text: This is my first time posting on Reddit and the first time ever really posting my work on anything. This is a story called Screwball. Screwball. Chapter 1. The large rusted steel double doors creaked behind him as Detective John Price stepped into the lobby of Darkwood Sanatarium. He saw the secretary typing away at her typewriter. She must have been filling out some paperwork of some kind because she keep kept pausing to mutter to herself before grabbing manila folders and shoving papers lazily into them. As Price approached her adjusting his brown plaid neck tie she finally looked up to acknowledge his presence. Price was a tall man, standing at roughly 6' 2". He was always seen as a strikingly handsome man by most who knew him. He never went to work without wearing his brown three-piece suit and matching trench coat. Price had been working at the precinct as a criminal investigator for about five years now. He was moved from being the Darkwood police departments active sheriff after a unfortunate injury he substained while trying to subdue a enemy. "Detective Price, good to see you here again" the secretary said in a sarcastic tone. Everyone at the Sanatarium knew Price, for he had been there many times trying to investigate a case that everyone thought was closed. "Good evening there miss,"John said, "I'm here to see Dr. Peterson again. He has agreed to lead me to room 110 to conduct an interview with the patient occupying it". "He told me to expect you. Just a moment while I let him know you're here" the secretary said standing up and adjusting her dark blue and wrinkled dress. She walked down the lobby to a door leading to a corridor with a sign above labeled "Minimum security wing". Price looked around the lobby noting that Darkwood was still as rundown and forgotten as it had always been. The small town was not known by most. They never had anything worth mentioning in the news or had anyone recognizable until the power plant was built. It was the first of its kind and held a new electrical reactor core powering most of the city. Well, that is until the unfortunate accident occurred causing the core to explode killing all of those people. The secretary had opened the door leading to the wing. A man in a white lab coat with matching khakis wearing a blue surgical mask entered through the doorway. He approached Detective Price saying, "Hello detective. Abigail informed me you had just arrived. If you'll follow meme, I'll be more than happy to lead you to the room you're looking for." "Thank you, Dr. Peterson. As always, it's a pleasure to see you," Price responded. "This way please" the Doctor said, leading Price through the doorway as the secretary closed it behind them with a soft bang. The footsteps of Detective John Price echoed through the corridors as Dr. Peterson led him to room number 110. The dark sanatarium wasn't the most pleasant of places and Price couldn't think of a worst place to be spending his day. As he heard the muffled voices of the patients through every door on his way down the corridorcorridor, he couldn't help but think, "How condemned must one soul be to end up in a place as sad as this? The poor tortured beings that must reside behind these doorways; the whole thing is just traumatizing". Dr. Peterson was silent; it seemed as if the voices and the sad laughter of the clinically insane didn't phasefaze him one bit. "But of course, it doesn't", Price thought to himself, "He's had to deal with these types for 10 years as the lead psychiatrist here. I don't know how one could deal with it all". Darkwood sanitarium was just about the only place in the small town of Darkwood that anyone with any psychological problem could get any bit of treatment; if any sense of the word even existed in a place so rundown and forgotten. Detective Price had but one reason for his visit on this day: the criminal who was formally known as Carl Williams Bell and to investigate the crimes he committed. Price had had plenty of run-ins with Bell before. Bell was wanted for Aggravated assault, Battery, Homicide, First-degree murder, Arson, Domestic violence and many other crimes. The only reason Bell wasn't charged and convicted for any of the horrible crimes he had committed is he was deemed clinically insane by the state of Missouri. Price had always thought theis judgement was a load of crap. He had thought Bell knew exactly what he was doing. For he had slaughtered many innocent victims no matter how mentally unstable the state had said he is. "The guilty always walk away free around here" Price had always said. Dr. Peterson had finally broken the awkward silence by saying in a matter of fact tone "So Detective, it has come to my attention that the case against Bell still hasn't been dropped by the Chief? I don't know why you lot keep pressing the matter. The man has been deemed mentally unstable. Let things go will you"? "The families of those he tortured and treated like play things in his little game want justice. It doesn't matter what the judge, or the state thinks; Bell knew perfectly well what he was doing while he was doing it", Price respond in a monotone voice that clearly gave Dr. Peterson the impression the Detective didn't have the same opinion as the judgement showed. "Bell has been a patient here for well over 2 years now. I have been personally assigned to him and have seen for myself the man isn't all there. Half the time he sits in his room mumbling complete nonsense. If you ask me, I'd say the man is quite unstable" Dr. Peterson said. "It doesn't matter to me how unstable a doctor with some degree from some University claims someone is. If a man or woman commits murder; no matter how mental they are, they deserve to pay for the crime." Price responded. "Very well than. If that is what the precinct has declared I do agree that those poor families deserve justice in anyway they can get it" Dr. Peterson said, ending the discussion. " Great", Price thought, "Another person who thinks this man deserves to just rot away here while those families loved ones have been burriedburied six feet under and they don't even get to see the criminal pay for the crimes". They had entered a staircase at the end of the corridor now and were climbing up to the second floor. As they approached the door leading to the second floor a dimly lit sign read "Medium security wing". Dr. Peterson opened the door and motioned for Price to walk on through. As they entered the wing a musty, almost moldy smell entered the air. The lights kept flickering to the point Price thought someone must had been flicking them on and off. "I apologise for the flickering of the lights. They really haven't worked since the accident at the power plant all those years ago" Peterson told Price. "You'd figure with all the other problems you guys have they'd have fixed the lights and got power back within the five years, huh" Price asked Peterson, to which he responded with a slight shrug "Again I apologise. I'm just a doctor here, not an electrician". Dr. Peterson started to lead Price past the rooms in the corridor until they finally reached where he was headed. Room 110 looked like all the others. The door was a faded black; almost to the point it looked grey. There where small iron bars covering a wire mesh window that was too dark to see through. The doctor reached into his coat pocket to pull out a ring of keys. Fumbling with the keys he finally held onto one saying to himself "Ahh, there you are" before inserting the key into the slot and opening the door with a small creak. As they stepped into a hallway leading to yet another door Price noticed a armed security guard. "Hello Price, you old gunslinger" said the guard. "Jacobson. So this is where you ended up when you left us you old dog" said Price. "Yes sir, been here about a year now. Beats getting chased by old perps and getting fingers cut off, doesn't it", the security guard asked glancing at the covered stump that was Price's finger. On his side in a holster he had a standard issue Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum along with a small billy club strapped at the hip. "As I'm sure you know it is protocol here to have a armed guard outside every room no mater who the visitor might be detective" Peterson told Price. "Not that it bothers me any, can't really shoot one of those pistols with the injury I substained. And seeing as how it's my on my dominate hand I'd rather have the company in case things get dirty",Price responded with a small smirk towards Jacobson who smiled back. "This old gunslinger got assigned to this job? Man, couldn't find anyone better?", Jacobson asked Dr. Peterson. "I don't assign anyone to anything here, sir", the Doctor responded, "And may I ask just why you keep calling him 'Gunslinger'"? Jacobson laughed with a deep rumble that could wake the dead itself and said "It's a old joke with everyone in the precinct. You see, after the crazy guy that old John Price was trying to subdue took a slice at his finger and chopped it off we started calling him Gunslinger as a joke. Seeing how he can't really even hold a gun anymore we all thought it was fitting", said Jacobson, still chuckling as he spoke. "Well, moving on from your reunion, Detective Price is here to see patient 110. Per usual protocol, Jacobson will be accompanying you into the unit" Peterson said to Price and Jacobson, fumbling with more keys as he approached the door to unit 110. Muttering to himself Peterson fit the correct key into the lock and turned the doorknob. "You know who and what awaits inside Mr. Price. I would give the the old 'You're waisting your time' spiel but I'd be wasting both of our times. Good luck, detective" Peterson murmured as he away without a second glance. Price approached the door to the now unlocked unit 110 and turned the handle to enter the all to familiar room. What awaited him inside was nothing he could have ever predicted. In all the years he had been on the force nothing prepared him for what was behind the door. The door creeked open as Detective Price and Jacobson entered into the small 6' by 8' room. In the corner of the room was a small bed with blue sheets and a white blanket. The bed had a rusty metal frame with springs underneath. It was bearly big enough for a large child let alone a full grown adult. The walls were painted a dull off white. The paint was peeling off of the celling to reveal a dark grey plaster underneath. A white porcelain sink with rusted copper that Price was pretty sure is the cause of the small puddle underneath with a cracked mirror hung at a awkward angle; almost to the point it was falling off of the wall, sat upon the wall opposite the bed. There were no windows to allow any outside light inside and the only light came from a small blub placed upon the center of the celling. A dirty looking man was kneeled down in the corner next to the sink facing the wall. He was dressed in the standard Darkwood patient clothing; a white wrinkled shirt with grey trousers. The shirt clearly showed its age as it had dark brown and green stains upon it the color of old oak bark with mold. The grey trousers he wore where more of a faded grey and had stains of yellow that made it appear as though this man had wet himself a few to many times. His dark hair was very mangled and stood up at all ends. It was almost as if he had the worst case of bedhead that Price had ever seen. His arms where caked in dirt and grime the kind that even the worst earthworms and ants wouldn't dare traverse in to make a home. A smell like a infant that hadn't had a proper change was wafting from this man that made Price gag. This made it clear indeed; the town of Darkwood was surly forgotten about if it kept the poor state of the mentally ill this bad. The man kept mumbling to himself nonsense that Price could not make out and was fumbling with his fingers. He had faded numbers in black paint sprayed along his back to make out a faint 110. "This is all the man ever does now, sit here and mumble to himself. Hardly ever eats. Never showers, never bathes, I don't think I've ever seen him sleep on my rounds neither. The man just sits there fumbling and mumbling. It's hard to believe he committed those crimes y'all are trying to incarcerate him for" Jacobson said as Price's eyes drifted around the room and back to the man again. Price remained silent for a moment while examing this man until he responded to Jacobson. "I've been on the force for 15 years here Jacobson. After my incident where I lost my finger about 10 years back they made me a detective. I know mister Carl Williams Bell very well. It's the only case they ever gave me that I feel didn't get proper justice. This whole mumbling act, it's as fake as my first wives love for me. I've seen this man before they declared him as 'Insane' and I see him clear as day now. He was, is, and always will remain brilliantly minded; all anyone has to do is open their eyes and see past these lies he's ensnared us all in. We are all but tiny little insects in a web, and he is the spider hunting his prey". Jacobson stood in silence as he took in what Price had just said. It took a moment for the words that he had heard to settle in and process. 'Brilliantly minded? How can he be brilliantly minded; all he does is sit there and rock back and forth mumbling complete nonsense to himself! Price must be as insane as mister Bell here if he sees him as some genius mind!' Jacobson silently thought to himself. Both Price and Jacobson stood in awkward silence for a moment until the silence was broken by yet more loud nonsense mutterings by Bell. "You really think this guy has some beautiful mind? That there is a genius hidden somewhere deep inside of him? Well, regardless what you think he's still insane. All the lights are on but no one's home if you catch my drift there mister Price" Jacobson said, finally breaking the silence. All Price did to respond was let out a low sigh, shrugging his shoulders and looking down at his feet. "Well, might as well ask him what you need to ask him. Not that he'll respond to anything you do ask. He never does. I don't see why y'all waste your time here honestly" Jacobson told Price. Price crossed the room to the corner that Bell was facing, gently starting to knell down to his level. He looked over him for a moment, noticing the amount of grim covering him and the foul smell drifting around him. He gently put his hand on Bells shoulder and noticed when he did Bell stoped muttering. In fact, he even stopped the awkward shakes he kept issuing the moment Price's hand hit his shoulder. Price spoke to Bell saying "Hello Carl, I don't know if you remember me. My name is John Price, I'm a detective with Darkwood Police. We've met before; many times in fact. I'm here on a case; your case. I would like to speak with you about the crimes you've been convicted of". A moment of silence followed Price's words until Bell muttered something that Price couldn't hear properly. He could've sworn he heard him say "You're wasting your time again". "I'm sorry, what was that you said?", Price asked Bell. Bell didn't respond, instead started to rock back and forth again. "Did he actually just speak?", Jacobson asked Price. "I could've sworn he said something just then, but it could've been more nonsense mutterings", Jacobson said to Price. The lights flickered suddenly, surrounding the room in a moment of darkness. In the darkness Price heard a sudden scurrying and felt something brush past him. When the lights came back on Bell was not in front of Price anymore. Price turned around to see Jacobson hunched over and Bell holding a shard of glass to his throat. Jacobson had a look of horror on his very pale face as his hand was around his pistol on his hip. "I don't think that would be a very wise idea to unholster that weapon there, I could slip and slice a vein here" Bell said, pushing the shard of glass more into Jacobson's throat to the point it drew a little blood. "What are you doing just standing there, shoot the psycho"! Jacobson said to Price. "Don't you dare make a move or I'll splatter his blood all along these walls Detective"! Bell said as Price started to move his hand toward his pistol, stopping as he realized Bell could very easily do as he had just said. "Ah, that's better there, settle down. We wouldn't want me to commit another murder now would we? Detective Price, you where always a smart one seeing that this was all just a simple act. The world is so dull; so full of unsharpened minds. You and I, we are the sharp ones. Not like this idiot Jacobson here. It's almost sad. Like the screwdriver that drives the screw into the wood, everyone can rely on these tools we use way to much. No one just uses there brains anymore"! Bell exclaimed. "Now Bell, settle down. All anyone wants to do here is talk to you. What's going on? Why are you doing this?" Price asked Bell as Jacobson was stuck with a look of horror on his face. "Why am I doing this? The one person in this room besides me that should already know the answer to that question is you, Detective. You've been on my case for how long, five years now? You know why I do the things I do. I know what they call me. Screwball. Fitting, isn't it? A brilliant mind goes a little crazy after a accident kills his daughters and her friends. If only I had forseen what was about to happen. I tried to warn them, but all these dull minded fools wouldn't listen. I told them it wasn't ready, but they just didn't listen! Let me ask you detective a simple question; have you ever lost something very near and dear to your heart? Have you ever had to watch as something you cared for and created just vanished in a flash of light before your eyes? Because I'll tell you Detective, I promise if you ever had to it would drive you to the edge as well"! Price gently started to advance towards Bell and Jacobson saying "I have lost many near and dear to me too, Bell. I've lost many partners while on the force. It makes you think you won't be able to carry on anymore. I've watched many partners get killed right before my eyes because of criminal scum. It's not a easy thing to go through. But we can get you the help you need. You have many doctors who have devoted their lives to studying the human mind and what makes it tick. Carl, before the incident you were one of the most brilliant engineers this world has seen. You where the pride and joy of Darkwood. I was astonished at what you could create. It's a shame what happened during that field trip. But ask yourself, is this really the way to remember your daughter by? Murdering innocent people, tearing families apart much like your own? Stop to think about what you are doing. This isn't the way to go around everything" Price said, still gently advancing in Bell's direction. "You don't think I've thought about what I've been doing? What do you think I am, some kind of idiot? Some insane man who just kills for fun like the papers say? I'm not doing this for fun; I'm doing this because it what has to be done. The world is so full of dull minded idiots. Only those of us with sharp minds should be allowed to thrive; to survive!", Bell said pressing the piece of glass more into Jacobson's throat, causing more blood to be drawn. "And now, tonight, my plan shall be set into motion. All you idiots do is look at us like we are all some insane people. But the funny thing is, we aren't. I've met plenty of brilliant minded men and women inside this very bulding. And tonight, I shall be leaving here with them. But not before I cleanse the world of some more dull minded fools. Tonight, unfortunately, this mans life ends. Say your goodbyes, it's going to be a messy one". Bell flicked his wrisr, thrusting the shard of glass into Jacobson's throat, slicing deep into it. Jacobson gagged, blood spraying from his throat as Bell stood behind him letting out a howling laughter, his eyes wide in bewilderment. The main lights in the building turned off as a alarm echoed through the bulding with a red light flashing. The door to the cell opened as men stood with the same uniforms Bell was wearing outside the door. All of them where patients at Darkwood. Laughter and gunshots echoed through the doorway as Bell ran for the door. Price ran for Jacobson, catching him before his body fell to the floor in a limp state. Blood poured from the slice in his throat as tears started to stream from Price's eyes. "Another one of your friends dead Detective. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must help mine escape from this wretched place. We will meet again, I feel. Until then, may the dull be sharpened until all is set right, Detective" Bell said, slamming the cell door behind him as yet more screams and gunshots followed outside. Price held Jacobson with tears in his eyes, mouth open in disbelief. "I'm sorry Jacobson, I'm sorry. I didn't see the glass in his hand when I approached him before. I didn't see it. Why didn't people believe me five years ago when I told them what he had done! This all could've been avoided!" Price said to Jacobson, still holding his dying friend in his arms. Jacobson gasped for air, and with his last dying breath, said to Price "Don't blame yourself for anything that's happened here. Just promise me that. And promise me you'll make the world see this man for what he truly is". With a last gasp Jacobson was dead. Covered in blood and tears over the lose of his friend, Price could only blame himself for what had happened. If only they had listened to him five years ago. If only they had seen Bell for what he truly was back then. Back then, if only they had seen him as what he was, The Screwball.