Madhouse Page #6

last night.

So we're taking time

with each resident...

asking them if they heard

or saw anything unusual.

Funny you'd ask a madman...

if he's seen

anything unusual.

All right, thank you.

Pretty strange place,

this Cunningham Hall.

- How so?

- Bad things going down here.

But you know that.

What kind of bad things?

Take that sick individual

lurking around, for instance.

Someone who's comforted

by the warmth of fresh blood.

Who do you think it is?

You're a smart boy,

you'll figure it out.

Is it you?

The top of the food chain would be

a good place to start looking.

Are you speaking

of Dr. Franks?

They're cell numbers

on a prescription to me.

Go to Betty or Wallace to find

out who the hell they are.

They wouldn't know their

own names if you asked them.

Can you tell me what the patient

in cell 44 was diagnosed with?

I just keep them doped up.

Do you know

what medication he's on?

You sure have

a lot of questions.

Risperdex. That's what

they're all on down there.

- An antidepressant.

- Have you seen the place?

Thank you, Grace.

You're breaking

rule number one...

about working

in a place like this.

What's that?

Taking what

the patients say seriously.

I'm not.

Believe me, I'm not.

I did hear Hendricks

and Franks arguing...

the night she got killed.

You have to understand these

patients are totally delusional.

They'll tell you things they

actually believe to be true.

But hardcore schizophrenics in

particular can't be trusted.

Take what they say

with a grain of salt.

I understand that.

It just seemed weird.

He was being cryptic.

They're paranoid.

They have it out for Franks because

he's keeping them locked in here.

You're reading too much

into this conversation.

You can never trust

a schizo.

Why are all the patients

in the basement...

on the same medication?

Because I'm sure they're keeping

them seriously tranquilized.

I used to love to play

outside this time of day.

Me and my friends.

We played kick-the-can...

sometimes dodge ball.

I was good at that.

Too afraid of getting hit

by the ball, I guess.

Then one day

things started to go bad.

How so?

I started seeing stuff.

Stuff before it happened.

One day my parents dropped me off

here to have some tests run.

And they never came back.

That's a rough thing

to carry with you.

You can try to steer your life

in the direction you want, but...

everything happens

as it's meant to be.

Maybe so.

I think you're not meant

to be here anymore.

You're right.

But the day I leave here...

will be the day

that I'm dead.

That's one of the bad things about

knowing stuff before it happens.

My little problem...

stems from the fact...

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