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dr. isaac



  • .



Bone white, clean slate, gloss bouncing off and away, faltering halfway in the air; in these halls where light goes to die. Their walls, intrinsic to a fault, shape every floor of every room. Well. Not every room. Some are reinforced and padded with foam. Walls, floors, and ceilings. As a safety measure β€” when Isaac loses control of one of his girls. He doesn't. Not as often, not anymore. A specialized environment calls for specialized treatment.

Tap, tap, tap goes the heel of his shoes. Not appropriate for the setting, in fact; completely unmatching with his doctor's coat and doctor's pants. But nobody eyes him, and nobody questions. They know the rules just as well as any other girl in this institution. And she β€” his eyes dart down towards the clipboard in his hand, his other hand, stuffed inside the pocket of his doctor’s jacket, plays with a pen β€” will come to learn it all in no time.

Isaac eyes down the notes his assistant had jotted down for him while on the phone with the father.

Violent, danger to others, unable to adapt to social situations... the list goes on.

He sniffs, blinks back up, offers a nod towards the security sitting behind a windowed room. They hit a button, and out into the lobby he goes. Behind him, the doors screech in protest when they slide back shut, and Isaac β€” stands. Waits. To his right is a male assistant. Both, waiting.

Waiting for his newest doll.








/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































old letter
































location


entering the asylum




















interactions


Her stepfather/cops


































The shuddering of her breaths was all she could hear as the thundering footsteps grew louder and louder, reminding her of somebody constantly slamming on their drum set, ear-worming inside of her mind, driving her crazy. The knife in her hand shook with each faltered breath, gaze watching through hooded lids as they surrounded her, like jackals preparing for their feast. "I'll...I'll do it!" She wasn't crazy, god, why were they acting as if she were crazy?


She wasn't crazy. Was she?


"It's okay, you're safe." The man in front of her seemed to tread lightly, like he was walking on eggshells or trying to tiptoe around broken glass. He mentioned she was safe, but why did he mention that? Was she safe? "You need to give me the knife, Miss. Daze." She hated that name, hated the implication that she was his daughter.


"Safe? She won't be safe when I get my fucking hands on her!"


That voice. He was everywhere, always creeping through the corners of her mind, waiting to cage her all over again. Not this time, though, she had the upper hand this time. As if feeling the bastard move beneath her, fingers tightened around the small blade, pressing it further into her father's flesh. She wanted to kill him; wanted to end everything so badly but why would she give him that satisfaction? She never planned to actually kill him, just harm him, scare him.


She scared herself, sometimes. It started when her mama ran away with some gold-digging hunk from the east coast, her father's words, that's when it all went down the drain. She was eight years old. Her step-father wasn't ready to become a full time father to a kid who wasn't even his own, but he was stuck with her. Not for much longer.


"I... I can't." Didn't they understand that she'd come too far? She couldn't throw it all away now, couldn't risk what she'd already lost. She knew her mother would be disappointed in her, everyone would be, but they didn't understand what it was like living with a man who hated her, who reminded her of that every single day, who got a little too handsy when he was drunk. It hurt, everything hurt, she wanted it to stop.


A split second. That was all it had taken for her father to overpower her, a moment of distraction had cost her everything.


Everything happened too fast for her mind to comprehend, her father lunged ready to wrap his hands around her throat, one of the officers screamed for him to back down, and the knife slipped from between her shaky fingers. The moment it did she'd felt a prick, a tingling sensation that crawled down her spine like spiderwebs, pulling her back towards the dark space she'd fought so hard to get out of.


"I want her sectioned, do you hear me? She's fucking crazy!"


The blonde was in and out of consciousness by the time she realized how messed up everything had become. Blue hues blinked up at the lights shining above her, distant voices could be heard in which she swore they were speaking about her, but by the time the noise came into focus, she was out of it again.


"Don't worry, you'll be safe here."






















 
Last edited:







dr. isaac



  • .



White coats took getting used to. Many months later, and Isaac still shifts in his position, discomfort picking at his skin, even though he's dressed for nothing but the occasion. Thing is this: none of this is real. The front of the building screams mental ward. Stony, dirty, and ancient. It's an unpleasant sight, and someone had made sure to hide its ugliness miles outside of any cities or towns. But it’s ugly for a reason. Nobody's coming here, stumbling in on accident. Every visit merits a reason. Two, in fact. There are exactly two reasons for why anyone would drive out here. The front β€” the crown of the building β€” screams psychiatric hospital, but the underbelly whispers a different song.

One with which Isaac truly belongs.

A shorter woman dressed in a nurse's outfit jogs up to them. "She's here."

(Today, they are blessed with a visit for reason #1.)

"Here, as in....?"

"The car," she quickly clarifies. Isaac shoots her a look. She hurries on to add: "seems like she passed out at the house. They must've brought her by, well, force." At this, Isaac clicks his tongue, moves. The nurse and the assistant automatically trail after him.

Down the lobby, down another hall. Past more iron doors that look like they'd been snatched straight from a prison cell. The two struggle to catch up; if Isaac notices this, he ignores it. Doesn't offer a slower pace. He strides towards the large, dual-doors, and when he pushes them open, rain comes crashing down on him. Hard. He doesn't stop. Doesn't sway β€” Isaac beelines for the car, his staff hesitantly stepping after him, and finally β€” halts.

"Where is she?" he almost bellows out, his words drowning in the chaos of an ill-timed storm.

A car door opens, and there, he meets her; an angel asleep, eyelids shut, unruly locks of gold, a handful of strands covering one part of her face. Protecting her. Over the crackle of lightning, she’s a cloud. Peaceful, untethered to the storm that circles the asylum.

Before he knows it, his hand is over her face. Pushing the same strands back, waiting for some sign of her waking. β€œCallista?” he soothes his tone. β€œTime to wake up.” If her father was nearby, then he hadn’t even greeted him first.









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































old letter
































location


entering the asylum




















interactions


Dr. Isaac
































"I don't understand, how could you leave me, mama?" They'd been best friends, inseparable since the day she was born, so she found it hard to believe that her mother would genuinely up and leave her the way that she had. By the time she'd turned eleven years old, she'd tracked the brunette down with the intent on storming her home and demanding to know why she had abandoned her the way she had, but something had stopped her.

Two kids. Her brother and sister.

She'd felt like an intruder standing outside the home, watching from behind a shimmering glass window. They were the perfect family, the four of them, all giggling and mocking each other around a wooden dining table. She didn't belong, not anymore, she couldn't count how long she had cried that night. It wasn't fair that they had something perfect and she had to sulk her way back to a father who hated her.

That was the start of her...troubling childhood. Seeing her mother with her new shiny family had flipped a switch inside of her, the blonde was no longer the social butterfly who went out of her way to help somebody, but was instead the brooding teenager who glared at anyone who even looked at her wrong, she was prone to violence too, meaning her little outburst with her step-father hadn't been the only occasion, it was just the first time her violence had been turned around on him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the patient." None of the officers seemed to like the way her father spoke to the young girl, already alert to his character and body language. Somebody doesn't just snap the way she had, there had to have been more to the story and until they figured that out, they didn't want the man anywhere near her.

"With all due respect, officer, that patient just so happens to be my daughter and last time I checked I'm allowed to show concern for her welfare." Except it wasn't concern he was showing, it was arrogance. He loved that she'd been sedated, the little bitch deserved it.

Before anybody else could speak up, the car came to a gradual stop, indicating they had arrived. They waited until the paramedics came around first, unlocking the latch and hauling the mechanical bed from the back. They hated that they had to sedate her, but she was both a risk to herself and those around her so they didn't have much of a choice. It was demeaning, the way they'd strapped her down like a prisoner waiting to be executed, but again they weren't left with much choice.

The moment icy cold rain drops hit her skin, the brunette let out a tired moan, head tilting to the side at the feeling of the doctor's hand gently pushing away stray strands. "I didn't mean to.." Her profile had to have been wrong for her to be already showing guilt, she wasn't the violent troublemaker her father painted her out to be. She was just troubled, lost, alone.




















 
Last edited:







dr. isaac



  • .



"Yes, I know," he lies. Another brush of his thumb; maybe to remove the last stray hair from her face, maybe to pry. Pick and pry at the newest addition to his unholy collection.

"Doctor?"

Isaac doesn't remove himself right away. Count a moment, count another. When he shifts, it’s to carry his hand over his head. (It does a bad job of protecting him against the weather). Then β€” and only then β€” does he step back. Something had loomed over the corner of his lip. Whatever it is, it easily washes away. Reality hits him like the rain. Stabs the back of his hand, his face, his β€” hadn't these fuckers thought to get him an umbrella?

"Doctor, we'll get her to the β€” "

"You must be the father," he calls out to the only man that had eyed Callista with tar in his gaze. "I'm Dr. Isaac. Please, let's talk inside." He offers a pearly smile. It fails to reach his eyes. "Weather's been awful, hasn’t it?" An arm extends out, gesturing towards the hospital. In the distance, men roll Callista up the main doors, easily lifting her over the two or three stairs, then pushing her bed inside. Isaac sticks to the father's side, chatting him up on their way.

Inside, he unsmilingly starts: "My assistant tells me you've had some trouble with her." Reaches a hand over the reception desk, retrieves a piece of paper. "Here, fill this in while I walk you around."

It's a document asking for signatures, dates, details. Her name, her guardian's signature, her symptoms, and any more details the father thinks appropriate to add.

β€œWe’ve got a big facility,” Isaac explains over his shoulder. An open hand motions ahead. β€œLots of staff, lots of security. Lots of… classes. To keep them preoccupied. You won’t need to worry.” Glances back over his shoulder, offers a quick smile, a quick look. A quick attempt to gauge for any reactions.

(Behind them, Callista is taken into a separate room. Four concrete walls, one single lamp above her head. β€œWe’ll just do some check-ups, darling. Only routine, no need to worry, okay?” tells her the nurse.)









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 
Last edited:






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































old letter
































location


entering the asylum












outfit














interactions


Dr. Isaac
































"Trouble?" The father scoffs, seemingly struggling to keep up with the doctors long strides. "That little brat has given me absolute hell since her mother walked out eleven years ago." A fact her father had held over the blonde's head from the very start. She was an ungrateful bitch, never stopping to thank him for putting his life on pause to look after her.

This was a well-deserved break in his eyes. He wouldn't have to worry about her anymore, so what if he had to lie to make it seem like she was worse than she actually was, by the time she'd be let out of this place, she'd never show her face at their house ever again. He'd finally be able to pick up where he left off all those years ago, live the life he wanted without the burden of a child.

He glanced down at the form in his hand, searching his pockets for a pen, before one of the wardens handed him one. He didn't offer any sort of acknowledgement, let alone thanking the man for it. He filled it to the best of his ability; her name, his signature, the symptoms being violent, danger to others, antisocial behaviour, prone to lashing out, never listens. He didn't think the last two were necessarily what the form was for, but he figured it couldn't hurt to warn them anyway.

"I don't care." He lifted a single shoulder in a shrug. "After I hand over these forms, she's your problem not mine."

"No.." The blonde murmured at the sound of the nurses voice, gaze blinking unhurriedly at the single light above her head. The room reminded her of a dungeon, as if she were a prisoner in whatever hell this was. "No! Don't touch me!" She still didn't have much energy, but with what she did have, she thrashed.




















 







dr. isaac



  • .



A nod here, a nod there. Isaac offers his full attention during their walk. He's engaged and not by choice. Whatever control he possesses goes to keeping his smile at bay. And when the father gives him a reaction β€” (or lack thereof) β€” Isaac has to practically fight the urge. Lets a curl slip up the corner of his mouth, and nods once: "'course," before returning his attention down the hall. Lucky him.

"We'll take good care of her. Got everything under control around here," he repeats like a prayer.

Isaac offers his hand. "In that case, Mr. Daze, I see no point in keeping you any longer. June, here, will walk you back. Yes?" he directs this question towards June, the nurse that had followed them. She's quick to nod, and even quicker to smile prettily at the father. Motions for him to follow her and leads him down a new hallway. A shortcut, she explains. Isaac lets his gaze linger on their leaving frames. Before, finally, looking up at the CCTV camera huddled in the corner of the ceiling. Gives it a smile, then spins and walks away.



"Tighten the belts!"

"I did, she just won't sit still!"

"Ms. Daze, please calm down. This doesn't have to hurt."

"It won't hurt at all," says Isaac, closing the door behind him.

"Doctor, should we up the dose?"

"No, we're fine. Step back. Give her some space." The nurses do, some shuffling all the way to the back of the room, others carefully circling around Isaac to allow him to enter the stage.

"Callista," he all but whispers. He's at her side, looking down at her with dual-obsidians, nodding at her like she's a wounded deer: "You're okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you here. Look around, your father's gone." But a venomous hint of something soaks his words.









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 



Patient.





Callista Daze.



































old letter
















location

isolated room






outfit







interactions

Dr. Isaac
















Nobody's gonna hurt you here.

Haven't they already? They were the ones to force her out of her home, to inject something into her and strap her to a bed like some convicted murderer waiting to be sentenced. Granted she wouldn't have come willingly if she'd have known who they were and what they were there for; she should have been locked away in a prison cell for a few months, or let completely off the hook for a first offense.

She'd have never held that knife to her father's throat if she knew they'd drag her down to the loony bin for it. This wasn't the type of freedom she wanted. This wasn't freedom at all.

"I shouldn't be here, please." So what if she had threatened to kill her father, it wasn't like she was going to go through with it. She wasn't crazy, just desperate. She couldn't deny the relief that flooded through her at the mention of her father no longer being around, though. Now all she had to do was convince them to let her go and then she'd be out of there, out of the state, the country.

Far away from everyone and everything.










 







dr. isaac



  • .



A gaze flickers forward, to the one male nurse standing across from Isaac. Looks are exchanged, and before Isaac returns his attention to Callista, he draws forth a smile. Curls and kneads the corners; hopes they reach his eyes. "Probably not."

Like flies, they all begin circulating the room, working drawers and tools that'd been stored in said drawers. Things clank and sound, and if Callista loses focus, Isaac makes sure to bring it back β€” (a thumb carefully tracing the corner of her jaw as to return her eyes to him) β€” "it's ready," someone says. The doctor gives his usual nod. Then, they all queue up to leave the room. One by one.

"My name's Dr. Isaac." The words easily roll off his tongue; his introduction is a mantra. "I'll be taking care of you from now on. Things... work a certain way here. Wouldn't want you to fall behind, so I'll tell you this: do as you're told and you'll be fine."

He's at her left now, back facing her, hands toying with a-something. Without turning to face her, he adds: "you'll come to learn that it's all in your interest. Nobody likes to be punished 'round here. The girls will make sure you understand this. And," finally, here, he spins on his heel, returns to her side. "They'll make sure you fit in. Adjust."

"I'm here to help in case you don't." His smile is hard. In his hand rests a syringe.









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































old letter
































location


the asylum




















interactions


Dr. Isaac
































Probably not.

He knew she shouldn't have been there and yet still accepted her as a patient? Her gaze tore from the doctor momentarily, tipping her head backwards to try and see what the rest of the nurses were doing, it sounded loud, like they were looking for something. Her attention didn't linger on them for long, though, not when she felt his thumb trace the corner of her jaw, forcing her gaze to flicker back towards the doctor.

"What's ready?" She didn't even attempt to hide the worry lacing her tone; she was terrified. What was going on? It was bad enough that her father forced her into this place and now they were being secretive? Something was wrong and she definitely didn't trust the man standing above her. He introduces himself as Dr. Isaac but she doesn't listen to that, no, she listens to the way his voice sounds robotic, almost as if he's rehearsed what he's going to say before he says it.

"I'm not a child." The blonde whispers, wincing at the sound of the door closing, signalling she'd been left alone with him. "I don't need anybody to take care of me. I've been doing just fine my entire life." How long were they expecting her stay to be? Surely her father didn't have that much control over the length of stay too?

Blue hues follow his movements, even when he turns so his back is facing her. He continues to speak but it's only when he mentions girls that she fully seems to pay attention. She knew there'd be more people there, it was an asylum after all, but why girls? He could've said patients, or the girls and boys, does that mean it was an all girls asylum or something? Her father didn't mention that.

"I don't want to fit in or adjust, I want to leave." Her voice is hard now, untrusting, especially when her gaze lands on the syringe in his hand. Her gaze widens at the sight, unsuccessfully yanking at the restraints keeping her pinned. "What's that?"




















 







dr. isaac



  • .



Her questions pool in, one after the other, and β€” her part is played by many. Isaac, better than anyone, recognizes this ritual for what it is. It's ancient. It's boring β€” or, rather, it should be. Maybe it isn't. Maybe β€”

"not yet."

Not today.

Despite her questions being routine by this point, Isaac's response digs a little at his voice. "You'll leave when you're ready to leave." And he loses the smile, not quickly enough, when her hands rattle in her restraints.

If she hadn't realized it fully by now, the man is hardly in the room with her. He doesn't see her. He sees a girl, fit for the culture of the institution's underbelly. He sees this: the part that she plays. She plays it well; cakes it with raw fear, molds it under the unaware knowing of just how well she looks doing it. From the top of her crown, to the awkward struggle with her restraints. Outside, a sky cries and fights with the world. In here, her sky-tinted eyes carry that storm within them. Her world will become a smaller one to fight. He wonders: how would she do on a stage?

"This?" he holds up the syringe, provokingly. "Nothing you'll need to worry about."

Isaac swallows in a sharp breath, lets his eyes fall to her arm. "You know, you'll come to find out soon... you don't need to fight with me so much. Won't do you any good."

The needle positions.

"The girls will teach you all about that. I'm sure they'll like you," he says the last words like an afterthought.

Its end kisses the front of her elbow.









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































nothing new
































location


the asylum




















interactions


Dr. Isaac
































This was wrong.

She shouldn't be treated like this simply because of a momentary lapse of judgement. Her father knew she wouldn't have stabbed him, let alone killed him, and the officers knew that too from the pitying looks they shot her way. How was he allowed to treat her like this, to lock her away as if she didn't belong in the real world? He'd always had a hand in her torture, always there to see her downfall, that should have been proof enough that it was him she needed protection from.

"I'm ready to leave now." Her tone was soft, voice quiet as if afraid to make more noise than necessary. She was extremely aware that she was still strapped to the bed, suffocated by the restraints encircling her limbs, they felt heavy. She realized very quickly that yelling at this man wasn't going to get her anywhere; he was clearly of importance, he was the only one who could dismiss her. "My father...he can be quite dramatic sometimes, I probably just gave him a little fright, he wouldn't want me to stay in here."

Quite the contrary; he'd want to be the one to bleed the life from her eyes. He'd want her dead.

How much convincing would it take for him to let her go? She wasn't crazy, she didn't belong in a nuthouse, they'd eat her alive. "You don't understand." The blonde swallowed, blue hues following the needles movements. "I don't belong here." She'd heard of places like this; of the people who resided in the rooms, herded like cattle for illnesses that weren't their fault. They were the crazy ones; the type to hear voices and think the walls spoke to them. You weren't locked inside an asylum unless the system thought you were beyond saving; she didn't need saving.

Callista seemed to have one final burst of energy when the tip of the needle pierces her elbow, bottoms of her legs lifted in a struggle, hips bucking and arms yanking once again, she was like a fish out of water, terrified of whatever it was coursing through her veins. He kept mentioning girls but she didn't want to meet them; she didn't want to meet anybody. "You're not listening! I don't want to meet them, I don't want to be here!" He was just like everybody else; always so fucking quick to assume she deserved this.

















 







dr. isaac



  • .



My father...he can be quite dramatic sometimes, I probably just gave him a little fright, he wouldn't want me to stay in here.

Isaac has half a mind to tell her what he'd had the displeasure of hearing in the hallway. He'd offer a scoff in response if the situation afforded any trace of fun, her situation β€” her father β€” both void of the word. Only now was she in the process of being torn from a bland past; thrust into something new. Something that might be wonderful... if she were willing to see it. Yes. Isaac's job was to make them see it.

You're not listening!

"Shh."

The leather straps strain and tighten, her arm jerks in vain. Slowly, the plunger is pulled. A flow of blood fills the vacuum, signalling for Isaac to push it back in. He does, and he takes care this time β€” "careful β€” " even if she doesn't.

I don't want to meet them! β€”

And as the fast-acting sedative begins to take effect, Isaac's thumb slips a small piece of gauze over the needle site, applying firm pressure to the spot where the needle had entered.

I don't want to be here!

He hushes her; runs a cold hand over her head, and β€” together with 4 mg midazolam β€” soothes her to sleep.

"Welcome to Lennox House, Miss Daze."

..

At this point, she’d already received two sedatives β€” much more than Isaac would have liked. She’s wheeled to her room, and he fleetingly instructs the attendant to keep a close eye on her. It’s the same man who had calmed her at home; brought her here. She'd wake up to him, instead, and not Isaac. What more can she ask, really?

Outside of her new room is a long hallway leading to the common room: a lounge of some sorts, shared by all the patients. It's much bigger than what you'd expect of a typical ward, and across from it, coming into a bigger hall, is a stageroom. If Callista would make it to here, she'd find men and women her age β€” hardly any older. Some, on the stage, others in the scattered seats, and the few rest aligned against the walls. It's like any scene from a movie featuring an asylum; anxiety written across some faces, anger drawn across others.

There's a number of staff members pacing around, but one particular woman stands out. She isn't dressed typically by any means, and she might've just broken twenty dress codes by her blouse, alone. She's dressed for... business. Sharp features sport a sharp set of glasses. Her makeup is strong, and her chin stands high. If Isaac seems intimidating, she is thrice as.

Oh, also. Isaac is nowhere to be found.









/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Β© weldherwings.
 






Patient.










Callista Daze.






































































nothing new
































location


the asylum




















interactions


Dr. Isaac
































"You're just as fucking useless as your whore mother!" The shadow on the wall bounced as Nathaniel shoved the cutlery off of the table and stood abruptly. "I asked you to do one simple task and what do you do? Fuck it up!" The words were as poisonous as the knife permanently lodged in the blonde's heart, a knife left by a mother who was supposed to protect her daughter. Nobody would believe that this reaction was because she'd burned a piece of fucking chicken. Chicken that she told him she couldn't even make in the first place.

Callista grinned and bared it at the time because what else could she do? If she acted out of line she'd be wobbling to school with a few bruised ribs and that wasn't entirely pleasant last time, so there was no way she was going to put herself through that again. She hated the way he spoke about her mother, though, no father should be engraving those words in his daughters head; her mother wasn't a whore, she just fell in love with the wrong man.

She hated her mother for an entirely different reason; she knew exactly what type of man she was leaving her eight-year old daughter with. She'd been that eight-year old child. The cycle always fucking repeats. "My mother was a smart woman if she managed to escape you." The blonde bared her teeth in defiance, narrowing those baby blues, eyes she always used to adore. They were the brightest blue, her mama always used to say.

The blonde barely had time to duck before he sent a plate flying towards her, small shards of glass clung to her skin when he spoke through gritted teeth. "Clean this fucking mess up and then get out of my sight, I'm sick of fucking seeing you." Callista wondered if cursing made him feel bigger than he was; he always had to use such ugly words with her.

A soft whimper slipped from the young woman's lips when her eyelids finally fluttered and her gaze settled on the ceiling hovering above her. The first thing she noticed was that she wasn't strapped this time around, the second thing was the nausea that swirled her stomach as if she'd eaten for fucking days without stopping.
















 
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