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Asylum: An Adventure of Henry Perigal

Journia

3rd Level Blue Feather
Joined
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Asylum​

Day One: The Lucifer Contract
I entered the facility today and read on my roster, the information of my newest patient. He was here for the murder of his girlfriend and seemed to have a bad disposition. He was only twenty-one years old and he had top honors in the school he attended, Harvard Medical School. I expected to see a thin Caucasian man with reddish hair or something. The staff had neglected to provide me with a photograph of the young man in question. I approached one of the helpers to assist me in my search. He was a husky dark skinned man with crew cut black hair. His folded arms were like huge anchors, and his eyes were dark and soulless, like a demon beetle. He made me feel very insignificant at some points, being that I am only six feet and he’s almost seven, and he’s more muscular than I am.
“Brandon,” I asked, “Can you tell me where I might find, Louis Hendrick?” he shifted his gaze toward me, his hands still folded, and nodded silently. Then he turned and began walking down the long corridor. We passed through the offices and entered the living solarium, there I could hear a chanting going on. I couldn’t exactly hear it, but what I could clearly hear were shrill screams.
“Oh damn it,” Brandon said as he and I ran into the room and turned the corner to find about twelve patients in their white outfits gathered around a spot in the center of the room. The group was chanting and the screams were coming from there. I looked around and saw three guards. They were I ntheir white uniforms, and stood with their heads held high and cocked ever so slightly to their right. They looked like a group of fallen angels reveling silently over the anguish of some unfortunate soul. Brandon grabbed one patient, a oung blonde woman who I recognized from an earlier session. She was here for murder as well. She apparently murdered her parents in cold blood, and then called up the 911 operators, told them what she did, and then ended with, “I’m Jim Henson and I approve this message…” After Brandon came on the scene the other patients backed off, and returned to their normal routines. It was as if someone had turned on a switch and everything went from chaos to calm in the blink of an eye. It unnerved me how these people acted some times; almost robots.

Among the people who were I nthe group, there was one individual who had not moved. This person was crouched in an upright fetal position. The person was a thin male with dark short hair, and a very thin frame, almost sickly thin. He was shivering and weeping. One of the observing guards, a tall thin fellow with an alabaster complexion and crew cut brown hair glided over and yanked up the man. The man was short, about five and a half feet. And he had a number of sharp features on his angular, caramel shaded face including his nose ears and eyes; his head was wrapped at the sides with gauze.
“Come on Hendrick,” the guard shouted in a south London accent, “time to go back to your cell!”
“Hendrick,” I squeaked, “As in Louis Hendrick?”
“He’s the only Hendrick here,” the man said.
“Well that is the man I’m supposed to be interviewing; what luck I have today!”
“Yeah, well you’ve got to get back to his quarters first,” the guard said with a wicked grin on his face.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I asked, “There’s nothing funny or happy here.” The guard’s smile faded almost immediately.
“Let’s go.” He said to me as he turned with the collar of Louis Hendrick’s shirt in his hand, almost dragging him down the hallway with his quick stride. I followed close behind.

We ascended to the second level via a set of stairways, and then entered the hall where the prisoner’s are celled. The cells weremainly a clear, bulletproof glass and plastic mixture. Each prisoner could see each other and because of that arrangement one would expect this area to be a zoo. However, it was quite the opposite. Each prisoner worked and acted as if it were the only one in the world. Unles the person spoke to themselves, in which case they were holding philosophical conversations with whomever it was that they spoke with. These individuals truly fascinated me while at the same time saddened me, because it is true that they see someone, science has found this to be quite the case. However, because we can not identify the entities present, they are labeled insane, and then are shacked up in places like this. When questioned as to why the crime was committed, one individual merely said, “He told me to.”

Most cells in this level are clear, and have powerful lights to light the area. However, there is one cell at the end of this hallway hat is made of the original stone of this building. It is opened with a skeleton key and its door is made of steel. There is a visor on it, which can be used to see inside, and it was closed when we arrived at it. This was Mister Hendrick’s room.
“Here is his room Psych,” the guard said with a sneer. “Let’s see if you can get more out of him than the Finch.” Finch was the previously employed psychpologist here. She went mad, and is now at a Sanitarium in Washington D.C. Saint Elizabeth’s I believe it’s called.
“I hope to,” I replid humbly as the door was opened, and I followed Louis inside.

The room was beautiful, not like a cell at all. There were elegant windows like in my office, but from here the sun was allowed to get in, and there was a view of a lake nearby and the beautiful forestry. The sun was going to set I nabout an hour, and birds flew across the sky. Inside, the room had plain white painting, one neatly made bed, a bookshelf in one end, and a number of books scattered on a table at the other. Louis folded his hands behind his back and walked to the window, and stood there with his head held low, and looked straight out into the horizon. He was like that for thirty seconds before I spoke.
“Hendrick,” I said. He immediately turned his head sharply toward me and looked at me with a raised brow.
“Please, call me, Lucifer.” He said with a kind, calm tone of voice; he then turned back toward the window.
After an awkward silence of thirty seconds, I ushered enough courage up to finally speak. “Why?” I asked, “Why do you want to be called Lucifer?”
He turned to me once again, “Because I still bring light; I still am useful.”
“Uh, but you want me to call you the devil.” At this Louis stood taller, and cocked his head to the right.
“No,” he said, “Satan or the devil is different, a transition from Lucifer, a Fall from Grace.”
“What?”
“It’s typical to think that.” He said as he sat down on his beddings. “It’s like Iblis the Jinn, he reached a transition point, he developed into Shaitaan.”
“What?” I asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Middle Eastern traditions and beliefs,” he said as he looked at a picture and nonchalantly waved his right hand, “you probably aren’t familiar with them.”
“Why do you compare yourself with Lucifer?”
“I’ve already explained it.”
“I did not understand,”
“Ah,” he said with a hint of delight, “well then allow me to explain it further.”
“Please do,”
“Lucifer was a great Angel, Light Bearer if I remember correctly; something happened one day which caused him to rebel from God, or a perceived order of things. He became a criminal because he was guilty of rebellion. I however am not of such character.”
“Ah, so you believe yourself to be innocent?”
“No, I did commit the crime,” he said with an arched brow, “but I did it because of my own nature, my own being.”
“Your nature was to kill?”
“My nature was one of instability which caused me to commit the homicide.” He replied smoothly.
“Ah,”
“Ah,” he mocked.
“So what you are saying is, you did not quote unquote, fall from grace, because it was a reaction due to your nature?”
“Precisely.” He said with a slight smile.
“Then what about how the others you have known see you? Is that not a fall from grace in their eyes?” for a moment, Louis smiled and his eyes shifted left and right, and then he replied.
“Is the perception of Satan merely an assumption of a fall from grace in our own beliefs?”
“You realiuze you have just shot your own belief In the foot right?”
“I’m in an institute for the criminally insane, so I suppose I’ve earned the right to shoot all of my beliefs in the foot, the leg, the chest, or the head. He said as he rose to his feet and sat across from me at the table. “But I suppose you haven’t come to ask me such queries as pertaining to religious philosophy, method and doctrine.”
“Yes, I’ve come to get to the root of your problem, Lucifer.”

I searched through the folder and found clipped to the coroner’s report, a photograph of Louis’ victim. The girl was slender, and a very faint pinkish color with rosy cheeks. Her dark brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her smile was filled with small straightly lined teeth. She had thin eyebrows and a small nose. This was Louis’ girlfriend, Melinda Wattley, she was seventeen when she was killed by him. And no one ever found out why exactly he did it.
“So, Melinda was a nice girl hm?” I began.
“She was a very kind individual.”
“She was also nice looking,” I said as I held up the photograph. “I suppose many individuals were jealous of your catch.”
“I did not catch her, she is not an animal; she came of her own free will to me.”
“Ah, so you didn’t try to pick her up?”
Louis glared at me, “Do I strike you as an individual who would be willing to use something so basal as a pick up line?”
“No,” I said, “You strike me as someone who is very charismatic, but at the same time whose mind is tipping off its axis. You could lead a great many people but you might be too crazy.”
“Don’t compare me to Hitler,”
“Hey, I’m just saying…”

“How did you meet her?”
“I was working in the library one night, and she was in there,”
“Was she a student?”
“No, she was registering.”
“Did you like her?”
“I did not notice her, as I was sorting books.”
Oh so you were working for the library.”
“Yes.”
“How did you meet then?”
“She came up to me as I was placing the books up.”
“What did she do?”
“She said ‘Hello, I’m Melinda, and who are you?’ I introduced myself, and we later became friends. Then more than that.”
“Was there passion in this relationship?”
“There was compassion,”
“But no Passion?”
“Not Hollywood passion,”
“I’m only interested in the passion between two people who love each other.Hollywood can go to hell.”
“Hollywood’s burning.”
“So was there passion?”
“Yes,”
“Did you like her?”
“I loved her.”
“I assume that your previous interviewers went on to ask why you killed her if you loved her. I however am wise enough to know to have confidence that you will tell me when the time comes.”
“You are a wise individual indeed then Doctor Perigal.”
“You saw my name tag?”
“No, I saw your clipboard.”
“Ah,”
“Ah,” he mocked again.
The door opened and the guard stuck his head in. He leered at Louis, then turned his head to me. “Doctor Perigal, the time is up, and there is a call from your room. The Warden wants to see you.”
“Thank you,” I said to him. I turned to Louis, “Lucifer, I’ll see you next Wednesday.” He nodded and crossed his legs.
“Cheerio old Chap,” he said as he uncrossed his legs and stood and went to his bed.

Day Two: A Body of Lies
“The file on you says that you have a mild form of Schizophrenia Lucifer,” I said as I looked up from the paper, “Is that true?”
“Indeed Henri,” he said.
“And I take it you know of my namesake as well,”
“Oui.”
“What was the cause of you killing Melinda if I may ask?”
“Music. Vulgar, mind melting, soul tainting music.” He said with a hiss.
“Oh? Was it rap?”
“I don’t know whether it was rap or not. But I do know it was desecrating the beauty of womanhood.”
“Why is womanhood so beautiful?”
“Why indeed, I’m sure you’d know Doctor; I’ve not grown old enough nor experienced enough to answer that question.”
“If you don’t know, then why are you defending it?”
“Because that is what I was told. And because there is a subtle beauty in all things.”
“So,”
Louis arched his brow. “Yes?”
“So who sang this song?”
“Some dreadlocked baboon with sunglasses. His name is Little John.”
“Oh Lil’ Jon!” I exclaimed, “Yes, his music will drive a man to kill.”
“Indeed,” he said as he steepled his fingers.
“What song was it?”
“I shan’t say.”
“then I’ll have to go through the lyrics of different songs I know.”
“No.”
“I’m about to do it,”
“No.”
“Crunk Juice. Snap Yo Fingers, Get—”
“Will you stop antagonizing the patient?” Louis said as he slammed down his fists on the table.
“Ah, so it was. Now tell me how did you come to hear this song Lucifer?”
“I was in a mall reading a book, and a boy walked by me wearing an Ipod. He was blasting the damned music in his ears.His cellular telephone began ringing and so he ripped the earbuds out of his ears and answered the phone.
‘Hello?’ he said as his blasted music filled the air, ‘yeah baby, I’m just sitting in the mall, ‘bout to get som’in ta eat. When you goin’ come over?’ All the while he didn’t care that he was disturbing others around him.”
“And the music bothered you?”
“Not so much at first, because although I disliked the song, it was not yet going to take effect.”
“Effect?”
“You will see.”
“I am patient.”
“I waited for him to move, and eventually he did so. And I went on my way soon afterward. I had not realized the full effect of the incident until I was washing dishes around seven o’clock the next evening. I was washing a porcelain plate; and I was thinking about Melinda, her personality, her bubbling mind full of unusual ideas, it always cheered me up. And then out of nowhere, I was bombarded by the melody and distasteful lyrics of this god forsaken song that was bombarding the ears of the boy in the mall. It came on so suddenly and with such ferocity, that I dropped the plate in surprise and it shattered on the floor. And it continued for the next half hour. I heard the lyrics going through my head in a continuous loop, and as I swept up the shards of porcelain, I could feel the thumps of the beat of the music, thundering through the endless channels of my mind. This did not immediately effect my daily performance mind you, I was not to be subdued by a mere monster of vibrations of air. But over time it came occur so often that I would hardly get any rest. I would be very tired when I went to school or work.”
“Did Melinda notice this?”
“She noticed quite frequently,” Louis said, “in fact, she was quite disturbed by it.”
“How was she disturbed?”
“She’d often be afraid to touch me at all.”
“And you liked being touched by her?”
“Not particularly, but a hug or a kiss was her way of showing me she cared.”
“How do you know she didn’t relent to your dislike of affection?”
“Because she had a frightened look on her face; little did I know, I was developing into a more sinister individual; and I was blind to the whole ill-fated process.” He looked out the window again, and his left eye began to well with a tear while his right eye did not. I found this to be an unusual anatomical occurrence.
“You often cry over her don’t you?”
“Surprisingly,” he said as he turned fully toward me, “I haven’t cried over her death until just now.” As if on cue, the single tear slid down his cheek, yet his face was so stony and expressionless, that it was like a drop of sweat. It looked odd, to see him crying; not because he was a man, but because it seemed so unnatural in his case. “The music continued for weeks, in my head. I simply couldn’t get it out. There were times when I wanted to kill myself because this song I so greatly despised had taken up residence inside my skull. But logically, it would make no difference. I’d probably be in Hell, roasting in a pit of fire, and the theme to my torture would probably be this very piece of music.”
“How long was it before you murdered her?”
“It was only a matter of time before my fury at the song and the madness within my mind spilled over into the world of the living from the realm of my imagination. However, I will tell you that when next we meet. For the moment I have a query for you.”
“Do tell,”
“The warden wished to speak with you last week, may I ask if it was about me?”
“You may certainly ask,”
“And may I know?”
“Yes, you may know that it wasn’t concerning you whatsoever.”
“That is good.” He said as he nodded and looked at the table. “I wouldn’t want to rouse suspicions.”
“Suspicions of what?” I asked.
“None in particular, but I do know that the guard that accompanies you each day dislikes me greatly.”
“Well, he has reason to.”
“And why?” he tilted his head to the right and arched his left eyebrow.
“Because he is Melinda’s brother.”
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah,” I mocked. It was a moment I had been waiting patiently for. “I take it that you never met her family.”
“She told me that she was alone, and she was an orphan.”
Ah, well she certainly has a mysterious past as well.”
“So it does seem.” The door opened and the guard stuck his head in. He leered at Louis and then looked at me.
“Time’s up Psych,” he said severely, “And the warden wants to see you again.”
“She wants to see me again?” I asked in false surprise.
“Indeed,” he said without amusement.
“I suppose I will be seeing you next Wednesday.” Louis said.
“Correct Lucifer,” I said as I closed my folder, shook his hand and left.
As the guard closed the door and slammed the lock in, he asked me quite harshly, “The Fuzzy wants to be called Lucifer?” before I could answer, Louis’ muffled voice echoed through the door.
“That’s right!” he shouted. I smiled, and the guard was just as pissed off as ever.

“Tell me,” I said to the guard as we walked across the catwalk connecting the administrative offices to the main fsacility, “why didn’t Melinda tell Hendrick that she had a family?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Louis says that your sister told him that she was an orphan.”
“That is preposterous.”
“But not impossible.”
“What else did he say?”
“I’m asking the questions my boy,” I said quite calmly, “Now what was she studying at Harvard?”
“HARVARD?” He roared, “She said she was going to the Boston Conservatory to study violin.”
“Really, this is interesting.” We rounded a corner and walked down the stairs. The Administrative building was a large old style Victorian building which I think suited the facility well. After all, what better place than a place where the insane live, should something so arcane be put? “Thank you Merrivel, I will go from here.”
“Certainly Psych,” he said as he turned and walked back up the stairway.

I continued on down the dark red wallpapered corridor, I noticed the rug under my boots, it was red with yellow lines arranged in an arabesque design, criss crossing themselves in a pattern not too different from a strand of DNA. They spun and weaved into each other in a line down the center of the carpet, and I assumed that the pattern ended by having the lines weave outward to the ends of the carpet at it’s own end, because the pattern was in that way at it’s beginning. I stopped at the door of the warden and I knocked. There was shuffling in the room, and then the door opened.

There before me stood the warden; she was a tall slender woman who wore a black skirt, a mauve blouse and a black jacket. Her hair was long, and orange and brown. She had the distinct features of a middle eastern woman, perhaps from Saudi Arabia. She stuck out her hand and grasped mine, smiling.
“Come in Doctor Perigal.” She said as she skipped across the room in her black high heels. She sat down and leaned forward with her hands clasped in a fist and her head rested upon said fist. When I first saw her do this, I thought she was one of the patients. I in fact called the guards on her, only to find out that this lovely young woman with a touch of possible madness in her eyes, was the warden. Her name, Barika Al Azzah,” though she had an outer appearance of a very very happy even child like individual, I always remembered, she is the Warden, and therefore she could be a very formidable adversary. “Do you want some tea? I was just brewing some.”
“Thank you, do you have green tea?”
“No, Earl Grey.” She said as she picked up the teapot.
“Ah, weak…I’ll just have hot water then.”
“Suit yourself sir,” she said as she poured the water in two crystal glasses. “Do you atleast want some sugar?”
“Nope.” I said as I sipped the scalding water. I cringed, then sipped again. “It’s jolly good!”
“Well then,” she said as she allowed her tea to steep, “how is Lucifer Hendrick?”
“He’s just as mental as ever, as you’d say. Do you think he needs to be here?”
“I can’t have him going to the Federal Prison. He’s ill, not a criminal per se, even though he did kill Melinda Wattley.”
“You care that he doesn’t get murderd don’t you?”
“Precisely.”
“There is enough in this asylum alone to kill him.”
“I don’t want him dying by the hands of those who despise him, let’s put it that way,” she replied as she put the glass to her lips and sipped the tea.
“And it doesn’t hurt?”
“The tea?”
“Yes,”
“No, I can’t feel anything in my mouth and throat” She said as eyeing me, “horrible accident when I was younger.”
“How horrible,” I said as I sipped my water. “You must be so bored not being able to feel anything in them.”
“Not really,” she said as she sipped more. “It’s brings me much more pleasure to imagine the pain.”

Day Three:
I entered the facility on the crisp winter morning, and prepared my folder for Louis Hendrick. As I got my pens and searched through the desk for the folder, I couldn’t help but wonder what life was like in here, this facility, if one were not insane. If one were to fake being crazy simply to evade the horrors of a regular prison in order to be “rehabilitated” and released back into society. The individual would be free to go again, and not ever have to suffer the darkness of the Purgatory-Hell that was the U.S. Federal Prison System. It was an interesting thought to say the least, and one I could delight in entertaining myself with. There was after all enough clues to branch off, if even for a moment, in that direction. I found the folder and finally left my room.

I walked up to the third floor, and spent fifteen miniutes in the library, a small room at the corner of the level. Then I made my way to the second level. As I opened the double doors, I could hear a commotion from around the corner. I walked around the corner, and I found that there was a crowd of guards who were around Hendrick’s cell door. I rushed to the door and found among the guards, the warden. She and two other guards were searching the room. It was in a shambles, as if someone had let loose a small tornado in there.
“What happened in here?” I asked as I squeezed through the guards. Barika looked up startled, and then regained her composure almost immediately.
“Louis Hendrick attempted to commit suicide last night.” She said quite calmly.
“Why wasn’t I notified?”
“No one could get into contact with you.” She replied.
“Why didn’t anyone leave a message on my office door?”
“Merrivel didn’t do that?” She looked at one of the guards, the one who was the deceased victim’s brother. “I thought I told you to do that!”
“You thought wrong Warden,” he sneered.
“Well, where is my patient now?” I asked.
“He is in the infirmary.” She replied. I turned and shot off through the guards and ran up the stairway to the fifth floor, the infirmary. I had never been in the infirmary, I had been past the door on my way to the lavatory, but never inside it. As I came closer to the double doors, painted white with a large red crucifix spanning the set of doors, I thought to myself, It is quite ironic that Lucifer would be in a place marked with a cross,” The idea lacked its humor unfortunately as I pushed open the doorway and saw before me a long hallway of doors.
“Aahem,” came a soft voice to my right, I turned to be faced with a small, very beautiful woman, she was round and slightly orange in complexion, her black hair was pulled back and her large eyes were covered in thick-lens glasses. “May I help you sir?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Luc—I mean Louis Hendrick.”
“Ah, room eighteen sir.”
“Thank you my dear.” I walked quickly down the hall and turned the corner.

I opened the door to room sixteen to find Louis in a bed, sitting upright, reading a copy of the Holy Bible. It was about the size of a tall cup of water, and about as wide as four of my hands. It was red with gold lettering on it, reading, Holy Bible. Around him were guards and nurses. He glanced up at me and smiled.
“Ah,” he said as he carefully closed the book and scooted into an upright position, “Doctor Perigal,” he motioned to a seat beside him, “please, sit. We have much to discuss.” I sat down and listened to him discuss his week.
“It’s been well, could have been better, but I am satisfied to say the least,”
“Anything of interest other than your deplorable condition Lucifer?”
“Other than eating, sleeping and shuffling around my cell, no. However, I do find reading to be quite a time stealer, but I do so get to be worn out in the eyes.” He said as he picked up the book and held it firmly in his hands, staring at it for a second; then he turned to me. “Would you mind reading me the first few passages from Revelation?” he stared right in my eyes when he said that, and somewhere in his eyes, there was worry, the first I had noticed of him since this began.
“Sure,” I said. “Revelations?”
“Yes,” he said as he watched my hands. I opened the book, and as I turned to Revelation, a small slip of folded paper fell out and onto the floor. I noticed it and picked it up, I looked at him and he arched his left eyebrow and smirked. I put the paper in my pocket and began reading. A few sentences later he stopped me, for another five minutes we talked, and then the nurse came in. He nodded at me and bade me farewell.

I arrived home where I sat I my room and I opened the note. When I opened it, I found a note of nothing but gibberish. It was well beautifully written, but gibberish nonetheless. I could not make heads or tails of it. It was as if, as if the writer was in a hurry and insane. Which given the circumstances, was not such an impossible situation. Nevertheless, I stayed at my desk for an hour trying to understand this writing. And unfortunately, I came to no conclusion. So I opened my room door and let the hallway sounds rush in. As I sat listening to the noise, I heard the voice of my wife. I opened my eyes and saw her entering the room.

She’s a beautiful woman, of course I’d be biased in saying that since I married her; she is small, thin, with dark caramel skin and long black and red hair, with two bangs like some anime character. Her eyes are a deep brown and are like endless pools to drown in.
“How’s my homme de mystere today?” She asked as she wrapped her arms affectionately around my neck.
“Not too bad,” I said with a smile, “my patient tried to kill himself last night though.”
“And you didn’t hear about it?”
“I know right?” I noticed her eyes went from mine to the desk. And I knew she was reading the paper.
ίετερηπυξε υοπ ατητόεθ αέν αιμ ίετχεδ ιεχέ ςηρόγηρΓ Ο
ςυοτ άεθ ητσ όκιτσυμ οτ ωρέΞ
ιατεφέρτσατακ Ι οτ ιτό ίετιαπα ότυα αιγ ιαΚ
“Greek.” She said. “You’re learning Greek finally?”
“No, this was a note my patient slipped me when I was talking to him.”
“Ah, I didn’t think you were so good at it yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well it is reversed lettering.”
“You can read Greek?”
“Yes, I learned it when I was in High School.” I looked at the paper. I obviously did not know what Greek looked like. Let alone, reversed.
“Can you tell me what it says?”
“Certainly.” She said as she took the paper and then took a slip of paper and a pencil. She wrote the letters in their correct form and then tore off the paper and handed me the pad.
π χ ο s π χ ο ρ ι γ λ το s π
Ο Γρηγόρης έχει δεχτεί μια νέα θεότητα που εξυπηρετεί.
Ξέρω το μυστικό στη θεά τους.
Και για αυτό απαιτεί ότι το Ι καταστρέφεται.
“Write what I say love.” She said as she handed me the items. She then began reading off what she was seeing. “The Grigoris have accepted a new deity to serve; skip a line; I know the secret to their goddess; skip a line; and for this she demands I be destroyed.” She put the paper down, “And there is a line of letters above the others. It reads Phosphoriclasp.” She sat down in a chair and started lightly snoring. I logged onto Google and looked up the word Grigoris. I found that the word meant fallen ones or fallen watchers. They were a group of angels sent to look over humankind, but faltered in their duties. They fell in love with the women and taught them the uses of makeup and such other beautification techniques. They also had children with them. These kids were called Nephilim. The Watchers were cast out of heaven for disobeying God, and that’s pretty much as far as I searched on that topic.

I tried to figure out the connection between the Grigoris and the mangled events in the mind of the mad patient at the facility. Needless to say, I was having a pretty difficult time doing so. What was the connection between angelic beings who were supposed to be watching over human being, who were then cast from grace and now apparently found a new deity, a goddess, who they can serve? I was having a horrible time with this, and so instead of dwelling on that, I decided to look up the name, Phosphoriclasp.

A Google search found an article which spoke on Phosphoriclasp.
The Elegance of Toxicity
By Delores Lovecraft
Phosphoriclasp, or Phosphoroclaspin-8 as it’s creators, Barika Azzah and Henley Vice, refer to it, is a very dangerous but very beautiful neurotoxin. It is the first neurotoxin of its kind. Once introduced to the bloodstream, it can remain dormant, until outside vibrations of sounds, specifically musical melodies of varying tempo, cause it to activate and infiltrate the bloodstream and spread to the nervous system. If you’re lucky, it will merely cause you to lose feeling in your mouth and esophageal tract permanently, at worse, it can cause one to go mad.
“The symptoms of madness start out very nominal,” Doctor Azzah pointed out, “usually it begins with a melody stuck in the head, and at first it would seem pleasureable, but not if you got the wrong kind of song stuck in your head. And over time the song would keep going and going. Another symptom is that the neurotoxin can cause great bouts of sleep deprivation. Finally, the transition into madness is complete when absolute regard for things they cherish is clouded over by thoughts of hatred and insanity.”
I looked at a photo near the bottom of the article, and though I saw it, I couldn’t believe it. Merrivel Wylett and Barika Azzah were the two doctors in the photograph. Merrivel the guard and Barika the warden! I gasped as I recalled the symptoms Louis had described.
“And then out of nowhere, I was bombarded by the melody and distasteful lyrics of this god forsaken song,”
And then I remembered my meeting of tea with the warden.
“No, I can’t feel anything in my mouth and throat” She said as eyeing me, “horrible accident when I was younger.”
And the I noticed another piece of information below the picture.
Doctor Azzah and Doctor Vice are professors at the Harvard Medical School in Boston, Massachusetts
I was beginning to see the meaning of the poetic lines in the reversed Greek. The watchers were obviously the guards, they didn’t seem to care much for their responsibilities anyhow, and the goddess they are serving must have been Barika. And this must have been her secret she wanted to keep closely guarded. Hence the reason she cared so much for the boy to be in her care. Now he has somehow found out, that she injected him with the neurotoxin, and now she wants to kill him…
“Tzipporah,” I shouted as I got up to leave, “Call the police!” She woke with a start and followed me out the room dialing 911 as she did so.

I raced back to the facility in the thunder and bullet rain and ran through the halls; they were all dead quiet, and the lights were bright in some places and dark in others. I ran up the stairs to the infirmary and kicked open the double doors. I immediately heard the nurse’s voice shouting, “He’s here! Get him!” I saw Brandon and Merrivel, or Doctor Vice, storming around the corner like two monsters, arms reaching out for me and faces contorted in fearful masks of anger. I grabbed the nurse, still screaming like a fire engine, and pushed her into the two men. Brandon wasn’t slim enough to get out of the way with ease, and so he was toppled and pinned to the floor by the round nurse. Vice however, had sidestepped her, and kept on forward.
“I figured you learn more than you should have you damned yank!”
“Are you serious?” I asked as I backed away, “Yank? Is that all you’ve got…uh…teabag?”
“What?” He exclaimed. He ran at me and threw a punch. I grabbed his wrist, and pulled him over my back and he slammed to the floor. Just to make sure he’d not get back up soon, I kicked him in her ribs. Then I turned to follow the path and round the corner to room eighteen. I opened it quietly, and found it dark except for a small fluorescent light in the corner. The light was just enough to make out the figure of Barika Aazzah looming over Louis Hendrick who was keeping her from stabbing him with a syringe.

“Madamoiselle Warden.” I said as I slowly entered the room. “Isn’t it a little late for the girls to be up?” She stopped struggling with Louis and stood tall. She smiled sinisterly and turned her head toward the light. Her profile was even more frightening in the shadows.
“You’d be in some deep shit if your wife heard you saying something like that to a woman.”
“Well my dear,” I said as I leaned on the door, “that’s the thing, she’d probably mistake you for a transvestite.” She smiled and shifted her gaze to me without moving her head. It was quick and eerie. “I know all about the neurotoxin. I know you used this poor boy as a test subject. And you probably used Melinda as bait.”
“You think you’re so smart don’t you?” she asked. “You think that I am just a person who lacks morals because of the choice I made regarding this boy’s future don’t you?”
“Yeah pretty much…on both accounts.”
“Well, it was a tough decision.” She said as she moved her eyes back toward the light. “I wanted to become a scientist, a great and noteworthy individual again.” She turned her head to face me, “I wasn’t always like this you know. I wasn’t always the one to hold up my weapon of choice to the throats of those weaker than I. I was gifted, moral,” her eyes spoke volumes of sorrow and anger, “I was supposed to be famous! I was supposed to be noted by great scientists for my achievements! I—I—I was supposed to be blessed with this beautiful landscape of fortune! I was not to be denied this by my contemporaries. My lesser counterparts, my…my...”
“Jealous associates?” Louis interjected.
“Yes!” she said as she put her hand in the air, “My jealous associates! They wanted Henley and I both to fail in our ambitions, and so we had to prove them wrong. We had to beat them. And to do so, we needed to do a human test. Since you’re going to die in the next few minutes, you might as well know the methods Henley and I went through.”
“Oh I am so excited to hear this,” I said with evident sarcasm.
“You don’t want to hear it?” she asked as she neared me with a pistol from her jacket.
“No no I do!” I said quickly. She lowered her weapon.
“What a wise man you must be Henri” she said, “In another life, I probably would have been your associate.”
“Perhaps, but please, tell me about the girl.”
“She was a naïve little creature, insignificant to me, except as bait for this equally naïve student. I had Henley convince her to date Louis in order to draw him closer to me. The plan worked quite effectively, and when he was driven insane by the neurotoxin, her purpose had been served; and I could have prevented hm from murdering her but, why? There are too many ignorant people on earth anyway, why should I worry about the loss of one? Why waste the air on such a naïve individual who’d learn nothing from her experience?”
“Why did you choose louis?”
“Because he was somewhat mad already. No one would suspect that he was tainted by Phosphoriclaspin.”
“So you’re saying that he’d have killed her at some other point in his life even if he wasn’t given the neurotoxin?”
“Of course,” she said with a grin, “After all, its in his nature. It’s in all our natures. Some are just closer to instinct and madness.”
“He worked in the neuroscience and neurology department didn’t he.”
“Oh what a clever man you are,” she said with evident sarcasm. “Unfortunately, you will not live to rear a proper descendant.” She cocked the pidtol and aimed it at my head.
“Wait, why are you doing this?”
“We all have our points of transiton Mister Perigal,” she said as she walked toward me, “I’ve just passed mine too soon. But I’d say its for the better.”
“And there’s your Satan,” Louis said as he slid off the bed. Barika turned to him.
“Will you shut up?” She shot the wall just above his shoulder. I grabed Barika and took the gun.
“Run Lucifer run!” I shouted as I pushed her to the ground and dashed out the door. The young man was right behind me. I turned the corner and there before me were six of the burliest guards on the facility. They made a mad dash toward me and I thought it was all over. I was going to get beaten so hard that I’d be relieveing myself In a bag.

“This way,” Louis said as he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me down another hall. Wwe ran down the corridor and came to a window, it was as tall as an average man and as wide as one of the guards. I knew exactly what Louis was going to do.
“Lucifer…” I said, nervously, “Are you going to do what I think—“
“Jump!” He said as he opened the window and leapt over the balcony. He landed on the roof and held on to the bars of the balcony to keep from sliding off. Outside on the ground I saw about three police cars I looked back and saw the guards coming closer. I knew what I had to do. I leapt off the balcony and held onto the bar. The rain was pounding at my face and my hands, the lightning was striking in places far off and near and the thunder, well, the thunder sounded like the wrath of god.
“Well, I’m sure you know what we have to do now,” Louis said.
“I’m not going to do that,”
“It’s the only way.” He replied.
“I’ll break my neck.”
“No you won’t.”
“Yes I,” I was going to finish my sentence when he grabbed my wrist and freed my hand from the bar. We both slid down the roof and fell off into a group of large hedges. I looked up to see the police approaching us.

It was a month later that Louis was at my house, revealing a few last pieces of this puzzle.
“She wanted to return to power as a scientist, and couldn’t do that as long as the one who knew her secret was alive. Her mistake was to accelerate the process of returning.”
“How did you get wind that Barika was the one who poisoned you?” Tzipporah asked Louis.
“She mistakenly left an old newspaper article in the room when she was checking on me.” He said, “It fell out of her folder however, so she didn’t exactly mistakenly leave it.”
“I suppose that Fate was working in your favor.” I asked.
“One would be logical to suppose that,” he replied. “She wanted to find that article, very badly, but she was never going to.” He took out a yellowed slip of paper. “I suppose she turned my room upside down. Looking for this.” He grinned. “Well, I must be off.” He rose tohis feet and put on his long coat. “I have much to finish after these four years were taken from me.” He made his way out into the snowdrift and left. My wife watched him as he slowly walked down the street.
“He’s still crazy isn’t he?”
“Yep.” I said, “Crazy as Hell,”
 
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