Criminally Insane



Original poster
Leah sat in the cell quietly. Her throat was burning and soar from having been screaming for over an hour. "It wasn't me", "I didn't do it". The two phrases had been repeated too many times to count. Now, Leah sat and silently planned.

She planned an escape. She planned what she would do afterward, find who had framed her.

That was easier said than done. Honestly, Leah didn't have many enemies, if any at all. She was usually quiet and shy. The eighteen year old girl had never shown any signs of aggression, much less shown signs of being a murderer.

Why hadn't her alibi checked out though? She had been at the store for ten minutes and when she came back, she found blood pooling at the bottom of the stairs in her home. At the top of her stairs, she found her older sister's body.

But neighbors had seen her leave. Why didn't anyone believe her?

Leah looked up as the cell door opened.
Amelie walked down the hallway clipboard in hand. This was her first week at this "hospital" and she already had a full docket of patients to attend to. She stopped in front of a door and checked the number. '353', checking it against her clipboard she nodded and walked in.

"Good morning,"she paused, looking down at the paper, "Leah. How are you feeling today?"
"Like a million dollars," Leah replied sarcastically. She crossed her arms, not looking directly at the woman. "Look at me, I'm stuck in a cell. How do you think I feel?"
She raised one eyebrow at the young woman and sat down on the bed. "I can understand your frustration, but that kind of attitude is going to get you nowhere. Especially not out of here. Now, Leah, do you understand why youre here?"

Amelie looked down at her clipboard, pen raised. She had been reading the paperwork almost all morning. This woman was definately a difficult one. This interview was going to determine what kind of possiblities there were ahead of Leah, and it seemed to Amelie that the girl had an attitude problem. Although, she rationed, she would to if she were stuck in a cell.

"Also, do you know the date today, and the president of the United States?"
"I understand why I'm here," Leah said, a frown on her face. "They couldn't find anyone else, so they pinned me for my sister's murder." Leah's face showed clear resentment and anger as she spoke.

She sighed and looked down, rolling her eyes. "Yes I know the date, and yes I know who the president is. What does that have to do with anything? Don't tell me you guys think I'm a spy from another country now," she replied.
Amelie cleared her throat. Yep, this one was going to be stubborn.

"Well, then why dont you inform me of the date and the president. No one thinks you are a spy, Leah. And I cannot tell you the full details, but there were other suspects, it just seemed that all your information checked out at first, but when the detectives went back to double check, it all fell through the cracks. I'm sorry that your sister is dead, and I'm sorry that you are here. Now, if you would like the help you deserve and a chance at freedom ever again, I suggest you drop the attitude and cooperate with me."
There was no anger in her voice, just mild exasperation. She had dealt with angry and upset people before but they usually wanted to cooperate, this girl it seemed, did not.
Leah but her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She sighed a little. "March 9th, 2012. President Obama," she said. Leah really just wanted to get out of there, she wanted to know who killed her sister, she wanted to run her own investigation. She would have to cooperate, she realized, if she wanted to get out.

They may interpret the hostility as guilt, and that was the last thing she wanted.
Amelie looked over at Leah as she put her elbows on her knees. She reached over and patted the girl's shoulder. "There, that's better. I personally dont believe that you killed your sister. Now, why dont you tell me what it is youre actually afraid of, anger is a true emotion but it usually stems from some unspoken fear. The sooner I get to the bottom of who you are the sooner you can appeal your case. By then, you may have a way to find out who actually killed her." Amelie pulled her hand away and went back to making notes on her clipboard. Poor Leah, I cant imagine what happened. I dont think I could stand it if I lost any of my family and then was wrongly sentenced for it.
"Honestly? I'm just plain scared. I'm scared of jail, scared of court, scared of being sentenced for a crime I didn't commit. Stuff like that, y'know?" she replied, sighing.
"I know. I may not know it as well as you do, but I have seen it before. Okay, Leah, why dont you close your eyes and tell me exactly what you remember from that night. I know you've been over it with the detectives, but I need it for my evaluation of you."

She continued to make notes, it seemed to her that Leah was not the type to have comitted such an act. The court had asked her to interview this patient, it would be her last one. Some days, it seemed that she was starting to go a little nuts herself, but her evaluations were never off. So, if at the end of her week long interview of Leah, it was psychologically impossible for her to have done it, than Leah would go home and the investigation would begin again.
Leah obediently shut her eyes and thought back to that day. Slowly, she began retelling the story. "My sister asked me to go to the store and buy some groceries we needed, so I left. Ten minutes later, I came back and set the groceries down and called out to her. She didn't answer, but that's when I noticed something at the bottom of the stairs."

She sighed, the memory brought the searing pain back to her heart, but she continued. "It was blood, dripping all the way from the top to the bottom. I didn't want to think about whose blood it was, all I knew was that the person had lost way too much blood, for it to be cascading down the stairs like that. I went up, and found my sister there. The blood was coming from a deep slit in her throat." Leah's eyes brimmed with tears as she opened them.

"Then I called the cops and... Here I am."
Amelie watched as Leah told the story. Shutting one's eyes was a sign of trying to remember. The girl had grief, but not remorse as she went on reliving it. Amelie scratched quick notes on the story and Leah's underlying body language. From an early standpoint, she concluded, Leah could not have killed her sister. But it was to early to tell, there could be other factors involved here.

"Alright, Leah. Thank you very much." She said as she rose from the bed. "That is all I need for today, unfortunately I can only come for one hour at a time. But, I will be seeing you tomorrow. Get some rest and dont think about all of this too much, it'll just make it worse." She stuffed the clipboard under her arm and walked back to the door tapping lightly on the glass. The doors only opened from the outside and she waited for an officer to open it.
Leah watched as the woman left. After she did, Leah sat in a lonely silence for what seemed to be hours. Finally, she stood and went to the barred window, looking out at the beautiful blue sky.

She sighed and laid down on the bed, feeling sore and tired suddenly.
Amelie saw the rest of her required patient cases. But none of them were as interesting as Leah. The rest were all your standard psycho's or those unable to understand what they did. None of them had that same attitude. The girl was convinced that she didnt do it, and te way she said it, made Amelie believe that Leah was innocent.

Getting back to her office she sat down at her desk and pulled out a tape recorder. "Patient number 353, name of Leah. Sentenced to incarceration for murder. No noticable psychological issues. She has remorse and regret, but they are the typical emotions of one grieving, not one who feels horrible about commiting murder. Do not believe she did it, based on her initial evaluation, this will require more sittings with her." She sighed and switched off the recorder setting it back on her desk and leaning back in her char.
-Raine william's , was booked for DUI and was being lead to his cell, Muttering curse word's under his breath, Which smelled like Whiskey, and mint's,The mint's abit more overpowering then the smell of the whiskey, But if close enough you could smell it, He was a rather tall man,Standing at six feet, As Raine was walking by the girl named Leah's cell, He saw her and his mouth hung open as he watched her,He shook his head and cleared his throat, As he was placed in his cell, His cuff's being undone, As he walked in and sat on his bunk, Muttering under his breath still, Watching the cell door, His outfit did not consist of much, Just a plain Black T-shirt, Black jean's and black shoe's, His eye's a very light blue, Which made them rather strange, He sighed once and looked around the cell, Before he started rocking himself back and fourth, Thinking,-
Leah laid limply on the bed, her eyes closed. She listened as another prisoner was brought in, the smell of alcohol reaching her sensitive nose. She sighed. "Ugh..." she muttered under her breath, "I really want to leave this place..."

She sat up, unable to rest. How could she? "Why does this have to happen to me...?" she said quietly.
-Raine remained sitting on his bunk, Rubbing his eye's, Before running a hand through his black hair, But finally, He let them drop onto the floor, Letting out sigh as he then leaned back on his bunk against the wall,- ~What are you in here for?~ -He asked the girl, But he knew, There was talk of it around the place he called a home, The ghetto,Which he was not proud living there, But he had to,- ~Let me guess, You were the one that got set up,For killing a girl, There is talk of it around my hometown, But trust me, The effect's of my drink's have worn off,But the reason i know this, Is because you look like the girl a photo was taken of, And you fit the description of the girl that the rumor's are spreading about,~
"I was set up for killing my sister," she replied without looking over. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden anger that came over her. "Why the... Ugh, I hate it when people talk about me," she muttered. "Let me guess," Leah began resentfully, "Your town thinks I'm some psycho murderer who killed my own sister."

Leah laughed sarcastically. "Well, I've been hearing such things about me, so keep it to yourself dude." Leah felt bad for being so rude, but who could blame her? She was in no mood to speak politely.
Woolf Salmon Corday was a proud-looking man. He was intimidating at a height of 6'3," and the cold, merciless eyes that sank into his head furthered this. His mouth rarely was in a smile, but more of a dead-set grimace. He was unapproachable and built with broad shoulders and a muscular though rather stocky body. One might guess him to be around thirty, as he hadn't yet obtained crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, nor deep wrinkles on either side of his face. His hair was kept short atop his rather square head. His once smooth skin was now littered with scars, and his fingernails worn down from where he has scratched at himself. A hunted look had recently become apparent in his pale blue eyes. He would normally walk with his shoulders back and his head up, his stride long and his shoulders would move almost in a swagger, but now he was more sullen and sulky, his shoulders hunched with a dangerous look in his eye.

He truly was a dangerous man. He was delusional, denied that fact, and was convinced everyone else was at fault. He knew that there really were parasites underneath his skin, that the men who thought he was crazy were just stupid and not understanding. His sense of pain had been numbed by his delusions, making him like a pit bull. Of course, you didn't get shoved here for anything like that. No, he wasn't placed here because he had clawed at his own skin with his fingernails. He was placed here because of the deliberate murder of his children and his wife, after purposely making them chronically ill by poisoning them over a prolonged period of time.

It all made sense to Woolf. He knew that the insects were really there. He knew that his family's death really was necessary. It had been ingenious, really. He had been so careful at first. There were no documents because the poison wasn't hard to find. There was only one man who knew, and Woolf had been sure he wouldn't have told. At first it was real. His wife had been diagnosed with cancer. She felt horrible, and moaned about the pain she felt all day long. He couldn't stand it, and his sanity had threatened to leave. And then the people came. They clustered around her and him, offering their condolences, giving him the attention he had never received as a child and now found himself hungering for. Suddenly his wife's illness was not so horrid and crushing. It was an opportunity, it was something that needed to happen. It was fate. As she got worse, the attention spent toward him grew to the point he wanted her to die so that he'd have the attention of those all around him. But suddenly she recovered. The cells were treated, and she was fine. A party was held in her name, and she was being held, tears were being had in relief over her. Once more, Woolf was left in the shadows. It was at that point he had decided that she needed to go. She was holding him back, imprisoning him in this state of longing. This was all on purpose. She knew that he wanted attention more than anything, but she deliberately got sick so that she could steal it from him. His twisted mind affirmed this, and soon this was taken as reality. Betrayal. It was the word he felt the most then. He concentrated her medicine prescribed to her and killed her off quickly. It was assumed this was a mistake on her part. People cried over her, yes, but she was no longer able to interfere. Woolf was the center of attention once more. This, too, quickly changed as his children arrived home from their summer camp in horror and tears. The attention once more was away from him, and toward someone else. His daughter was the one who had to be the first to go. She was the louder by far, and the younger. She was cuter, and everyone was stroking her. Mysteriously she fell ill, but yet again this was not enough. She too died of some sickness, and her brother fell ill. At this point the police had started to investigate things. Detectives looked over the bodies, traced medical histories, examined records of diseases. Barely in time to save Woolf's son from his own father, the police grabbed the scarred man and took him to court. He was deemed guilty and mentally unstable. This was the only place they could entrust a dangerous man like him.

Right now he was being shoved forward by two large men that were gripping his arms on either side. One of them also had grabbed his short hair and was forcing his head down, as not five minutes had passed since he had thrashed against the guards and smashed his head into the other's face. He wasn't allowed normal clothes, only a jumpsuit not unlike what they might have in prison. He recalled what he had just been told."You're getting a special chat time, boy. You're lucky for it, too. Most of us wouldn't give an opportunity like that to a whack-job like you. Regardless, we've got some newer inmates than you who seem to be of lower risk. Now we want you to better yourself and get somewhere, so why don't you start by being their first friend in a new place? Maybe show them around. I'm sure you'll relay what a nice place this is for it's inhabitants. He had snorted rudely at this comment, but now his mouth didn't hold the twitch of a leering smile. Instead he looked solemn, like a true prisoner. They reached a door after they wandered through several dark hallways, and the door was opened and he shoved inside. One of the guards entered the room, the other stayed outside and watched the halls. Woolf glared at the other two crazies in front of him. I'm not like that, he thought, shaking his head. I'm not crazy. I'm perfectly rational. I know reality because I know pain. They're the same thing, or at least similar. If you know one, you know the other, and pain and I are practically friends by now. Of course, the man was talking about emotional pain, because his delusions had dulled his understandings of physical pain.

he spoke gruffly, his eyes narrowed. It was clear he wasn't happy about being here, and that he was not talking to these people by choice. They likely both knew him, as he had been all over the media a few years back. Everyone and their brother had interviewed his son, asking all sorts of questions about him. Woolf had been a horror that no one wanted to accept as reality. But the newspapers and the media loved it. His resistance and violent nature, the way he had jumped up in court and started punching a man, these were things that were spoken of. He wasn't a joke, though. He was a monster. He was a monster people liked hearing about. "Welcome to the Asylum."

-Raine persisted on talking, So he did,- ~Actually, No some do, But allot don't, Some actually know what happened but i don't know those some, But even if i did, I'm just a alcoholic So why believe me?, But this state really need's a prison, We get locked up with psycho's Even tho we are not,But i'm on my way,~ -He muttered the last part, And heard foot step's, He sighed and lay back on his bunk, Facing the wall As he closed his eye's, Who ever it was, He did not care, Or about what they had to say, As long as he was alone in here he was happy,Well alone in his cell,-