Brandon Flemming’s Abyss

1.

1861. St. Patrick's Hospital for the mentally ill.

          The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and something older, a lingering scent of the worn, dark wood paneling and damp stone walls. Dr. Jonathan Miller stood at the head of the bed, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses as he flipped through the patient's file, eyes narrowing in concentration.

          ‘What makes this case unique?’ Dr. Miller muttered, more to himself than to the room at large. ‘If only by the fact that the patient has lost all hair on his head and body. Usually, in mental disorders, we see loss of personality, a collapse of worldview, but not hair.’

          The patient in question, a man who hadn’t yet uttered a single word since his arrival two days prior, sat slumped against the bed, his skin a pale, nearly translucent white from lack of exposure to sunlight. His eyes, however, were wide and glassy, reflecting an unsettling quiet. There wasn’t a trace of hair left anywhere on his body �" not a strand, not even a whisper of stubble. He looked almost otherworldly, a man who had been stripped of every trace of his former self.

          ‘So, the patient was affected by some kind of chemical? Or... a meteorite?’ Mr. Allen, the young intern, asked with a playful lilt, his voice too light for the seriousness of the situation.

          Dr. Miller's lips curled in frustration as he turned sharply to the intern.

          ‘Mr. Allen, how many times do I have to tell you?’ he snapped, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease the ache of dealing with the intern’s constant flights of fancy. ‘Turn down your fantasy, read your medical history, and it will save you the embarrassment of being ridiculed among your colleagues. Just there,’ he pointed sharply to the patient’s file in the intern’s hand, ‘we have a good old-fashioned tradition of writing down the patient's lab results and tests. You’d do well to follow it.’

          Mr. Allen, his youthful curiosity undeterred, set the folder aside on the nightstand. His gaze drifted lazily to the nurse who was standing in the corner, her long skirts brushing the floor. For a moment, his bored look lingered there before he caught himself and turned back to Dr. Miller, feigning interest.

Dr. Miller sighed, adjusting his posture as he turned back to the patient. His mind raced with possibilities. How could this man have lost his hair so suddenly, so completely? There was no history of such a case in any medical journals. And there was something far stranger about this patient that tugged at Dr. Miller’s intuition. The silence in the room felt thick, unnerving.

          ‘Well, colleagues,’ the doctor said, his tone dismissive but with an edge of resignation. ‘Let’s get to work. Lauren, hold on a minute...’

          Lauren, the nurse, looked up from her quiet task in the corner, her eyes catching the doctor's. She hesitated but nodded, ready to assist. There was a strange tension in the air that neither she nor Dr. Miller could quite place, but it was there, hanging between them like a fog. The patient’s silence seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute. And as the intern shifted his weight impatiently, tapping his foot, the doctor couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

St. Patrick's Hospital for the Mentally Ill. Our Time

          The car jolted to a stop, the tires screeching as they ground against the gravel of the overgrown driveway. A thick mist hung in the air, blurring the edges of the old buildings and the skeletal trees that dotted the asylum grounds. The smell of wet earth and something ancient lingered, as if the very land itself had been steeped in stories long forgotten.

          ‘Remind me again what makes this place so significant?’ Anna asked, her voice tense as she glanced at the looming, crumbling façade of St. Patrick's Hospital through the windshield.

          ‘Well,’ Sean said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth, ‘It’s the best mental hospital I’ve ever been to.’ He grinned, a predatory smile that made Anna’s stomach twist. ‘There’s this nurse here�"Lauren. Back when I was working as a news cameraman for cable TV, she and I�"’

          ‘Please spare me the details, Sean,’ Anna interrupted, grimacing as she turned away, her eyes narrowing at the bleak landscape around them.

          ‘Hey, live while you're young,’ Sean shot back with a wink, before focusing again on the road. The rattle of the old Ford's engine vibrated through the seats, matching the harshness of his voice. ‘This place... there’s something off about it, don’t you think? No cars, and the only thing moving is the damn horse.’ He glanced over at Anna, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel impatiently. His hair, unkempt and too long, made him look older than his years�"years that had been hard on him. His hands, stained with memories he didn’t talk about, gripped the wheel tightly.

          Anna was silent for a long moment as she surveyed the scene. Her fingers drummed softly against her thighs, her eyes darting from the strange, horse-drawn cart creeping along the path to the shadowed windows of the hospital. It was eerily quiet, the only sound the scrape of the cart’s wheels and the occasional, distant call of a bird.

          ‘Well, it’s a mental institution,’ Anna muttered, though even she wasn’t sure why she sounded so uncertain. Her gaze tightened as she looked at the asylum’s darkened windows, which seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it. ‘What’s there to be surprised about? It's... a different atmosphere here. Besides,’ she hesitated, her voice lowering, ‘there’s more than one century mixed in here. Be careful near the abyss. Don’t stray...’

          Sean’s eyes flitted briefly to the old stone walls of the hospital, where time seemed to bend and fold, but he didn’t look worried. Instead, he gripped the door handle with a nervous chuckle. ‘...From the plan,’ he said, his voice a little too strained as he grinned back at her. He’d heard it all before�"the warnings, the hushed stories that floated around, but he wasn’t here for ghosts or legends. He was here for something else entirely.

          Anna’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt this gnawing, uneasy sensation in her chest. She’d spent too many years reading between the lines of other people’s stories to not recognize when things didn’t add up. She forced a smile, though it felt as thin as the fog that clung to the asylum grounds.

          ‘Good luck to us,’ she muttered under her breath as the two of them stepped out into the cool air. The gravel crunched underfoot as they made their way toward the looming, abandoned doors of St. Patrick’s. Inside, something was waiting, something neither of them fully understood.

          They’d met at a green demonstration, a cause neither of them had expected to be so impactful, but which had, in the end, sparked something more lasting. Sean was shooting a story for one of the city’s local channels�"his camera an extension of himself, always in motion, always capturing the world from angles others missed. Anna, on the other hand, had been deep into her thesis on the work of camera crews outside the polished studio walls, studying the unseen art of storytelling through a lens.

          While many assumed the connection between them was romantic, an easy assumption given the chemistry they shared in moments of laughter or when their hands brushed in shared purpose, the truth was far more complex. Their bond was rooted in mutual respect, shared ideals, and, as it turned out, some distant kinship. The details of which, Anna had never quite understood, but Sean had always claimed the connection didn’t matter as much as the fact that it had made their friendship even stronger.

          As their paths continued to cross in the haze of shared projects and mutual passions, their interests led them to another man�"David Turner. A psychologist with a growing reputation, Turner had promised them a story that could set them apart. A story so compelling that it could ignite their careers in ways they hadn’t yet imagined.

          Though Turner was well-spoken and charismatic, there was something about his words that never quite matched his eyes. He spoke of promising subjects and academic acclaim, but Anna couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t saying. Sean, ever the optimist, had laughed it off, but Anna had her doubts. Still, they’d both agreed to follow him, driven by the possibility of what this story could mean for them.

          And now, here they were�"standing on the threshold of St. Patrick's Hospital for the mentally ill, ready to dive into the very story Turner had promised them. But there was something unsettling in the air, an unease that neither Anna nor Sean could easily explain. It wasn’t just the faded grandeur of the building or the eerie quiet that had taken over the grounds. It was more than that. It was the kind of quiet that gnawed at your insides, whispering that things weren’t as they seemed.

          Anna glanced at Sean, her heart quickening as the mystery of it all began to unfurl in the back of her mind. What had they really gotten themselves into?

2.

          ‘Good morning,’ Sean strode briskly to the front desk, his voice full of energy. ‘May I speak to Lauren Walsh, please?’

          The nurse behind the desk didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening as she assessed him. ‘Name. Purpose of visit.’

          ‘Sean Brightman. B&BLive channel.’ He said it with a touch of pride, but she remained unimpressed.

          ‘Which one?’ The nurse’s tone was dry, barely masking her indifference.

          ‘B&BLive. Really?’ Sean raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question. ‘You know, mysticism, journalistic stories...’ He gestured vaguely, hoping she’d recognize the channel.

          The nurse's face remained impassive. ‘I see. The journos are at it again.’ She didn’t even look up as she spoke, instead flipping through some paperwork.

          Sean, visibly unimpressed, glanced back at Anna, his brow furrowing as he let his eyes pool under his forehead in mock frustration. She simply smirked, knowing he didn’t like being dismissed so easily.

          ‘Wait there,’ the nurse finally gestured toward a row of couches without meeting his eyes.

          ‘Thank you so much,’ Sean said, his voice now lacking the earlier cheerfulness. He made a dramatic sweeping motion with his hand. ‘Your retro furnishings and uniforms are great. Is this nineteenth century?’

          The nurse, still not even glancing up, gave him a look that seemed to say he was wasting her time. She didn’t respond.

          Anna watched Sean, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Someone didn’t appreciate your charm?’

          ‘Now, don’t mock me,’ Sean grumbled as he slouched against the wall. ‘Not everyone is ready to embrace positivity at 8 a.m.’

          Anna put her bag on her lap, glancing around the sterile, quiet hall. ‘And Lauren?’

          ‘Smart and beautiful,’ Sean snickered, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

         ‘And you like her?’ Anna raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

          ‘Not without that,’ Sean grinned, not even trying to hide his playful side.

          ‘So, tell her.’ Anna’s tone was teasing but also genuine, urging him on.

          ‘Sometime later,’ Sean said, furrowing his eyebrows as though he were solving a problem. ‘I’m just not ready yet.’

          Anna smiled, shaking her head. ‘Okay, but why are we really here?’

          Sean’s expression shifted as he pulled out his phone. ‘Remember the story about those insurance agency employees who vanished from their hotel rooms last month?’

          Anna nodded. ‘Yes. It was all over the news�"at first, they thought it was a kidnapping, then one of them turned up in the woods a month later, disoriented and confused. People thought it was some kind of miracle, but they started suspecting him. They thought maybe he was the one behind it all.’

          ‘Right,’ Sean said, flipping through his photos. ‘They declared him insane and locked him up here. But what’s odd is this...’ He tapped the screen, showing Anna a photo of a clean-cut, well-groomed man with lush brown hair. ‘This is him before.’

          Anna stared at the picture. ‘He looks... normal. So, what happened to him?’

          Sean swiped the screen again, revealing another photo. The man’s face was gaunt, and his skin looked pallid. His features were more striking now, but it was the complete absence of hair that stood out�"his head, eyebrows, and even his eyelashes had vanished.

          ‘No hair, no eyelashes, no eyebrows. Nothing,’ Sean added. ‘He went from this to... well, this. And no one can figure out why or how it happened.’

          Anna’s eyes narrowed as she considered the mystery.                     ‘That’s... extreme. Did he do it to himself? Or did someone do it to him?’

           ‘That’s exactly the problem,’ Sean said, his voice brimming with excitement. ‘No one knows. The doctors here are stumped. Some think it was some kind of trauma or maybe a rare condition, but the timing�"his complete transformation�"is what’s making it so unusual. I mean, who loses everything like that all at once?’

          Anna bit her lip, considering the implications. ‘So, you’re hoping we can find out what really happened?’

          ‘Bingo,’ Sean said, his grin wide. ‘I knew you’d get it. This is our chance, Anna. We might be able to crack this wide open.’

          At the far end of the hall, Sean caught a glimpse of a woman approaching�"a figure with a confident stride and a no-nonsense air. ‘There she is. Lauren.’

          He straightened, giving Anna a quick glance. ‘How do I look?’

          Anna adjusted his jacket collar, trying not to smirk. ‘Worse than I do.’

          Sean grinned at her, then turned toward the approaching nurse. His posture was confident, but there was a nervous glint in his eye. He was always a little too eager when meeting someone new.

          As they made their way toward Lauren, Sean and Anna shared a moment of silent understanding. Despite their constant teasing and banter, they knew they could rely on each other. This was their chance to uncover the truth, to find the story that would make their names. But deep down, Anna couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong with this place, with this case. And she wasn’t sure if it was just her instincts or something more.

          ‘Let’s just hope we’re not walking into something we’ll regret,’ Anna muttered under her breath.

          ‘Don’t worry,’ Sean said, flashing her a confident smile. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

          But as they approached Lauren, the hairs on the back of Anna’s neck stood up. There was something about the hospital, the way it felt so out of time, so distorted, that made her uneasy. And as she exchanged a quick glance with Sean, she realized�"this story wasn’t going to be as simple as they had hoped.

3.

          ‘Good morning, Mr. Fleming,’ Lauren greeted warmly, her voice carrying a professional yet comforting tone. She was the first to enter the small, dimly lit room. Anna and Sean followed closely behind her.

          The man in the room was motionless, his unblinking eyes fixed on the narrow slit of a window high on the wall. His gaze was intense, almost unearthly. Lauren shut the door with a soft click, and the man flinched slightly, though his gaze didn’t waver from the window. He turned slowly at the sound of movement but only met the eyes of the doctor before returning his attention to the view.

          The patient’s clothes�"beige, loose-fitting, and worn�"blended almost seamlessly with the white walls of the room. If it weren't for his striking blue eyes, he might have been mistaken for part of the furniture.

          ‘Mr. Fleming, you have visitors,’ Lauren said, her voice firm and clear. She turned to Anna and Sean, offering a quick glance. ‘He's not violent,’ she added, her eyes lingering on the man as if expecting any sudden movement.

          Sean nodded and began pulling his camera equipment from his backpack, carefully setting up the tripod. The rhythmic clicks and whirs of his gear filled the otherwise quiet room.

          Anna, ever the more cautious one, stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked, her gaze never leaving the man.

          ‘Brandon. Brandon Fleming,’ the man replied, his voice steady and surprisingly calm. He turned slightly to face them, though his eyes remained distant. ‘Been a patient at this facility for eight years now. I didn’t kill Paige, and I’m not crazy, but it was easier for me to agree than to argue.’

          The words hung in the air for a moment, and Anna noticed a slight twitch in his lips�"a smile? Or something else?

          Brandon’s eyes flicked toward Sean for a moment, then back to Anna. His next words came with deliberate pacing, as though carefully choosing his thoughts. ‘It’s been a long time since someone came to me with a camera,’ he said, his voice cool and collected. He paused between each sentence, making the conversation feel less like an interrogation and more like a carefully constructed monologue. ‘But I’m not likely to tell you anything new. Go ahead and ask.’

          Anna sat down in a chair not far from the door, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. Lauren, after exchanging a quick glance with them, stepped out of the room, leaving them alone with Brandon.

          ‘You’re interested in who did this to me, aren’t you?’ Brandon asked suddenly, his posture shifting as he leaned forward, spreading his arms wide, almost in a mock display of surrender. ‘Here I am. I’m your mystery.’

          ‘No,’ Anna said quietly, meeting his eyes. ‘I’m more interested in who called you here�"and why.’

          The response visibly surprised him. For the first time, Brandon’s gaze flickered, and he slowly sank back onto the bed, his shoulders slumping as he thought. ‘Property insurance,’ he muttered after a long pause, his voice tinged with something like regret or bitterness. ‘That’s why they brought me in. It wasn’t the first time.’

          He trailed off, lost in thought, his eyes flickering as though recalling something distant. Sean glanced at Anna, then back at Brandon, silently shifting the camera into position.

          ‘Who are you guys?’ Brandon asked suddenly, looking up at them with wary suspicion.

          Anna could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he were scrutinizing them, trying to decide whether they were enemies or allies.

          ‘You want to go out?’ Sean asked casually, trying to break the tension.

          ‘I want to,’ Brandon replied immediately, his voice low, almost a growl.

          ‘You don’t have any mental issues, Mr. Fleming,’ Anna said, her voice firm but sympathetic. She stepped forward, holding out a small silk-lined box toward him. ‘We believe you.’

          Brandon eyed the box with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, but after a moment of hesitation, he accepted it. He opened it carefully. Inside was a kidney, still fresh, and a pendant shaped like a wolf’s head, cast in silver.

          ‘Does this look familiar to you?’ Anna asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

          Brandon’s face remained unchanged. He studied the contents of the box with a clinical detachment, and after a moment, handed it back to her. ‘No. It’s not familiar to me,’ he said, his tone even.

          Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a set to go with your ring. It’s lying with your things, isn’t it?’

          Sean, now leaning casually against the wall, interjected, ‘Unless the orderlies took it.’

          Brandon’s eyes narrowed at them. ‘So, what do you want me to do? Give you the ring?’ He stood up suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture that made him appear larger than life. He towered over both Anna and Sean, his presence imposing. ‘I won’t give it back.’

          ‘We don’t want anything criminal, Mr. Fleming,’ Sean said, his voice calm but with a slight edge. He glanced toward the door, hearing a muffled noise behind it. He was growing impatient, but he kept his tone neutral. ‘We were asked to find you and introduce you to someone. I’m sure he can explain your... appearance.’

          Brandon stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing the words carefully. ‘Why don’t I believe a word you say?’ he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.

          Sean held his gaze steadily. ‘That’s the kind of face I have.’ He motioned toward Anna. ‘Do you even believe her?’

          Brandon’s eyes flickered toward Anna, scrutinizing her in a way that made her skin crawl. His stare was cold, as if he were seeing right through her. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to Sean, inspecting him with a slow, deliberate sweep that made both Anna and Sean feel exposed. It was the kind of look that made you second-guess every word you’d just said.

          ‘Her?’ Brandon said, his voice almost bored. ‘Not really. But not like you,’ he added, giving Sean another pointed look.

          Anna felt a chill run down her spine. There was something more to this�"something she wasn’t seeing. She glanced at Sean, and for the first time, she wondered if they were in way over their heads.

          ‘We’ll be taking you out of here soon,’ Anna said, breaking the silence, her voice low but steady. ‘So expect visitors. Goodbye, Mr. Fleming.’

          ‘Goodbye,’ Brandon replied, his voice flat, though there was an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

          As Anna and Sean left the room, the door closing behind them with a soft click, the uneasy feeling in the air lingered, thick and oppressive. Brandon’s words echoed in Anna’s mind. There was more to this story than she’d anticipated, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to uncover what lay beneath the surface.

          ‘And he's got a crush on you,’ Sean said with a mischievous grin as they settled into the car, the engine rumbling to life.

          Anna scoffed, looking at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t even get a good look at him.’

          ‘Oh, but he got a good look at you,’ Sean teased, eyes glinting as he glanced at her. ‘From head to toe and back again.’

          Anna rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to ignore him. ‘Stop making things up, Sean.’

          ‘It’s all true,’ he insisted with a playful smirk, his tone full of mock sincerity.

          ‘You’re impossible,’ Anna muttered, clearly irritated, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself. She placed her notebook firmly on her lap and gave him a scalding look. ‘You’re going to tie his cap with that mouth of yours.’

          ‘You’d better be careful,’ Sean joked, raising his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m about to be stabbed with a pen, aren't I?’

          Anna’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond immediately, the playful banter thickening the air around them.

          ‘Anyway,’ Sean said, his voice shifting as he turned on the radio. ‘It’s a beautiful day. The sun’s shining, the birds are flying... and here you are, writing away like a mad scientist.’

          ‘It’s nice,’ Anna muttered, still looking ahead, her expression softening as she allowed the change in atmosphere to sink in.

          ‘See?’ Sean said, turning the dial and sinking back into the seat. ‘Isn’t it good to take a break from being all serious and methodical? Sometimes you’ve got to enjoy the small things�"like the weather, or the fact that I’m not stabbing you with a pen... yet.’

          Anna let out a breath, a mix of exasperation and affection in her tone. ‘Fine. But if I find out you’re making things up about me and Brandon, I’m never speaking to you again.’

          ‘Deal,’ Sean said with a grin, his attention back on the road, the hum of the car engine joining the radio's soft tune as they drove on, the world outside stretching out in the sunlight.

4.

          Brandon wasn’t one to sit idly by. He’d been trapped long enough in the confines of this sterile institution, but now he had a chance to get out�"he couldn’t waste it. He needed to inspect the yard, study the territory around the clinic. This was his opportunity. Soon, they would notice that he wasn’t who they thought he was.

          When the rounds were over, and the lights dimmed, Brandon sat on his bed, leaning back against the wall with his knees drawn tightly to his chest. It had been five days since Anna and Sean promised to get him out, but no one had come.

Brandon wasn’t naïve. He’d been burned before, trusted promises that led nowhere. Still, there was something in their eyes, something in their words that made him believe�"just a little.

          The moon hung high, casting a pale light that filtered through the small window, but it wasn’t enough to keep Brandon from beginning to doze off, his head drooping. That’s when he heard the soft click of the door turning.

          “Good night, Mr. Fleming,” a gentle voice broke through his drowsy stupor.

          Brandon startled, his heart leaping in his chest. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fog. Standing in the doorway was a short figure, silhouetted by the dim moonlight.

          “Who’s there?” he rasped, his throat dry.

          “It’s Anna,” the voice said, calm and insistent. “You shouldn’t be asleep. We’ve got to go. I’ve gotten your things. Hurry up.”

          Brandon blinked a few times, trying to process what she was saying. “Y-yes. Coming.” He scrambled to his feet, but his mind was racing. “I was discharged in the middle of the night?”

          “Yes,” Anna replied quickly. “Some places have daylight for quite some time. Right this way.”

          Anna moved with urgency, and Brandon followed closely behind, his feet dragging as he tried to catch up. His mind felt sluggish, disoriented by the late hour, but something was off. Something about the hallway felt wrong, like a dream that shifted the moment he looked away.

          At first, he didn’t notice the walls changing around them. It wasn’t until they passed a series of portraits that Brandon felt his skin prickle. The paintings on the walls weren’t static�"they changed, subtly shifting, like a gallery on a screen. As he came closer, each one seemed to display scenes from his life: his childhood, his high school years, even moments from his time at university. His best friend laughing beside him, his first moments with his parents, the overwhelming sensation of déjà vu. But there was one moment, just one, that chilled him: a picture from his seventh birthday, him piloting a radio-controlled helicopter. He hadn’t even remembered that memory until now.

          As he walked slower, absorbed in the oddity of it all, Anna called back to him. “Hurry up, Mr. Fleming. We don’t have much time. What’s your physical condition? Can you climb over the fence?”

Brandon snapped out of his trance and noticed they were already in the yard. They were standing a mere half meter from a low, brick wall, and Anna was watching him, waiting for his answer.

“I think so,” he muttered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s get started then.” Anna’s hand came to rest on Brandon’s shoulder, and he flinched at the surprising weight of her touch, as if it had anchored him to reality.

“What's the best way for us to get across? Examine the wall,” Anna urged.

          Brandon turned around, scanning his surroundings. There, partially hidden under a thick bush, was a passage through the wall�"just big enough for him to slip through.

          He didn’t know why, but he was certain of it. Without thinking, he pushed aside the branches and pulled the metal grating away, revealing the hidden passage.

          “You’re the first,” Anna said, her voice almost reverent.

          “No. I’ll make it,” Brandon said, determination flooding through him.

          Anna took a step back and nodded. “Get in, Mr. Fleming. This is your only chance.”

          Brandon hesitated only for a moment, but when he saw the look in her eyes, he climbed through without further delay.           His heart raced, and as he turned back to help Anna, he saw two men suddenly appear from the shadows. They grabbed her, pulling her backward toward the treatment center.

          “No!” Brandon cried out, his voice ragged.

          “Mr. Fleming,” the low, eerily familiar voice echoed around him, shifting between a male and female timbre, “You belong here. Say it again.”

          Brandon stood frozen in shock, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the two men force Anna into an old Ford and set it ablaze. The car filled with smoke, and Anna's frantic screams for help echoed through the night.

          “No!” Brandon screamed again, but his body wouldn’t move. He could only watch as the fire consumed the car.

          “Say it,” the voice insisted. “You belong here. Say it, Mr. Fleming.”

          Brandon’s vision blurred with the flames, but his voice faltered. “I�"no. I don’t believe you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not saying it.”

          The car exploded, sending a shockwave through the air that made Brandon stumble backward. His eyes stung from the brightness, and for a moment, everything was dark again.

          “Well done, Brandon,” the voice spoke again, colder now.           “Let’s continue. We still have time.”

          Brandon’s thoughts spun, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to comprehend the madness unfolding around him.

          “David?” he whispered, looking frantically around.

     “Listen to me, Brendon,” the voice now sounded more familiar. “Ignore Anna. You need to focus. You can’t afford to go back. She’ll be fine.”

          “I can’t see you!” Brandon cried out, his desperation mounting. “Help Anna! I can handle it. I’m going back. I’ll do what they want!”

          “I forbid you to move,” David’s voice said, firm and final.

          Brandon tried to get up, but his body refused to obey. He was paralyzed, his muscles locked in place.

          Anna’s screams continued, faint and distant.

          “Say it again,” the voice demanded. “My place is at St. Patrick’s Nursing Home.”

          Brandon’s eyes locked onto the burning wreckage of the car. The mannequin-like figure in the driver’s seat replaced Anna, and he froze, his mind wrestling with the illusion before him.

          “No…” Brandon whispered, the words barely a breath. “No. I’m not saying that.”

          With a final, deafening roar, the old Ford exploded again, scattering the last remnants of the illusion. Brandon’s world spun in a violent spiral as everything blurred.

          David’s voice returned, counting down the seconds as everything around him faded into darkness.

          “Ten… nine… eight…”

5.

          "ANNA!" 

          Brandon’s voice was hoarse, a mixture of desperation and confusion. His eyes fluttered open, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to chase away the nausea that gripped him. A man with a small flashlight was leaning over him, inspecting his eyes with an unnervingly clinical precision.

          “If you don’t stop with that damn light, I’m going to throw up on you,” Brandon muttered, his voice thick and disoriented.

          The man paused, lowering the flashlight, and Brandon heard a familiar voice from behind.

          “Thank you. We’ll take it from here,” David’s voice was calm but edged with concern. “How are you?”

          Brandon groaned, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. “If I knew what happened to me, I’d feel better.” He brushed his bangs from his forehead, wincing as his fingers met his skin. His mind was foggy, and everything felt distant, like he was underwater.

          David smiled faintly, though there was a trace of unease in his eyes. “Long story. Not really for a hospital diet.”

          Brandon let out a breath and ran his hand over the hospital sheet. “For the first time in eight years, I can feel what she was like.”

          David’s expression faltered for a moment. He looked a bit embarrassed, his gaze dropping briefly. “It’s not eight years, Brendon. It’s... eight days,” he corrected, but then quickly added, “Later. You need to rest. So, rest.” He paused at the door, turning to look back at him. “Oh, and your students have been tearing it up. Expect visitors.”

          “Explain at least part of it.” Brandon’s voice was tinged with frustration. He needed answers, and David seemed to be holding back.

          David’s face hardened slightly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Okay, you, the great master of self-hypnosis,” he began, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You thought you were going into, and I quote you, ‘the depths of the subconscious.’ Almost killed yourself. Thought we’d never get you out of there.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

          Brandon’s mind was still a blur, but his confusion deepened as he processed David’s words. “What did I do?” he asked, genuinely lost.

          “You went into the... abyss,” David continued, his eyes narrowing as he tried to calm his rising frustration. “To investigate the death of Anne Mortimer at St. Patrick’s. Well, at least take notes or something. Write down what you experience next time, okay? We’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s going on. And why the hell did you end up in the comm?” David paused, his breath short from the outburst. “Sorry. I’m just�"worried.”

          Brandon sat quietly for a moment, trying to grasp the situation. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly, still unable to remember much of the events. “But I don’t remember much right now, so I guess I can’t argue with you.”

          David looked at him with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “At least you remember objecting to me all the time. That’s good to know.” He ruffled his hair, a fond gesture despite his earlier tension. “Get well soon, friend. I’ll come back to check on you.” As he turned to leave, David handed Brandon a small, silk-covered box.

          Brandon opened it, revealing a silver chain with a wolf’s head pendant. “Barely identified the trigger,” David explained. “You didn’t react to anything else.”

          Brandon took the box, his fingers brushing the cool metal. “Thanks, Dave.” He held out his hand, offering a handshake. “I appreciate it.”

          David took his hand, smiling as he shook it. “That’s how I like you best. Now, I really have to go�"late for an appointment with a writer, treating depression. But I’ll visit again.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Brandon alone with his thoughts.

          The weight of the realization hit Brandon as he sat there alone, his chest tightening with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering doubt. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to shake off the fog that clouded his mind. It was hard to process�"hard to accept�"that he had actually succeeded, that his mind had reached places no one else had dared to go.

          The idea of the "common information field" felt almost unreal. In his most desperate moments, he had believed in it, but now that he had crossed that threshold, it felt more like a dream than an achievement. His psyche had pierced through the boundaries of normal perception, digging into the depths of the unknown. For a moment, he wondered if he'd lost something of himself along the way�"some piece of his mind that might never come back.

          He should have been relieved. After all, he had uncovered the truth about Anna Mortimer's death. The journalist who had been investigating the dark and twisted secrets of the Lechebeans psychiatric facility. She had been killed on the grounds, and her death had remained a mystery�"until now. Brandon had glimpsed the horrifying end of Anna’s life as she sacrificed herself for a patient, and in doing so, had inadvertently unraveled a deeper conspiracy, the very one that had led to her murder.

          The police would know the truth now. Her family would finally understand what had happened to their daughter, their sister. At least, that was the hope that lingered in the back of his mind. But no matter how many times he told himself that Anna's death would no longer be a mystery, a knot of unease settled in his stomach.

          Because the truth didn’t come with any peace. Anna had been sweet, kind, and brave. A young woman with a passion for justice who had lost her life in a place where truth was as elusive as the shadows. She had died not for her own sake, but for someone else�"a patient whose image had become part of the Abyss that Brandon had entered. That was the last thing he had seen of her: her final act of courage, and the moment she faded into nothingness. They had never had the chance to speak outside of the Abyss, never had the chance to meet as two people, not as fragmented souls crossing paths in a surreal world of memories and visions.

          Brandon leaned back against the bed, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Why had she chosen to save that patient? Why had her death felt so... inevitable, as if it was part of some larger, unspoken plan? And most importantly, why did he feel like he was only beginning to understand the true cost of her sacrifice?

          But now, the Abyss was behind him. For better or worse, he had learned what he could, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much more to discover. 

          Her smile never left his mind. It lingered in the quiet moments, haunting him like a ghost he couldn’t shake. Despite the darkness that had surrounded Anna’s death, her smile had been a beacon of warmth, of kindness, and a quiet strength. Brandon could still see it clearly�"the curve of her lips, the way her eyes sparkled with sincerity as she spoke, the way her presence had filled a room, making everything seem less bleak. Even now, in the solitude of the hospital room, it was as if she was still there, just beyond reach, smiling at him from the corners of his thoughts.

          “Don’t stop. Keep going. There’s still more to do.”

          He tried to focus on the task ahead�"the revelations he had uncovered, the truths he had peeled back from the depths of the Abyss. But no matter how hard he tried, that smile kept returning, just as vivid as it had been in the fleeting moments before her death. It was as though her smile had been her final message to him, her way of saying, “Thank you.”

          Left to himself, Brandon found a remote control on the nightstand nearby and, turning on the TV for background noise, pulled a thick notebook and pen from the roll David had left behind. The faint buzz of static filled the room as the TV flickered to life, but Brandon barely noticed. He could hardly focus on the words flashing across the screen. His mind was too full of everything that had just happened.

          At first, he had no idea how to start writing. The abyss had been so deep, so disorienting, that it felt impossible to put into words. But after writing the day, month, and year, the thoughts began to spill onto the page, one after another. No matter what David said, Brandon was sure that this experience would come in handy for more than just his doctorate in psychology. It had become something much bigger, something he could feel in his bones.

          The words that had once seemed impossible to write now flowed with purpose. The remnants of his journey in the Abyss�"the truth about Anna Mortimer, the discoveries he’d made�"needed to be captured. The answers had been too elusive for too long, and now that they were within his grasp, he had to hold onto them.

          His handwriting was firm, determined, as though the act of writing was a way to tether himself to reality after the chaos he'd just witnessed.

21.04.2023

After diving into the Abyss, I can say with certainty that the unidentified remains found in a car on the grounds of the treatment center belong to Anna Mortimer. Who do I suspect? Two members of the staff. It's worth a call to the sheriff.

          The words on the page were clear, methodical, and final. Brandon knew he had touched something important, something that no one else had. He could feel it�"the weight of it all pressing down on him. Anna's smile, her courage, the very essence of her that he had witnessed in those final moments before her death... it had led him here. To this truth.

          But that truth came with consequences.

          Brandon leaned back against the pillow, staring at the page. His hand hovered over the notebook, feeling the weight of what he had just written. He wasn’t sure how far he'd be able to take it�"how much he could really uncover�"but the answers were too important to ignore. The sheriff could be the key to unraveling the whole mystery, to uncovering the dark secrets buried in the heart of the treatment center. He just had to make sure he was prepared.

          With Anna's case behind him, Brandon closed the notebook with a deep sigh. He wasn't sure what to do next. The abyss, the investigations, the unsettling truths - all of it felt like it had taken something from him. Brandon knew that the true test was not in finding the answers, but in having the courage to expose them, no matter the consequences. He would help others, just as he had promised himself when he first began this strange journey. It was the only way forward. The unknown had become his domain, and he would not turn back now.

          Meanwhile, somewhere in the city, a man sat in his car, flipping through a notebook. His handwriting was chaotic, illegible.

          “You never would have found her, Brandon, if it hadn't been for me. Who knows, maybe she'd still be alive… If it hadn't been for me?”

          The man smiled and tossed the notebook onto the passenger seat, the car engine starting with a quiet hum, filling the cabin with a low, rhythmic buzz. There was a hollow emptiness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. What he had just read felt like a prelude to something much bigger, much more complicated.

          His hand lingered on the steering wheel for a moment as his thoughts drifted back to what he had experienced. Something was happening that he hadn’t anticipated �" Brandon, that fool, had come close to the truth. How had he done it? Perhaps unknowingly, he had helped him. But in the end, it was him who had the last word. It was always him in control.

          “Maybe this isn’t the end, maybe not yet…” he thought, staring out the window at the darkening streets. The city seemed oblivious to what was unfolding beneath its surface. Ordinary people had no idea that their daily reality was just a small part of something far darker.

          The smile on his face widened as his fingers moved to his side pocket, where he kept an old phone. Pressing the button, the screen flickered to life for a moment, almost as if confirming that everything happening was part of a much bigger plan.

          He stopped the car at a corner, feeling his heart race not out of excitement, but of anticipation. His hand reached again for the notebook, flipping through the pages as if the act might help him gather his thoughts. He glanced once more at the scribbles, which were becoming more and more unreadable, more and more tangled. Still, in his mind, everything was clear.

          “Brandon, you're on my map. But you don’t yet know who’s really on top…”

          He started the engine again, turning onto a dark street, the car disappearing into the shadows.