He recalled his childhood song "Hey, Dad, I`m sleeping" and coordinated this with reality, as it was in fact so. Singing the verse in the subconscious, Warner took heart, walked out of the dark into the light and saw first the disheveled gray hair on the cook's head, then her fists red from the blood, and only then, a minute later, the boy's head, cut off from the neck, lying on the glass vase, behind the gallery door. Blood was spraying everywhere and everywhere, mud drips accumulated in puddles and frightened away the favorable mood of Mr. Tracker.
- Vincent broke your mug, I usually bank it for guests, since it cost a lot of money in due time, which is beyond my power, because I lost my job early because of scandals in the psychological center, where I worked before inviting this house. Then everything happened extremely quickly, and I did not have time to understand what was happening, and when I was taken here as a cook and a nanny for small children, I gladly clung to this vacancy, it was so great. And when paranoid bursts were discovered, I tried to hide somewhere, just to survive all the emotions. But, as Mr. Ralph Golden and Dr. Jerry Goodyear forced me to take over, very often I could not concentrate on the most simple things, things fell out of my hands, the children did not listen to me, I threw off my experiences on them a lot. From the mansion made crazy. the hospital was called the "Monica Sanatorium" in honor of the real holy sister of mercy, before there was a church parish, a church stood separately, but it was demolished. And now - as you can see, I am one, even though the cook, but the whole economy remains on me ... - the woman spoke in knocked-down phrases, spitting out blood clots and trying to squeeze her fists in her palm, but her stern look, like the Greek Gorgone Medusa from the legend, did unimaginable miracles.
Ronald Warner took out his smart phone, dialed 999 and got through to the Darley division of the DRC, connecting with the dispatcher, he asked to come to Payment Hall, to the “Monica Sanatorium”, home 3444. However, I did not manage to finish the conversation with the operator when the lady knocked out he had a telephone in his hands, crushed him into pieces with hard soles of shoes, and the man himself was struck unconsciously in the throat, in the region of the carotid artery.
Seventh chapter
He was in a strange neutral position - between limited life and the darkness of death, heard some echoes, words and a knock on the wooden surface somewhere in the far rooms, could not open sleepy eyes, because their weight was oppressive and dull. He tried to rise, stand up on his feet, but the water gurgled everywhere, as if in a Texas waterfall, because knowing all the signs, he could convince himself of that. His mouth was closed, but his breathing became much more difficult, and he did not know how he managed to get into such an incredible event.
Mrs. Glans drowned him by tying his hands to the handles on the railing of the fountain. Ronald Warner was in the garden, from where he had previously tried to get out, and where the trouble had come. Romulus Tompkins, Jane Farrain and Jack Waiton stood outside the front door, but they uselessly knocked on the bars on the windows and shouted at the ventilation pipe, the end of which hung on the window ledge, and the middle of it turned into a greenhouse. Apparently, their friend either hid and waited around the house, being in ambush, or had a conversation with the cook. The only thing that stopped the logical versions was that the circumstances were not connected with thoughts: for any reason, detective Warner could come out for a minute and say ideas on this matter. He did not appear before them, no matter how much they swore there.
As a result, they had to break through the path and run in different directions, keeping electric guns charged up to half in pockets ready, carefully inspecting the furniture and looking for hatches.
Nowhere did they notice traces of the presence of an employee, and a vague feeling “somewhere near” flashed before coming here - (did intuition?) There was an expectation, and yet only an expectation.
As if a barrier separated them from him, and Waiton, hearing the splashes of fluid nearby, nodded in the affirmative, making it clear "I guessed." The lock on the metal board did not give in, but the bullets only bounced off, I still needed a crowbar, or forceps, to completely cut the thick rod holding the brackets together. Tompkins managed to search every loophole and found plumbing tools in a regular flower vase, doused with turpentine and fertilizer, left to rot without use, and carried a disgusting scent from them. But, in order to save a friend, they had to stop accepting foreign objects and phenomena by all means, trying to open up to break through the alloy of iron, copper and aluminum.
Until episodes with Alex Ives...
- Nobody knows about the results of his or her behave. All they think, what having nothing good is good... - said Jack Waiton, pushing various heavy objects aside.
- Trying to looking like better than you are real, it is strange truly mask of your lie.
I lived, I live, I will live, as it should be out of kindness...- said Ronald Warner, coughing from the water.
- She listened to the originals of the spoiled and evil songs, hoping to find inspiration and strength there, but received suspicious looks and nightmarish dreams... - nodding at the door of the greenhouse, Ronald answered, recovering himself.
- Who are you talking about? - asked Jack.
- About Elizabeth Roide. Did she tell you about her life? Or do you think that changes for the better were throughout our acquaintance?
- I don’t know. I will try to understand you, what do you want to tell me... - Ronald answered, bursting out of the fountain with both hands.
- However, she was Glans, not Roide... - Jack confirmed, helping to a friend to dry uniform.
Mr. World's last memories
Part 1. Chapter 1.
Victor World. December 20, 2012, 22: 45. St. Monica's psychiatric hospital. Registration point. Was sitting in the booth, Richard Elmers, Nicholas Ivey. The hospital departments were quiet. An extra detour is necessary, but you should go quietly, so as not to Wake up. Those who could have destroyed the hospital were kept locked up. I stood near the window, watched my colleagues drink tea, eat cookies and discuss questions in a crossword puzzle, and invited them to come with me. We went boldly.
In the first compartment were the caricaturists. Silence. In the second - "Sleepwalkers" walked in groups of several people, opened the Windows, closed the doors, woke up because of sharp sounds and hid under the blankets. Boring. The third room was scary. In the fourth, there were drunks drinking. In the fifth, the gamblers. In the sixth - those with brain injuries. In the seventh - aggressors. In the eighth - epilepsy sufferers. In the ninth - somatic. In the tenth - from Dementiev to "peaks". Such were the people who lived in the asylum. It was clear that the surgeon was needed everywhere. The rounds didn't produce any results, as if sleep helped maintain an adequate lifestyle.