Act II - The Girl in the Red Dress

Schizophrenia: a disorder where the mind creates its own version of reality, different from the one most people share. It's a world where perceptions get twisted, where imagined voices seem real, and the line between what's reality and what's not becomes blurred. A personal universe, just as real to the person experiencing it as the world that we all agree on is real to us.

The study of human behavior is essentially the study of how we see the world. How we interpret information, how we build our own mental picture of reality. Schizophrenia, in its most extreme forms, offers a window into this process. It shows us the mind's ability to create, to invent, to believe in a reality that exists only within itself. To understand it, is to understand human experience itself—how easily a seemingly strong brain could be misled.

Caspian had always been fascinated by it. The brain's capacity to create entire worlds, complete with their own internal logic. Proof of the mind's creativity, even when it's disordered. One could argue that a schizophrenic's reality isn't invalid, just different. As renowned French philosopher Michel Foucault suggested—Perhaps, madness isn't the absence of reason but a different kind of it. And those ancient doctors who saw madness as divine? Maybe they weren't entirely wrong. After all, what is the divine, if not the brain's ability to give birth to the impossible?

Lost in these thoughts, Caspian pored over the file Dr. Adler had provided, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Interesting case, wouldn't you agree?" Dr. Adler's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and precise.

Caspian looked up, meeting her gaze. Dr. Celeste Adler was a study in contrasts. Her presence commanded attention, yet her demeanor was cool and reserved. She had piercing blue eyes with a deep intellect that seemed to see right through any pretense. Her face, framed by sleek dark hair, was striking and mysterious—like a carefully constructed mask that revealed little of the thoughts behind it.

Dr. Adler was a renowned figure in the field of psychology, a researcher whose groundbreaking work on the human mind had earned her numerous accolades. She was a respected member of the St. Augustine's faculty, but she also consulted with Dr. Alistair Blackwood, the head of the prestigious Blackwood Asylum, providing her expertise on particularly challenging cases. And she was the only person in the academic halls of St. Athenaeum who hadn't written Caspian off yet. However, she still preferred to keep him at arm's length, fully aware that getting too close was dangerous.

"Intriguing is an understatement, Dr. Adler," Caspian replied, his voice thoughtful as his gaze drifted to the perfectly aligned books on her shelves. Not a thing was out of place, showing her precise nature. And precision, he thought, was key to understanding this new case. "This patient… he voluntarily reported a crime, yet the state of his mind makes us question his story. It's an interesting paradox."

"Indeed," Dr. Adler said, her gaze steady, resting on him with a patient intent. "And that's what makes schizophrenia so compelling. It's not just a list of symptoms."

"It's a fundamental shift in how a person experiences the world." Caspian added, a slight lift of his eyebrow.

"Precisely," Dr. Adler agreed, a hint of a smile touching her lips. The late evening light stretched long shadows across her desk, a quiet, fading glow. "It forces us to confront our limited understanding. We talk about 'reality' as if it's fixed, but schizophrenia shows us it's merely a construct—shaped by our brains, our experiences, our vulnerabilities."

Caspian admired her ability to remain detached, to view the human mind as a complex mechanism, a puzzle to be solved.

"A shared hallucination," Caspian mused after a moment of thoughtful consideration, his voice low. "Our reality is just a common agreement, based on what we all see and experience. And schizophrenia... is a rebellion against that agreement."

"An involuntary rebellion," Dr. Adler corrected, picking up a silver letter opener, its surface reflecting the light as she continued, "A struggle to make sense of two different worlds. A complex combination of genetics, brain chemicals, and their life experiences."

"Biology and experience," Caspian added. "But is it always a delusional mind, or can it be a deliberate lie? Can someone living in a different reality still lie on purpose?"

"That's the question that makes this case so interesting," Dr. Adler replied carefully. She set down the letter opener; the sound echoing in the quiet office. "Elias Vance, the patient, has a very complicated form of schizophrenia. His delusions are quite detailed, and he has intense hallucinations. Yet he has these moments of clarity, glimpses of a mind fighting to escape its own chaos."

Caspian leaned forward, his eyes bright with anticipation. "I'd like to speak with him, Dr. Adler. This case… it could be invaluable to my research."

"That's what I thought," Dr. Adler said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I have a recording of my first interview with Mr. Vance. I thought you might find it helpful."

Caspian's curiosity was piqued. "Thoughtful as always, Dr. Adler. Please, let's watch it."

She nodded, her fingers moving deftly across the keyboard of her laptop. The screen flickered to life, and the image of a dimly lit room appeared. A figure sat hunched in a chair, his face hidden by shadows. It was Elias Vance.

"Begin recording," Dr. Adler's voice echoed from the laptop speakers, her tone calm and professional. "Mr. Vance?" She called out.

The figure in the chair shifted, his head snapping up. "Vance? Vance isn't here." His voice was raspy, disoriented. "He's… he's gone."

"I see," Dr. Adler replied, her voice steady. "Then who are you?"

The figure paused, then a faint smile flickered across his lips. "They call me… Silas."

"Alright, Silas," Dr. Adler corrected herself, but before she could continue, Silas cut her off with a panicked, "Shhh!"

"They're watching," Silas's voice rasped, his words thick and slurred. "They're always watching. The eyes… the eyes are everywhere."

"Who is watching, Silas?" Dr. Adler asked.

Silas shifted in his chair, his eyes darting around the room, even though he was alone. "Them. The… the Others. They see everything. They know… they know what I did."

"And what did you do?"

Silas hesitated, his breathing becoming rapid. "I saw… I saw the light. It was… it was beautiful. But then… then it was gone. And they were there. Waiting. They took her… they took her away."

"Who did they take away, Silas?" Dr. Adler asked, her voice patient.

Silas's face contorted in anguish. "The girl… the girl in the red dress. She was… she was like an angel. But they… they took her."

"Can you describe them? The Others?"

Silas shook his head violently. "No… no. I can't. They'll… they'll hear me. They'll… they'll come for me. They're already here… they're in the walls… they're in the light… God, they're everywhere…"

His voice trailed off, his body trembling.

The silence in the room stretched, as Silas's ragged breaths slowly evened out. Dr. Adler watched him with a patient, knowing gaze. "Silas," she began, her voice calm and measured, cutting gently through the lingering quiet, "you mentioned seeing a light. Can you tell me more about that?"

Silas's eyes, still slightly glazed from his earlier distress, suddenly widened with a spark of recognition. "The light… it was… it was like a tear in the sky. It opened up, and… and there was a voice. It said… it said… 'The truth is hidden.' And then… then it was gone."

Dr. Adler paused, looking at Silas. "And what truth do you think that voice was talking about?"

Silas hesitated, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance. "The girl… the girl in the red dress. They took her… but why? Why did they take her?" His agitation was growing, and his words came in short, rapid bursts.

"Where did they take her, Silas?" Dr. Adler pressed.

Silas's eyes darted around the room, "I don't know… I don't know! But I saw… I saw a place. A dark place! With… with red lights. And… and there was a symbol. A symbol on the wall!" Silas's face contorted in a mask of terror. "But I can't remember. It's… it's gone. But it was… it was evil. It was… it was…"

His voice trailed off, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Dr. Adler reached over and paused the video. The room fell silent again, except for the gentle hum of the Athenaeum's ventilation system in the background.

Caspian leaned back, his brow furrowed in concentration. "What do you make of all that?"

Dr. Adler steepled her fingers, her gaze thoughtful. "It's hard to tell what's real and what's not, of course. But some things seem important." She adjusted the pen on her desk, aligning it precisely with the edge of her notepad.

"The girl in the red dress," Caspian began, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his chair, a rhythmic, almost unconscious habit that showed up whenever he was deeply immersed in thought. "The patient talks about her like she's… special. Like she's more than just something he imagined."

With a slight frown creasing her brow, Dr. Adler leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the paused image on her laptop screen. "Which begs the question," she continued thoughtfully, "is it merely a story his mind telling him, or is there something real in what he saw? And does he know this girl, or is she simply symbol of something important?"

Caspian nodded slowly, his fingers still tapping the rhythm. "And the light… the tear in the sky that he speaks of. That's something people often talk about when their minds are in altered state of consciousness." He paused, his gaze drifting to the window, where a light breeze rustled through the leaves of the old sycamore tree, its branches swaying with a quiet whisper. "Can we really dismiss it as just a part of his hallucinations?"

"Or," Dr. Adler proposed, "it could be a twisted memory of something real. The mind can build things from broken pieces of memory."

His tapping ceased, his fingers now moving to trace the pattern on his chair's upholstery. "Indeed," Caspian continued, "but The Voice in his story is something we shouldn't overlook."

"The one that says, 'The truth is hidden'," Dr. Adler added, recalling the patient's exact words.

"A strange message, don't you think?" Caspian observed, nodding thoughtfully as he continued, "But it seems important to him."

Dr. Adler's gaze flickered briefly to Caspian's still fingers, then back up. "That's the most interesting part," she said. "It suggests he thinks there's something to find."

"So, we have a man with strange visions and voices," Caspian outlined, looking at Dr. Adler. He resumed his tapping, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet office. "But inside that mess, there are bits of information, maybe clues. A girl in a red dress, a tear in the sky, a hidden truth, 'The Others,' and a symbol in a dark place."

"A puzzle inside a puzzle," Dr. Adler noted, with a small smile. "We need to find out which pieces are from his sickness and which might show us something real."

Just then, a knock sounded on the office door. Before Dr. Adler could respond, the door swung open, revealing a tall, well-built man with a warm smile. "Celeste," he said, his voice filled with affection.

Dr. Adler's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her usually composed features. "Daniel," she said, rising from her chair.

Daniel Mallory, her fiancé, stepped into the office, his gaze shifting to Caspian. "I hope I'm not interrupting," he said, his smile slightly strained.

Caspian rose to his feet, a hint of disappointment washing over him. He had been eager to delve deeper into the case with Dr. Adler, to explore the labyrinth of Elias Vance's aka Silas's fractured mind. But he masked his feelings with a polite nod. "Daniel," he said, his voice neutral. "Good to see you."

"And you, Caspian," Daniel replied, his tone slightly awkward.

Sensing the subtle tension in the air, Dr. Adler intervened, asking, "Daniel, what brings you here?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, his smile returning. "I've made dinner reservations at La Fontaine."

Dr. Adler hesitated, her gaze darting towards the laptop screen, where the paused image of Elias Vance remained. "That's… so sweet, Daniel. But I was just in the middle of discussing this case with Caspian."

Caspian noticed her reluctance and stepped forward. "Please, Dr. Adler, don't let me keep you. We can continue this discussion another time." He began to gather his notes, a hint of resignation in his movements. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Yes, tomorrow would be fine," Dr. Adler replied, her voice slightly distracted.

"Excellent," Caspian said, offering a polite nod to Daniel. "Enjoy your evening." He turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet hallway.

As he exited the office, he couldn't help but notice Daniel's lingering gaze, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

Inside, Daniel turned to Dr. Adler. "He doesn't like me, does he?"

Dr. Adler raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Daniel."

"No, really," Daniel insisted, his voice low. "There's something… off about him. He seems… possessive."

"You're projecting, Daniel," Dr. Adler's tone was analytical as she spoke, "your own insecurities are coloring your perception."

Daniel smiled, a hint of playful defiance in his eyes. "Or perhaps I'm simply a good judge of character." He stepped closer, his voice softening. "But enough of that. Tonight, I want you to put aside your psychology hat and be my loving, romantic fiancée." He took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "Let's leave this puzzle for another time, shall we?"

Dr. Adler's expression softened, "Very well," she said, a faint smile gracing her lips. She gathered her things, her movements graceful and precise. "Lead the way, Daniel."

They left the office together, the door closing softly behind them, leaving the quiet hum of the Athenaeum to fill the empty space.

*************

The thick stagnant air was heavy with the scent of damp concrete and something faintly pungent. A single bare bulb cast a sickly yellow glow barely illuminating the insides of the room. Shadows moved on the walls twisting the already unsettling space into a view of unseen horrors.

The room was small—a cramped and windowless cell. Its rough walls were uneven and marked with dark stains, their origins lost in the dim light. Dust floated in the stagnant air, turning the weak glow into a strange, shimmering fog.

A single metal chair stood bolted to the concrete floor at the center of the room. Beside it, a low rusted table held a collection of tools that looked undeniably menacing. Tangled wires lay scattered on the floor, their bare ends sparking now and then, casting shadows that sent shivers down the spine.

At the far end of the room stood a heavy door, reinforced with nuts and bolts and sealed shut—a stark reminder of her entrapment. Rough ropes bound her wrists and ankles, holding her tightly to the metal chair. Cold steel pressed against her skin as she sat trapped in the oppressive silence, broken only by a faint, persistent drip and the frantic pulse of her own heart.

The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting and watching as shadows grew darker, and a feeling of doom settled over it like a shroud.

Then—a sound. A low, grinding click, followed by the heavy creak of hinges. The reinforced door at the far end swung open, revealing a figure outlined against the dim hallway light. It stepped inside, and the door shut with a resounding thud, plunging the room back into darkness.

The girl's heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silence. A muffled whimper slipped past the cloth gag binding her mouth. A wave of terror washed over her, sending tremors through her body as the figure drew closer. Each step was slow and deliberate, each footfall echoing like the toll of a death bell.

The figure stopped at the rusted table. Their form casted a long, twisted shadow across the floor. The girl's eyes darted toward the table, locking onto the array of tools spread before her. A glint of metal caught the dim light, revealing stained surfaces—dark, dried blood etched into the polished steel, a grim testament to her past suffering.

A hand hovered over the tools. Her breath hitched, body tensing as she braced for the next wave of agony. She tried to scream, but her cries dissolved into muffled whimpers against the cloth gag. Tears blurred her vision, yet she saw the figure's hand move—selecting a tool.

A slender, pointed instrument. Its tip gleamed sharp. The figure turned, gaze fixed on her, and terror crashed over her like a tide. She thrashed, her body convulsing with fear, but the ropes held fast. Her muffled pleas for mercy vanished into the suffocating silence.

The figure remained still, their expression swallowed by shadow. Holding the tool up to the weak light, they examined it with detached curiosity, as if weighing the best way to carve suffering into flesh. Their unseen eyes carried a cold, predatory shine. To them, she was no person—just a canvas for their dark artistry.

With a flick of their wrist, the figure discarded the slender instrument. It landed with a metallic clink, the sound cutting through the stillness. Not quite right. Not for what they had in mind.

Their gaze shifted to another tool on the table – a pair of pliers, their serrated jaws gleaming under the dim light. Without hesitation, they reached for them, fingers curling around the cold steel. In the shadows, a slow, predatory smile seemed to form—though the girl couldn't see it.

They stepped closer, each footfall slow and deliberate, each one a hammer blow against the girl's fragile composure. Her whimpers grew louder, muffled cries slipping past the cloth gag. She fought against the restraints, muscles straining, but she was trapped. Helpless.

The figure stopped before her, their shadow stretching over her like a dark shroud. The pliers dangled loosely in their grasp, swaying inches from her face—a silent promise of the pain to come. Her wide, terror-stricken eyes locked onto them, her breath ragged and uneven, every inhale a struggle against the panic tightening around her chest.

The figure's hand moved toward her feet. The girl convulsed, pure, animalistic fear crashing over her. Cold steel closed around her toenail. A jolt of icy dread shot through her, followed by a sharp, ripping agony as the pliers yanked. A scream, raw and primal, tore from her throat, but the gag smothered it into a choked whimper. Her body arched, every muscle seizing in a spasm of unbearable pain.

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat-soaked hair. A wave of nausea washed over her, and her bladder, overwhelmed by the sheer terror and pain, released involuntarily. The warm, shameful dampness spread across her legs, a final indignity in the face of her torment.

The figure worked with a slow, deliberate precision, their movements devoid of any hint of empathy. They seemed to savor the girl's suffering, their actions driven by a cold, detached curiosity. The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the room—the wet, ripping noise of a nail being wrenched free mixed with the muffled cries of a broken girl, a symphony of horror played by a cruel hand.

Without pause, they moved to the next toenail. The girl's body, already spent, barely resisted. Her arms went limp as the fight drained from her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and her eyes fluttered, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The second pull was just as agonizing, but the girl's screams had faded to faint whimpers. Her mind, drowning in pain, began to slip away, the darkness creeping in at the edges. By the time the figure finished, her eyes were closed, her body slack.

They paused, bloodied pliers still in hand. Tilting their head slightly, they seemed to listen, but the room remained silent, save for the faint, rhythmic drip from the corner. A sliver of light cut across their face, revealing the ghost of a smirk and the glint of satisfaction in their eyes. They stood motionless, radiating a quiet, unsettling pleasure—pleased with their work.