Both men are placed in the middle of the cluttered office. Mr. Blackart stands directly in front of the bound Dr. Buelock. The realization of this revelation has stunned Dr. Buelock into a shocked silence. He sits, speechless, in the large brown chair in the center of the room. Mr. Blackart eagerly awaits for the doctor’s next response. “But Edward, why?” he asks. “That’s not my name!” Mr. Blackart snaps back. “I no longer go by that name anymore. Edward Crane died a long time ago.” Dr. Buelock debates, “I now see it’s you Edward, because you’re running away from your problems, just like you always have.”
Mr. Blackart turns his head and closes his eyes angrily. He takes a deep breath and turns back towards the Doctor. “I’m running from my problems?” he asks. “It looks to me like I am facing them head on, Doctor,” he says with a sound of sarcasm to his voice. “What happened with you Edward?” Dr. Buelock asks. “I thought you were doing better.” Mr. Blackart sits on the large velvet couch across from Dr. Buelock. “I told you Doctor, he died a long time ago.” Suddenly, Dr. Buelock experiences an epiphany. “Wait, I remember. The last time I had heard, you had passed away in a tragic fire at the Psychiatric Hospital,” he says puzzlingly. Mr. Blackart rebuts, “They only thought I did.” Dr. Buelock shifts uneasily in the big tan chair. The rope for which he is bound by tightens around his arms and legs as he moves. “What did you do?” he asks in fear. Mr. Blackart responds, “I think you can guess what I did. I escaped from that hell of an imprisonment. Every day was a living hell. I was constantly treated as a common criminal, without ever committing any sort of crime. Every night I feared for my life being surrounded by psychopaths.” Dr. Buelock responds, “What was I to do Edward? You were sick, and you needed help.” Mr. Blackart sits up quickly and shouts at Dr. Buelock. “Do you actually believe depression is sickness?! I came to you for help; I needed a voice of reason. But all you could do was right me off as a madman.” Dr. Buelock responds angrily, “I did what I had to do Edward! You were a danger to yourself and everyone around you.”
Mr. Blackart walks to the window, peering through the slightly closed blinds at the now-dark sky. The sun had completely fallen, and it was now pitch black. The small cluttered office was lit only by one single lamp that rest on the Doctors Desk. After a slight silence Mr. Blackart begins to speak. “Would you like to know how I made my escape from the asylum, Doctor?” he asks. He turns his head only for a moment to see Dr. Buelock give a faint nod. He turns back towards the window and continues to speak. “After over a year in that wretched place, I had enough. I knew that the time was approaching that something terrible would take place. Late one night, I lay in my bed, starring at the ceiling above me. The guard was making his rounds as he did every evening, walking by and locking every door as he passed.” Mr. Blackart pauses for a moment. He walks from the window to the large velvet couch in the center of the room, directly across from Dr. Buelock. He sits, reclines, and rests one leg on top of the other. He continues, “You see, the guard looks into every room through a tall, thin window to check on each patient. I knew this, and this little detail was crucial to my plan. As I starred at the ceiling that evening I waited silently to hear the guard approaching. He walked down the hallway, same time every night and whistled the same song.” Mr. Blackart leans his head back against the large velvet couch and begins to mimic the whistled song. The sound is eerie and causes Dr. Buelock to feel very uncomfortable. Mr. Blackart stops, and leans forward to look to Dr. Buelock.
The two men both sit at the center of the cluttered office, their faces dimly lit by the small lamp resting on the Doctor’s desk. There’s a brief silence, as Mr. Blackart looks as though he is thinking of his next dialog. He begins to speak, “Closer, and closer the guard neared my quarters. His footsteps grew louder with every step on the cold concrete floor. I quickly sat up, and rushed to the wall beside the door. The shadow of the man showed through the window to the floor of my room. The knob began to turn, my heart beating faster as the large steel door slowly creaked open. The guard walks in with haste. My palms began to sweat, my heart beating fiercely, my breathing frantic. The guard began to turn his head. Without any delay I pounced, knocking him to the floor. He squirmed on the ground, fighting for what he knew would be his life.” Mr. Blackart pauses and stares to Dr. Buelock. “Do you know what happens next, Doctor?” he asks, with a bit of sarcasm to his voice. Dr. Buelock shakes his head, waiting for this nightmare to conclude. Mr. Blackart breathes a deep sigh and continues. “What happens next is something that tragedies are made of. Things that only a true monster, a madman could do. Things that only a Doctor could cause.”
