Many people think psychiatric centers are places where human trash is locked away, with no possibility of returning to a normal life.
Well, that was completely false. Psychiatric centers were not sinister places where people were tortured with electroshocks, nor were the patients strange creatures straight out of a horror film.
A psychiatric center was a place where people were brought in to resolve problems that had been judged within their field.
Many people in this center had been or were currently receiving treatment. Others, however, were there under constraint, deemed dangerous either to themselves or to others.
No matter how severe a patient's condition was, they remained human. Mad, manic, or mentally disturbed—whatever the problem, doctors were required to find a solution.
But unfortunately, at that moment, Miguel could not find an explanation for Dr. Connor's words.
"All the patients are asleep, with no possibility of waking."
That phrase kept circling in Miguel's mind.
There were many anomalies in that sentence, starting with:
"All the patients." Those three words alone posed a problem—not just for the current situation but for the entire institution.
If it had been just one patient, it might have been suggested that the person had fallen ill due to their medical history, and even if the hospital were accused, it wouldn't have been too serious.
Yes, a stain on its reputation—but it would take more than that to destroy an institution about to celebrate a century of history.
But one hundred years or not, nothing could save them if it were discovered that all the patients had been infected by this sleep without awakening.
Which brought Miguel back to the second anomaly:
"What exactly do you mean by 'without awakening'? It's impossible for healthy people to suddenly fall into a deep coma without a blow to the head," Miguel asked.
"That's the problem. There's nothing," replied Dr. Connor.
The doctor rose from his chair and walked toward a cabinet. When he opened it, a faint smell of antiquity spread out.
Miguel wondered how old that cabinet was, since inside, it was covered in layers of dust.
Dr. Connor pulled out a file, closed the cabinet, returned to his desk, and set the folder down in front of Miguel.
"Before we continue, I'd like everything said here to remain between us."
Miguel raised an eyebrow, perplexed. "You say that as if we're about to talk about some top-secret matter or something."
"In a way, we are—if my suspicions turn out to be true."
"What do you mean, if your suspicions are true?" Miguel asked, increasingly confused.
Dr. Connor let out a small sigh, waiting a few seconds before speaking again.
"Before we start, I'll ask you one question. Answer only with yes or no."
Miguel simply nodded, which brought a smile to the doctor's face.
"Do you believe in the supernatural?"
Miguel didn't flinch at the question. He remained calm—too calm. No mocking laughter, no disbelief, just a blank expression.
Then he opened his mouth to answer. "N…" But he stopped, closing his lips again. After another few seconds of silence, Miguel finally gave his answer:
"Yes."
Dr. Connor said nothing at first. He tried to understand the moment of hesitation Miguel had shown—why he had changed his answer.
"Why did you say yes? I can clearly see you don't believe what you're saying."
"I don't know," Miguel replied, his voice carrying a faint tremor. "I just want to know if I can help these people, because I don't want to leave here thinking I could have done something but didn't."
Dr. Connor didn't respond. After staring at Miguel for a few moments, he took the file on the desk and handed it to him.
"This file contains data that is, to say the least, absurd. Since this is your last day, I won't force you into anything, but I hope you'll do me this favor."
Miguel slowly extended his hand. A slight tremor ran through his fingers as he accepted the file, but he chose to ignore it.
He took it from Dr. Connor and stared at it for a moment. The folder bore no hospital insignia, just a black cover coated in dust.
After a few seconds of examination, Miguel opened it.
Confidential Report
Responsible doctor: Dr. Edgard Alexis
The name struck Miguel—it was the founder of this institution, and Dr. Connor's father.
Report date: November 30, 1925
Miguel froze when he read the date. How was it possible for such a report to exist? The center had been founded in 1927, so it was impossible for there to have been a patient before the institution even existed.
Patient name: Unknown
Sex: Male
Symptoms: Confidential
Today marks my third consultation with the patient. He is always accompanied by this woman. I cannot determine their relationship, but he seems deeply attached to her. Yet, every session, I fail to remember her face—even though I know she was very beautiful.
December 4, 1925
Seventh session with the patient. His condition seems to have worsened. He appears lost in his thoughts and barely speaks without the woman's presence—and she seems to take great delight in this.
December 19, 1925
Twelfth session. Recently, the patient has been sleeping more and more. He hardly ever wakes, and when he does, he acts violently.
Miguel reread the part about sleeping and violent behavior. They were the same symptoms as those seen today. This file might hold the solution to their current problem.
March 27, 1926
Miguel blinked at the date. Why was there suddenly such a long gap in time?
More than three months had passed since the patient's last session. The last attempt had ended in disaster: the man had attacked me when I tried to wake him. I succeeded, but he nearly killed me by strangulation—until the woman appeared again and stopped him effortlessly.
But today, the woman came to my home. I didn't know how she found out where I lived, but she simply said she had "contacts." Then she offered me a bargain.
November 15, 1926
It is truly incredible. I never thought this day would come. I accepted the deal, and now the psychiatric center is almost complete. I will have my own institution, and I will finally be able to accomplish my dream of helping others.
…
One minute passed. Then two. Then five. Miguel reread the passage several times to better understand. The psychiatric center had been built on an agreement—not years of hard work, as he had always believed.
November 30, 1927
It has been over a month since the center opened. I have very few patients, but everything is fine. Every beginning is small, and one day all the rooms will be filled. As for the woman, I have a meeting with her today—it is my turn to honor my part of the deal.
November 31, 1927
I… I don't even know what to write. Everything happened so fast. This woman came again with the man. I thought they would ask me to take care of him, but instead she told me to let her handle it. She was colder than usual, almost refusing to speak, and ordered me not to interfere. I don't know why, but I obeyed.
I thought I knew every corner of the center—I was the one who designed the plans—but suddenly, we were in a corridor I didn't recognize. Throughout the walk, she never stopped speaking to the man. She kept saying, "Everything will be fine," or "I won't abandon you."
But I knew she was lying. I am a psychiatrist; she could fool him, but not me. I saw it on her face—she was lying. And yet, he seemed to believe her. That saddened me deeply.
I don't know how long I followed them, but eventually, we arrived in what seemed like catacombs. I had no idea such a place even existed.
I… I… I should never have gone. I will always remember that moment—every detail carved into my memory, every second eternal.
That woman… when we arrived at the catacombs, her smile vanished completely. And the next instant, I witnessed the most terrifying thing I have ever seen.