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[linaquezxo]

Into the Mind: Series

DISCLAIMER: The following stories have been labeled and recorded as chaotic fiction. A “fabrication” of ideas which gain no further research by detectives. Here, we will take a chilling trip into the minds of those who have lost theirs. Was it the correct decision to pass up these patients as mentally ill or is there possible logic within the illogical? It is purely up to you to decide whether any of this is true or false. But you must understand one thing, insanity is a dangerously contagious disease. These stories will have no happy endings and no limits. Read with much discretion.

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It was a Tuesday afternoon at the Norristown State Hospital, a middle aged man enters his office, and takes a seat behind his desk. The room is a clutter of files, papers (mostly crumbled into balls that have missed the trashcan to the left of the exit) and family photos. In each photo, the man’s face is as stern as a soldier’s, just as it is now. His wife and colleagues would often joke that he’s been this way ever since his doctor smacked him on the ass after birth. It was the only joke that still sprinkled some sweetness onto his sour life.

Behind him, the windows allow the faintest orange hue to creep through the blinds and color the room dimly. He sets his cup of coffee down and beside it he places a file and then turns his attention to his computer to quickly sign in. Outside of the room, his assistant can be heard making her way towards his office--there was no mistaking the urgency in those heels. Instantly, he reached for his coffee and took a sip, preparing himself for the worst.

She stepped into the office with force and a winning smile that caused the man to arch his eyebrow in sudden interest. In her hand was a yellow folder that she held rather tightly, there was a name written on it but at this distance, the man couldn’t decipher it.

“You’re going to enjoy this one.” She says, tossing the file directly onto his desk.

He eyed her for a moment before turning his attention downwards.

“It’s just what you’ve been waiting for.”

*******************************************************************************************

Exeter Inc.

Name: Crystal Sullivan

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Diagnosis: Apotemnophilia

The following is a printed copy of a pre recorded session:

So, no back story on me, huh? That’s not important, I guess I’m supposed to just dive into this. Get straight to what you really want to hear, right? I figured as much. Well, fuck where do I start, huh? I mean, really where the fuck do I even begin?! There’s so much...so many...details. So much. I….

Okay, okay...are you listening? You’re gonna need to pay close attention….

Let’s see…..this is all started on a Friday right after school, when I had gone to the mall with my best friend, Jane. We skipped lunch that day--we spent that time in the library copying each other’s homework for the upcoming class--and decided to go straight to the food court before heading home. On the way there, we came across a homeless man who was sitting just outside the entrance. This wasn't unusual, homeless people always made a home for themselves outside of just about anything, even the parking lot held a few, although they'd get chased away by security eventually. So, his presence wasn't what caught me off guard...it was the sign he held.

Now, before I continue with any of this, I need you to understand that I know what you’re thinking. A homeless man? Really? That’s what caught my attention?

Nothing you could possibly be thinking right now is new to me. I’ve already gone over the thoughts countless times myself and a dozen more once I was tossed into this place. All I can say is…it doesn’t make any sense to me either.

I mean because, well, homeless people are always asking for something, you know? They're homeless so all they can really do is take because what could they even give besides a possible disease or drug addiction? But, this man wasn’t like the others. You see, written on the sign were two words ‘Take One’ and placed in front of the sign were a few purple papers. Judging by the amount, I assumed I wasn’t the only one who was confused by….everything. Several people passed by, they stopped briefly with that same look of confusion I had and then proceeded into the mall. Jane tried grabbing my arm and pulling me away, urging me to ignore the man but I just wanted to ease my mind. Or more like, I had to ease my mind.

I took a flyer and—spare me the idiotic look would you?! Had I known what I do now, I wouldn’t have even glanced at that guy! All this woulda, coulda, shoulda shit is pointless. What happened….happened. I can’t change anything. But I did get a look at the man though, for a just quick second. H-he was filthy, his facial hair was a madhouse of food crumbs and dried up beverages. His lips were chapped and his eyes were so low, if he hadn't grinned at me--exposing a dentist’s worst nightmare--I wouldn't have been able to tell if he were awake or not. I’m not sure if that’s even important to share, it’s not much of a description but it’s the best I can do.

After that, I folded up the paper and stuffed it into my purse. The experience alone was enough for one day, I decided I’d look over it later on when I got home and used the short time I had with Jane as an opportunity to ignore the situation. However, I did a lot more than just ignore what happened, I actually managed to forget about it.  And Jane never brought it up again so part of me felt as though the encounter never really took place at all. I couldn't tell you if we spotted the man again either, I'm positive we took a different exit so there's literally no way.

But you know, m-maybe Jane was just as uncomfortable with what happened as I was, and talking about it just didn't sit well with her. I mean, I never brought it up either, right? Once we were inside the mall, we both pretty much just stuffed the homeless man in the back of our minds….and I wish he had stayed there.

Um, anyway, it had to be about a month since the incident, no more no less. I was uh, I was in my room talking on the phone with Jane about an exam that was coming up. Well, more like talking about her crush, Jason, rather than studying but whatever. I was circling my room when my phone notified me that the battery was only on 5%. My charger was in my purse but you know once something goes in there it’s kinda impossible to find it without dumping everything out, so that’s what I did.

(Brief silence)

I noticed the paper before anything else. It’s impossible to miss a purple that bright. I immediately brought it up to Jane and she groaned and called me an idiot for actually keeping something so stupid. There was some cheesy slogan written in bold letters at the center of the paper, it went something like ‘Give a little. Get a little.’ ….Yeah, I thought it was stupid too. The only other details on the paper were a phone number and the name “Exeter Inc.”

(Crystal begins laughing uncontrollably.)

You should see the look on your face. Let me guess, it must say I’m delusional somewhere in that useless folder you got there. Right? That’s fine with me. Whenever I think back to how this all began I sometimes find myself believing that little cover up too. All the same, after skimming over the paper I came to the conclusion that there was no way in hell this had a meaning to it. I was in the same boat as you are, funny isn’t it? How simple minded I used to be…. I mean, the homeless man had to have been on drugs or something because what could he possibly need this for? And what kind of advertisement had such a…. dull slogan? Not even just that but the entire thing was dull, all except the bright color of the paper, of course.

Jane was still on the phone, laughing because she knew I had gotten lost in my thoughts once again over the stupid flyer. “Call the number Crystal, I know you want to.” She said teasingly.

I did want to. I couldn’t deny it. I was betting that once I called I’d hear the funniest automated machine on the other end because this was all supposed to be a joke. This was clearly just a big joke. I had to keep telling myself that… it was comforting to think this way. So, I told Jane I would call her back right after I called the number on the flyer, and hung up. I hurried and dialed the number into my phone and started the call, on the second ring a man answered the phone. His was voice was casual and welcoming but it wasn’t pre recorded as I had predicted. Instead, I was actually speaking with someone. He sounded pretty young too, I’d guess that he was probably in his late twenties.

“It’s great to see you’ve finally decided to call,” He said, “We were beginning to think you forgot about us.”

I remained quiet. I mean, what could I have said anyway? My heart was knocking at my chest, I feared that if the silence dragged on a minute longer perhaps the man would have been able to hear it. I wondered who were “they” and had they really been waiting? No, there’s no way. This was probably just dialogue used on all callers to make them feel valued.

“Oh right, how rude of me.” The man on the other end laughed timidly and cleared his throat. “My name is Jasper and I will be assisting you today. Thank you for calling Exeter Inc. A company that was founded just two years ago and has been skyrocketing ever since! An email has just been sent to you with more information on us. Feel free to check it out at your leisure. If you’re wondering how we got your e-mail, our database is setup so that all information i.e. name, address, e-mail, etc. are displayed during an incoming call. Just in advance I must inform you that this call is being monitored. So, with all that being said, am I speaking to Crystal Sullivan?”

I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder. How stupid did this person think I was? Using a homeless man to advertise a company wasn’t the best way to prove it’s so-called “skyrocketing” existence.

“Crystal, this is as real as it gets. Our policy is very simple, give a little to get a little. Now, the terms and conditions of said policy can be quite….unnerving however I assure you after thoroughly checking through our website, your worries will be put at ease. Now, would you like further details on our policy?”

I shrugged my shoulders knowing he couldn’t see me. Jane was definitely right for laughing at me as hard as she did, I was clearly an idiot.

“Very well. Here at Exeter Inc. we dedicate our work to bettering the lives of others. How do we do this? Through donations of all sorts! We want you to give us something of yours that could be useful for someone else in need, and in exchange we will send you money. The amount of money you get all depends on what you’re willing to give and how much of it. If you’re feeling unsure about this, please be sure to review the testimonials on our website. We also have a page which lists the types of donations we accept and they’re worth.”

“So, you want some of my clothes?” I mocked. “Isn’t that what the salvation army is for?”

“No, I’m afraid clothes aren’t the type of donations we are searching for. Donations must come from a part of you, for example; you have quite a full head of hair don’t you, Crystal? Have you ever contemplated donating it to help those with cancer? Doesn’t your mother currently have cancer?”

(Crystal pauses)

I...I uh, I don’t talk much about this. I don’t feel like it’s really anyone’s business but for the sake of this “story” and the truth, I’ll get a little personal. My mother found out she had cancer in January of last year. And just like any struggling family, once the news hit home we had no idea what to do. Neither of my parents had the kind of money to cover chemotherapy. College was completely out of the question for me unless I won a scholarship or attended community. I didn’t care about that though, I was so afraid all of sudden. My mom was going to die because we didn’t have the money to help her survive...I didn’t know how much her treatment costs, all I knew was that we just didn’t have it.  

“How do you know that? I’ve never told anyone, not even my best friend.”

“As I stated before our database has logged in quite an amount of information about you. I see that you are also from a family who is currently struggling financially. Your father’s a drunk and your mother’s time is growing shorter every day. Working with us could change your life for the better.”

“Isn’t this against the law or something? What kind of business is this what the hell?”

I hung up the phone and took a breath. There was no way I was going to sit there and listen to anything else he had to say. This was just another organization like Red Cross or something, only different in all kinds of ways. So maybe, it wasn’t a joke and I guess the homeless man was simply trying to help others and maybe he just didn't know all that much about this organization. I don’t know, honestly.

I didn’t call Jane back like I promised, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was too busy staring at the notification on my phone. I really did get an email and even though Jasper said I would be receiving one it still was a bit surprising. If they really had my email then they most certainly had my address as well...and if they had my address did that mean that I was possibly being watched? The hairs on my arms stood on end as I tapped the email and tapped once more on the link which directed me to the official Exeter Inc. website.

I couldn’t find anything on the website that appeared out of the ordinary. If anything, I felt like I was just skimming through a brochure of some ordinary health facility. If that makes sense…it’s the best way I can describe it, alright? Cut me some slack. I’m “insane” remember?

I didn’t call back...right away. Even if the website was real how the hell did that guy know so much about me? I contemplated calling the police but I knew it’d get my father involved and his alcohol addiction would take the focus off of this. I’d probably be taken away by child protective services or something. I didn’t know what to do. I sat in my bed and continued eyeing my phone until it locked. My brain practically split in two; one half considering the donation and the other half completely disregarding it.

If I donated my hair, I could put that money towards helping my mother. That’s if this organization is as reliable as they say. Even as I reviewed the testimonials of other people  supposedly making donations how could I really be certain? I’d probably get scammed and end up bald for however long although I think being bald would be the least of my worries if some random corporation had my hair.

This became a game of tug-o-war in my mind. Should I risk it and at least try to do something for my mom, especially since there was no way my father was going to get anything done. Or, did I just put this entire thing behind me? I think the decision I made is pretty obvious.

 On Sunday, I called back after doing another good half-hour of research. I also made sure to call once I was home alone, even though my father never paid much attention to me I still didn’t want to risk any questions. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it on my own for my own reasons.

“Hello again, Crystal.” It was the same man from before. Jasper. I don’t know why I expected someone else to answer, I guess I figured maybe they had multiple people waiting to take calls.

“How many inches of my hair do I have to cut?” I asked immediately.

“So you’ve considered it! Wonderful, I’m sure your mother will greatly appreciate this. 8 inches is preferred but we’ve allowed a few women and men, to donate up to 7 in the past, anything below that is not acceptable. In the e-mail there is an attachment with our shipping address. We’re aware that our building is quite distant from your location so that should make it  a bit easier. You will receive your money back in the form of a check mailed to the address our database has filed you under. Is your current location your home?”

“Yes but...how much will I get for this?” This was what I really wanted to know.

“Hair is worth five hundred. We also take fingernails and toenails as donation, those are worth twenty-five for simple clippings. Once again, on our website there is a section which lists all the possible donations which can be made.”

I gagged at the image my mind created, one filled with toenail clippings scattered all over the place. It caused my entire body to shiver,  “what does anyone need that for?”

He said something about how our nails can be used to study cell growth. Then he went on saying a bunch of scientific bullshit that I’d never heard before. My mind completely blanked out, I was simply thinking of the amount of money I would possibly be making….

If it wasn’t obvious enough, I cut my hair off and mailed it. I didn’t have to think twice about it. The website appeared okay to me and after we went over details on my location and the time frame of shipping, I felt….good. I felt like I was doing the right thing. I even clipped my nails too because why not? That’s more money in my pocket. The more money the better and once I had at least five-thousand or maybe...maybe ten-thousand, then I could...do something I never thought I’d be able to.

Bottom line is, cutting my hair off in order to get money was not something I had to think twice about. Yes, I was aware that I could have donated my hair a long time ago but the hospital looking after my mother only took hair donations to create wigs--which I still would have done but my mother told me to not even think about.

I could do this though. It was okay now!

(Crystal speaks cheerfully through tears)

The money came! Within two weeks, right on schedule. One thousand dollars...I had one thousand dollars! I didn’t have to worry about my father getting to the mail first because he normally slept through his never ending hangovers and didn’t get to the mail until somewhere around the evening. Without a second thought I went straight to bank to put this away into my savings. Only problems I faced were the looks people gave me now that all my hair was gone. The odd looks came from classmates that I happened to run into, everyone was still kinda shocked by the new look. I can’t even begin to tell you how horrible Jane’s reaction was.

I still hadn’t told her about Exeter yet, I wanted to wait until I finally had all the money together. Until then, I was going to make sure to keep this hidden from everyone.

(Crystal chuckles)

You know, when I first came to this place and went through the whole screening routine...I was told that I had schizophrenia. When my dad found out, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. He said it was something that ran in his family and he had hoped it’d skip over me but I just wasn’t lucky enough. Funny right? I think it’s hilarious. It’s funny to think that someone can ask you a few silly questions and pronounce you as clinically ill. Is it really possible to know when you’ve gone insane? I mean like, if some random lady in a coat stares at me for thirty minutes and declared me insane then couldn’t I just do that to myself? Shouldn’t I know myself better than anyone? So how would I know? It’s been...I don’t even know how long and I still don’t feel the way I’d imagine an insane person to feel. Maybe you can help me piece that together after I get into this next part….

Let me tell you, fingernails are pretty tough to remove entirely. There’s a lot of blood involved and the pain is….I don’t even know the word. I still remember ripping the first one off. I took the pliers I stole from my dad’s tool box and dug underneath the edge of my nail, where I had previously clipped off. A few deep breaths later, I squeezed the handles as close together as possible and yanked back with force. I didn’t even give myself a chance to hesitate.

The pain was...unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Sure, I’ve fallen and scraped a knee, I probably stubbed my toe on furniture billions of times but nothing was quite as excruciating as this. I remember the screaming, the way my voice cracked. I felt like I knocked my own breath right out of my lungs. My hand felt warm all of sudden, then I noticed it was just the blood oozing down my index finger. It was a constant pain, like a bee stinging you over and over again, reminding you of it’s existence. I..I looked at my finger and remember thinking….wow I really did it. The entire nail was gone and I held it in my other hand as proof. But then I went into panic, there was so much blood and it just kept coming, this wasn’t something I could just pop into my mouth for a few minutes and be done with it. Never, in my life had I seen a red so dark it was practically garnet.

I hadn’t noticed I was crying until my tears trailed down to my lips and I tasted them—and like the dumbass that I am, I wiped my face with my blood covered hand. Once I finally got a hold of myself I bandaged up my finger with the first-aid kit, I had ready beside me.

But I had done it! I removed an entire nail and now I could send it away and I knew, I knew I was going to get a lot for this. This was big, this wasn’t like a regular clipping you know? I-it was the entire fucking nail…….and then a thought ran through my head. What if...I took off all of them? Imagine the amount I’d be receiving for ten nails! Like, after that I would definitely have enough for myse-

(Crystal catches herself mid-sentence. Gasping. Her legs begins swinging back and forth and she lets out a shaky laugh.)

F-for my mother....I’d have enough money to make sure that my mother would survive through her cancer. Once I was certain that she would make it, I’d start using the rest of the money to better my own life. I know I’m only sixteen but I figured with the right amount of money I would be fine on my own. I’d get my own house because I was so sick of staying with my father. He never cooked, he never cleaned all he did was wallow in the sheer sadness of losing my mother. Each and every night he came home from work it was the same routine, he’d drag himself over to the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator and then disappear into his room. For the rest of the night I’d hear nothing but the T.V. at it’s maximum volume. I now had the power to remove myself from that though, I’d just do few more donations and leave without a word.

Unfortunately for me, that was easier said than done. The wait in between donations was always the most difficult. I always feared that maybe the money would just never show up and now this company had my DNA circulating through their building.

A couple weeks past, I was in my room listening to music and changing the bandages on all of my fingers. You probably thought I was kidding about ripping off each and every one of them, didn’t you? Do you want me to describe the pain I felt in each? How each one bled a little differently than the other? Sometimes the blood just came gushing out, like an endless river just enveloping my hand in a crimson pool. Other times, it came slow...I almost thought it wouldn’t bleed at all. I bet my father hasn’t gotten around to cleaning the blood stains in my room yet…

(another pause)

One night at around one, I received a notification. It was an email from Exeter Inc. There were no links to anything or attachments, nothing. Instead, it read a single message.

“It’s going to take some time waiting for your hair and nails to grow back. Does your mother have much time left? You have much more to give Crystal, consider it.”

My eyes squinted as I reread the message over.

How long would it take until my hair reached my waist again? How long for all of my nails to be healed? Would my mom still be alive then? I wasn’t even sure if the hospital had plans on keeping her there. It’s not like she was earning them any money, if anything she was nothing but a burden to them...they’d remove her soon. Then what? What could me and my dad possibly do once she’s out of the hospital?

I had to give something else, but what? What more did I have? What else was there?

My reflection stared back at me through the mirror for a good ten minutes before my brain finally pieced together what was so blatantly obvious. My hands were on my face with my fingers touching my cheeks so delicately. My fingers….touching….my cheeks. My fingers. My fucking fingers. I….I could give them away, just one or two of them. I’m sure I…..No. No, that was insane. That was pure insanity. How could I possibly cut off my fingers? With what?! No, I wasn’t thinking straight.

I ignored the email and went to bed. I couldn’t let those kind of thoughts get to me. I needed to wait  and that was the only logical choice. While I waited I would just go back to a semi-normal life.

Two days later I received another email as I was using the bathroom in school (and yes, if you’re wondering, Jane questioned me for hours about my fingers). I’ve always been a great liar though so setting her mind at ease was a piece of cake.

“Are you really going to let your mother die? It’ll be your fault.”

Another came after an additional two days.

“You are the only one who can save her Crystal, you can’t afford to waste anymore time.”

Then another.

“How are you going to attend your mother’s funeral knowing you’re the reason for it all?”

And the final one came in at the end of another school day.

“This won’t stop. You could try calling the police Crystal but when you do how will you help your mom then?”

I reported all the emails as spam and went straight home. I couldn’t let Jane see me balling my eyes out. Not her and not anyone else. I ran home and locked myself in my room. There I cried my eyes out on the floor and it felt as though time stopped all around me. It was just me, by myself, crying.

At this point I thought I’d have to involve the police in this. This was no longer just simple business, I was being harassed! I’d call the police and report every--

No, that was stupid. If I called the police they’d question me about my injuries and I couldn’t lie and say that I was forced. I gave my nails and hair away willingly so what was I really reporting? I didn’t know anymore, all I knew was my mom was going to die. I had to make money so that my mom could live. I had to make money so that I could get the hell out of here. I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the fucking money.

(Crystal shakes her head violently)

I snapped. I...I don’t know how, i-it just happened. It’s not really something I can sit here and explain to you, because I can’t even explain it to myself.

(Crystal grins)

You’re curious now, I see it all over your face. It’s hard to believe I did this to myself isn’t it? Hard to believe that I not only did it but I survived it too. I cut off my fingers, hand, and forearm. In that order. Not all at once, are you crazy? I did it in….sessions, for lack of a better word. I wasn’t about to stop their too believe it or not I was somewhat addicted to this. Crazy, isn’t it?

Huh? Why? Because I needed the money…

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have superhuman strength or anything. I feel pain just as much as the next person but I….I wasn’t about to let it interfere. I couldn’t allow it and I couldn’t allow myself to wait any longer. Not while my mother’s life was at stake and mine too! I got rid of the fingers first….j-just two of them. I did it in the kitchen while my father was out for the night visiting my mother at the hospital. He told her about me cutting my hair and she was a bit worried but...neither of them knew what I had done with it so I didn’t expect them to understand. Also, with my father being the way that he is I’m sure he chalked it off as some sort of teen phase. Yeah dad, very spot on.

In the kitchen I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and stood at the counter, where I then placed my hand on top of. The breaths began to come in rapidly, my eyes flickered from the knife to my hand, knife, hand, knife, hand, over and over. Doubt crept on me and a tingle went down my spine, one that I’ve only felt when Jane would drop an ice cube down my shirt. Deep down, I knew I had absolutely no idea how I was going to go about this but there wasn’t time to plan anything out. I was running so short on time, I had to get the money now or my mother...was going….to die and it would my fault. I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

I brought the knife up...and slammed it down on my index and middle finger. Blood was everywhere in an instant and I hadn’t even realized I was screaming because my ears were ringing. I messed up, I didn’t cut all the way through so my fingers were still attached, barely but still h-hanging, t-they were just hanging and touching my palm. I was sobbing uncontrollably, choking on my own saliva and watching as the blood just poured down my arm and dripped onto the tiles. The counter was splattered with blood and so was the knife, my shirt and pants stained as well. I held my hand up to my face and cried out, the pain was unbearable and this time it wasn’t like a bee stinging me over and over again. It was like the knife was still slamming down again and again and again onto to my fingers.

….When I came to my senses I took care of the damage. I managed to stop the bleeding after what felt like forever, bandage myself up and for the rest of the night I was in the kitchen cleaning up my torment.

Three weeks later, I removed my hand.  It was useless now with only three fingers. Still, maybe it would be useful to someone else and I was closing in on five-thousand. So close, I was so close and then I could help the way I’ve been wanting to. And then we wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. I took myself shopping--online mostly--and told myself that I’d make the money back up as soon as possible. I did it in my room early in the morning. It took forever and the amount of blood nearly caused me to vomit. I was driving the knife back and forth, back and forth against my skin for so long no amount of pain killers could hold back the cries I let out. My dad wouldn’t hear me though, he had the T.V. blasting. H-he had the T.V. just blaring and I was nearly killing myself to save someone that we both loved. I guess I just loved her a little more.

Just a few more bandages. The bleeding wasn’t as bad even it was a lot, but I managed to control it. I managed to make a clean cut the first try. I’m no doctor but I seen a lot of horror movies and they couldn’t all be just a load of bullshit.

Jane was a wreck worrying about me, she expressed it in her texts and every time I saw her, which wasn’t as often as it used to be. I was missing school alot to avoid having to deal with explaining myself. My father mentioned a call from the principal I think maybe one time and then continued with his sulking. He was never going to save my mom, I was the only one who could do it. Only me.

(laughter)

I began to look like one of those old greek sculptures of a person with a missing arm or forearm or leg. You know, the old ones that someone probably broke by accident and they just labeled the damage as art. That was me. I was art. What I was doing was okay, I could always buy a mechanical arm with the money, right? I had to do this, I had to.

I never got around to getting that arm though. At least not while I’m cooped up in this shit hole.

Removing it was something no amount of amnesia or dementia or anything would be able to erase.. and this is when my father finally caught me. It’s strange how I look back and wonder….how hadn’t he noticed before? Had he really not heard my cries? Did he really not ever notice the blood or that little by little, there was beginning to be less and less of me? I had no fucking hand! For two weeks! And not once did he say a fucking thing to me. Did he even care? I’ll answer that for you, no.

(Deep sigh)

Early Saturday morning, my father got a call. It was from the hospital where my mother was being treated. They told him that… that she passed away in her sleep last night and that they were sorry for the loss. They had done everything in their power, is what they said to him. I guess everything just wasn’t enough. I guess nothing I had done was enough either. I had done all of this and for what? I was too late, I couldn’t help her and now I was being sent off like an unwanted pet. That was the first time I saw my dad become animate. The minute he caught me in my room I tried explaining, I told him about Exeter Inc. and I told him that I had just made enough money to help mom...but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t understand that I was just trying to help and I was willing to give up anything….

For money? Or for my mother….?

I know this all sounds like one big made up story but you have to believe me. I don’t know why you can’t find any evidence, isn’t the FBI supposed to be good at their fucking job? I was on their website before, I even googled Exeter Inc. and multiple links appeared so how can you possibly be saying to me that there’s not a single trace of them anywhere? How do you explain all the money I was receiving? I don’t come from a wealthy family so my mother wouldn’t have--she wouldn’t have died! Please, I’m not lying. I...I can show you this is real. Just...just let me make another donation. How about that? Will that work? I’ll c-cut off my foot this time and show you the shipping process. Then you’ll believe me, won’t you?

(Crystal sighs defeatedly)

I’ve explained myself so many times. I’ve gone over this story over and over and not once do I change the words or add something new. I don’t take anything out, I don’t change anything. If I were lying, wouldn’t I make a mistake somewhere throughout telling you all of this? I’m starting to think that this isn’t about me, you guys just want a story to pass on, rumors to spread or something. Everything I said is true and in ten years this story will still be true.

I’m done now…..just leave me the fuck alone.

*******************************************************************************************

Extended notes/analysis written by Dr. Griffin. A psychiatrist at Friends Hospital:

Patient #7

Diagnostics: Schizophrenia and Apotemnophilia.

We have come to the conclusion that the fear of losing her mother is what triggered the first symptoms of schizophrenia. To amend for the upcoming loss, the patient created a fictitious setting in which she would be put in the position to conquer her fears. She also claims that a student, known as Jane, was a good friend. Interrogation shows that Jane and the patient were not as close as she had described. Therefore leading to the belief that many moments where “Jane” is spoken of, really are just delusions and proof of a possible personality disorder.

The patient continuously speaks of shipping away “donations” however fails to describe how and where. The patient also claims to have spoken on the phone with this particular corporation yet the number provided is not and has never been in service. It’s possible that, if such a thing exists, they could have simply disconnected the phone however they would still be quite easy to track. As of now we are still finding nothing.

Further FBI research tells us that this made up corporation known as “Exeter Inc.”simply held no existence. The money, in which the patient still believes to possess, was cleared from her bank. The traces have yet to be uncovered however, detectives have suggested that the patient could have hidden the money somewhere beforehand.

If the money did previously exist in her account, that would lead to reason that perhaps this corporation could be real. Other suggestions show that the patient could have also been borrowing large amounts of money on each trip to the bank and her mental instability hid the truth.

The patient’s sudden desire for amputation leads suspicions towards the father. Although all doctors have stated every wound was, in fact, self inflicted there still is reason to believe another may have been involved. Considering the weight, age, mental and physical factors of said patient, removing something such as a hand, on her own, would result in dizziness and an potential blackout.

This theory is denied by the patient who claims to have had no help at all.

As for the father, for the relentless negligence in his child’s life he is being faced with separate charges. It should also be noted that he was found unconscious and surrounded by large amount of drugs to which he claims to have never used. His blood work however proves the opposite.

Though the mother of the patient has passed away, the girl still asks to speak with her occasionally. She also seems to believe that this Exeter Inc may still be watching her. A straight jacket has been provided to keep the patient from any further attempts to scratch and harm herself in order to make a final “donation.”

This case is still open to detectives who wish to uncover what they believe to be the truth.

-- Story 1 of 7