I threw the phone across the room, smashing it against the wall before hearing the sound of bare feet pattering across the cold vinyl floor. I then proceeded to rush my broken body across the room as I searched for another chair to barricade against the door.

I got a few chairs and drawers in front of the door before keeling over from my injuries, reaching up in time to lock the door as I heard the footsteps grow louder and louder, the doorknob attempting to turn and rattle.

“DON’T EXPECT ME TO MAKE IT EASY FOR YOU!”

The sound of a body slamming against the door over and over, trying to break its way in, before the sound of the door unlocking and then slamming against the furniture before two male nurses smashed their way in. They restrained me and pulled me over to the bed, all the while I screamed like a madman, and in that moment maybe I was.

“HE’S COMING FOR ME! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! LET ME GO!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Park. When you wake up, this will all seem like just a bad dream,” said the female doctor as she came up from behind the nurses and stuck me with a sedative.

No matter how many times those words replayed in my head, they did not make what happened any less real. Ben was slaughtered, Frank betrayed me, and Nick… God, I hope they find a body. The next morning, a few men from a mental institution came by and “escorted me” to what would be my new home, kicking and screaming all the way. The thought of being stuck in one location did not put me at ease. I thrashed and kicked every chance I could before being overwhelmed by orderlies that were waiting for my arrival.

“LET ME GO!”

I chanted as I squirmed and kicked in their arms, the mob of them grabbing me by each of my limbs and hauling me down a long white corridor, in which you couldn’t tell the ceiling from the floor if there wasn’t any furniture. Before too long, a large blue reinforced steel door stood in line with several others that flowed down the hall, all of which suffered from the chipping of paint over time. They unbuckled my vest and threw me in without a second thought. Landing on my knees, I quickly got to my feet, turning to the window, crying out.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I’M NOT INSANE, YOU HEAR ME?! I’M NOT INSANE!!”

The entire cell block grew into an uproar, with several others chanting back, “Me too!” “I’m not insane either!”

I slumped into the corner of my padded room, defeated.

Time passed as I soon grew comfortable in my confinement, knowing that in here I’m truly safe, but my solitude would be interrupted by a visit from my appointed shrink, Dr. Samuel Craft, a tall yet sad-looking man with a naturally soured expression, as if this was the last place he wanted to be. He would enter my cell with a folding chair, one with particularly cushioned padding, and a large notepad, multiple pens, one in hand and two in his breast pocket of his tweed suit jacket, and a tan leather side bag. He unfolded the chair and took a seat, flipping to a blank page of his notepad before tapping his pen and looking up at me with judgmental eyes that peered though prescription glasses.

“Mr. Park, how are you this afternoon? My name is Samuel Craft, and I am your appointed psychiatric evaluator.”

The way he said it sounded so routine. No part of it sounded genuine and he would continue as if he was reading from a script.

“I know that you have been through a lot these past few weeks, and it’s important that we establish a level of trust between each other. This is, after all, a safe place, and you should feel comfortable speaking to me.”

 “What is there to talk about?” I replied.

“Well, Mr. Park, you have been through a series of unfortunate events this past month, and the stress, combined with your history of paranoia, could be the cause of your mental breakdown.” 

Well, doesn’t he have me all figured out I thought to myself. “Well, I might as well just stay here for further evaluation,” I replied sarcastically.

“That’s something I wanted to talk about with you. When you were first brought in, you did and said everything you could to be released, and now you want to stay. So I ask, why the change of heart?” And with that he finally looked at me with a certain level of intrigue as if this was the one question eating at him all day.

I looked at him anxiously, gathering all my thoughts that I have been ruminating since my arrival. “Let me ask you something. Do you ever feel like there are greater powers at play in the universe?”

 “Elaborate?” he said, now far more interested in what I had to say, jotting in his notepad.

“I have come to the conclusion that we are merely sustenance for beings far greater than either of us. To them we are just cattle. For what purpose do these beings operate? I have no idea, but what I do know is that whatever is out there won’t stop until it gets me. So, does that answer your question?”

He leaned back in his chair adjusting his glasses, “Yes, Daniel. Yes, it does. Well, that’s all the time I have for today, but I want you to do something for me.”

He reached into his tan leather side bag, pulling out a notebook and a pencil, handing it over to me. “I want you to keep a journal. Write your story, maybe. Getting your feelings out on paper could help you deal with your acute paranoia.” He then gathered his things, folded up his chair, and took his leave, but just before he left, he turned back and said, “I’ll see you in another week. I hope to read whatever it is you write.” Then stepped out of the room, and the orderlies locked the heavy door behind him.

Thus I wrote, day and night, anything to keep my mind off… it. The pages are all warped, and the journal can hardly stay closed unless I latch it shut. That thing will get me. It’s only a matter of time, but for now all I can do is lull myself to sleep to the gentle rapping against the cell window and the guttural words,

“Let Me In.”

The Body in Cold Storage was Speaking to Me .Finale