Ellemere Institute

Nicholas rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles white from the tension thrumming through his body. He continued to mutter continuously under his breath, as he often had over the last few years:

“No, no… Help, please! I can’t breathe… Save us… Hurry!”

As he whispered incessantly, tears began to follow the familiar path down his cheeks. His cold grey eyes were glazed over, not seeing anything in the room.

The minutes ticked by, gradually the rocking and muttering began to stop. His body straightened slightly, his back rested against the padded walls. His eyes began to focus on his surroundings, taking in the common sight of his cell.

The memories rushed back, reminding him of the chain of events that led to his imprisonment in this colourless, empty room. A sob escaped his lips, he longed to put his head in his hands but as always they were restricted by the straight-jacket.

The rocking cycle began again.

* * *

“Welcome to Ellemere. How may I help you?”

The receptionist sat behind the front desk, a professional smile directed at the man in front of her. He was medium height, dressed in a loose shirt over jeans and cowboy boots. He impatiently brushed a stray blonde curl from his face, his demeanour betraying how uncomfortable he was in that place.

“I have an appointment with Dr Parslow at 2 o’ clock.”

Her fingers tapped away at the computer keyboard. A moment later, she glanced up and gestured at the waiting room. The man nodded and made his way to the next room.

After five minutes of pretending to flick through magazines, Dr Parslow arrived. The balding middle-aged man gazed down at the anxious younger man, taking note of the wide eyes and fidgety hands.

“It’s been a while, Mr Reid. I hope you don’t mind me mentioning this, but you appear slightly on edge today. Are you alright?”

The younger man glanced down for a moment, collecting his thoughts. When he met the Doctor’s eyes, his own eyes were unsure and filled with worry.

“I guess… I guess I’m just nervous about seeing him again. What if he doesn’t remember me? Or worse, what if he’s scared of me? I haven’t visited him in over two months, what kind of person does that make me?”

“It’s still hard to predict how he’ll react to different situations, he doesn’t seem to have a very good grasp of how time passes. I’m sure he’ll just be happy to speak with you. Shall we go?”

“… Yes.”