"Is there a reason you're intent on pissing me off?" Jonathan asked. And there it was, with little warning, little fanfare, the simple switch thrown and control lost over his own demons.
He leaned further back into the chair, speaking not as Jonathan Crane, doctor and director, but the man who haunted the halls, whom the patients whispered about in the night, terror lacing their voices, closing their throats.
In this moment of insanity, he looked more in control then he ever had.