• The Paineswich Asylum

Posted: **Tue Jun 05, 2012 3:48 pm**

Now that there’s a . . . well, a lull with things right now, might as well continue this thread.

I had hoped to escape at the end of . . . February; it was 2012. Unfortunately, March came, and Sattler administered the venom once more; fortunately, it was a lessened dose. Perhaps the initial injection had been the greatest, and those that followed were like “booster” shots. Despite the blunting of my abilities and cognitive reasoning, I still had some use. Not quite a week into April, I was still disoriented, being assaulted by migraines, and tortured in ways I still can’t define. But I could think with a greater degree of precision, the grogginess lessened; I could Open myself once more.

I waited for the right time; for his shift; he came in quietly, as though not to disturb me. Keys jingled as he put them somewhere; a pocket, I hope. I repressed the shudder as he checked the adhesive patches and the clamps, joggling my discomfort and pain to new heights with each touch. Small clicks ensued a moment before the electricity. My limbs twitched involuntarily. It stung, but it energized me as well. I moaned, pretending greater weakness and using my voice for the first time in . . . a long while. Once the regular amount of time had passed, he touched clamps and adhesives again; my head bounced a little, an unladylike grunt escaping my lips.

“Loni?” he queried, realizing I was now awake. He felt behind my cheeks, unbuckling the strap and removing the spherical obstruction shoved into my mouth.

I gagged, choked, and sobbed for several minutes, gasping and adding even more saliva to the drool already bibbing my neck and front. Working my mouth open and shut, my jaws felt enflamed, though I couldn’t tell if it was truly swollen or just my impression. When I spoke again, it came with great effort; it took several attempts to make my words understandable.

“Y-you’re . . . late,” I drawled, working my lips, the dull pain almost piercing in its sharpness.

“I . . .” he hesitated, apparently taken aback. “Sorry. I was in a rush—had something to take care of. Are you okay?”

“Please Eaton,” I begged, not wishing to answer his question. “No more.”

“I’m sorry, Loni,” he placed his hand on my cheek, awkwardly because of the visor still attached to my face.

“Eaton?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s at the end of this hallway?” I asked, trying to sound a bit out of it; it was relatively easy, considering I probably was. “The one opposite the stairs?”

“A closet,” he said too quickly; an automatic response. As well as a lie. “Emergency supplies.”

“Eaton, I know you can’t let me go,” I worked at making my voice low, pitiful, and sultry; I worked at making my voice understood. “But I’m just so tired of it. Would you . . . release the straps, so that I could stretch a little? Please?”

He reluctantly agreed, and even gave me an injection; something to dull the pain and lessen my cramps. Then, starting with the visor wrapped about my eyes, he began to release me. First he unclasped the back; the earpieces were malleable plastic. The adhesive peeled away from my temples as he gently tugged. He used his thumb and forefinger to anchor my flesh and stretch my eyelids open as far as they could go. I tried to relax as the burr-spiked nubs left my eye sockets.

“You won’t have to put that on me again,” I promised aloud, perhaps a little delirious.

Eaton huffed, but otherwise remained silent for a few moments. Of the straps, he undid my wrists first, massaging the scars on my palms and ordering me to hold onto the bars he guided my hands to at my back and over my head. He allowed me to pull off the adhesive netting of patches and steel clothespins; for his sake, I rubbed the bruised sites. The other straps were unbuckled one by one. Design and unanticipated weakness caused me to fall into his arms. He held me close.

“Better?” He asked, his voice husky and strained; hopefully, with desire.

Feelings contrasted sharply inside me with the power of ride cymbals crashing together.

“Much,” I aimed my face downward, smiling as I searched his torso, feeling his waistband and tugging, barring away emotions, feelings, and memories; my efforts were rewarded by the slight jingle of keys in his right pocket.

“W-would. . . you like to walk around a little?” he asked, his arms wrapping around my back in a hug and his hands . . . um, going a little lower.

I would. But at that moment, an alien . . . something brushed at my mind. My third eye, not quite Open, collapsed in response. I shuddered at the near contact and didn’t open my mind to the emphatic probe groping at the walls of my psyche. Eaton mistook my shivering and moved his hands to my hips.

After assuring him I was okay enough to take a walk, Eaton helped me limp out of the cell and into the hallway. Still pretending weakness, I wrapped my arms around his neck, leaned my cheek against his chest, and sort of . . . crabwalked, letting him carry the majority of my weight.

I hated every moment of it; even if Ron and I had parted ways, I felt each calculated touch, even if all were minute and passing, was a betrayal of my own self-worth, a return to the vocation that had caused me so much trouble in the first place. But it did the trick. Eaton paused, his breathing even heavier. His own hands had not been idle.

“One of the cells is empty,” he stated. “And nobody ever watches the camera in there. Would you like to . . . go in there for a bit of privacy and, er . . . chat . . . for a little bit?”

“Yes,” I murmured, coloring my tone to one of pure exhaustion and longing. “Please.”

The seemingly kindest of the orderlies eagerly and carefully sat me on the floor and wandered off, leaving me in the special kind of gloom that was my blindness. I arranged my limbs to a more seductive pose, hopefully the bruises and injuries didn’t show too much on my body, and listened to his footsteps, speedy and excited. The ring of keys tinkled like bells to my ears as one clanked inside the lock and turned. The door whined as it opened.

Eaton returned to my side, paused, and lifted me in his arms, my knees draped over one hand, my shoulders leaning on the other.

He closed the door, sat me down on a surface of sorts, and immediately got to work. I sighed as he kissed my cheek, my lips, and my neck; my fingers entwined with his, pulling them to my knees. When his fingers searched my legs, a sharp squeak on my part stopped him utterly at my the bottom of my thighs; he didn’t appear to be a masochist.

The squeak, however, was a lie; my strength was returning and my injuries hurt little, thanks to the adrenaline. But I felt justified. “Slowly . . . please . . .” I begged. He didn’t even make a pretense into asking the questions everyone else had been so eager to learn. I slid off the table’s edge, pressing my body to his, my hands and feet feeling for the targets.

“Are you strong enough to . . .?” he asked breathily, lips attacking my throat and descending. He didn’t have to say what he meant. I knew already, didn’t want to go through with it, and twisted his unfinished sentence for my own benefit and conscience.

“To apologize?” I murmured weakly, bringing his chin up; I’d had quite enough. “Yes.”

What are you . . .?”

Posted: **Tue Jun 05, 2012 4:21 pm**

Fellow wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, was he?

I'm guessing the next part wasn't so pleasant for him.

Posted: **Tue Jun 05, 2012 4:52 pm**

Sparks wrote:Fellow wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, was he?

I'm guessing the next part wasn't so pleasant for him.

Well, he was a bit . . . umm . . . distracted. Um, I’ll leave it at that; I think I hurt him. A lot and in more ways than one. I’m sorry I did it, but escape was necessary at that point. As a little girl, my afternoons were often spent in learning taekwondo and other defensive moves, so the actions were practically instinct at that point. There were four steps I learned to protect myself against an assailant. For easy memorization, they were labeled with the acronym of ‘SING.’

I began by hammering my fist into his solar plexus, holding back only a little . . . which was still a lot, considering everything I’d been through. His breath gusted from his lungs into my face, smelling heavily of peppermint and grease. Before he could retreat too far, I grabbed his wrist, feeling his leg with my ankle to remark the next target.

Then, standing on his right foot with mine, I spun, my back to his chest, and slammed my foot’s heel into his right foot’s instep, grinding just a bit to ensure maximum damage. His injured limb rose a small amount and fell back limply. Spinning to face him again, my hand drew an invisible line from his wrist to his face. I nodded once, finding the subsequent target and pinching off his air supply with my thumb and forefinger. He had no time to react as I released it to find his hair, gripping by the roots. Cat quick, working off the adrenaline surging through my veins, I shifted and pulled back the heel of my other fist.

Stunned, his only response was to whimper right before I drove the heel of my hand into his nose. Cartilage and bone crinkled under the force of my blow. Secured by the fingers in his hair, Eaton groaned without strength and barely kept his feet. I briefly wondered if his eyes held that frightened light that suggested he knew what was coming next, but didn’t allow the thought to slow me.

I took half a step closer, mentally calculating the distance for maximum effect, and hurled my knee crashing into his groin with everything I had and then some. He tightened up and froze, his groan sounding more like Mickey Mouse than a true man’s. Then the orderly fell like a tree whose roots had suddenly disintegrated.

“Please . . . .” His appeal came out in a desperately slurred, miserable wheeze as I straddled him.

“Indeed,” was my reply. My sympathy was considerably lessened when something grazed my cheek as he reached up to paw my face; he was far too weak to do anything other than feel my empty eye sockets, however. I grabbed his left hand, felt the ring on his finger that he had apparently forgotten to remove this time, just as Marco had told me, and moodily squeezed all four digits together; the action dug the ring against his knuckles.

I quickly fished the keys out of his pocket with my other hand, stood, and offered some parting words as I left him.

“I really am sorry, Eaton. I wouldn’t have done any of this if I wasn’t desperate to escape. I hope you realize that and forgive me. Tell your wife I said hi.”

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2012 3:02 pm**

Wie,

he deserved it and much more. Don't feel bad at all. Enjoy it even, you won a victory.

Hannah

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2012 4:01 pm**

Wie, as a kid they taught me what to do if I was ever captured. They taught me to use everything I had at my disposal, everything I could think of to resist my captors and secure my freedom.

I want you to understand the weapon you had here wasn't your body. It was his lust. You did nothing that demeaned yourself for your survival here. Every flaw, every weakness, every dirty part of that was him. You just did what was necessary.

In short I am proud of you. You did very well.

Ron

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2012 4:34 pm**

If he wasn't doing anything to help you escape, then he was just as culpable as the others in my opinion.

I agree with the others - you did what you had to.

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 5:58 pm**

Thanks, guys; I . . . try to keep telling myself, that. But I’ve recovered—continue to recover as well, from everything they have done to me. He won’t. The only reason I didn’t have to pay for his hospital stay way because the jury for that case decided “I’d been through enough.” Anyway . . . .

I only had a small amount of time. I didn’t know how many cameras there were or who watched them, but it seemed logical they would be watching my cell. They would probably would have seen Eaton carrying me into the other cell. And me coming out alone.

As if to verify my suspicions, the alien presence tapped against my thoughts. Instinctively, my mind slammed shut and locked. Left blind in every way possible, I had two immediate options: Open myself to the strange, unfamiliar mind knocking at mine, or stay Closed and take my chances. The first would give me a modicum of sight, although my attention would be diverted by this new mind, be it friend, enemy, or something else. The second option would keep me safe and utterly unaware of just about everything that was going on around me.

I didn’t feel very trusting at the moment; taking my chances, I scurried to the wall and let the brickwork guide me to the end of the hall I had never been to.

There was a door at the end of the hall; locked of course. Hopefully, my presumption that one of the keys I had taken would fit the lock was correct; there was no time to pick the lock, even if I had the correct tools with me. Once through the door, I wouldn’t have the benefit of memory to guide me. Going would be slow and awkward.

One key didn’t insert; another wouldn’t turn. And so the process continued as keys were eliminated until midway, when a small key entered, revolved, and allowed me access.

Inside, a rank stench mingled oddly with that of fresh salt. It was extremely muggy within too, indicating the door I had just passed was sealed. Curiously, there was a lock on this side as well. I had to find a new key to relock the door. Once locked, I cautiously moved forward.

Caution was warranted. One step forward didn’t reveal anything. Another brought only open air underneath my foot. My pretense at fatigue for Eaton’s sake hadn’t entirely been a lie. I was tired. Expecting a stair descending, I let my foot drop even more. Still, only air greeted my sole. There were no handholds that I could find; in attempting to gently lower myself, I overbalanced and fell.

Thankfully, my reflexes hadn’t abandoned me completely. Add in a healthy measure of luck, and I managed to grasp a rocky outcropping of sorts before I plummeted too far. The keys, however, dropped from my engaged hands. The resultant, noisy clatters indicated a hard surface some distance beneath me.

Swallowing my heart before it beat its way out of my mouth, I carefully moved downwards. Whatever stony hole I’d fallen in lacked dirt and was big enough to hold my body without fear of claustrophobia setting in, had I suffered from it. I could faintly hear voices, although the echoes were oddly muffled. A doorknob rattled, hopefully above me and the voices continued. They were too stifled to understand, but I got the impression they were angry. They knocked loudly and said something further in an imploring tone. They seemed unwilling to break the door down. Hopefully, there was only one set of keys, and they were an unknown number of feet below me.

But I didn’t trust my luck to hold that much weight. Deeper into the pit, which extended beyond my reach in all directions, it became increasingly harder to find purchase for my tired fingers. Handholds were not only difficult to locate, but they required a precision that, under such exhaustion, had left me. Somehow, I found a grip with my left hand at my hip and grappled it a moment before my right hand gave way. Hand under hand, I gently proceeded. Two or three feet later, my descent paused, no discernable handgrips within reach.

My grip utterly failed me in the time my search took; I plunged. Thankfully, my rapid descent ended before I was even recovered from my surprise. Unfortunately, it was a stony slope underneath me, broken up so finely it wouldn’t be a lie to say it resembled gravel. It didn’t exactly cushion my brief plummet as I landed on my bottom, fell backward, and slid to a halt, but it could have been much worse. A quick search and inventory revealed no broken bones, any other injury that wasn’t minor or previous to my fall, and the keys as well.

Picking up the keys, I gingerly took stock of my surroundings from my left side, remaining on my hands and knees and groping first with my right hand, then with my left. The first was just a preliminary sweep to make certain there were no dangerous obstructions; the second was used so my free hand could discern the characteristics of the ground, the wall, and anything else I might come into contact with.

The wall I had fallen from was incongruously chill at the base, but not from the slime that coated it like dust. The smell didn’t cling to my fingers either, thankfully enough. Even when I stood for a moment to reach over my head, there weren’t any handholds or protrusions to be found; not that I wanted to climb back up. The gravely slope was maybe three or four feet tall, and entirely made up of, nearly as I could tell, little bits and pieces of rocks. The slope was also within a corner; the wall continued behind me when I tried to circumvent the top of the rock pile rather than continue up.

Rather than change direction and try my right hand side, I continued on my left. After sidling approximately 100 feet with the rough stone wall continuously under my fingertips, I was either in a large underground room or a tunnel; my guess was the latter. The reek intensified to the point that I breathed through my mouth lest I gag or vomit; away from the hole and through a gently sloping tunnel, the heat pulsed in tangible, rank waves that obscenely tousled my hair about and sent uncomfortable vibrations prickling through my abused flesh. When the hot draft paused and allowed my hair to settle, a dungeon’s chill took my skin next.

Breathe, I told myself, gasping, calming myself. Through the mouth. Slowly.

After establishing my breathing patterns, I discovered the rancid heat had been following, or perhaps subconsciously launching the paterns all along; it had the same rhythm to that of a giant, sleeping beast.

And at that moment, my need required that I return to my hands and knees and crawl forward, a cursory brush of one hand through the air revealing an obstruction I could have easily rushed into had I moved with more speed and less caution. I didn’t have the strength to hunch down to the five foot opening felt.

Heart tamping a furiously paced dance beat in my chest, I tried to ignore the feeling that I was crawling right into a dragon’s maw.

Posted: **Mon Jun 25, 2012 7:19 pm**

This really should be finished. Sorry for my procrastination.

Voices from behind me cut into my thinking time, urging me onward; my surroundings narrowed until I was positive they were tunnels. To my right, my fingers were continually met with rough stone at each pass of my hand, suffocating in its closeness. Ahead and eventually to my left, there was nothing for my hands to feel in passing but heat; sand pillowed my resting hand, knees, and feet underneath.

Risks for danger increased as I again paused, contemplating my next direction. A moist, deep-throated wind gently stirred my hair and skin once again. The heated air should have warmed me, but raised chilled goose flesh instead. I shivered, hunched against the cold worming inside me, and suddenly retched as yet another feeling stole over me.

A slow, mechanical creaking churned the air.

Unbidden images flashed in my mind even as my mental defense struggled to close the gaps the perceptions leaked through. An oval eye, massive, tearing transparent fluid, and viciously enflamed with crimson veins, stared at me from a black space eddied in misty, crimson rivers. An immense pressure seized my psyche, sought to tear my thoughts and identity free of my body. The last sensations I recall for several moments as our wills fought were my teeth and muscles clenching tightly and my breath coming in deep, tattered gasps; finally, my mental locks snapped into place and the terrible visions ceased.

Somehow, even in my exhausted state, I had fended off the powerful assault; but now it knew I was here; It could have seen me if it but scraped back its horn-rimmed lid to stare at me. But it had seen enough during its momentary perusal of me. Naked, alone, fatigued, weaponless and harried on all sides by its servants, I posed no threat to it; thus it slumbered. But I knew it could still feel my presence in the back of its elephantine mind without needing to spy on me; just as I knew what it would do upon awakening.

Once hungry again, it would awaken; and it would feast on the nearest sentient: me.

Posted: **Tue Jun 26, 2012 1:25 pm**

I had to get out of there; immediately. At first, my movements ahead were stiff and automatic, despite the apprehension clawing madly from the tip of my throat to the base of my torso in a labyrinthine dervish of fear. As I forced myself to crawl, I had the strangest memory flash in my mind; Krueger had often taken me out of my cell, through a maze of halls and descending stairs, to chain me in a place where he said he could punish me without any reprisals; when Vince or Hopkins were paired with him, they often shared in his actions and dumped all sorts of . . . insects on me afterward. At least, most of them were insects. Some of them, though . . . .

Were the offspring of whatever had spied me as I crept in slow retreat like a rusty automaton. It was the oddest intuition I’d ever felt, one I would have sworn as true under oath even if it landed me in another padded cell; thankfully, the lawyers never asked me that. But it did give rise to many questions I had concerning just what the . . . things overseeing my tortures were.

Unfortunately, the unknown encounter, compounded by my thoughts, my exhaustion, the trauma from the torture over the past year, the alien presences that often touched my mind, and the voices growing in volume behind me, left my thoughts quite preoccupied; swift retreat on a blind woman’s part is never practical, but in my case, necessary that night. The fastest crawl I could manage was about a yard a second. A mistake, which I readily understood when my groping hand failed to connect to any obstruction and my other hand shuffled ahead to take its place.

And my misplaced hand found only air; I tumbled down yet another slope, loose gravel carrying me forward once again. Thankfully, the slope was not nearly as steep on this misstep. In fact, it was at less an inclination than many public stairs. But it was enough to dash my forehead against something else that cracked, which felt like a giant eggshell of sorts when I grasped it and my head in reflex.

Stale dust rose as my slide diminished, causing me to sneeze and cough wretchedly. In the back of my mind, I was aware of a supernatural presence suddenly rising from somewhere. But an exact placement was beyond me at the moment; Opening myself, if I could still manage it, would seize my senses for precious moments I did not have; my hacking fit left me paralyzed and unable to breathe. The sound of rushing water touched my hearing in between my body’s instinct to dislodge the stale dust from my lungs and find breath.

Algid hands gripped my throat from behind.

You should not have trespassed here, a voice didn’t so much speak as it husked instead. Now you too, shall be killed . . . .

I was yanked forcibly to my feet, and my coughing utterly ceased; in return, my throat was being constricted. Wrestling with the wintry fingers banding my neck was useless; my hands passed right through their otherwise solid grip. My toes had just enough grip on the floor to scrape the foul dust as I struggled, but the hands held me too high to do little else.

Then I heard voices; in front of me this time.

“What on Earth is that?”

“That’s . . . Ei!” a familiar voice clarified to the unknown one. “Hang on, Ei! Try to hold still if you can . . .”

A sound like a long, drawn out piano note interrupted my death throes and reconnected my breathing. The frozen hands vanished from my throat; I fell, somehow managed to keep myself from breaking my toes, and was caught before landing on my face. My strength was all but spent; whatever adrenaline drove me was leaking out a sieve. My thoughts blurred and wouldn’t refocus. My hand jerked up in some delayed reflex, and my searching fingers scraped against an unknown face.

“—she’s freezing . . .” warned the unknown voice.

My final sensations were of a burning palm and fingers resting on my forehead, and then something that was blessedly warm covering me like a cocoon.

Finally, I slept peacefully; without nightmares.

Posted: **Tue Jun 26, 2012 3:31 pm**

I'm glad help was able to get to you in time.

Posted: **Tue Jun 26, 2012 7:20 pm**

You're not the only one.

Posted: **Tue Jun 26, 2012 11:57 pm**

Thirded.

Posted: **Wed Jun 27, 2012 1:57 pm**

Thank you; I’m appreciative of that as well. Now, for the end; hopefully.

I woke slowly; my body was encased between a soft mattress of sorts and a warm, but marginally rough blanket. Both smelled slightly fragrant. My extensive injuries were clean and dressed, as was I. The pain I had nearly come to believe was endless was . . . detached. Still there, but unfelt by me. Conformers filled my eye sockets and my eyelids were shut; mercifully, not sewn. Only lightly bound with gauze.

Still, even that bothered me. I unwound the gauze from my eyes and struggled with the conformers until I had pulled them out. My frantic motions stirred an alarm to life, and even the gentle hum of it startled me. I was halfway through pulling out the I.V. from the back of my hand before someone large burst in.

“Wie! What are you doing?” The voice that spoke was alarmed, gentle, and cultured; he was someone new.

“Who’s there?” I paused in my escape attempt, confused and suspicious.

“Sorry, Miss Solstice. We've never formally met. My name is Matthew . . . I post on Lazlo as Cybermancer.”

I breathed in loudly, all thoughts of slinking out leaking away. “Sss . . . Cybermancer?” It was like so many of my . . . memories or dreams, not certain which; but I took his introduction with a grain of disbelief. He took a step nearer, but paused when I recoiled a little.

He had faint traces of . . . her perfume. I tried to follow his movement.

“You’re in a hospital with which I have some small influence,” he explained, remaining in place. “You need rest and treatment.”

“A . . . hospital,” I repeated. None of my memories or dreams had me in a hospital. But I couldn’t trust my senses yet, haggard as they were.

“You’re in pretty bad shape, Miss Solstice,” he didn’t tell me anything I wasn’t aware of. “It’s going to take a while to regain all your strength.”

His words reminded me my hand was bleeding. I pressed my hand to the tiny injury, reveling in my freedom. He moved to assist me, but was very cautious. When he called the nurse in, I nearly fought her off, but began relaxing when she told me exactly what she was doing and why. The biggest snag came when he mentioned how everyone else would want to see me.

“E-everyone else?” I nearly choked, memories of her perfume feeling solid in my throat. My fingers tightened nervously about the mattress. It had been a pleasant scent to me, once. In fact, I’d been the one to pick it out for her, I believe.

“Well yes, everyone is going to want to know you’re okay. And once they do, doubtless will want to see you. I’m sure Ron, Darcy and Hannah will all be here as quickly as they can.

“No; please,” I begged, unaware that I was speaking aloud. “Not again,” I flinched; the memories, the dreams, came back sharply. I expunged them, hissing.

“Miss Solstice? I don’t understand, what’s the matter?”

I was breathing deeply; invoking a technique to calm myself, I couldn’t answer for some time. Cybermancer gave me time to calm and collect myself before trying again.

“Nothing is going to happen here without your express consent, Miss Solstice. I promise you.”

“Don’t tell Ron,” I pleaded, holding him to his promise; “or Darcy; or Hannah. Please. Not until . . . I know.”

“Don’t tell them?” He seemed, understandably, confused. “Why? Until you know what?”

“If this . . .,” I gestured vaguely, refusing to answer the rest. “Is real.”

He wanted to me to others later, to better treat me; Austin, his godfather, and his sister, Christina. I agreed reluctantly. Wanting to assure me, I think, that this wasn’t a dream, he offered me a tour about the hospital. I agreed, expecting it and some sort of straps.

But the biggest and only restraint offered by the wheelchair he brought was the brake. He let me stop for lunch. All I felt that my body could manage at that point were saltines and decarbonated water.

When he offered to take me out for a walk in the sunshine . . . I was quite willing to push aside my fears and begin to hope again.

Later, Matt told me it had been Razor who had rescued me from the underground tunnel connected to the river. It makes sense I suppose, though don’t quite remember. That was April sixth. I spent the next twenty-eight days recovering my health and strength.

Is there anything else I should add about my ordeal? Did I miss anything about it that someone thinks is important?

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 10:26 am**

While I wish my own investigation had gotten to you sooner, I'm glad Razor was able to intervene and get you out of there. Likewise I'm glad that I was able to provide some support in the aftermath of what happened.

In any case, it's good to have you back with us and to see your posts on this site.

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 11:58 am**

Seconded. I'm sorry you had to put up with that treatment for so long.

I'm going to guess the Asylum stuff got the hell sued out of them.

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 12:01 pm**

Many of them are in jail, in fact.

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 12:10 pm**

Yeah Wie,

We owe Razor a lot for finding you.

Hannah

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 6:01 pm**

Thank you. It’s been a huge relief to get the tale out.

And Spriggan; apparently, someone mailed her back to me. I’m not sure who or how, but the gesture was appreciated.

Posted: **Thu Jun 28, 2012 11:56 pm**

I'm glad you made it through, Wie. I really am. After all you've been through already... well, I just hope things get better for you.

Posted: **Fri Jun 29, 2012 3:03 pm**

Cybermancer wrote:Many of them are in jail, in fact.

and those that aren't, they are lucky that Wie would rather this was done with than see all debts settled.

Posted: **Mon Jul 02, 2012 3:36 pm**

Grace wrote:I'm glad you made it through, Wie. I really am. After all you've been through already... well, I just hope things get better for you.

You never struck me as one who wish me harm, Darcy. Even if you and Ron hadn’t come to visit me, I’d believe you. Thank you again.

Ron Caliburn wrote:
Cybermancer wrote:Many of them are in jail, in fact.

and those that aren't, they are lucky that Wie would rather this was done with than see all debts settled.

I don’t consider “pain” to be a viable currency. If they were in control of their own actions, then I don’t consider the debt very large; better left forgiven than paid back. If, however, they weren’t in control . . . I’d rather not have them hurt for something they didn’t mean.

But thank you for caring enough to consider repaying it, Ron. That means a lot.

The Paineswich Asylum

Regretful Actions

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Abysmal Pit

Third Act: In the Beast’s Lair

Victims Cried for Justice

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Epilogue

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

It’s been a huge burden off my chest

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

Re: The Paineswich Asylum

I’m on a “revenge free” diet, thanks, Ron