The Brown Eyed Woman and her Angelic Man~

More of a chapter and a half. ._.

It was the first day of treatment for the brown eyed woman, in Saint Petersburg Insane Asylum, Russia. Doctor Dragomir Vetrov, the head doctor, called in his first patient in a deep Russian accent. ‘Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four come.’
The doctor was unbeknownst that the brown eyed woman was so far deep into her insanity that she was not aware of the outside world. Once more, Dragosmir called out. ‘Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four… come.’
Once again there was no answer. The doctor looked down at her file; quickly scanning through the pages he grumbled aloud. ‘Damn…’
Eleonora Anzhelika Eristov was a twenty-one year old woman from Moscow. She had been admitted after her apparent soul mate was brutally murdered as she was forced to watch. Due to the extreme trauma, she had fallen into her own made-up reality. Eleonora had no connection what-so-ever with the outside world; she kept hidden in her mind. Numerous doctors, nurses, asylum staff and even patients tried to get through to her; get her to talk to them, acknowledge them, hell even look at them. But nothing seemed to work, nothing at all, she just sat there, lifeless somewhat; a mere shell of what she used to be. She was not completely useless; she would shower and feed herself, read and write. Eleonora had a knack for writing, the brown eyed woman would write poetry and stories for hours on end, usually cutting into her sleep; though the staff never minded because they knew that her writings were their only connection to Eleonora, the only way they could find out anything about the brown eyed woman.
Doctor Vetrov stood himself up, throwing the file onto his cluttered desk. As he made his way out the door, he saw the brown eyed woman sitting on the tiled flooring with her back against the dully coloured wall, humming eerily to herself; clutching to her tattered coal nightgown.
‘Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four?’
There was no answer from Eleonora, as she kept humming; murmuring between her hums, the angelic man. Her voice was soft, hinted with slight sadness; making the doctor a tad uncomfortable for he had never dealt with a woman such as her.
He shook his head several times and knelt down to her; speaking in a soft whisper. ‘Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four?’ Dragosmir cleared his voice, leaning into her ear, ‘Eleonora?’
She stopped humming for a few seconds before continuing. This was the first time, since being in the asylum, that she had even acknowledged her own name, let alone another human. He wrapped his gloved hand around the woman’s soft, fragile forearm, lifting her up from her previous seated position. Dragosmir had expected her to put up a fight, or at least refuse, but no she stood up-right as the doctor lead her into his readied ‘torture cell’, as the staff would refer to it.
There in the middle of the off white room sat a partly rusted dentist chair. It had four unused straps on either side to restrain the patients’ wrists and ankles; Eleonora would be his first lab rat. He led her to the chair and instantly the brown eyed woman sat herself on it, still humming that eerie tune. Grabbing her left wrist, Doctor Vetrov placed in the correct position and strapped her in; he proceeded to do this with her right wrist and both ankles. The brown eyed woman still sat there, still as can be. He pressed the palm of his hand to her forehead, pushing it back until the back of her head was leaning tightly against the headrest of the white dental chair.
Vetrov knew that he wouldn’t need to use the head restraint for the woman and proceeded to smile, looking down at Eleonora. ‘Ah, what a true beauty, so young and so broken. But that is okay, I will fix you right up.’ A cold snicker followed his dark words. Grabbing a pen and a small notepad from his breast coat pocket he begun to write:
Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four.
File Name: Eleonora Anzhelika Eristov.
Age: 21.
Sex: Female.
Eyes: Brown.
Hair: Black.
Height: 170 cm.
Weight: 59.4 kg.
Status: Unknown as of now.
Diagnosis: Unknown as of now.
Subject Class: Al’fa.
Time of stay until point: 137 days.
Date of possible release: None.
He placed the pad and pen back in his pocket, clearing his throat, followed with a heavy sigh.
With that being done, he slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out an unsterilized scalpel; pressing it to the brown eyed woman’s collarbone. ‘I wonder if I cause pain to you… will you feel it, or will you stay caged up in that cracked mind of yours unknown to what I am doing to you?’ Yet again he let slip a dark chuckle.
Vetrov slowly pressed the scalpel into her flesh, dragging down; a small incision had been crafted into her snowy skin. The crimson blood flowed out of the wound with something of grace; Eleonora hadn’t shown any signs of neither pain, nor life, all she did was hum at the same volume and speed as previous.
The doctor looked somewhat surprised, hinted with annoyance. ‘How? I’ve never once seen such a thing… What kind of-- I just don’t understand. How could someone be so irresponsive?’ Her complete ignorance to the physical injury baffled the doctor.
Doctor Dragosmir Vetrov had been a doctor for eleven years; he attended that best collage in Russia following in his father’s footsteps and that of his grandfather’s. His grandfather, Alexander Vetrov was a highly respected man in the medical world. He had built the Saint Petersburg Insane Asylum in the early fifties, though had died due to unknown causes in nineteen-fifty-eight at the age of forty; leaving behind a wife and his only son; causing much dismay to the four year old Dragosmir Senior, who in turn grew up an intelligent and successful man, who then had a son of his own at the young age of nineteen. Yet he still seemed to become just as respected and successful as his father: he too dying at only thirty. His father and grandfather had tortured and injured their patients as a kind of treatment, leading Vetrov to follow; only Vetrov thought of using these methods on his most “insane” patients.
Taking a cloth from his grey dress pants, the doctor wiped the blood from Eleonora’s collarbone. He always wore a neatly ironed white shirt under his grey coat and a pair of grey pants to match. The same went for his black, leather shoes which he always shone with a soft cloth, every night before he laid his head down to rest. His sandy blonde hair, without fail, would be slicked back with, what looked like, a palm full of gel. Those piercing green eyes of his, which always looked drained, matched his slightly sunken face. Dragosmir was only a young man of thirty-eight. He had never been married, nor did he date much. Everyone that knew him knew that his work was his life and that he never had any time to find an appropriate partner. He never wanted any children, due to he thought that they were too much of a bother and he, like his father, would never have time for them either. So as it was, he lived the most part of his life in the asylum tending to his patients and occasionally sleeping with the odd nurse or two.
Eleonora looked over to the open window to her left, smiling to herself. Outside there was a small gardened area for the capable patients to walk around and mingle. The brown eyed woman was allowed out there times a week for two hours, each time; but the staff let her wander around for several minutes longer, as they enjoyed watching her lightly caresses the flowers with her icy tips.
Vetrov unstrapped the brown eyed woman and she pushed herself off of the chair; he took her arm, walking her out of his small room mistakenly without patching up her fresh wound. She made her way down the hallway, readying herself for a much needed shower. The doctor made his way to the nurse station only a few meters down the hall, clearing his throat. ‘Uh… c-cancel the rest of today.’
‘Sure thing, Sir, but why?’ A brunette English woman spoke with a rough accent.
‘I, uh, need some time to think… work… Just cancel everything that was scheduled.’
Her only response was to nod with a confused smile.
‘Thanks, Tabby.’ He shook his head, heading to his office that was placed across the corridor, for his convenience.
Upon closing his door Vetrov rubbed his temple with his right index finger trying to comprehend what had just happened. How? How is this possible? What kind of wondrous thing is she? The doctor thought to himself, sitting in the tattered, brown leather office chair. He pulled a copy of her file from under the large pile atop his cluttered old oak desk, the one his grandfather built and crafted when the Asylum was first erected.
He read aloud to himself; ‘Eleonora Anzhelika Eristov. Admitted for extreme mental trauma when her fiancé was decapitated and disembowelled as she was held down- forced to watch- then raped for several hours afterwards by two of the three alleged murders. Mild internal injury- includes; torn tissue and muscle damage. Severe pelvic damage- pelvic reconstruction was preformed approx. three days before admission to asylum.’ Vetrov could never read past that point, it made him physically sick. Who would do something so cruel, so vile? I know my methods are bad, but f**k; I could never bring myself to do such a thing. That poor, helpless woman. He was a kind man, a little sadistic at times, but there was something about the brown eyed woman, Vetrov couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he thought that in time that he may find it out.
Eleonora had just exited her personal shower cubical, a creamy white towel wrapped around her petite body: her hair knotted from the generic brand shampoo and conditioner. Though, she always smelled of cherries and whipped cream, which gently caressed the nostrils. When she entered her tiny room, decorated with pictures of a young angelic-looking man and fluffy little critters and all sorts of cute animals- she had a certain love for fuzzy and happy things like that. Her bed was only a single, yet comfortable, hospital bed: pink silk sheets and pillows. On her nightstand was a touch lamp- you know, the ones that have three setting: dull, just right and the sun- a few black ink pens, some scraps of parchment and a radio clock. And if one where to look in her top draw, she had all of her writings in the many months she had been there. The second draw filled with twenty-odd part used A4 notepads. Her bottom draw though, that was packed with pens, pencils and blank printer paper on which she would draw and sketch; whatever really took her fancy at the time. Her two, white cupboards were a mess of clothing, shoes and around one-hundred books, give or take a few. Quickly the brown eyed woman dressed herself in a knee length nightgown equipped with a pair of fluffy pink bunny slippers. With that being done she decided to skip dinner and lay herself to slumber; within a few minutes of her placing her head to the small pile of pillows, she was off into another hellish sleep.

                                          * * *

‘I dreamt about you again last night.’ The same usual scene: the old white couch, small- dull in colour room. This time, the angelic man was pacing from one corner of the room to the other. ‘I know you did, baby girl.’ He said it almost saddened- without the usual glee.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know you dream… I know what they’re about. I know how much it pains you.’
‘I-it only pains me when you leave.’ Eleonora held back the tears that she felt building.
‘Hush now, princess.’ By this point the angelic man had sat himself beside the woman, placing his warm hand to her icy cheek. ‘There’s no need to be upset, I am here now.’ With that said, the angelic man softly pecked Eleonora’s cheek.
‘You always leave. You promise you won’t leave, but you do.’ She was obviously upset at him- at herself. The man sighed heavily, running three of his warm fingertips through his slightly scruffy hair, ‘I’m sorry…’
The brown eyed woman just about over his excuses and apologies; there was a new one every time. She didn’t feel like talking with him much longer, though Eleonora was just glad to be in his presence. They sat side by side for what seemed like several hours; no words spoken, no gestures made just pure silence.  The angelic man turned to the brown eyed woman and caressed her onyx hair. ‘I guess it’s time.’
‘As usual, every f*****g time.’ Eleonora nuzzled into the man’s hand, shaking her head saddened.
‘I’m sorry…’ his words were a mere whisper. And with that his body turned to ash- blown off into the crisp wind.
The brown eyed woman woke up in a grumble, turning to face her window seeing the stars were still blanketing the swollen night sky. She whimpered, curling up into a foetal position, holding her hand over her chest. ‘Every time.’ Eleonora mumbled into her chest. She wasn’t upset or tormented by it, as she usually would be, she was slowly becoming numb.

It was seven in the morning by the time the nurses came to do their daily call. Counting how many patients had committed suicide and died of natural causes since their last count, three hours before hand.
Eleonora had already showered and dressed herself for breakfast by the time her floors nurse had come to mark her alive on their petty list. The staff and nurses never cared much for the patients, they really only cared for their next pay check.

‘Subject: Al’fa-seven-seven-two-four.’ It was Dragosmir, which was quite a surprise. He smiled, entering the brown eyed woman’s room. He held his hand out to her- as she was sitting upright on her bed, ‘Eleonora.’ The doctor spoke in a soft and somewhat calming tone. As it was expected Eleonora payed no mind to the visually drained doctor. He softly grabbed the brown eyed woman’s hand, leading her out of her room and into the dining hall. ‘Care for a bite, Eleonora?’ Dragosmir offered her. It came to him as quite a shock when she replied with a small squeeze of his hand as her doctor couldn’t stop his smile. Eleonora had some sort of fluffy powdered eggs and a small piece of tiger bread, while Dragosmir sipped his coffee. He wanted to take the brown eyed woman on a small stroll around the asylum’s garden, talk things over; her treatment, life and so on so forth"mostly he wanted to see if she’ll react to him again, hopefully give him more.

Author's Note

It's a bit here and there.

Reviews

[Chris Atkinson]

I realy like this piece Ophelia, beautifuly imaginative and clearly shows you have a tallent

[Opheliah]

Aha! Thank you, so much. That really does mean a lot to me.

[Eagle Cruagh]

I liked the "here" part, a lot. 'There was a bit
speculative and he , at the last moment , was
about to make his move.
Interesting, exciting, imaginative and you know.
----- Eagle Cruagh

[Opheliah]

Thank you.