đź“– Chapter 4: The Deepening Trust
I. The Triumphant Consultation
Declan walked into Alex Sterling's pristine office, placing the black journal on the desk with a heavy thud. He was running on fumes and fear.
Alex immediately picked up the journal and read the entry detailing the dream and the resulting "violent action." He showed no alarm, only deep, scientific satisfaction.
"Excellent, Declan. This is outstanding data," Alex declared, his voice calm, reinforcing the detective's need for methodology. "It confirms your profound sensitivity to sonic trauma. The violence was simply your mind's crudest attempt to find the Silence."
"It felt real, Alex," Declan confessed, his voice tight. "I could have hurt someone."
"But you didn't," Alex countered gently. "You contained the violence within your subconscious. We must now refine the pathway to the Silence. We must eliminate the physical compulsion and replace it with something purely cognitive."
Alex leveraged the success of the hypnosis to deepen the therapeutic trust, making Declan feel entirely understood. The validation was a powerful opiate.
"Your mind is associating the Metallic Scent with the clinical failure and the Clang with the failure of control," Alex explained, rising to walk to a small, antique mahogany table. "We need a neutralizer."
II. The Bloody Garda Button
Alex opened a slim, intricately carved wooden box on the table. Inside, resting on a velvet cushion, was a single, corroded object: a simple, cheap metal Garda button, the kind found on a uniform's tunic. It was marred by a dried, dark stain near its center—the unmistakable signature of old, desiccated blood.
"This is from the original St. Jude's evidence room," Alex said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's nothing. Just an old piece of discarded uniform. It represents the decay of the old police investigation."
He pushed the button toward Declan. "I want you to carry this. Put it in your inner jacket pocket. The scent of the aged, processed metal and the sight of its decay will act as a physical anchor. Every time the clang or the metallic scent gets too strong, touch this button. Let it remind you that all evidence of failure eventually turns cold and silent."
The button was a perfect psychological trap:
It reinforced the Metallic Scent (Olfactory Anchor).
It introduced a potent Visual Anchor (The Blood Stain, triggering guilt).
It introduced a new Tactile Anchor (Cold Metal against his chest).
It cemented the idea that failure and silence are inextricably linked.
Declan recoiled slightly from the dark stains, his stomach churning, but he was too desperate to refuse. He needed the Silence. He slipped the button into his jacket pocket.
III. The Final Instruction and the Scapegoat
"Now, the final stage," Alex announced, his tone shifting back to the methodical. "Your mind needs a target to blame for the chaos. Right now, it's blaming you."
Alex opened a new, thin file. It was a recent medical transfer report, not Garda evidence.
"I had a patient, Seán Brady, who was recently transferred out. Deeply unreliable, but obsessed with the St. Jude's murders. He claimed he saw the killer years ago near the Bog and even claimed to have found something—a small piece of evidence—which he re-buried."
Alex leaned across the desk, his eyes holding Declan's. "I need you to investigate him. He is a real person, a real case of mental instability. Go find Seán Brady. His lies, his ravings—use them as a rational, external target for your hallucination. Every time you feel the guilt spike, focus it on him. He is your pressure release."
Alex handed Declan the file. "Go to the private clinic near Galway. You are still a detective, Declan. Use your official notes to track the facts, but use your black journal to record every irrational lie Seán tells. He is the distraction you need to survive."
Declan felt a genuine surge of relief. A mission. An external target.
He was being sent away from the paralyzing environment of the asylum and back to the work he knew. He was grateful to Alex for providing a rational explanation and a practical exit strategy.
As Declan left, the cold, blood-stained button pressed against his chest, the final anchor was set. Alex Sterling watched the detective disappear down the path toward the Bog. The architect of the trap smiled. Declan was not going to investigate a suspect; he was going to create a perfectly innocent scapegoat, ensuring that when the real crimes began, the police would already have their fall guy.