Child’s Play
Chapter One:
Curious Case:
Black pumps
echoed through the white halls. Their owner walked up to a guard standing at the
glass doors. He lifted his hat as a woman in a fancy dress suit approached him.
“ID?” he asked.
The woman reached into her black bag and pulled out her id card. The pudgy guard
read the contents.
“Welcome Dr.
Carta,” he said. “I take it you are here for the patient.”
“Correct,” she
said. She noticed the terrified look in the guard’s eyes. “Is there something
the matter?” The guard lowered his eyes.
“You heard how
her last psychiatrist died, right?” he asked.
“I read the case
file, yes,” Dr. Carta said.
“I only worry
about your safety,” the guard continued in a hushed tone. “Nobody really wants
to take this case. They are too scared. The fact that they called you all the
way from Italy says something.”
“I have heard,”
she said. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“No, but I wish
you luck,” the guard said.
“Thank you,” Dr.
Carta said. The guard in brown turned and swiped his key in the slot. He stepped
aside as the glass doors slid open. She bid him farewell and walked down the
hall. The psychiatrist could feel his worried eyes on her back. As she walked
down the hall, Dr. Carta went over her patient notes in her head.
Danielle
Takahashi, age eight. She was admitted to Honolulu’s psychiatric ward earlier
this year. The police were investigation why everyone around kept dying. The
pervious psychiatrist noted that the child had been traumatized by all of the
murders she had witnessed. Danielle wouldn’t eat or sleep. She kept mentioning
this “he” figure. The pervious psychiatrist couldn’t squeeze anymore details out
of the patient.
Dr. Carta had a
few questions of her own. All of the victims didn’t have any visible injuries on
their bodies, but their insides were like liquid mush. They were all found in
large pools of blood. No signs of a break-in either. There was one witness in
one of the murders, but they refused to come forward. She kept yelling at the
police to get off of her property. It looked like Dr. Carta would have to get to
the source of the problem herself.
The head of the
facility, Dr. Pao, waited for her outside of Room 244.
“You made it,”
he said. “I was starting to worry that you had dropped out at the last minute.”
“I left you a
message on your voice mail,” Dr. Carta said. “The taxi cab had a minor break
down on the way here.”
“I see, I see,”
he said. She looked over his shoulder at the thick glass.
“Is the patient
awake yet?” Dr. Carta asked. Dr. Pao pressed his lips together.
“Yes,” he said.
“But I must warn you, please don’t upset her in any way. Dr. Hawn unwittingly
did that and her family couldn’t even have the funeral with the casket open.”
“Thank you for
the warning, I will keep that in mind,” Dr. Carta said. Dr. Pao turned to the
door and punched in the code.
“I’ll leave you
to it,” he said, stepping away.
“Thank you,” the
psychiatrist said. She peeked through the open door before slowly walking
inside. The high-up open window was the only source of light in the room.
“Hello?
Danielle?” Dr. Carta asked. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.
Could you please come out?” The psychiatrist sat down at the table and set down
her notes. Best to wait until the patient came out of hiding. Dr. Carta looked
around the room. There was almost nothing from what she could make out in the
light. No drawings on the wall. No pictures of family. There wasn’t even a
little teddy bear in the corner of the room. What kind of patient was this that
there had to be nothing in the room? Dr. Carta pulled out her tape recorder from
her bag and set it down on the table. It was then she heard a rustling noise.
“Danielle?” she
whispered. “It’s okay, honey. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk. You can
come out whenever you’re ready.” Dr. Carta kept her eyes trained on the darkness
as she noticed a little movement on the other side of the room. A small girl
crawled out from the shadows. Her white pajamas hung off of her skinny frame
while her hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days. She had big,
frightened eyes as she looked at the woman at the table staring at her.
“Hello,
Danielle,” Dr. Carta said. “My name is Dr. Carta and I just want to talk to you.
You can come and join me at the table if you want.” The child stared at her,
trembling. Did she even understand the psychiatrist with her thick Italian
accent? The patient kept her eyes lowered her eyes as she walked over to the
table. Dr. Carta gave her little smile.
“Very good,” she
said. No sudden movements. Just engage her long enough to get her comfort to
talk. The psychiatrist rested her hands on the table.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dr. Carta said. “My name is Dr. Fabia Carta. How are you doing today, Danielle?” The young patient’s eyes widened to the size of cake plates as the psychiatrist spoke. Something at her feet started to rumble.