop her head by the most gentle of the orderlies, wet hair might cause her to catch cold afterall. Then her small, nude form was lifted and placed into the freezing metal tub, filled with icy water that swirled and churned. A strange burning sensation ran through her body, mild electrical current being passed into the water and thus into her. It made her skin tingle, her bones ache and her hair stand on end along her nape and her arms.

There she remained, held into the water by a forceful hand atop her head, keeping her still. Whenever she struggled or fought, he would press forward so that her face was beneath the water, denying her air. He would wait until her struggling and flailing grew weak before letting her have another breath, then do it again several more times for punishment. By the time they were done 'treating' her, she felt limp, distant, dizzy and far away. It was hazy. So hazy. Was she dying?

Up she as drawn and into a rough bath sheet, dried with chaffing hands and then brought to the doctor. So weak she could not stand on her own. He asked her, "Are you going to be a good girl now, submit to your treatment and take your medications like you're supposed to ... or?" the or with a lift of the brow.

That question, she had heard it so many times before and she knew the answers, every possible answer. Silence was taken as acquiescence and her body lifted into the doctor's lap to be 'warmed' and then taken until he'd had his filled. The same, though even more gentle still was true if she answered that she would be good. The bad nights though, the nights where she was defiant, she was punished. Pinned down over the edge of the tub, her head dunked again and again while the doctor took her, then the orderlies, again and again, often until well after she lost consciousness from the water torture.

If she was good, she would be taken in warm clothes and allowed a warm bath, her hair washed, she'd get a nice meal and an extra blanket for the night. If she was not good, it was her sodden rags, her sodden frigid hair, and the isolation chamber, where ice water and blood were her only companions within the cold, comfortless room.

She didn't know if tonight was a good night or a bad night, all of it was pouring through her mind, faster and faster. Eventually she found herself tossed upon the mattress in the office. Dry, uninjured, save a bone-deep ache and the feeling of cold, of violation, of torment. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

It was over for the night, and in the morning, she would go home.