The Clockwork Killer

Interview held at West Hill State Hospital, Michigan.

Documented on [07/09/██]

Interviewed: Patient No.00129 [Natalie Ouelette]

Interviewer: Dr. August Hooper

Patient Notes: Patient No.00129 has been diagnosed with PTSD and Delusional Psychosis by Dr. Meryl Walker.

Upon incarceration, Miss Ouelette had been criminally charged with five counts of murder. In court, Miss Ouelette pleaded insanity and was sectioned, and on the 6th of June was admitted to West Hill State Hospital for treatment. Miss Ouelette has several physical mutilations on her person, including a faded “Chelsea Grin” that has taken four stitches to close on either side. Patient is also missing her left eye due to heavy trauma caused by a stray bullet.

Miss Ouelette has exhibited extremely violent episodes and has attacked multiple staff members on numerous occasions over a period of three months since confinement, and has been known to use improvised weaponry including her own nails and teeth. So far, Miss Ouelette has caused serious injury to twelve staff members on-site. Miss Ouelette is to be restrained at all times.

The blood of Patient No.00129 contains an unknown green chemical that has yet to be construed by the biochemical research team, though Miss Ouelette has claimed this chemical to be an experimental drug given to her by the David Henlein Institute’s experimental drug trials on an undisclosed date. Several representatives of the Henlein Institute have been notified regarding these trials to verify these claims.

<Begin Interview Log:>

-Dr. Hooper: This is Doctor August Hooper, Chief psychologist at West Hill State Hospital. This shall be my first interview with Patient No.00129, named Natalie Ouelette. This hopefully shall be the beginning of many interviews with Miss Ouelette. Patient has now reached a record of twenty one days without incident. Patient No.00129 is prone to violent outbursts and bouts of psychotic episodes. Typically she would be under sedatives for interviews, but thanks to her recent good behavior we will not be conducting this interview with sedatives. Note, prior to the interview, the clock on the northside wall of the interview room has been removed, as time-telling devices act as a trigger to the patient’s psychotic episodes. Why this is the case is still unknown…Hopefully we will get some answers for these triggers.

<clears throat>

Jackson, bring her in!

<Patient No.00129 is brought into the room and is secured to the table via metal cuffs. Orderly Jackson then leaves the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

There is a prolonged moment of silence as Natalie Ouelette stares at Dr. Hooper.>

-Dr. Hooper: Good evening, Miss Ouelette. I am Dr August Hooper. How have you been today?

-Patient No.00129: Oh quit the nicey-nice bullshit, Doc. I know what you want. You wanna get inside my head, see what makes me tick, is that it? Well, you’re wasting your t-…energy.

-Dr. Hooper: Hmm, Miss Ouelette, I’m here to simply talk with you and get to know you better… I know this whole situation has been quite an ordeal but I wish to help you get through it.-

Patient No.00129: Pfft, like you know what I’ve been through here. Caged up like a fucking animal. What do you know of it, safe behind your desk and your little pieces of paper?

-Dr. Hooper: You are correct, I don’t know what you’ve been through. That is why we are here today, for you to tell me about you… where this all began. The more you tell me, the better I can help you with your issues.

-Patient No.00129: Oh? You think you can help me? Make the pain go away? Heal my soul? <laughter> I don’t think so. Don’t waste your breath on me, Doc. Go help some other poor schmuck in this fucking place, because you’re not getting shit from me.

-Dr. Hooper: Miss Ouel-… Natalie, I can’t help you with your trauma unless you cooperate. I know this isn’t something you want to talk about but if you don’t help me understand you better, you will have to stay here longer until we can figure out a proper treatment for you.

-Patient No.00129: Wait, so…If I do this interview that you want, I get to leave this place sooner? You’re not fucking with me now, are you, Doc?

-Dr. Hooper: I’m… no… I’m not “ fucking with you ” Natalie. The quicker we know what is causing these problems, the quicker we can treat you. The quicker we can treat you, the faster you can leave West Hill.

<There is a brief pause before Patient No.00129 leans back in her chair.>

-Patient No.00129: Alright…I’ll bite. I answer your questions, you get me out of here. So tell me, what exactly do you wanna know from me? My childhood? School? All that shit?

-Dr. Hooper: Yes… now, let’s start at the beginning. What was your childhood like?

-Patient No.00129: <sighs> You’re really gonna make me do this, huh? Alright…here goes. My childhood was shit. Classic sob story there. My mom was shit, my dad was shit, my brother was a piece of shit. My life was shit. My mom was practically a skinny-ass tramp and a smokeaholic; she just stood by puffing her cigarette in the corner as dear old daddy would beat the shit out of me for the smallest things. He wasn’t drunk, he was just a disgusting fat fuck that liked hurting his own kids. And when mommy tried to interfere, she’d get a smack as well. And as for my brother…that little fuckstain…all I can say is that I’m glad he’s fucking dead. His carcass can rot in the foul bloody sewage of Hell for all I care.

-Dr. Hooper: <clears throat> So your mother was neglectful and your father was abusive… but why such hatred for your brother?

-Patient No.00129: He was a sick, twisted degenerate piece of shit. I was only seven when…<she paused> Do you have kids, Doc?

-Dr. Hooper: Pardon me?

-Patient No.00129: You heard me. Do you have kids? It’s a simple question.

-Dr. Hooper: …I do.

-Patient No.00129: Then tell me, doc. Do you think you’re a good father? What would you do if one of your kids came to tell you that someone was being cruel to them, even if it was another family member? What would you do if your child came up to you and told you that their brother was making them do things…no kid should do? What if they told you that their brother was making them do these things while taking horrible, disgusting pictures of these…things, for his own sick pleasure? Tell me, Doc…would you do something about it? Or would you ignore your own child when they come to you for help?

<Natalie is visible distressed, taking a brief moment to pause before continuing>

I was in that room, that house, for seven years. Tortured for seven long fucking years, by people that called themselves my family. Families…don’t do that to each other. They shouldn’t. You see all those happy families on TV, in commercials. I bet they don’t do that to each other. It’s all bullshit.

-Dr. Hooper:….. I’m very sorry you went through such horrendous pain, Natalie. I can’t imagine going through something like that. I can now see why CPS took you out of there….. Maybe you can tell me the events after CPS got involved? How did that go?

-Patient No.00129: <sighs> Yeah, the social services came along and put me with this foster family. There was Paul, Samantha, Josh and me, and the foster couple were the Crowleys. And let me tell you, I know despicable people, and they rank pretty high as some of the most despicable cunt-buckets I’ve ever had the displeasure to live with.

-Dr Hooper: May you go into detail about your foster family?… <he writes something down in his notepad>

-Patient No.00129: Sure…anything for you, Doc.

Well, that fat ass witch Mrs Crowley, I could never be fucked to learn her first name, but I would find out she was one of THOSE carers. You know the one. The kind that take advantage of the broken system. The kind that don’t give a shit about the kids they’re looking after. They just wanna get paid for “caring”. What a fucking joke.

I remember this poor kid, Josh. He had some kind of autistic thing up with him, I can’t remember, but Mrs Crowley would practically throw him out of the house for God knows what stupid reason, and he would just wander the streets aimlessly. The guy wasn’t even allowed in to sleep, let alone have a shower. He would sleep out on the streets and come back smelling of shit and piss. And whenever he was allowed back in the house, he’d just get yelled at.

Then there was little Samantha. She was just left to her own devices, and the poor girl nearly got hit by traffic several times because she would run out into the streets, looking for her “mom”. She was only four. And then there was Paul. He was the oldest. He was only thirteen and was already doing drugs. He’d lock himself in his room and not talk to anyone, but I didn’t blame him. That witch yelled at everyone for the smallest shit, and treated us like shit. If we disturbed her and her precious TV time, she’d yell at us until our ears bled.

I remember…I had this stuffed giraffe. It was the only thing I remember from my old home that gave me any kind of comfort. And do you know what that fucking bitch did when I was ten? She took my giraffe, telling me I was “too old for toys” and fucking burned it in the backyard. I cried my eyes out that night. My only friend was gone. And I was stuck in that fucking room. I just moved from one hellhole to the next, with my only ‘companion’ being the clock on the wall, constantly ticking my life away as I suffered under that roof. Tick, tick, tick…constantly.

-Dr Hooper: And what of Mr Crowley, what was he like?

-Patient No.00129: Oh, he was just like my mother, didn’t do jackshit to stop any of it. If anything, he’d double down on joining his wife yelling at us. But the old fart was no where near as fucking cruel or greedy as his fat hag of a wife. He was just an incompetent weedy-ass fuck with no spine. I think the worst part is when he’d try to be nice to us when SHE wasn’t around. The spineless prick couldn’t be fucked to stand up for us, so why should we even trust him? Bastard.

<Patient No.00129 looks up at Dr. Hooper then on the wall behind him>

There’s a little hook there. On the wall. Let me guess, did a clock use to hang there?

-Dr Hooper:… <he looks over his shoulder for a moment before looking back at Natalie. He nods> That would be right. It was taken away to make you feel more comfortable.

-Patient No.00129: Bull. You guys took it down so I wouldn’t have one of my “episodes”. Worried I might break out of these fucking cuffs and strangle the shit outta you?

<she suddenly yanked on her restraints before laughing>

All because of a fucking clock. Isn’t that just…crazy?

<more laughter as Natalie leans across the desk towards Dr. Hooper>

-Dr. Hooper: Natalie…. Please calm down. We were making excellent progress…. Let us refocus on you, okay?

-Patient No.00129: <pauses for a moment before sitting back down> Sure, Doc. I was just messing with you. So what do you wanna know now, huh?

-Dr. Hooper: I’m sure you were… now tell me about your interest growing; did you have any hobbies? Were you into any sports?

-Patient No.00129: Nah, not really. Well…I liked drawing. Drawing was the only thing that really made me happy. None of it was very good though, but I did like art a lot.

-Dr. Hooper: Well that’s good, a healthy outlet. What did you draw?

-Patient No.00129: Mainly me tearing out Mrs Crowley’s throat.

-Dr. Hooper: Hmm…. <he writes down something in his notes before looking back at Natalie> Let us talk about your school, what was that like for you?

-Patient No.00129: Oh boy, where do I start?

Well, it didn’t start off so bad. I mean, sure I got in trouble for drawing in class, which got me into bigger trouble when they saw what I’ve been drawing. I’ve been to see so many different counselors and they all said the same thing, that I’m “troubled”. No shit I’m troubled. If they came from where I came from, of course they’d be fucking troubled as well!

<she sighs, exhaling deeply before continuing>

Anyway, I did meet this guy when I was sixteen. He was a cutie. Blonde hair, blue eyes, great bod, his name was Chris. We dated for a year until he decided it was “time we break up”. Apparently the punk ass bitch was scared of my drawings and scared of me. They were just drawings, for Christ sake! They didn’t mean anyone any harm! It was just an outlet, like you said, Doc!

But no, he decided we had to go our separate ways. It tore my heart in two. The one person in the world I could trust and talk to, and the motherfucker dumps me over some stupid drawings I did in class.

It wasn’t until later I found out the REAL reason he ditched me; to be with some skank named Mia. She was the “oh-so popular” girl at school. The slutty-ass bitchy cheerleader who probably fucked every guy in the school’s football team, and the bitch was now with MY Chris! He sure as hell didn’t waste any time to get with her, did he? Oh no, I was just thrown away like garbage, so he could ram his tongue down that slut’s throat!

-Dr. Hooper: And what did you do after you found out this Chris moved on to someone else?

-Patient No.00129: I cried. Cried my fucking eyes out. Then I got mad. I confronted the bitch along with her skanky friends. I wanted to slap her silly, but the bitch got the better of me. I wasn’t exactly the strongest girl at school, and she was a top athlete. She and her friends overpowered me and dragged me behind the school building, and Mia pulled out a pocket knife. She told me that “I needed to smile more”, calling me a miserable cow with no friends, before she sliced the knife across my face, doing this to my cheeks.

<she motions to her scarred cheeks>

And that was when I lost it. The pain and humiliation was unbearable, and I felt something snap inside me. I lunged at her and beat her stupid face into the ground. THEN of course people came over to help HER. Not me who had just been cut and threatened with a knife, but to poor little Mia when I was beating her face into a bloody pulp. Heh, at least both of us ended up with stitches that day. Serves the bitch right. My only regret is that I didn’t do anything worse to her.

But hey, that was when the school called my foster “parents”, and then I was sent to the hospital. First to get the stitches in, and next was to admit me to some kind of psychiatric ward, because they thought I was “dangerous”.

-Dr. Hooper: Yes, I read the medical reports. Mia needed dental surgery after the beating you gave her…. Hmm, do you think you’re dangerous, Natalie?

-Patient No.00129: Of course I’m dangerous, Doc! Why else would I be locked up in here?

-Dr. Hooper: Right…. Would you like to talk about your time at the Institution?

-Patient No.00129: <glares at Dr. Hooper after a short pause> No.

-Dr. Hooper: I-… pardon?

-Patient No.00129: I said no! I don’t wanna talk about that place. Those lying, conniving rats. I never wanna even think about that place. They did this to me!

-Dr. Hooper:…. They did what to you?

-Patient No.00129: Do you have a watch? Isn’t this interview nearly over? Don’t you need to check your precious time to see when you’re done with me?

-Dr. Hooper:…. I… umm… I do have a watch but I’d rather not show it. Especially considering the progress you’ve made, I don’t wish to ruin it. Would you like to call it in for the night? We can do our next session tomorrow night.

-Patient No.00129: Sure…Man, just as I was beginning to enjoy your company, too.

-Dr. Hooper: Hmm…. We will start again at 7:00PM tomorrow…. I’m quite pleased with everything you shared with me, Natalie. I believe you are truly on a better path now going forward.

<End of Interview Log>

Interview No.2: [08/09/██]

<Begin Interview Log:>

<A moment of silence passed between the two, before finally Patient No.00129 spoke up>

-Patient No.00129: I had a dream last night, Doc. Wanna hear it?

-Dr. Hooper: Yes. I would.

-Patient No.00129: I was in the backyard of my foster place, and there was this naked old guy with a long beard, holding a scythe and cutting the grass with it. Then he noticed me, and bellowed out this ungodly roar and began to chase me. I ran for what seemed like miles in my tiny backyard that stretched out forever, until I stopped, turned around and grabbed the old man by the throat and started strangling him, until I woke up.

So, what does that tell you, Doc?

-Dr Hooper: <he was silent for a moment before speaking again> Do you happen to know anything about old mythologies? In particular, Greek Mythology?

-Patient No.00129: Sort of? I studied a little of it in school.

-Dr. Hooper: Hm, in Greek Mythology there was an ancient god- or Titan rather known as Kronos, The Titan of Time or rather the God of Harvesting. He was often depicted as an older, naked man with a farming scythe….. I believe this old man in your dream represents time in its most vile form and your fear of it. I think you are strangling him because you are fighting back against the fear of time and taking back your life from it.

-Patient No.00129: Yeah…maybe…Time has never been on my side, Doc. They say that “time heals all wounds”. Whoever said that is full of shit. Time does not stop. Time is nothing but a vicious cycle. It keeps you in this perpetual state of torture until it withers you away, like a giant wheel grinding you into dust. It never ends, it never speeds up, it never slows down. It just keeps going and going and going, forcing you to live through it.

-Dr Hooper: You speak of Time as though it’s an entity and not a measurement. Time isn’t a malicious force…

-Patient No.00129: Like Hell it isn’t! It’s always there! Watching me!

It’s everywhere, hanging on people’s walls, on their phones, strapped to people’s wrists like these fucking cuffs <rattles cuffs around her wrists> keeping you prisoner. It’s like a prison warden, keeping you in your place, forcing you to conform to your daily routine until there’s nothing left of you but an empty husk, forced to live in its endless cycle every day and night and day and night!

<she breathes heavily>

-Dr Hooper: Hmm…. Natalie, have you ever experienced out of the ordinary things? Hallucinations, voices?

-Patient No.00129: Well…I did buy a new giraffe in secret. I hid it under the bed. But then each night I would hear voices under my bed. It would talk to me, about all the things I told it in the daytime, about how miserable I was, and how…how I wanted to die just to end it. But it would say things like “No, don’t go. If anyone deserves to die it was them.”

I don’t know if it was just my imagination or if I genuinely heard it speak…but whatever the case, I agreed. I wanted those fucking people to die so badly. I wanted to grab a knife and just stab them over and over and over and over again, and cut them up into little pieces!

But…I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wasn’t like that. Not yet, anyway.

<she snickered under her breath before whispering>

Not until after going to that fucking place…

-Dr Hooper: That place?….. You mean the Institution, right?

-Patient No.00129: Yeah….when I was in hospital for my stitches, I heard from a few doctors about this thing called the “Elysium Project” at the Henlein Institute. I asked them what it was, and they told me that apparently it was some new experimental drug which was to help with psychosis, which the doctors diagnosed me with.

I didn’t wanna be labelled as some kind of mental case, so when I was released from the hospital I decided that I should go to this Institute to get myself fixed. I wanted to do it so badly.

Of course, Mrs Crowley was too much of a lazy fucking hag to take me there, so I went myself.

I got the bus and followed the directions to the place. It was a little further out of town, but I wasn’t afraid. I was mostly afraid of myself, and what I could be capable of.

When I got there, they asked for my name and age. I lied to them. I’m seventeen but I told them I was eighteen. I signed their paperwork, something about a non-disclosure agreement which would have required me to not mention or introduce the concept of the drug trials to others and some shit like that, and they got me a room. They said I could stay the night and that I would be ready for treatment the next day. They gave me a cup of meds and just told me to relax.

Felt like a normal hospital to me, nothing so special about it. I was kinda pissed.

I was pretty happy when the very next morning, without waiting any longer, the doctors told me I would be having my first treatment; a surgery.

Now, I was pretty nervous. I never had surgery before, but I tried to be optimistic about it.

They told me they were gonna fit a device into my heart, sorta like a pacemaker, but this device was supposed to monitor and circulate this fluid they were going to pump into my body. Some kind of drug that would be pumped regularly into my brain that would stop all the bad shit going on up there.

I was a little scared, but I didn’t want to be known as the monster that nearly killed someone, or the girl that constantly heard voices from her stuffed animal. I was willing to try anything.

-Dr. Hooper: < he wrote down in his notes. A moment passed while he wrote down what Patient No.00129 had told him before looking back to her>

What happened after that, Natalie?

-Patient No.00129: You mean, AFTER the surgery?

-Dr. Hooper: Yes, after the surgery.

-Patient No.00129: Oh no…oh no, my friend. We’re not done with the surgery yet. Those motherfuckers deserve to pay for what they did to me.

-Dr. Hooper: I-… what are you talking about?

-Natalie: You wanna know what I’m talking about? I’ll tell ya.

I was all prepped for surgery, and I was nervous as hell. They put this mask over me as I lay in that operating bed and told me to just count from zero to ten backwards in my head.

I trusted them, I wanted to trust them, so I did just that. I started counting.

Ten…nine…eight…seven…I could still hear the doctors talking over me as they were putting their gloves on. They had put tape over my eyes. All I could do was keep counting.

Six…five…four…three…I thought I was gonna drift off any second.

Two…one. Nothing happened. I didn’t black out or drift off or anything. I was still awake!

I tried to move, but I couldn’t feel anything. I tried to speak but my throat felt numb. Those assholes gave me the paralyzing drug but forgot to give me the proper anesthetic!

I could feel everything, but I couldn’t move at all, only my eyes. I guess me moving my eyes about so fast loosened the tape from my eyelids and I could see through a small sliver what was happening.

I saw the doctor with the scalpel. I could feel him slice into my chest. I was in agony, but no one was paying attention to my eyes. I felt every clamp they put around my flesh to pin it back. I wanted to die at that point. I felt like this was going to be it. This is how I would die, in complete pain on an operating table with no one noticing me.

<brief pause as she sighed>

I could see the clock on the wall. I could hear it ticking. Ticking away as the agony continued. I could hear something else ticking as well. I looked down, and could see my own fucking heart! It was ticking as well. I saw them shove the device into the open cavity as my heart ticked away the seconds.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes I was awake, until they finally noticed me.

They panicked, and put the mask back over me again, filling me with drugs until I was knocked out.

-Dr. Hooper: <he wrote in sync with her every word, once she finished speaking he sighed and leaned back in his chair>

That sounds like a hellish experience…. I’m sorry those incompetent fools didn’t do the surgery right.

<his monotone demeanor broke for a moment as he spoke>

-Patient No.00129: I still have nightmares, you know? Every night I go to sleep, I keep dreaming of those damn doctors tearing open my chest and doing things to my heart. That device they put in there…I swear each night I can still hear it ticking, like a clock.

They were “kind” enough to compensate me for my troubles. A thousand dollars for fucking up my surgery and leaving me scarred for life. I tore up that check when I left the damn place, when my “treatment” was over. What good did money do for me anyway? I couldn’t buy my way out of my misery, and even when people were helping me, Time was always there, mocking me, keeping me awake and feeling every bit of it.

But hey, those bastards let me stay a few days to see if there were any side effects to the drugs. When there were none, they let me go home. Home sweet home.

-Dr. Hooper:….<he clicks his pen before speaking again>

Was this what led you down this path? The path to take all those lives?

-Patient No.00129: That bitch Crowley had it coming. She had it coming her entire life and just didn’t know it until that night I came back.

All the while, I felt this…buzz. I can’t really explain it well, but it must’ve been all the drugs they had pumped into me during the surgery. I could feel a sort of…I dunno, like a rush. Like downing about ten cans of Monster kind of rush. My brain felt like it was on fire, but in a good way. I was awake. For the first time, things seemed a lot clearer to me. No voices, no bad thoughts, no feeling of worthlessness.

That all came crashing down when I went “home” and that hag had to open her stupid fat mouth, screaming at me for leaving without her permission, when the fucking hypocrite let the others roam the fucking streets at night, including Samantha, who was eleven now. She just kept yelling and yelling and yelling at me. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. She just treated me like dirt. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to be treated like that again. Not ever again!

I punched that bitch right in the face. The surprise on her face was delicious. I pushed her through into the kitchen. No one else was home except for her sleeping husband. It was just me and her. I had her all to myself to do whatever I wanted. And the first thing I did was drag her sorry ass out into the backyard, and threw her onto the ground.

It was incredible. I never felt so damn strong. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, elevating me. I knew what I had to do. I kicked her face in until she stopped moving, then I went to the garage and took out the gasoline, and doused her in it, head to toe. She burned my giraffe, my only friend, and thought she could get away with it.

Like Hell she would. I burned her. Burned that bitch while she was still alive. I heard her wake up and scream. Like music to my ears. Oh, how she fucking screamed. <laughter>

The old man was next. The old prick was asleep in his favorite chair in front of the TV, his favorite bottle of booze in his hand. I rammed that bottle straight down his filthy mouth. He thought he could yell at us and side with his hag of a wife? Well…heh…I guess that was my way of telling him to “bottle it up”.

-Dr. Hooper: <he shifted in his seat and cleared his throat before speaking again> After killing the Crowleys, what did you do?

-Patient No.00129: I ran. I knew the cops were gonna come after me, so I made a break for it. Besides, I only stayed longer to gather some paperwork and do a little bit of research on where I needed to go next; Pinehurst Street, number 78. My next destination, as you probably already know, if you read the police report.

-Dr. Hooper: Your old family’s home, correct?

-Patient No.00129: Bingo.

I remember the old place like it was just yesterday. I remember the shabby exterior and the rancid front yard, with all kinds of crap laying about. I knocked on the door and my dear old mother answered it.

Her skinny ass went down quickly. I practically snapped her neck the moment she answered the door. She didn’t even have time to scream. But the commotion must’ve woken up daddy.

I went to his room, and he did this to me <points to her missing eye>

He had a gun, and what happened next…it was like slow motion. I felt the adrenaline rush again the moment I heard that gunshot. I saw the bullet approach me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. But as I turned out of reflex, I was too late. I felt a lightning bolt of pain as the bullet hit my eye. I could see nothing but a fountain of red as the impact smacked me down onto the floor.

I heard the fat bastard cry out, but my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t make out what he was saying. He must’ve thought he killed me, because the next thing I knew he was standing over me, and saying something outside the door frame, probably calling for his now dead wife.

But then I felt that surge again, and I was wide awake.

I quickly got up and subdued the fucker. I grabbed his revolver and shot the bastard in the gut, emptying the entire chamber in his stomach. Then I just let him die slowly on the floor. He deserved a slow pointless death.

But not dear old Danny boy, who I found out was still living with his parents. And I could smell him. I could smell his stench coming from his room. So I took two knives from the kitchen. Nice, big, juicy serrated knives, and went to his room.

And…you’re gonna love this…I went to his door, knocked on it three times, and said “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” <giggle>

There was no answer, but I knew he was in there, I could hear his disgusting breathing.

“Not even by the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin?” I asked him, oh so sweetly.

Still no answer.

“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” I shouted at him.

And kicked down the door.

The stupid bastard was hiding right behind it. As the door swung open, it hit him square in the face, knocking him down. The fucker had a baseball bat with him. He was planning on attacking me, the little motherfucker!

So I took him, picked him up, and threw him onto the bed.

Oh, that bedroom. So many memories…

<laughter>

Would you like to know what I did to him then?

-Dr. Hooper:…Yes. I would like to know what you did.

-Natalie: I knew you’d want to know. Put this down in your notes.

I started by sticking him to the wall with the knives. He screamed pathetically as I practically crucified him. I loved hearing that scream. I wanted to hear it again.

I pulled his pants down, exposing his tiny little prick. I think he knew what I was planning.

I didn’t want to rush this. I wanted to…take my time.

I went to the kitchen and took a few knives, and a spoon.

I remember the look in his eyes as he screamed in terror. Oh, that wonderful terror.

I decided I’d start with his fingers. I broke every one of them, nice and slow, just to hear that scream again. I did it until his fingers were red and twisted.

Then I took out the spoon.

And I scooped out his eye. Only one though. I wanted him to see what I would do to him next.

I then took out one of the knives, the smallest one, mind you, and cut his pathetic little dick off.

The screams…oh how I reveled in them.

But they were hurting my ears, and I was worried the neighbors would hear, so I gagged him.

Then I took the big carving knife, and cut open his stomach, as he watched.

Then I pulled open the skin, reached inside, and pulled out what was in my hand.

<brief pause as Natalie stared into space>

He must’ve passed out, because I didn’t hear him scream afterward. But I didn’t care. I was enjoying myself too much. Time finally slowed down for me, and let me actually enjoy myself. I’m sure it must’ve been the drugs. I never felt so alive. So much stronger, faster, better.

Or maybe it was the rush. The rush of finally cutting myself free from my past.

I only had one thing left to do, to finish off this work of art that was hanging on the wall; I took some pictures.

Some amazing pictures so I could always admire it.

I still have them on my phone. I’m sure if you’d ask the front desk, they’d be more than happy to show you them.

-Dr. Hooper: <he finishes writing down notes before sighing> After you finished your…. ” art work ” as you put it, what did you do?

-Patient No.00129: I went to the bathroom to clean up. That’s when I remembered, after all the excitement, that my eye was all fucked up from the gunshot. I saw in the mirror a hole where my eye used to be.

I was so fucking angry, until I noticed my dear daddy’s watch on the sink.

I laughed to myself, because I knew what I wanted to do.

With a knife, I opened up the watch and took out the clock face, and placed it in my open eye wound. It stung a little, touching the red flesh and ruined eyelids, but it worked!

It looked just like a new eye.

<sighs>

Those bastards in this place took it out when they put me in here, said it would cause an infection or something. But I think it suits me. I would wear it like a trophy, because you see, I conquered Time.

I had full control over it now. I could slow it down, I could speed it up. Everything can move either as a blur or as slow as a snail, all under my control. Those drugs helped me in more ways than one, Doc. They made me see clearer, despite only having one eye now. I could feel Time weakening before me.

After I killed those creatures that called themselves a “family”, I took every clock, watch and phone from that place and smashed it to smithereens. Time was dead in that house, and I would move onto the next house, and the next, and kill every last ounce of Time that I could, but those fucking pigs stopped me!

I got locked away and put on trial for murdering those monsters. I did the world a fucking favor and they put me away to rot for it!

But still, everytime I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how powerful I am now. I can see it in my eye. How it glows green with whatever that stuff was they put inside me. How it empowers me, how it gives me the ability to take on Time itself. How it gives me the strength, the speed, the awareness that I need. I felt like a superhero…

-Dr. Hooper:…… So the drugs had an effect on you that wasn’t purely psychological. Hmm….

<he thought for several seconds, clicking his pen a few times, seemingly barely noticing the confessions of the murders>

-Patient No.00129:…Whatcha writing down, anyways? Don’t you already have all of this on file?

-Dr. Hooper: Hm? Oh yes I do. But not of it from your perspective, just the typical police reports.

-Patient No.00129: I see…<brief moment of silence> …Doc?

-Dr. Hooper: Yes, Natalie? <he looks up from his notes>

-Patient No.00129: How do you know I haven’t been feeding you bullshit this whole time?

-Dr. Hooper: …. What do you mean?

-Patient No.00129: How do you know I wasn’t lying this whole time you’ve been talking to me? I could’ve used another person’s experience as my own. There’s plenty of fucked up people in this hospital. I could’ve just used something I read up at one point. Hell, I could’ve even used a movie quote or two. And you wouldn’t even know because your dumb ass hadn’t seen the movie.

-Dr. Hooper:…. Hm, because I believe you truly wish to get better, Natalie. <he closes the file>

-Patient No.00129:…What did you just say?

-Dr. Hooper: <he looked up at her with a visible frown> I said I believe you truly wish to get better, Miss Ouelette. Lying wouldn’t help you to heal from these events…

-Natalie: <whispering> I believe you truly wish to get better…”

Say that again, but cover your mouth…like you’re wearing a surgical mask.

-Dr. Hooper:……. Miss Ouelette, I believe our session is coming to end. I truly appreciate you coming out more and speaking to me about everything you’ve been through…

<Dr. Hooper is interrupted by Patient No.00129’s laughter>

-Patient No.00129: I KNEW I recognised your eyes! I never forget a face, even when it’s hidden behind a mask, like the one you wore.

You work for the Henlein Institute! You’re part of the Elysium Project, aren’t you?

-Dr. Hooper:…. <he sighs and rests against his chair> You are far smarter than most give you credit for. It’s unfortunate that things played out this way, Miss Ouelette.

-Patient No.00129: What do you mean? Hell, what are you doing here? Monitoring me or something?

-Dr. Hooper: I suppose you can say that.

You see you were supposed to be our little “ poster child ” for our latest surgery to help those suffering from mental illnesses. But obviously that didn’t work out as intended. That foolish surgeon and those doctors ruined your treatment. So much time, money and effort wasted because some fool couldn’t make sure you were properly anesthetized. You can only imagine how our investors felt when they realized our successful patient turned into a bloodthirsty murderer who butchered five people.

<silence>

-Patient No.00129: You greedy-ass snake.

But what about me? You promised you were gonna get me out of here!

-Dr. Hooper: I did. You helped me understand what our experiment did. Despite the many setbacks… There were some obvious benefits to the drugs. For your help, I will be sending you to the best possible place… a new Institution has opened up that I believe can properly help. Miller House will be a perfect place for you.

<he stands up before reaching his tape recorder>

<as he reaches out his hand, Patient No.00129 suddenly grabs Dr. Hooper with her now free hand>

-Patient No.00129: YOU LYING RAT!

-Dr. Hooper: <crying out> N-NATALIE, STOP!

-Patient No.00129: <laughter> See how strong I am? Pretty fucking incredible, huh? Write that down in your stinking notes!

<Patient No.00129’s other hand slips free from the cuffs>

I wanna thank the hospital staff for allowing enough wiggle room in these flimsy-ass cuffs. Seriously, is everyone just as fucking incompetent as each other?

<Patient No.00129 puts a hand over Dr. Hooper’s throat>

Go ahead, call for help. It won’t do you any good.

-Dr. Hooper: <muffled> GAH-! J-JACK!!! JACKS—

<he choked and gagged as tried to tried to escape her grasp>

-Patient No.00129: Can you hear it, Doc? That’s your heartbeat. Sounds like a clock, doesn’t it? As it ticks out your last seconds. Tick, tick, tick…until suddenly…

<Patient No.00129 tears open Dr. Hooper’s throat with her bare hands>

…Time’s up.

-Dr. Hooper: GAAA- <his scream was cut short, his scream was now replaced with the sound of air escaping his windpipe and gurgling on his own blood. His body starts shaking violently>

-Patient No.00129: <begins laughing hysterically as she continues to eviscerate Dr. Hooper, until the orderlies burst into the room>

-Orderly Jackson: JESUS CHRIST!

<As the orderlies attempt to apprehend Patient No.00129, she turned and attacked them, causing grievous injury to both orderlies, before escaping the interview room, laughing. Moments later the security alarm sounded>

<End of Interview Log>