Silent Boy [ENGLISH]

2.

She wasn't sure how long she had been staring and flipping through the pile of paper in the infamous green folder. She sat in an armchair in her comfortable small room and sipped her favorite wine, merlot. In her lap, curled up, lay a yellow cat that was purring with pleasure. At least some of us are satisfied, she thought. She stroked the yellow-haired Felix's head and sighed reluctantly. She turned the front page again, for who knows how many times today, and went over the legibly typed text.

Name and last name: Sebastian Ian Carter

Age: 26

Diagnosis: Psychopathy, manic episodes and mild form of schizophrenia

"Dear Lord," she said to herself. How is it possible for someone to be so damaged? She knew this was going to be her most complex and challenging case ever. Even The Great George Wilson refused, which would have been very hard to believe if she had not heard with her own ears. Her lips curled in a smug smile in an instant.

She turned the pages with her long manicured fingers, looking with horror at the pictures of the three brutally murdered girls. Something in her stomach tightened, and her heart was in her mouth. All ranged in age from twenty-four to twenty-seven years. Two brunettes and one blonde. All beautiful, young women full of life. Why did he kill them? Beneath their pictures from happy days lay pictures from the crime scene. All three were killed in the same, cruel manner. He starved them for days and did not give them a drop of water, and then, after several hours of torture sessions, he strangled them with a rope. Eventually he would bury them in some random place. At least it was random from a police point of view. Scarlett felt a shiver run down her spine and shuddered, waking her yellow-haired friend from a deep sleep.

She believed that this psychotic monster had reasons why he did not want to talk to anyone, especially not about the crimes he committed. He sweetens himself with that and feels superior. He was in the lead and all eyes were on him. It's like he's a God himself, and everyone else is his pawns waiting for him to tell them how to play. Her palate itched with the desire to meet him. To try to penetrate his mind and find what is wrong; what is broken. She eagerly waited for that moment.

Her heels pounded on the hard concrete as she approached the Grand Valley Sanatorium. It was in the center of nothingness — no living thing or building in an area of who-knows-how many hectares of forest. This made Scarlett quite annoyed because she had to drive her Toyota in a road that was paved with holes in which the entire sanatorium could fit.

The Grand Valley Sanatorium was built during the nineteenth century and was owned by Jeremiah Fitzgerald, a talented neurosurgeon who loved to perform lobotomies on his patients in his spare time. The treatment seems to have come down from the catalog of some prestigious spa center, that's for sure.

In 1985, this sanatorium was closed due to the already mentioned scandal, but that did not prevent it from reopening a few years later. Now he was led by a certain Harold Maynard, also a neurosurgeon. Neurosurgeons are obviously particularly interested in mental institutions. The sanatorium was a huge fortress made of cold stone walls and bars on the windows that seemed eerie and froze the blood in her veins.

A cold breeze ruffled Scarlett's long curly hair as she walked down the uneven path. She cursed at herself in her chin, already noticeably annoyed that she had to come here at all. Now the comfort of her workplace in Wilson's office and the simplicity of the cases assigned to her seemed so tempting to her. She was tempted to turn around and return to Wilson's office with a desire to work on the case of a 37-year-old woman with depression and anxiety. We always want something that is no longer available to us.