The Institute: A Dark Anthology Read online
The Institute
A Dark Anthology
Dani René
Anna Edwards
India R. Adams
Jennifer Bene
Murphy Wallace
Sian Claven
Contents
Welcome
Echo
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Dani
marbh
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Afterword
About Anna Edwards
Also by Anna Edwards
Hostile Illusions
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Afterword
About India R Adams
Find India Online
Also By India R. Adams
Thank You
Music That Inspired India
Mr. Cat is Not Real
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About Jennifer Bene
Also by Jennifer Bene
Books Released As Cassandra Faye
Release Me
Prologue
Brynn
Richard
Richard
Brynn
Brynn
Richard
Brynn
Richard
Brynn
Richard
Brynn
Sanitorium
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Copyright © 2020 by Dani René, Anna Edwards, Jennifer Bene, India R. Adams, Murphy Wallace, Sian B. Claven
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Welcome
Thank you for entering The Serenity Institute
Blurb
Serenity is an illusion
Dear Reader,
I trust this letter finds you well.
It is with the utmost concern that we invite you to join us at the infamous Serenity Institute. You’ll be able to observe the goings on of the asylum, meet the patients and the doctors. We do however ask that you please be quiet. Do not interact with the patients, and respect the special treatments our doctors administer.
This is where nightmares come alive.
A home for the shattered psyche of its patients.
Hope is lost when they cross the threshold.
The deranged. The demented. The unstable.
Six stories, six authors, non-stop madness.
Kind regards,
The Authors
Dani René, Anna Edwards, Murphy Wallace, India R. Adams, Jennifer Bene, Sian Claven
Echo
Dani René
Dedication
Allow your madness to run free.
Preface
Echo
(n) a sound or sounds caused by the reflection of sound waves from a surface back to the listener.
Like a black rose, her darkness was beautifully fatal.
E. Corona
Prologue
It was ten years ago when my life took a turn for the worst.
It was also in those dark times that I realized I wasn’t going to be the same after what had happened. Instead of running from the darkness, I embraced it. I was raised by a doctor, and I was taught by him to be the best I could be. My father was strict, rigid in his love, but my parents offered me something I thought I’d never want or need—the madness.
They introduced me to the patients I would find an affinity with. Those my father cared for became people I grew to know better than I knew myself.
I studied. I practiced, and now that I’m one of the doctors who aid those broken minds, I feel as if I’ve made my parents proud.
At my age, I feel as if I should be relaxing with a wife and kids on a lake somewhere. But I’m not. I don’t have a wife because my obsession with the mind took on a new turn when I met her.
She dragged me from the comfortable life I led back in the city and pulled me into the depths of the country, to the far reaches of Salem, where nobody dares to tread.
The first time I walked up to the building I now own, I knew it would forever be my home. It took a few years of work, but it’s a place of sanctuary. However, when you’re dealing with the broken, serenity is just an illusion.
Making my way through the halls of The Serenity Institute, I’m in awe of what I’ve built. A home for those who are no longer wanted. It’s a place where families drop their so-called loved ones and never return to see them again.
I’ve always wondered about the families of the people we have here. About how they can so easily forget those who aren’t perfect. I’ve seen broken minds at every turn, I’ve heard mothers and fathers cry about their sweet child, but once they lock them in the room and head for their car, that sweet angel is forgotten.
A screech comes from a room as I pass by the heavy steel door, and I can’t help but feel the ache in my chest. Each of my patients means the world to me. I’ve given them a family of sorts. Along with the doctors and orderlies I have working here, we try to ensure they feel wanted.
Most of our patients are women. Broken since birth or some fractured long after. I've tried to learn about each one, but I can never fully grasp what happened to them since most of them don’t know themselves.
It could be anything that triggered their mind to close in on itself, and I realize that even when I look into their eyes, I see nothing.
Empty souls.
Forgotten and abandoned.
Pushing open the door to my office, I head to my desk and settle in the chair. I have my only patient coming in today, and I need to make sure I’m ready for whoever she’ll be today.
There’s a stack of manila folders on the wooden desktop. Each application comes with a history from the family, if they have one, the doctor they’ve been seeing, and any other information I can find.
I make it my duty to study each case individually and then I recommend which of my doctors will take the patient and work with them to make their lives more comfortable.
It’s a joke.
How can someone who doesn’t know right from wrong be comfortable?
When my mother started losing her mind, my father put her in a place like this. I didn’t understand and begged him to reconsider. He wouldn’t listen to me. I was only eighteen at the time, and he made it clear he was man of the house, and I wasn’t to question his decisions.
I visited her. I never forgot the woman who gave me life. And I was the one who found her hanging from the ceiling in her room. Somehow, even in her brokenness, she managed to find a belt—thick, black leather—and she ended her life.
I recall when I was younger, she had made a joke to
my dad at the dinner table one night. She told him if she were ever to lose her mind, he should pull the plug. Of course, legally, he had no way of doing it, so he shoved her in a home and forgot about her.
Now I have a responsibility. A girl who’s stolen not only my life, but my heart. When I first met her, I was enamored. Far too young for me, but so magically interesting.
She suffers with the same disorder my mother had—Dissociative Identity Disorder.
It can’t be cured. It’s a lifelong condition that will stay with her until the day she takes her final breath. Her treatment has become purely talking through episodes. I’ve found her to be responsive to it, and to be honest, I enjoy being around her. And the more time I spend with her, the harder it is for me to leave her.
Sighing, I flip open her file and scan the photo. Nothing out of the ordinary. Looking at the girl smiling up at me, I can’t help but smile back.
Beautiful. Alluring. Seductive.
Already someone who was a rebel in her normal life, when she witnessed a horrific incident as a child, she turned inside out in a matter of minutes. A witness had said it was like watching the flip of a switch.
Since then, she’s lived with two people inside her.
The mind is a fragile thing.
Her split personality is something that can be channeled if treated correctly. Even though she can’t be cured, medication and therapy will allow her to live a fairly normal existence.
However, most people with this disorder don’t realize it because the stronger of the personalities may fight the medication by choosing not to take it.
That’s why I keep her here. It’s why she comes to me every day. I initially opened The Serenity Institute to help her, to keep her safe by my side. I can never marry her, I can never be with her in the real world, so we live inside the walls of the asylum where she’s mine.
And my special girl is always going to be mine.
Chapter 1
Katya
The Past
When my life took a very bad turn, I broke in two.
I didn’t choose to live without my parents.
But there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. I was in the car with them. A witness to my father’s body being impaled by a thick, metal pole which had come loose from the truck driving in front of us.
My mother screeched, the sound so loud it rang in my ears for years after. The moment I fell to the floorboard at my mother’s orders, another long pole crashed through the window and took her head clean off.
Blood.
Gore.
There was so much violence in that one night, I broke.
“Thank you.” The woman before me smiles as she takes my black credit card. As soon as she swipes it, the approval comes through. There’s no question I have money. My parents made sure if anything happened to them, I would be taken care of, but they didn’t realize I would need more than dollars in the bank.
My twenty-first birthday came and went two weeks ago with fake friends and a letter from the grave. My father made sure everything I needed was offered to me without question. I have bodyguards, a large house I can’t fill even if I tried, and more money than the Queen of England.
But I’m not royalty.
Not in the sense you might think.
I don’t need to work. Not anymore. The fortune granted to me in my father’s last will and testament offers me a permanent vacation. I should’ve known he’d never let his little girl suffer. But then again, he did.
The violence that stole him from me has left me somewhat haunted. At least, that’s what the doctors say. A trauma experienced in youth can later affect you as an adult. Now I spend my days in therapy. It’s laughable really. I talk to some stranger about my feelings. Allowing them into my head is meant to heal me.
It doesn’t.
It makes everything worse.
I’ve always had an easy life. I’ve never wanted for anything. My parents were loving, affectionate. They gave me everything I’d ever dreamed of. But that’s where the problem lies. When you’re given everything in life, the bitch has a way of stealing from you when you least expect it.
Just when you think you’re on the road to happiness, you hit a pothole and you’re no longer heading toward your forever. Instead, you’re on your way to hell.
I was the one who survived the car crash. I saw horrific violence. The copper liquid gurgling in my father’s mouth, and the sound of my mother’s final cry will be ingrained in my mind forever.
They died instantly.
There were no final words.
Nothing to offer me solace in that moment.
They’re gone. I’m alone. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Slipping into the Town Car, I set my shopping bags on the floor of the vehicle and motion for my driver to head home.
My chest aches today, knowing I have another appointment with some asshole who’s going to tell me I need to make sure I take my medication.
Pills.
That’s all they offer me.
The gates of the estate slide open as we approach. Eder, my driver, pulls up to the house, exits the car, and rounds to my side. He opens the door, allowing me to get out, and then offers me a slight nod. He’s been working for us for almost twenty years. And all the while I’ve known him, I’m certain he’s only uttered a handful of words to me.
Taking my shopping, I head inside. The dress I bought is for tonight. A charity event my aunt has decided needs all her focus. Not that I mind. It’s best we stay out of each other’s way. Her dislike for me has never been a secret, and since my father gave me signing rights to everything, her hatred has only simmered into something more volatile.
I don’t care if she loves me or hates me. Petrov is my given name, not one stolen with lies and fake smiles. And that’s what she’s always offered. She knows I’m broken, that my mind isn’t what it should be, and deep down, I know she’d make an attempt to have me locked up if I didn’t have my uncle’s support.
Even though Kristiaan is not my blood family, he was my father’s best friend and confidante. He’s been around since before I was born. And so, he was the one to step forward and guide me in this new life.
Shoving open the heavy wooden door to my home, I step inside to find deafening silence. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. Even the staff are no longer around, except for one. Irina has been my minder for a few years, and since my parents’ death, she’s been more of a mother than a maid.
I make my way up the stairs to the long hallway leading to my bedroom. The only place I can safely be myself. No fear of hurting someone or embarrassing my aunt. I can be the daughter my parents loved. And they did. Unconditionally.
I drop my bags on the bed and strip down to my underwear. A cold shiver travels over me, and I know what’s coming. I can’t stop it. There’s nothing I can do to cure myself. Grabbing my purse, I shake it out on the bed and find the small bottle of pills.
Taking two in my palm, I swallow them quickly, hoping it will stop what’s coming. The pain in my head is blinding. I tug the comforter from my bed and slide it to the floor. Curling my body into the fetal position, I cover myself from head to toe, blocking out the fading light. I can’t breathe. I shut my eyes so tight I see stars dotting behind my lids.
“Please don’t do this.” My mumble is a plea, whispered painfully, but I know no amount of begging will stop it.
Wrapping my arms around my calves, I’m a ball of agony. The doctors tell me not everyone suffers the same way. They keep telling me if I fight it, the pain will be worse.
But how can I not fight?
How can I not want my own mind back?
Chapter 2
Ansel
I watch as she exits the car with those long, smooth legs. Her gaze darts around the darkness, but she can’t see me. The trees offer a shadow allowing me to skulk in between the trunks. Hidden from sight. It takes a moment for me to really take her in.
Even though she’s too young f
or me, I’m still here, aching for her to be mine. It’s stupid really, knowing that the young woman is someone I can’t have but want more than anything.
But tonight, she’s not her; she’s someone else.
She’s curvier than I recall because the dress she’s wearing hugs her frame like a second skin. Filled out in places that make my dick hard. Since I first laid eyes on her, I've been enamored.
It’s wrong for me to be following her. I know I’m breaking all our rules, especially my professionalism. But with her, I can’t help it. Concern mingled with desire swirls in my gut, reminding me she’s a patient.