The Dormitory
The boys were dragged through the palace halls, down stairwells that smelled of damp stone, and across a courtyard where the air was heavy with iron. At last, they reached the Sanitarium—a sprawling complex of brick and steel, its windows barred, its doors locked with chains.
Inside, the corridors echoed with footsteps and whispers. The walls were lined with faded murals, their colors peeling, their images distorted. Somewhere deeper in the building, a scream rose and fell, then silence returned.
The soldiers shoved them into a dormitory lined with narrow beds. The air smelled of dust and old sweat, the kind of staleness that clung to the skin.
On one of the beds sat a boy, older than them but not yet a man. His hair was shaggy, his clothes worn, his eyes sharp despite the shadows. He looked up as they entered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“New blood,” he said softly. “Name’s LB. Been here longer than I care to count.”
Andrew frowned. “LB? What’s that stand for?”
The boy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Names don’t mean much in here. Time doesn’t either. You learn to live with it.”
Nathan sat on the edge of a bed, his voice cautious. “How long have you been here?”
LB’s eyes darkened. “Long enough to know the rules. Long enough to see boys come and go. Some leave. Some don’t.”
Michael clutched the journal. “Why are you here?”
LB leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Because I asked questions. Because I didn’t believe what they told me. Because I saw things I wasn’t supposed to see. That’s all it takes in Pickford.”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Doctor Vinkmeir.”
LB nodded slowly. “He runs this place. He decides who’s sane and who’s broken. But don’t be fooled—he doesn’t heal. He cages. He studies. And sometimes… he breaks what he can’t understand.”
The boys settled uneasily into their beds. The dorm was filled with whispers—other boys muttering in sleep, some crying softly, some staring blankly at the walls. The barred windows let in faint moonlight, casting long shadows across the floor.
LB gestured toward the far end of the room. “See them? The ones who don’t speak? They’ve been here longest. They don’t fight anymore. They don’t even dream. Vinkmeir calls them cured. I call them hollow.”
Andrew muttered, “Sounds like we’re already broken.”
LB’s smile was faint, almost sad. “Not yet. But Pickford has a way of finishing the job.”
Nathan whispered, “What happens at night?”
LB’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “The guards patrol. Sometimes they take boys away. Sometimes they bring them back. Sometimes they don’t. If you hear footsteps stop outside the door, don’t move. Don’t speak. Pretend you’re asleep.”
Michael swallowed hard. “And if they choose us?”
LB’s voice was cold. “Then you’ll know what the tests are.”
The boys lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The King’s words echoed in Fox’s mind. Vinkmeir’s shadow loomed. And now LB’s warnings added weight to the dread.
The dormitory breathed around them, alive with whispers and unseen eyes. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Footsteps echoed, then faded. A boy whimpered in his sleep.
Nathan whispered in the dark, “So what do we do?”
Fox’s reply was steady, cold. “We endure. We learn. And when the time comes—we escape.”
LB’s eyes flickered in the moonlight. “If you can.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the hum of the Sanitarium itself. The building seemed alive, watching, waiting.
The boys drifted into uneasy sleep, their dreams filled with corridors and cages. LB lay awake, listening, his face unreadable.
Outside, the moonlight glowed against the barred windows. Inside, the Sanitarium whispered.
And the night stretched long, endless, and merciless.
The morning bell rang hollow through the Sanitarium, echoing down the corridors. Guards entered the dormitory, their boots striking hard against the floor. LB sat up, his face grim.
“They’re coming for you,” he whispered. “First day. First test.”
The soldiers seized Fox, Nathan, Andrew, and Michael, dragging them down a long corridor lined with doors. Behind each door came muffled cries, whispers, and the scrape of metal. The air smelled of antiseptic and rust.
At last, they were shoved into a chamber lit by a single hanging lamp. A desk stood at the center, papers stacked neatly, instruments gleaming in trays. Behind the desk sat Doctor Vinkmeir.
He was tall, thin, his hair combed back with precision. His eyes were sharp, cold, and calculating. His hands were gloved, his voice calm, almost soothing.
As the boys were forced into chairs, Vinkmeir’s gaze fixed on Fox. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Oh, Mr. Boggs,” he said softly. “So nice to see you again.”
Fox stiffened, his jaw tightening. “That’s not my name.”
Vinkmeir’s smile widened, but his eyes remained hollow. “It was once. Phineas Boggs. That’s what you told us, wasn’t it? That’s what Mr. Alden called me about. A boy who claimed impossible things. A boy who spoke of other worlds.”
Andrew frowned. “Phineas Boggs? Who’s that supposed to be?”
Fox’s voice was low, steady. “It was the name I gave them. The first time I was here. My teacher, Mr. Alden, called Vinkmeir and told him I was Phineas Boggs. I thought it would protect me. It didn’t.”
Vinkmeir leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Names are fragile things. They change. They bend. But the face… the face I remember.”
Vinkmeir opened a folder, flipping through pages filled with notes and diagrams.
“You told us then you came from another world. A parallel universe. Do you still claim this?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
Michael clutched the journal. “He’s telling the truth.”
Vinkmeir’s smile was faint, clinical. “Truth is a fragile thing. It bends. It breaks. And here, in Pickford, I decide what is true.”
Nathan whispered, “And if we’re broken?”
Vinkmeir’s smile widened. “Then you will be cured. Cured until nothing remains.”
Andrew cursed under his breath. “You’re insane.”
Vinkmeir’s eyes flickered. “No. I am order. I am reason. You are chaos. And chaos must be contained.”
Fox stared at him, his heart pounding. Vinkmeir’s words were calm, but his tone was fractured, hollow. He spoke like a man reciting lines, not living them. His eyes burned, but behind them was something missing.
Fox whispered, “You don’t believe yourself.”
Vinkmeir’s smile faltered. “Belief is irrelevant. Control is everything.”
The guards dragged the boys back toward the dormitory, their minds heavy with Vinkmeir’s words. LB was waiting, his eyes sharp.
“Well?” he asked.
Fox’s voice was cold. “He called me Mr. Boggs. He remembers. The first time I was here, I gave him that name. Mr. Alden told him I was Phineas Boggs. That’s why he thinks he knows me.”
LB nodded slowly. “Then he’ll never let you go. Not if he thinks you belong to him.”
The dormitory swallowed them again, but the shadow of Vinkmeir lingered.
Inside, the corridors echoed with footsteps and whispers. The walls were lined with faded murals, their colors peeling, their images distorted. Somewhere deeper in the building, a scream rose and fell, then silence returned.
The soldiers shoved them into a dormitory lined with narrow beds. The air smelled of dust and old sweat, the kind of staleness that clung to the skin.
On one of the beds sat a boy, older than them but not yet a man. His hair was shaggy, his clothes worn, his eyes sharp despite the shadows. He looked up as they entered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“New blood,” he said softly. “Name’s LB. Been here longer than I care to count.”
Andrew frowned. “LB? What’s that stand for?”
The boy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Names don’t mean much in here. Time doesn’t either. You learn to live with it.”
Nathan sat on the edge of a bed, his voice cautious. “How long have you been here?”
LB’s eyes darkened. “Long enough to know the rules. Long enough to see boys come and go. Some leave. Some don’t.”
Michael clutched the journal. “Why are you here?”
LB leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Because I asked questions. Because I didn’t believe what they told me. Because I saw things I wasn’t supposed to see. That’s all it takes in Pickford.”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Doctor Vinkmeir.”
LB nodded slowly. “He runs this place. He decides who’s sane and who’s broken. But don’t be fooled—he doesn’t heal. He cages. He studies. And sometimes… he breaks what he can’t understand.”
The boys settled uneasily into their beds. The dorm was filled with whispers—other boys muttering in sleep, some crying softly, some staring blankly at the walls. The barred windows let in faint moonlight, casting long shadows across the floor.
LB gestured toward the far end of the room. “See them? The ones who don’t speak? They’ve been here longest. They don’t fight anymore. They don’t even dream. Vinkmeir calls them cured. I call them hollow.”
Andrew muttered, “Sounds like we’re already broken.”
LB’s smile was faint, almost sad. “Not yet. But Pickford has a way of finishing the job.”
Nathan whispered, “What happens at night?”
LB’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “The guards patrol. Sometimes they take boys away. Sometimes they bring them back. Sometimes they don’t. If you hear footsteps stop outside the door, don’t move. Don’t speak. Pretend you’re asleep.”
Michael swallowed hard. “And if they choose us?”
LB’s voice was cold. “Then you’ll know what the tests are.”
The boys lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The King’s words echoed in Fox’s mind. Vinkmeir’s shadow loomed. And now LB’s warnings added weight to the dread.
The dormitory breathed around them, alive with whispers and unseen eyes. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Footsteps echoed, then faded. A boy whimpered in his sleep.
Nathan whispered in the dark, “So what do we do?”
Fox’s reply was steady, cold. “We endure. We learn. And when the time comes—we escape.”
LB’s eyes flickered in the moonlight. “If you can.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the hum of the Sanitarium itself. The building seemed alive, watching, waiting.
The boys drifted into uneasy sleep, their dreams filled with corridors and cages. LB lay awake, listening, his face unreadable.
Outside, the moonlight glowed against the barred windows. Inside, the Sanitarium whispered.
And the night stretched long, endless, and merciless.
The morning bell rang hollow through the Sanitarium, echoing down the corridors. Guards entered the dormitory, their boots striking hard against the floor. LB sat up, his face grim.
“They’re coming for you,” he whispered. “First day. First test.”
The soldiers seized Fox, Nathan, Andrew, and Michael, dragging them down a long corridor lined with doors. Behind each door came muffled cries, whispers, and the scrape of metal. The air smelled of antiseptic and rust.
At last, they were shoved into a chamber lit by a single hanging lamp. A desk stood at the center, papers stacked neatly, instruments gleaming in trays. Behind the desk sat Doctor Vinkmeir.
He was tall, thin, his hair combed back with precision. His eyes were sharp, cold, and calculating. His hands were gloved, his voice calm, almost soothing.
As the boys were forced into chairs, Vinkmeir’s gaze fixed on Fox. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Oh, Mr. Boggs,” he said softly. “So nice to see you again.”
Fox stiffened, his jaw tightening. “That’s not my name.”
Vinkmeir’s smile widened, but his eyes remained hollow. “It was once. Phineas Boggs. That’s what you told us, wasn’t it? That’s what Mr. Alden called me about. A boy who claimed impossible things. A boy who spoke of other worlds.”
Andrew frowned. “Phineas Boggs? Who’s that supposed to be?”
Fox’s voice was low, steady. “It was the name I gave them. The first time I was here. My teacher, Mr. Alden, called Vinkmeir and told him I was Phineas Boggs. I thought it would protect me. It didn’t.”
Vinkmeir leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Names are fragile things. They change. They bend. But the face… the face I remember.”
Vinkmeir opened a folder, flipping through pages filled with notes and diagrams.
“You told us then you came from another world. A parallel universe. Do you still claim this?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
Michael clutched the journal. “He’s telling the truth.”
Vinkmeir’s smile was faint, clinical. “Truth is a fragile thing. It bends. It breaks. And here, in Pickford, I decide what is true.”
Nathan whispered, “And if we’re broken?”
Vinkmeir’s smile widened. “Then you will be cured. Cured until nothing remains.”
Andrew cursed under his breath. “You’re insane.”
Vinkmeir’s eyes flickered. “No. I am order. I am reason. You are chaos. And chaos must be contained.”
Fox stared at him, his heart pounding. Vinkmeir’s words were calm, but his tone was fractured, hollow. He spoke like a man reciting lines, not living them. His eyes burned, but behind them was something missing.
Fox whispered, “You don’t believe yourself.”
Vinkmeir’s smile faltered. “Belief is irrelevant. Control is everything.”
The guards dragged the boys back toward the dormitory, their minds heavy with Vinkmeir’s words. LB was waiting, his eyes sharp.
“Well?” he asked.
Fox’s voice was cold. “He called me Mr. Boggs. He remembers. The first time I was here, I gave him that name. Mr. Alden told him I was Phineas Boggs. That’s why he thinks he knows me.”
LB nodded slowly. “Then he’ll never let you go. Not if he thinks you belong to him.”
The dormitory swallowed them again, but the shadow of Vinkmeir lingered.