Chapter 3 VIKRAM VON'VERN

After leaving his newest test subject in a safe room. Vikram went down to his office, planning to continue his notes on the CORTEX project. Unfortunately, things aren't going so well with that.

It's strange, he thinks, as he reads Malva's files for the tenth time. None of that information made any more sense than the first time he looked it over. It's almost impossible to link the things written on those files to the girl upstairs. She seems too clever to match the descriptions. None of this makes sense.

Vikram paces around the room with the files in hand and thinks about all he knew regarding the symptoms of schizophrenia. So far, none of them applies to her. And, different from his other test subjects, she's even able to speak coherently.

In other words, Malva seems just fine.

He can almost envision her murdering someone. Almost. Because having a strong sense of humour isn't enough to be considered a killer. But she looks like she knows what's right and what's not.

"Jimenez won't tell me what's wrong here," Vikram says quietly. He leans against the big desk in the middle of the room, crossing his arms. "The girl likely won't either."

He has to think of a way to find out why the girl had been locked up at Guniverre Mental Hospital if she didn't need to. And also why Jimenez chose her - first because she's female. Jimenez is well aware he much prefers male subjects. And also because he had sounded so sure she was the right subject for their next test.

Of course, those aren't the only things bugging him. But Vikram just couldn't make himself stop wondering about the real reason why she was locked up. He wanted to know why they kept her there for so long. After all, even if she had pretended to be crazy just to avoid imprisonment before, she should already be free after all those years.

"There must have been another reason," it takes a moment or two for him to decide on what to do next. He rubs his chin contemplatively. Since she's been left under my care, I can simply do as I please.

Leaving the files aside, Vikram goes down to his laboratory to prepare for the tests in the morning. He wasn't supposed to sedate her for a couple of days at least - her body still needed to flush out whatever Jimenez had given her. That is unless he wanted her to die.

Vikram was going to medicate the girl if necessary, but only once she was fully recovered would he be able to proceed with his testing of the CORTEX equipment. But before that... he could still make her talk.

And he knew exactly how to make her answer his questions honestly.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Vikram takes one of the ampoules from the glass cabinet right beside the table in the laboratory. He takes a look at the label written on it and places it next to the other medicine bottles.

"Sterile Amobarbital Sodium"

-Venal Sedative, Hypnotic-

This will do. He smiled.

Louis Jimenez had just arrived at the Hospital after visiting his research partner, Dr Vern. Earlier, he was almost unable to smuggle the paperwork on Ms Malva out of the file room. And now, he felt like someone walking into a lion's den as he made his way to his office.

The hospital's administration was getting onto him something awful with the recent increase in deaths among patients in the locked ward and soon he was going to run out of excuses to give. This is exactly why he had to go out of his way to find Malva after years of her disappearance. She was the most convenient option. To everyone, she was already dead; had died long ago. And Louis still remembered the rumours about her.

Back then, he was just a new guy in that hospital. He wasn't even her main doctor - though she seemed to have a gift when it came to scaring the hell out of people. None of her psychiatrists ever gave any clues about what she put them through, but there seemed to be a silent agreement that they should never talk about it.

As a doctor, it was obvious Louis wasn't proud of what he was doing to his own patients. But it was a necessity that had to be met in order to achieve an incredible goal. After all, if the CORTEX machine worked as intended, it would mean the cure for so many mental diseases currently untreatable.

Louis was returning to his office after handing over the documents on the past two deaths - the two patients he had managed to smuggle out for Dr Vern's research - when Tanya walked over to him.

She was accompanied by a woman the doctor hadn't seen before. Both women had files in their hands and a serious

look in their faces.

"Hello, Tanya. Did you have a good night?" Jimenez greets the nurse in a sarcastic way. She scowls. "It would be a blessing to actually be able to sleep well around here. There have been so many deceased patients I could barely finish their files."

Tanya just continues staring at him unimpressed. The other woman, however, crosses her arms and watches him carefully, as he continues.

"We must find out what is happening in the locked ward before all the patients in there become sick-"

"Cut the crap, doctor," the unknown woman cuts him off. She has short brown hair and a blank expression. "We know what you did; we know what you are doing. You have some explaining to do."

Louis flinches at her words and has no time to protest when the woman holds him by the arm and starts dragging him to the nearest door. He looks at Tanya - who follows them closely in silence - looking for some sort of explanation that he doesn't get. She doesn't even look at him.

"Who are you?" the doctor asks and looks at the woman that had pulled him inside the room. "What is the meaning of this?"

They ended up in one of the VIP visiting rooms - the type that is big, quiet and full of decorative plants.

"Sit," orders the mysterious woman. She points over to the sofa in the middle of the room, as she walks over to one of the leather armchairs. Tanya chooses to stand by the door, almost as if to make sure he doesn't escape. "As I said, you have some explaining to do. We need to have a bit of a chat."

"I will not talk to you. I don't know you." Louis chooses not to sit. Instead, he walks to the other side of the room and only stops by the window. "Who are you?"

"Who I am isn't important. All you need to know is that I work for a company that is really interested in your and your partner's research into the human mind. And they are willing to offer you a chance of becoming part of our plans."

"Tell her about the boys, Jimenez." Tanya marches up to him and shoves the files she had been carrying right under his nose. "I've

looked at their blood test results, and there weren't any bacteria; they weren't sick. You poisoned them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shoots back as he looks out the window.

"Oh, come on," the other woman snorts and gets up. "You do know."

"The real question is: what changed?" Tanya's voice is low and accusing. She narrows her seafoam-green eyes at him. "What are you doing with the files from that psycho girl from years ago?"

"How do you know about that?" Louis's attention snaps at the nurse, but before she can respond, another voice echoes around the room.

"We have been watching your work, Mr Jimenez," says the male voice. "We have been watching very closely. And the potential of your project is thrilling."

"Who is this?" Louis squeaks. He looks a bit pale as he frantically looks around for the source of the new voice - a small speaker, just by the security camera in one darkened corner of the ceiling.

"Don't worry doctor, I'm just a fan," the voice speaks again, sounding amused, so Louis knows they had eyes on him. "I'm part of a company that can think of many uses for this machine of yours. A company that can pay you really well for it. Besides, you'll still get credit for your amazing research."

"Well, that is an interesting proposal," Louis paces around nervously. "But I don't see what you'll gain from it. Dr Vern's machine is not even guaranteed to work yet."

"What we'll gain shouldn't concern you." There's a moment of silence, "Where would be the fun in me telling you all about my plans anyway?"

The man behind the intercom laughs.

"I'll be honest with you; for the most part. And I won't force you to join us."

"Really?"

"Yes. Mrs Kidman, do hand Dr Jimenez the files," says the voice, and the woman with short hair approaches him before slapping a bunch of papers into his hands. "We won't force you, however, here is what will happen if you decline our offer. We'll send a copy of these documents to the police."

In the files is evidence of what he's been doing to the patients in the locked ward, as well as clear proof he has altered the deceased's documentation. If that were to be made public, not only would he be accused of murder and probably sent to jail, he could kiss his medical license goodbye.

"So, I have no choice," Louis sounds way more bitter than intended as he hands the files back to the woman named Kidman.

"Everyone has a choice, doctor. Right now, you can choose between being rich and prestigious, or being locked up in jail for the rest of your life."

Louis looks around as if searching for a way to escape. But there's none. Not anymore.

On the bright side, he won't need to make any additional effort. Mr Vern can continue to cluelessly do all the hard work until the doctor can find the appropriate moment to share with him that they had been found out. Louis could already see Vikram's disapproving face; could almost even hear the man complaining. But ultimately, in their current situation, there isn't another viable option. They were going to have to do as they were told. Unless the other doctor was willing to give up his freedom for the credit over the development of the CORTEX machine.

"I'm in," Louis sounds resigned as he agrees.

"Wonderful," concludes the mysterious man before there's a click. It takes the doctor a moment to notice he's no longer there.

Kidman hands Louis a small device; similar to a pager.

"I hope you know what you are doing," she whispers. "Welcome to Neuro."

Such a filthy liar, Mal thinks, as she picks some clothes to wear after her shower. She trusted Jimenez, and he made her into some lab rat. It's pretty much the same as killing her, just with extra steps. The man pretended to be someone who had been hurt by their significant other and in need of some payback - for a moment she had almost felt sympathy for him! What a joke.

Thinking about it, Mal realizes she has absolutely no idea who that man she had been hired to kill was. The poor fool might not even have known about Jimenez's scheme.

She walks to the bathroom to check if it has everything she needs, carrying with her a long-sleeved red blouse and a pair of dark brown pants. It feels a bit strange to have to wear someone else's underwear, but it's not as if she has a choice.

Damn you, doctor, she curses in her mind as she gets a towel and some soap from a cabinet in the bathroom. There is even shampoo, so she counts herself lucky.

It was possibly going to be the last peaceful shower she'd get in a while, so every inch of her was looking forward to it. Mal planned on enjoying every second of it. She's usually quiet on her own; whenever she decides to pamper herself. So she takes her time; from placing everything next to the bathtub and getting the water to the right temperature, to undressing and throwing her ruined clothes in the trash. Mal takes her time observing the blood stains and bruises on her body, there's even some blood under her nails. It brings back memories-

Suddenly there's a familiar click deep inside her mind, like a lock snapping open, and then the blood is everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, even on the mirror.

She glances at her reflection, but something seems off.

It was your fault and you know it! snaps the voice in her head. It sounds piped and distant, probably an effect of all the drugs she had been forced on. But she can still almost feel its hate towards her. You will never run away from what you've done!

"No, it wasn't," Mal mumbles; her voice small. It's the last thing she remembers before everything fades to black. And when she comes to, it's to someone calling:

"Wake up," someone repeats and pulls her up by the arm. It has slender but strong fingers. Their touch is really warm; almost burning hot. "Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"It wasn't my fault..." She babbles mindlessly. Her hands wander aimlessly and she grabs the first thing within her reach; holding onto it as hard as she can. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"

A pained groan from somewhere close makes her open her eyes. Mal finds V standing before her with a pained frown.

The daylight coming from the windows makes his eyes shine as if mirrors had been placed behind them. And it takes her a moment to notice she's staring and still holding tightly onto his bandaged wrist.

"I see you have a bit of an aggression problem waking up," he says through gritted teeth.

Dr Vern pries her hands off his wrist before ensuring she's steady on her feet. Meanwhile, Mal can only look at him in silence. For some unknown reason, she just can't help herself. There's something familiar about the man. Something that makes her equal parts excited and wary.

"I brought you some medicine for that split lip and those scratches on your hands and knees," V points to a small platter sitting on the bedside table. It has some cotton, balm and a glass of water. He then makes his way to the door, "Come downstairs once you're ready. There are some things we need to discuss."

Mal is still stunned. All she manages is a small nod, but the man has already left. After a few moments longer of complete stunned silence, she moves closer to the items brought for her. Cleaning up such small wounds is meant to be easy. However, nothing prepared Mal for what she found when she walked into the bathroom.

Blood. Dark blood is everywhere. From the sink to the mirror, words are written in it:

your fault

your fault

your fault

monster

"No..." Mal whimpers under her breath. "Not this again."

It wasn't, she cries internally. Not the first time.

Mal turns on the water and hurriedly cleans everything. She washes her face, angrily, until there are no more tears. And puts on a new perfectly fake smile.

I'm not doing this again with you, she thinks, with a sense of finality as she glares at her reflection in the mirror. We made a deal.